Chapter Text
I felt the glass shattering around my metal shoulder as my vision was suddenly forced to a rough forty-five degree angle, watching shelving and what pieces of the now ruined metal door were taken with me as I was thrown across the room. As I landed I felt something pop in my chest, no doubt one of my ribs, only for something to follow me barely a second after, landing right back onto my chest and immediately popping whatever had popped out of place back into place. The agony made my vision simultaneously brighten and darken as my body began to move on auto-pilot against the assailant that’d taken hold of me. As my vision blurred, I felt my arms moving on their own, something was coiling about but I didn’t feel it. Must’ve been one of my false legs.
I heard a quiet crack as my right hand, glimmering at the knuckle joints with the metal digits that had replaced it, was thrown forward and collided with something. Hard. My vision blurred further as I desperately tried to remain present.
There was a time before all of this war and invasion happened that I’d often thought how amazing it’d have been to be like those heroes in the media. Video games, movies, comic books, all of it looked so.... Awe inspiring. And that’s what I thought, for one stupid, childish moment, when I saw the news broadcast. Aliens invading, cities burning, people turning into bugs and zombies, whole stretches of road filled with abandoned cars. And here I was, twenty years later, the action hero I’d always dreamed of being. No one told me it was a shit role.
I watched mindlessly through my own eyes as my body worked. I muttered words to myself, auto-pilot taking over as I heard my own voice repeating the mantra that’d been practically ingrained into my being since I was a child. I’d always had these problems. “Breathe in.... Count to five. Breath out.... Count to five.” The words were near ghostly in their delivery. I felt our bodies roll, a constant struggle as I made for my utility knife at my hip, only to get lunged at with a set of nasty looking fangs. Both hands were needed to keep it at bay, the audible hissing, the bubble of acrid poison. This was it, I was between the poison and the fangs and I was going to be forced to choose one. Evidently, as I was there, I’d had a different plan. I blinked as my metal hand slipped back just barely an inch, balling into a fist, and I was lost back in my memories.
I sat with my dad, binging movies and eating junk food all throughout the night. We’d just gotten permission from mom to spend the first day of my weekend staying up and blasting through the entire series we’d wanted to finally sit and watch. She joined us for the first few, but tapped out citing a need to get ‘Beauty Sleep’ though I knew in my heart it was just her way of letting me make more memories with my father. He was always so absent for long periods of time. I damned his job when I was that small.
I was torn from my thoughts as I heard something buckle in my left leg, no doubt a servo had finally given way from the constricting length of muscle that was currently coiled around it. Thankfully, the false limbs were replaceable. Which was a good thing considering the position I was in. Metal fist crammed into the gullet of a Viper, currently choking on the harsh corners of the steel digits. A .45 pistol was held in my left hand, held just far enough away from the Viper’s right eye that the built in safety functions wouldn’t interfere.
How had I gotten into this position? I’d just stopped to see if there was any fuel and left over forever-here snacks. Doubtful, they’d have long since been snatched up, but you never knew nowadays. Most people were too keen on living than scavenging old gas stations. I felt my mind wandering again, eyes locked onto the Viper’s as she struggled to make any sound with the limb holding her down by the tonsils. Did Viper’s have tonsils?
“Hey.” I started, gaining no attention as she continued to struggle beneath me, that tail had long since crushed my prosthetic, the sparks from behind telling me I probably wasn’t going to be repairing it anymore, not unless I had a lot of scrap and time. “Hey.” I said again, a little louder, but those crimson eyes were fixated on my firearm, not me. I was getting annoyed more and more by the second. The danger had caused my condition to flare up, despite the mind, body and muscle memory saving itself.
So I raised the gun up and pulled the trigger, a loud pop sending my ears ringing and causing the viper to seize in place, hands that’d been clawing at my thick leather sleeves stopping their action, though the awful squelching pained gags didn’t do much to steady my already wavering thoughts. I was going to need to make a medicine run again. “Hey.” I said through now clenched teeth, pain ringing in my head. Her eyes were trained back on me as I brought the gun back down, though now farther away than before. “I made a stupid mistake doing that to get your attention, alright? Bullets are hard to come by. So I’m not going to give you another warning shot. If you understand what I’m saying.... Tap my arm once.”
There was a pregnant pause as I waited. And waited. It was like I’d put a request into google through eight different VPNs on two bars of service. By the time her eyes stopped searching around for a sign of a way to either escape or dismount me she must’ve realized both her options and the question I’d asked. And I received a single tap on the metal limb. “Okay, good, that’s a good first step. Now, Miss Viper, I don’t want to die today and you’ve already crippled me. I need some assurance you’re not going to kill me if I don’t kill you. Do you understand?”
Another long pause before a hesitant single tap sounded. “Can you speak English?” Another single tap, though this one slightly more snappy in response. “Okay then. I’m going to pull my hand out of your gullet now. If I get even a sniff of that acrid poison, I’m shooting you. If I see that tongue of yours come out even to sniff the air, I’m shooting you. Until the moment I feel that my life is no longer in danger, you are under threat and my mercy, do you understand?”
There was a raw defiance in her eyes that sparked and I heard my false leg pop. There went the hydraulics. Now it was irreparable. My lack of flinching must’ve spoken volumes as I delicately brought the muzzle of my pistol closer, tapping the side of her head with it. “If that tail moves from where it's coiled, I will pull this trigger. Do you want to add anything else to that list of do not’s?”
There was no response. “Are you ready to have a nice friendly conversation then?” While she did tap this time, it was more of an aggravated slap.
Good enough.
I pulled my pistol back as I leaned up and away, pulling my now spittle and phlegm covered hand from her mouth. A grimace followed me up as I shook the metal digits in a vain attempt to clean them. The viper hacked and coughed, signs that I knew from experience weren’t related to that poisonous build up.
The throat will shrink before inflating to the desired size then the head lurches forward in the motion to fling the venom. First the eyes get misted, instant watering and perhaps even instant blindness if directly hit. Then the lungs burn, and if you’re lucky you haven’t breathed enough to get it in your blood, though it barely takes half a breath of the stuff. If you aren’t lucky, well...
I blinked, coming back to reality as the viper was slightly panting beneath me, clawed fingers no longer gripping my arm, but still clinging to the jacket. No doubt she figured moving at all at this point was lethal. “Do you need some water?” There was an angry hiss that escaped her, even as my hand came back and around to show my canteen. As I shook it, the half full sloshing of liquid caught its attention. The hands twitched and I stopped my hand. “Answer me honestly, and I’ll give you the rest that’s in here. Should be enough to wet that long whistle of yours.”
It made no reply other than a single fingered tap on my metal arm. “So, tell me, snake. Are you here because you’re hungry? Or because you’re hunting. Because I don’t see a reason for you to be out this far away with no others in sight.” I asked. I saw the viper’s eyes glaze over for a moment, suddenly blinking and looking between me and the water. Its lips and mouth quivered as sounds emitted from its throat. I closed my eyes briefly in annoyance. “Okay, we’ll make it easier on you. Are you part of a patrol, a scout?”
That earned me a very vigorous shake of the head, watching that snout of hers turn briefly into a blur might’ve been amusing had we not moments ago been wrestling one another for control. My eyes briefly glanced around the Gas Station, finally able to get some kind of a look at it. She’d ambushed me the moment I stepped the threshold so I hadn’t a moment to really get my bearings. But now only partially in danger, I noticed things. The windows were deliberately plastered with old paper of whatever kind. There was a pile of what looked like cleaning rags and old cardboard that might have been a bed. And a duffle bag that was on its very last legs, torn and full of enough holes I could make out boxes with the ADVENT language labeled ‘Rations’ on it. It looked more like she was barely surviving here rather than stationed or scouting. And then I looked back down at her. She wasn’t even in uniform. Or armor. She wasn’t in anything, actually.
Huh. So that's what they look li-
I bit my tongue to ground myself before gently starting to ease off of her. “Just so we’re clear here. You attacked me first, yeah?” There was a reluctant nod. “Did you think I was... Resistance?” A shake. “Xcom?” Another shake. I raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you out here, all alone, ambushing me in a decrepit gas station? Unarmored and unarmed, no less?”
I saw her mind work in place, jaw shifting as she finally croaked out a handful of rasping words. “A-Abandoned. No more squad. No more duty. Don’t want fight. Want to live.” came the soft, if not mildly uncomfortable, reply. "Thought you'd kill. Just wanted to.... Knock out. Put elsewhere. Interrogate incase more."
Curious. A voice that’s a cross between a dog with its vocals clipped and a leaky air hose. Must not talk much.
“And how do I know if you’re telling the truth?” I finally asked, quietly steadying the sidearm at her nose before it happened. I heard the tiniest squeakiest voice.
“F-.... Fuck... The.. .Elders?” I blinked. Is that what they sounded like? I’d have laughed had the situation not already been so ridiculous.
“Well then.” I started. “.... I’m going to get off of you now. Can we both promise not to kill each other?” It was a tentative question. There was a small, weak nod. It was only when I started to get off of her I noticed how lithe she was. Not like the commandos I’d fought before, or even seen for that matter. She looked almost.... Emaciated. Frankly, it was terrifying she was able to crush my leg in this state, but at the same time it made sense. She went for the easier, more vulnerable target. Had she gone anywhere else, I might’ve been able to escape her in this withered state of hers. “Ah. But before I do, let go of my leg. And this is yours...”
As I heard the sliding of scales on old tile, I gingerly brought the canteen around and carefully laid it on her chest as I began to ease off. She held perfectly still, but I saw those eyes locked onto that metal bottle like the predator she was. I felt the old loose tiles of the gas station floor jiggle at my other boot as the tail pulled away. I barely managed to even flop backwards onto my butt before she was on the canteen, sitting up immediately and ripping the cap off to take gulping pulls from it. Each glug from the bottle made me realize how desperate the alien must’ve been. Her ‘lips, if you could call them that, were pressed against the opening and made a soft low whistle as air was pulled in as the water was sucked out.
I blinked as she eased downward, breathing heavily in relief before gulping one last time and staring at me. Her eyes flicked down to the canteen, then my gun and finally back to me. I looked at the gun myself, if only for a second. “..... If I put this away. And you try to kill me...” I raised up my metal hand, clenching it hard enough the left over gunk in the joints squelched. “I’m not pulling it out of you twice.”
That’s what she sai-
“Okay.” A much less ragged voice came. I blinked again. And gingerly went to holster the sidearm into my coat, right under my left arm.
“Do you got a name?” I asked and was met with a very slow, calmer, shake of the head. She was clutching the canteen to her chest like it may’ve been a shield. Or possibly fill with more water on its own if she willed it hard enough. “Figures.... Do you... Have a moniker? A title? Rank, designation?”
The Viper paused, turning to move towards its pile of equipment. Out of reflex, my hand went right back to my pistol, though I kept it holstered. Her hands went straight up as she heard the rustling, timidly turning to look at me. I felt a pang in my heart. Those eyes. Those pitiful, knowing eyes. As the soft plastic of my palm rested against the groove of the handle, I once again felt my mind whisk away, barely registering the world in front of me.
I was nineteen, my dog, Buck, had to be put down. He’d gotten so old his liver and kidneys were giving out, but he kept pushing on for my sake. The old bastard was eighteen. He practically helped raise me. He didn’t want to go, and I didn’t want him to either. Three days. That was all the time my old man gave me. My Mom had to bargain with him just to let us have that. Three days. Then it was goodbye.... I still remember the muffled pop. I never forgave him for that. I cried for days. I still keep his name tag on my car keys.
My hand slowly slipped from my holster, onto my lap. My eyes had left her, going down to look at my metallic hand that’d gone for the pistol. There was still spittle greasing my digits, sticking together with wet strings of glop. It smelled horrible. It was only after a moment that I realized I’d gone into my head again. I blinked as I saw the ground shadow briefly and looked up, noticing the viper had gone to grab two things. One, she held by the foregrip, a plasma rifle, though it looked battle damaged enough that it’d lost whatever charge it may have had. And the other was a piece of a shoulder plate. She dropped the gun in front of me and then held out the armor piece.
I raised up my busted leg and awkwardly kicked it out to tap the gun. “.... No ammo? Or busted?” I asked, my hands coming up to pinch the shoulder plate and look at it.
“.... damaged.” She whispered, slithering back and away from me. “Couldn’t fix. No parts.”
“Damn shame, that. For you, at least. I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s what would’ve hit me instead of you had it been working.” I heard some response from her that barely registered in my still ringing ears as I glanced at the piece of metal. It was scratched and gouged, like it’d been actively ripped and torn off. I barely made out the handful of signifiers. “..... Twenty-Two..... South. Detainment Unit? You were a snatch and grab?”
She said nothing, looking away.
Looks like this is one of the luckier ones to run into. Detainment units are meant to be non-lethal. Probably why I’m even alive. That must’ve been why she went for the leg. Trained to capture, not kill. That thinking must be ingrained after all that time. I remember first seeing the news reports on the TV before signals petered out. People being dragged out or in a lot of cases, carried.
“....... Alright, Twenty-Two.” I started, going to grab onto a nearby broken down shelf to start pulling myself up. “I’d like... To do two things. First, Thank you, for not killing me. And Two.... I apologize for sticking my fist in your throat and a gun to your face. I usually try not to fight dirty like that.”
The apology seemed to catch her mildly by surprise. As I leaned up against the shelving, I couldn’t help but stare again. I could see her ribs. Her spine in her tail and along her back. She wasn’t going to last much longer like this. It wasn’t my problem. This wasn’t my snake. This wasn’t my job. At this point, shooting her might’ve even been a mercy. Better than starving to death or something coming along and tearing her apart in her sleep. It was only when I caught her looking down at my busted, bent leg, shivering as she looked at it, that I felt something deep in my heart again. Was that regret on her face? Surely not.
I barely managed to keep myself from reminiscing this time as I leaned away. “It’s a fake leg.” I said, going to grab my pants sleeve, awkwardly pulling it up and over the now bent and sharp edges to reveal the metal components. “You didn’t hurt me outside of a handful of bruises and maybe a broken rib. Got a mean tackle.”
The realization seemed to give her a bit of peace. We sat there for several more minutes, neither wanting to say the next thing and neither wanting to have to decide for the other. But I was losing sunlight. And no doubt, I’d be losing more if I stayed here any longer. After a moment I decided. “.... So. You busted up my leg, now you owe me. Do me a favor here, yeah, and I’ll do my best to forget our little scuffle here.”
The statement caught her off guard, her eyes immediately narrowing and her posture tensing. I carried on, leaning away from the shelving as I attempted to put weight on my busted limb only to nearly crumple. My hands barely caught myself. “Think you could get me to my car? I can drive with one foot, but... Getting there and in it, might be rough. It's the tan van out there by the pumps. The... Not broken pumps.”
It was a simple request. A test of the waters. Frankly, it was a ludicrous amount of trust I was putting in this starving snake. She could break my neck and eat me for all I knew, not that there’d be much of a meal. But the way she looked at me, the soft relief that filed away behind those big red eyes. She cautiously slithered over to me and I extended an arm. Her head carefully slipped under my right arm and settled my hand on her shoulder, one hand tentatively holding my wrist and the other around my waist. And just like that, it’d become clear. We’d been at one another’s throats because we’d both seen a threat. Then we’d both steadied our hands because neither wanted to kill anymore. It was a strange thought and an even stranger sight, to see her carefully maneuver to help me hobble out of here.
As she helped me out to the parking lot, hopping on my one good leg, we scooted over towards my car. It was a large beige van that I’d refurbished over time, looking relatively normal save for the heavy-duty bumper protectors I’d installed on the front, along with the hood having a bit of extra metal I’d salvaged from an old ADVENT cruiser. Just in case some idiots tried to pop my engine while I was going somewhere or making a get away. May not hold up under withering gunfire, especially not plasma fire, but it’d eat a few shots. She helped me all the way to the side where I leaned against the car after a moment.
I grabbed the big sliding door and swung it open. The inside was stocked up with various foraging supplies and outfitted with a jury rigged portable charger. Kept my portable devices well powered and even gave me a way to charge my own battery in the field. Among the various tools and supplies were a few open crates and gas cans. I pulled away from her and sat on the van’s floor, grunting as I looked down at my leg. I pulled my pocket knife from the pants pocket and gently pulled the blade out to begin to cut away the fabric. The pants were already ruined on this side. As I pulled it away, I found the damage that’d been done. The knee joint was completely out of place, the thigh piece was nearly in an S shape and the calf was looser than untied shoelaces.
A soft sigh escaped me as I stared at it, going to lean back into my truck and grab a small tool kit that I saved for this exact situation.
Well not viper related, per se, but in case of limb destruction.
I pulled the pants up the last half inch I needed to find the connecting plate and promptly went about disconnecting it. I had exactly
One
spare leg. And it was at home. But this one was kaput either way, but it might still be salvaged for pieces and repairs if any of it still was in decent shape. As I pulled the leg off, the Viper never moved, watching in fascination. I eyed her a couple times, even asked her for a helping talon once to keep a wire from twisting on me. Eventually, the leg came off, leaving me with an exposed connector’s plate and warped limb. I tossed it into the back of the van before looking at her.
“.... So.” I began once more, catching her attention as she had begun glancing around the insides of my car. “Do you have anywhere to go? Anyone you’re trying to find or meet?”
She said nothing, looking away down the road, as if trying to decide if there even was an answer. I scratched at my chin, feeling the scruff. “.... You’ll die out here, you know.” She whipped around to glare at me, as if to say ‘I know that’. “No food for miles that’s not wildlife. And without a gun... and in your condition. Maybe a week. Two, if any of those rations I spied have actual food in them.” The glare hardened only to start to wet as she turned away in a huff, head low as she slithered back to the gas station.
Good job, prick. Only sentient thing you’ve talked to in the last five months and you made her cry. Only an alien that’s not killed you on sight and you put a gun in her face, told her she was going to perish and explained how it was going to happen.
I grimaced at the thoughts, moving my hand from my chin to the back of my neck. I felt something bubbling in my chest, a painful ache that only grew as I watched her slink back to the door, staring at the now blatant opening.
You can prevent it, you know.
I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought. A hundred different scenarios ran through my mind and eventually, against my better judgement, I called out. “You can come with me, if you’ve nothing else.”
I saw her whole body stiffen and jerk upright. My own body tensed on instinct, seeing what little muscle she had prepared to either sprint away or turn to lunge. “Or stay here. I certainly am not in any condition to make you do one way or another. I got a plot of land I’ve been living on the past couple years. Got a garden, some basic crops, and a good dozen chickens. It’s not a big place, but it’s a lotta work for one cripple.”
I spoke, as if trying to convince myself more than her. I couldn’t place exactly why or what I was offering. Maybe it was adrenaline still filtering my thoughts, maybe it was my inability to go a day without slipping into my memories like a kind of reverse amnesiac. Maybe I was just lonely. In truth, there was only one fact that stayed with me more than anything. Killing wasn't my job or duty anymore.
She turned and stared at me. And then slithered a bit closer. And then closer still. She moved until she was standing well above my head. Had it not been for the slowly wearing adrenaline causing my now aching body to become racked with exhaustion minute by minute, I might’ve been grabbing for my pistol again. “Why.” Was her single, rasped word.
“Starving to death is a rotten way to die.” Was my plain answer, though not exactly my reasoning. Not that I even knew. “You might be an alien. You might be something that I fought and killed people around me. But that’s not a good way to go out. And as I said before... You didn’t kill me. You had the upper hand, even now you still do. But instead of fighting me, you chose to go back to surviving.”
I could see the cogs grinding away in her mind as she seemingly chewed on the thought. “..... How far?”
“Hour by car, maybe two if night hits.” I replied.
“What want in return...?” She snapped back.
“Don’t kill me and do a handful of chores everyday for the food and room I’m going to offer you.” I calmly offered in return. “That’s a start, at least.”
“Is some resistance trick? Xcom waiting? Are
you
scout?” She finally accused, jabbing my chest with a pointed finger hard enough I winced.
“I had my fist in your throat and a gun to your face, if I wanted to have killed you I would have.” I said firmly, grabbing her hand and gently shoving it back to her chest. “I’m
done
killing, snake. You or anyone else that I don’t have to. Unless you intend to fight me to the death, I’m just as happy to leave you here as I am to offer you a chance at living your life.”
She glared at the words I ended with, but her eyes slowly softened. “.... Don’t call me that.” She managed to get out, softly spoken. “Call what said before. Numbers. Less... degrading.”
“So is that a yes then....Twenty-Two, was it?” I asked, swinging my still attached leg into the van. She looked down and away. “..... You got twenty minutes to pack your things and get inside. And if you find anything in plastic wrapping with colorful wording on it, bring it here.”
She canted her head at me in a quizzical way. “If you do, I promise you the best damn meat stew you’ll ever have.” That seemed more than enough to spark an interest, moving slightly faster than before. Even as I watched her wiggle away, I felt a sense of ease growing through the building anxiety. This was either how I died or at least saved one more weary soul. Both are preferable options to my false limbs getting me killed. At least this way, I might have someone to watch my back.
Might
.
Assuming she’s even staying in the morning, if she’s even there in the morning. For all I know she could just steal food and water and leave without hurting me. Not the worst interaction, I suppose. Better than dying. Better than killing her.
As I scooted through my van to find my way onto my driver’s seat, I saw through the passenger window the Viper dragging a small foot locker and her duffle bag over. The locker made an audible clank as it landed in the back, sliding back to the far wall before the duffle bag was thrown in and Twenty-Two slid into the rear, her whole form gliding up like some kind of watery magic trick. She clearly eyed me with some amount of disdain and plenty of distrust. Brave of her, really, even considering this as an option, much less doing it.
I turned my head and pointed to the door. “Slide that into place and we’ll be off. If you think you can fit up front, you’re welcome to the passenger seat. Maybe slide it all the way back....?” I offered as I grabbed my keys, the handful of metal and trinkets clattering loudly as I pulled them from their hidden compartment in the roof and jammed them into the ignition. It was that same point where I went to look in the rear view and nearly jumped out of my skin as I saw two massive red eyes peering at me from it. My head turned quickly to see her nose to nose with me. “..... Uhm....”
I felt the wet fleck of spittle hit my nose as her tongue whipped in and out, tasting the air around me. My nose scrunched up before she seemingly relaxed. “.... You smell... Earthy. Like plants, dirt.”
A statement that made me relax in turn. Not by much, considering there was a, god knows how heavy, tube of scale and muscle sniffing me. Licking at me? “... Thanks.” I turned and offered her a hand, the gesture almost lost on her before she seemingly remembered human customs and timidly took it. “The name’s Gustave. You can call me Gus.”
“.... G... Goose... Tahv?” Was her soft reply, miming the word without speaking it again a few times, clearly realizing she’d not gotten it right. I raised an eyebrow and without much warning, a chuckle bubbled up from my throat and a warmth crossed my mind.
“Goose, huh? Now
that’s
a nickname I’ve not heard in a long while...”