The Victim and the Killer
Aug. 25th, 2004 11:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tripoverhercatsDue to the overwhelming response of both More Nikolai! More Intrigue! I am going to attempt to do both… eep!
Title: Paying the Piper 2: The Victim and the Killer
Author: Tripsoverhercats
Warnings: PG-13 Violence with blood, swearing, post series, OCx3(implied)
THE VICTIM…
AC 205 - Charleston, Eastern American Seaboard
Hospitals had a way of stripping emotions from their surroundings. Breakdowns happened in the softly lit visitors area, where feelings could be purged. Back in the recovery rooms, it was all white sterility and bleached professionalism. It gave Quatre a screaming headache just stepping in the doors, even with his tightest shields. He wasn’t the first to arrive; he had seen the squat and powerful Preventers shuttle crouched at the small airstrip as he lined up the latest WEI aerospace experiment for approach. But Wufei and Sally had already been on planet and neither was likely to let Trowa stay under the care of unknown physicians.
Having Wufei and Sally tackle the hospital first also meant that Quatre didn’t have to struggle through the staff’s ingrained reluctance to let “outsiders” into their holy sanctum. A quick flash of the Preventers ID attached to his coat and Quatre was being directed right back into the ICU. By the cowed expression on the security woman’s face, Wufei had worked his usual charm. He found Cathy in a small side lounge just outside the ward.
She was lying on a stained and bedraggled sofa looking just as worn and tired as the furniture she was sprawled across. An older man sat next to her nursing a large cup of coffee, his clothing suggested he was from the circus. Quatre quickly tried to place the face with a name. Memory had him working with… lions? “Are you Daniel?” He asked softly.
The man looked up with a wry grin that vanished as soon as it came. “David. But I get that a lot.” David carefully got up and gestured Quatre outside. “They just finally got her to sleep. Dosed her coffee. You’re one of Trowa’s Preventers friends, I remember you. You‘re the one Cathy called.”
Quatre nodded. “I just arrived, and…”
“You’re ready to bust down a few doors to see Trowa, right? Those other two Preventers sure knocked a few heads around five hours ago. Got me and Cathy back this far, where we could hear what was going on. I don’t plan on letting them kick us out, so get on ahead.” He gave Quatre a soft clap on his shoulder, and even through his shields, Quatre could feel that David believed he was on a death watch.
Quatre pulled away with a tight nod, long strides carrying him towards the ICU. Even before he entered into the glass lined room, he had spotted Sally, her dark green and khaki clothing a beacon in a sea of relentless white. She looked up from the laptop she had set up as Quatre pushed through the door, and rose to intercept him.
“You got here about eight hours faster than I thought.”
“I was in a hurry. Now what happened? Cathy was too hysterical to get anything other than someone tried to kill Trowa.” His eyes flicked towards the bed, and he twitched impatiently.
“Tried? More like damn near succeeded. He was flat lined for at least a few minutes.” Sally stated. “His attacker came at him with a garrote. Trowa managed to get his hand up and that mostly protected his trachea, but he went down from the arterial compression.” Sally’s mouth was pressed in a grim line. “Quatre, this is where we start going into the whole “good news - bad news” bit.”
Her last words pushed Quatre into motion, and he stepped around Sally to get at Trowa’s bed. Covered in only a thin sheet, more for modesty’s sake than warmth, Trowa was a pale mockery of his usual vibrant self. Both of his clever, sensitive hands were wrapped in gauze, the right one was splinted as well. Thin tubes plunged into his arms, sensor pads dotted the broad chest, more gauze hid away the damage encircling his throat and his mouth was held open, permitting a respirator to force air into and out of his lungs. He felt violated just seeing Trowa so terribly exposed and he fought with the brief desire to rip all those invasive things out.
“Tell me, Sally.”
She stepped up next to him, angling her laptop screen so he could see the data scrolling across. “OK, good news. The assassination was interrupted, and CPR was started only minutes after the attack. The paramedics intubated him before his throat swelled shut, so his airway was never completely compromised. He was in surgical care within an hour of the trauma. He currently has about 500,000 credits worth of my best nanites swarming through him working their little electrons out. He is still alive.”
She hesitated, tapping open a few windows on her laptop. “There is brain damage.” For all the softness of her voice, the words nearly sent him to his knees. “From both the oxygen loss and a complication. I don’t know the full extent yet.” Sally refused to meet his gaze, her eyes locked on her screens. “The trauma team injected steroids instead of a Cox-2 inhibitor to combat the swelling in his throat.”
“But most colonists are sensitized to steroids due to the in vitro treatments that allow fetal development in space, even I know that.” His voice was clipped, harsh. “How the hell did they forget?”
“Apparently, a nurse took the wrong syringe. It wasn’t supposed to be on the med tray at all, they scanned his biochip and they knew he was a colonist. It was a mistake, they hit him with the counter drugs the moment he went into anaphylactic shock and crashed. My nanites are dealing with the residue and working on the damage."
“A mistake. Sally, do you really believe that a hospital is capable of making such a monumental fuck-up like that?” His anger was nearly a palpable thing. “Steroids are dangerous to over thirty percent of the human race, but a nurse picked up the wrong syringe?” The nearest two nurses edged away from the growing outrage in the blond man’s voice.
Sally’s eyes flicked up to him briefly. “No. Which is why I’m here with Trowa, and Wufei is launching the inquiry.”
“Where is he now?”
“Down in security stripping the video banks. Once Trowa is stable we're getting him out of here, but he's still too critical for that.”
"What about backup? Extra security?"
"We came with three other agents, two of which are trying to backtrack the assassin and the third is staying with the assassin's body down in the morgue trying for an ID. We're stretching our authority ninety ways to Sunday already, Trowa isn't a registered agent. Hell, I was hoping you'd show up with the Maganacs."
"You weren't the only one playing it fast and loose. The Sylph is fast and structurally perfect, but let's just say it's still a bit lacking in accessories. I had a limited range radio, one seat and a very brief flight plan. As for the Maganacs, after Cathy hung up, I called Wufei, told my secretary I was leaving, went down to R&D, grabbed the Sylph and left. But knowing Rashid, I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up soon. What about Heero and Duo? Have you contacted them?”
“Wufei did. He was talking to Heero when he left for security two hours ago. I don’t know what Duo said.”
“He’ll be here. No one messes with our family without paying the price.” Quatre’s hand hovered briefly over Trowa’s head, lightly touching the tangled hair. “Now, what do you need from me?”
… AND THE KILLER
AC 204 - Estonian Province
Anatoly Ramius liked a show. He was a self-professed promoter of the ancient sports that existed in the modern world as carefully monitored and licensed events. While the boxers and wrestlers he displayed to the public garnered him fame and money, what he truly craved were the more lethal events. Gladiators, arena fights to the death, men and animals alike spilling their blood for his enjoyment. He discovered a niche to exploit, people buying weapons quite frequently demanded demonstrations of the equipment and a bloody spectacle excited their jaded palates.
It wasn't hard to stock his stable either. The Eve Wars had provided a surplus of disillusioned soldiers who had seen their leaders turn on them again and again. The surge of pacifism that had followed had sent most of them into unemployment, with skills that were rendered useless. Ramius made them useful again, where their successes earned them cheers. Business was good.
Ramius spent thirty minutes before the weekly fights just observing his fighters. While to the crowd, the matches appeared to be random draws; he ensured that the matches were a constant escalation of skill and lethality. Matches were called when one fighter could no longer continue, and Ramius liked to have the most dangerous and unpredictable fighters towards the end, where deaths would whip the crowd into a climatic frenzy.
As he clicked through the camera images, he paused; noting one of the men had a torn lip and a spectacular bruise rising just under his eye. "What happened to Luis?"
His aide looked up at the video screen. "I heard he had an argument with his latest conquest. Apparently when young Mr. Triton says it’s over, he means it."
"Triton..." Ramius paused for a moment trying to recollect the fighter. "That one has a very acrobatic style, a former mercenary, only one kill in the ring so far. He's been with us two months, no?"
"Yes sir."
"Schedule the two of them late... and let's make it a three way with Ivan. He hasn't been used this month."
Second to last match of the night, Trowa had never been scheduled so late. Against Luis too, apparently their fallout had already been discovered and they were counting on Luis's volatile nature to make this a brutal fight. There was always the possibility that his cover had been compromised, that one of his transmissions had been discovered, but Trowa didn't think so. If he had been outed, there were other fighters that would have ensured a very messy demise.
"Oh, little bitch, I'm gonna fuck you good tonight." Luis hissed at him.
"Then it'll be a lousy fight, 'cause you were a shitty lover Luis. You couldn’t hit the mark once. I had a fifteen year old virgin with better techniques and stamina than you." Trowa smirked, neatly dodging the incensed Brazilian's lunge.
“Bastard! You’re gonna be number 28! I’m taking your fucking ears!”
Two of Ramius’s security goons pushed between them. “Save it for the ring, Romeo.” The darker one snarled, slapping his shock rod against Luis’s chest. “Or do you want me to turn this on?” Luis spat at Trowa’s feet and stormed off to the other side of the warm up room.
One of the other fighters edged over to Trowa. “You better be up for this Triton. He’s a vindictive son of a bitch.”
Trowa gave a brief shrug. “Four kills in the ring, and he’s always talking about the other 23. People who obsess over statistics become one.” A small, unpleasant smile flashed over his features. “Numbers aren’t important. Being alive at the end is.”
Fifteen minutes prior to the fight, Trowa was let into the prep room. Here, his weapons for the fight were laid out and he would exit directly into the arena. He frowned at the selection; there were no ranged weapons and no torso armor. Up close and bloody then, a setup that favored his slightly heavier opponent.
“Make your choice, Triton,” the attendant said.
“The wrist claws.” The long, thin blades would extend his reach, and its heavy leather braces doubled as a forearm guard. They were also impossible to disarm unless Luis took Trowa’s entire arm off. The trade-off was that the weapon limited his wrist mobility and made gripping awkward. The assistant quickly laced Trowa into his weapons, finishing the final adjustments with time to spare, allowing Trowa a final stretch. He snapped off a series of flutter kicks, the final strikes reaching above his head.
Then the inner doors were opening, to a small ring of sand and blood.
Two and a half minutes into the fight, and both men were marked. Each hit had drawn screams from the excited crowd, the announcer keeping a running tally. Trowa had scored twice, across Luis’s back and over his right thigh. One of the Brazilian’s machetes was flung off towards the side, and so far, Trowa was keeping Luis from retrieving it. But the larger man had delivered several blows as well, the worst being a cut that ripped across Trowa’s left bicep. Luis came in low, his leg shooting forward in a sweep maneuver, and Trowa leapt, spinning his way clear.
Taking advantage of the fact that Trowa was now moving away, Luis made a run for his second machete. He got his hand on it just as the ex-mercenary launched forward. Steel rang on steel, and for a moment, Luis successfully bound Trowa’s right claw, immobilizing him long enough to score a long bloody line down the smaller man’s side. Trowa shouted, and his leg snapped around in a vicious circle kick, driving straight into the Brazilian’s knee. They whirled away, Luis limping from the torn cartilage, and Trowa grasping awkwardly at his side.
“And now Ladies and Gentlemen!” boomed out the announcer, setting off several sirens and spinning lights. “A surprise entry to the fight! I give you, Ivan the Terrible!”
One of the arena’s doors slammed open and there was a crackling snap of a shock rod being applied. Trowa and Luis scrambled for the sides as a blur of infuriated white and black erupted into the ring.
:ANGRY! FIGHT! PREY KILL!:
Trowa reacted in pure instinct, spreading his arms wide and flashing the claws extending past his hands. :My prey. My kill.: If the animal was insane, nothing he did would matter, but he had this one chance to impress upon the creature that he was a fellow predator and not legitimate prey.
Trowa’s challenge shocked the male tiger into immobility, he had probably never had anyone mindspeak him before. He was huge, easily over twelve feet from nose to tail and even as skeletally thin as he was, the cat had to top five hundred pounds. Slowly Trowa began to circle towards the tiger’s tail, forcing the cat to turn to follow him, making him react to Trowa’s actions. Opposite him in the ring, Luis tried to match his move, his limping gait drawing the tiger’s attention.
:Weak. Fear/Prey smell.: The tiger shot Trowa a hateful glare. :MINE!: He leapt for Luis. The other fighter frantically ducked under the mammoth paws, moving into the center of the ring.
Trowa immediately pressed an attack, :Too slow. My prey.: His thoughts whipped out mockingly, and the tiger screamed in outrage.
“Triton! What the hell are you doing! This thing is gonna kill us if we don’t work together!” Luis’s voice had risen a few octaves. A low sharp bark of laughter met his exclamation.
“I think you have the wrong idea here, Luis. Ivan and I are busy trying to determine who gets to kill you.” He continued circling, matching the tiger’s stalk. “But think of it this way, you’ll probably end up being his dinner, which is the most useful thing you’ll ever do.”
Luis’s eyes met his for one moment and saw the same pitiless stare that burned in the tiger’s eyes. The Brazilian broke, bolting for the walls with the tiger instantly in pursuit. The Siberian pulled him down in a perfect leap, jaws clamping down in a suffocating hold. The thunder from the crowd drowned out the death scream as Luis went limp. Dropping his prey, the tiger turned to Trowa, ice blue eyes locking with forest green.
:Blood. Kill you.: The tiger sank into a crouch.
:NO.: Trowa whipped his will outwards, pushing the cat backwards with mental strength alone. The tiger reared back onto his haunches, forelegs clawing the air.
:HATE YOU!: Under the anger, there was the beginnings of confusion. There were none of the usual goads that forced the animal’s compliance in the past, just an unwavering force that quietly demanded his obedience. The last time the tiger had felt that sort of simple, unquestioned dominance from another being it had been tied up in his mother's scent.
:Obey.: Trowa could feel the moment, sense the growing uncertainty in the tiger. It was on all fours now, tail curling defensively against the cat's hindquarters. Eyes never leaving the tiger, Trowa slowly lifted his right arm and made a single firm gesture. "Back." The command in both mind and voice echoed in a now near silent arena.
:Won't: Minute shivers raced across the animal’s skin.
:Obey. Back.: Again he spoke, watching as the paws trembled, weight shifting from side to side. “Back.” The cat began to pant, ribs pushing against the thin covering of fur and flesh. “Just one step.” :Back.:
The tiger’s will faltered, his head drooped as the cat cut eye contact, and he stepped back. One single step.
:Take your kill and go.: Trowa filled his mental voice with warmth, and praise. His eyes lifted and met with the arena judge. “Open the door. He’s finished.”
The tiger hesitated at its exit, Luis’s body in his mouth. :Hate you.: Then it vanished.
Trowa collapsed from the mental backlash the moment he reached the medics.
In the stands, Anatoly Ramius sat back, his eyes shining. "Magnificent."
A/N: For anyone at all interested, Quatre’s Sylph is taken from the series Yukikaze. However, it’s not the actual SuperSylph but the FRX-99 (http://musasi.okiraku-pc.net/goto/200308/12aug03yukikaze.jpg) a very pretty plane!
Title: Paying the Piper 2: The Victim and the Killer
Author: Tripsoverhercats
Warnings: PG-13 Violence with blood, swearing, post series, OCx3(implied)
THE VICTIM…
AC 205 - Charleston, Eastern American Seaboard
Hospitals had a way of stripping emotions from their surroundings. Breakdowns happened in the softly lit visitors area, where feelings could be purged. Back in the recovery rooms, it was all white sterility and bleached professionalism. It gave Quatre a screaming headache just stepping in the doors, even with his tightest shields. He wasn’t the first to arrive; he had seen the squat and powerful Preventers shuttle crouched at the small airstrip as he lined up the latest WEI aerospace experiment for approach. But Wufei and Sally had already been on planet and neither was likely to let Trowa stay under the care of unknown physicians.
Having Wufei and Sally tackle the hospital first also meant that Quatre didn’t have to struggle through the staff’s ingrained reluctance to let “outsiders” into their holy sanctum. A quick flash of the Preventers ID attached to his coat and Quatre was being directed right back into the ICU. By the cowed expression on the security woman’s face, Wufei had worked his usual charm. He found Cathy in a small side lounge just outside the ward.
She was lying on a stained and bedraggled sofa looking just as worn and tired as the furniture she was sprawled across. An older man sat next to her nursing a large cup of coffee, his clothing suggested he was from the circus. Quatre quickly tried to place the face with a name. Memory had him working with… lions? “Are you Daniel?” He asked softly.
The man looked up with a wry grin that vanished as soon as it came. “David. But I get that a lot.” David carefully got up and gestured Quatre outside. “They just finally got her to sleep. Dosed her coffee. You’re one of Trowa’s Preventers friends, I remember you. You‘re the one Cathy called.”
Quatre nodded. “I just arrived, and…”
“You’re ready to bust down a few doors to see Trowa, right? Those other two Preventers sure knocked a few heads around five hours ago. Got me and Cathy back this far, where we could hear what was going on. I don’t plan on letting them kick us out, so get on ahead.” He gave Quatre a soft clap on his shoulder, and even through his shields, Quatre could feel that David believed he was on a death watch.
Quatre pulled away with a tight nod, long strides carrying him towards the ICU. Even before he entered into the glass lined room, he had spotted Sally, her dark green and khaki clothing a beacon in a sea of relentless white. She looked up from the laptop she had set up as Quatre pushed through the door, and rose to intercept him.
“You got here about eight hours faster than I thought.”
“I was in a hurry. Now what happened? Cathy was too hysterical to get anything other than someone tried to kill Trowa.” His eyes flicked towards the bed, and he twitched impatiently.
“Tried? More like damn near succeeded. He was flat lined for at least a few minutes.” Sally stated. “His attacker came at him with a garrote. Trowa managed to get his hand up and that mostly protected his trachea, but he went down from the arterial compression.” Sally’s mouth was pressed in a grim line. “Quatre, this is where we start going into the whole “good news - bad news” bit.”
Her last words pushed Quatre into motion, and he stepped around Sally to get at Trowa’s bed. Covered in only a thin sheet, more for modesty’s sake than warmth, Trowa was a pale mockery of his usual vibrant self. Both of his clever, sensitive hands were wrapped in gauze, the right one was splinted as well. Thin tubes plunged into his arms, sensor pads dotted the broad chest, more gauze hid away the damage encircling his throat and his mouth was held open, permitting a respirator to force air into and out of his lungs. He felt violated just seeing Trowa so terribly exposed and he fought with the brief desire to rip all those invasive things out.
“Tell me, Sally.”
She stepped up next to him, angling her laptop screen so he could see the data scrolling across. “OK, good news. The assassination was interrupted, and CPR was started only minutes after the attack. The paramedics intubated him before his throat swelled shut, so his airway was never completely compromised. He was in surgical care within an hour of the trauma. He currently has about 500,000 credits worth of my best nanites swarming through him working their little electrons out. He is still alive.”
She hesitated, tapping open a few windows on her laptop. “There is brain damage.” For all the softness of her voice, the words nearly sent him to his knees. “From both the oxygen loss and a complication. I don’t know the full extent yet.” Sally refused to meet his gaze, her eyes locked on her screens. “The trauma team injected steroids instead of a Cox-2 inhibitor to combat the swelling in his throat.”
“But most colonists are sensitized to steroids due to the in vitro treatments that allow fetal development in space, even I know that.” His voice was clipped, harsh. “How the hell did they forget?”
“Apparently, a nurse took the wrong syringe. It wasn’t supposed to be on the med tray at all, they scanned his biochip and they knew he was a colonist. It was a mistake, they hit him with the counter drugs the moment he went into anaphylactic shock and crashed. My nanites are dealing with the residue and working on the damage."
“A mistake. Sally, do you really believe that a hospital is capable of making such a monumental fuck-up like that?” His anger was nearly a palpable thing. “Steroids are dangerous to over thirty percent of the human race, but a nurse picked up the wrong syringe?” The nearest two nurses edged away from the growing outrage in the blond man’s voice.
Sally’s eyes flicked up to him briefly. “No. Which is why I’m here with Trowa, and Wufei is launching the inquiry.”
“Where is he now?”
“Down in security stripping the video banks. Once Trowa is stable we're getting him out of here, but he's still too critical for that.”
"What about backup? Extra security?"
"We came with three other agents, two of which are trying to backtrack the assassin and the third is staying with the assassin's body down in the morgue trying for an ID. We're stretching our authority ninety ways to Sunday already, Trowa isn't a registered agent. Hell, I was hoping you'd show up with the Maganacs."
"You weren't the only one playing it fast and loose. The Sylph is fast and structurally perfect, but let's just say it's still a bit lacking in accessories. I had a limited range radio, one seat and a very brief flight plan. As for the Maganacs, after Cathy hung up, I called Wufei, told my secretary I was leaving, went down to R&D, grabbed the Sylph and left. But knowing Rashid, I wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up soon. What about Heero and Duo? Have you contacted them?”
“Wufei did. He was talking to Heero when he left for security two hours ago. I don’t know what Duo said.”
“He’ll be here. No one messes with our family without paying the price.” Quatre’s hand hovered briefly over Trowa’s head, lightly touching the tangled hair. “Now, what do you need from me?”
… AND THE KILLER
AC 204 - Estonian Province
Anatoly Ramius liked a show. He was a self-professed promoter of the ancient sports that existed in the modern world as carefully monitored and licensed events. While the boxers and wrestlers he displayed to the public garnered him fame and money, what he truly craved were the more lethal events. Gladiators, arena fights to the death, men and animals alike spilling their blood for his enjoyment. He discovered a niche to exploit, people buying weapons quite frequently demanded demonstrations of the equipment and a bloody spectacle excited their jaded palates.
It wasn't hard to stock his stable either. The Eve Wars had provided a surplus of disillusioned soldiers who had seen their leaders turn on them again and again. The surge of pacifism that had followed had sent most of them into unemployment, with skills that were rendered useless. Ramius made them useful again, where their successes earned them cheers. Business was good.
Ramius spent thirty minutes before the weekly fights just observing his fighters. While to the crowd, the matches appeared to be random draws; he ensured that the matches were a constant escalation of skill and lethality. Matches were called when one fighter could no longer continue, and Ramius liked to have the most dangerous and unpredictable fighters towards the end, where deaths would whip the crowd into a climatic frenzy.
As he clicked through the camera images, he paused; noting one of the men had a torn lip and a spectacular bruise rising just under his eye. "What happened to Luis?"
His aide looked up at the video screen. "I heard he had an argument with his latest conquest. Apparently when young Mr. Triton says it’s over, he means it."
"Triton..." Ramius paused for a moment trying to recollect the fighter. "That one has a very acrobatic style, a former mercenary, only one kill in the ring so far. He's been with us two months, no?"
"Yes sir."
"Schedule the two of them late... and let's make it a three way with Ivan. He hasn't been used this month."
Second to last match of the night, Trowa had never been scheduled so late. Against Luis too, apparently their fallout had already been discovered and they were counting on Luis's volatile nature to make this a brutal fight. There was always the possibility that his cover had been compromised, that one of his transmissions had been discovered, but Trowa didn't think so. If he had been outed, there were other fighters that would have ensured a very messy demise.
"Oh, little bitch, I'm gonna fuck you good tonight." Luis hissed at him.
"Then it'll be a lousy fight, 'cause you were a shitty lover Luis. You couldn’t hit the mark once. I had a fifteen year old virgin with better techniques and stamina than you." Trowa smirked, neatly dodging the incensed Brazilian's lunge.
“Bastard! You’re gonna be number 28! I’m taking your fucking ears!”
Two of Ramius’s security goons pushed between them. “Save it for the ring, Romeo.” The darker one snarled, slapping his shock rod against Luis’s chest. “Or do you want me to turn this on?” Luis spat at Trowa’s feet and stormed off to the other side of the warm up room.
One of the other fighters edged over to Trowa. “You better be up for this Triton. He’s a vindictive son of a bitch.”
Trowa gave a brief shrug. “Four kills in the ring, and he’s always talking about the other 23. People who obsess over statistics become one.” A small, unpleasant smile flashed over his features. “Numbers aren’t important. Being alive at the end is.”
Fifteen minutes prior to the fight, Trowa was let into the prep room. Here, his weapons for the fight were laid out and he would exit directly into the arena. He frowned at the selection; there were no ranged weapons and no torso armor. Up close and bloody then, a setup that favored his slightly heavier opponent.
“Make your choice, Triton,” the attendant said.
“The wrist claws.” The long, thin blades would extend his reach, and its heavy leather braces doubled as a forearm guard. They were also impossible to disarm unless Luis took Trowa’s entire arm off. The trade-off was that the weapon limited his wrist mobility and made gripping awkward. The assistant quickly laced Trowa into his weapons, finishing the final adjustments with time to spare, allowing Trowa a final stretch. He snapped off a series of flutter kicks, the final strikes reaching above his head.
Then the inner doors were opening, to a small ring of sand and blood.
Two and a half minutes into the fight, and both men were marked. Each hit had drawn screams from the excited crowd, the announcer keeping a running tally. Trowa had scored twice, across Luis’s back and over his right thigh. One of the Brazilian’s machetes was flung off towards the side, and so far, Trowa was keeping Luis from retrieving it. But the larger man had delivered several blows as well, the worst being a cut that ripped across Trowa’s left bicep. Luis came in low, his leg shooting forward in a sweep maneuver, and Trowa leapt, spinning his way clear.
Taking advantage of the fact that Trowa was now moving away, Luis made a run for his second machete. He got his hand on it just as the ex-mercenary launched forward. Steel rang on steel, and for a moment, Luis successfully bound Trowa’s right claw, immobilizing him long enough to score a long bloody line down the smaller man’s side. Trowa shouted, and his leg snapped around in a vicious circle kick, driving straight into the Brazilian’s knee. They whirled away, Luis limping from the torn cartilage, and Trowa grasping awkwardly at his side.
“And now Ladies and Gentlemen!” boomed out the announcer, setting off several sirens and spinning lights. “A surprise entry to the fight! I give you, Ivan the Terrible!”
One of the arena’s doors slammed open and there was a crackling snap of a shock rod being applied. Trowa and Luis scrambled for the sides as a blur of infuriated white and black erupted into the ring.
:ANGRY! FIGHT! PREY KILL!:
Trowa reacted in pure instinct, spreading his arms wide and flashing the claws extending past his hands. :My prey. My kill.: If the animal was insane, nothing he did would matter, but he had this one chance to impress upon the creature that he was a fellow predator and not legitimate prey.
Trowa’s challenge shocked the male tiger into immobility, he had probably never had anyone mindspeak him before. He was huge, easily over twelve feet from nose to tail and even as skeletally thin as he was, the cat had to top five hundred pounds. Slowly Trowa began to circle towards the tiger’s tail, forcing the cat to turn to follow him, making him react to Trowa’s actions. Opposite him in the ring, Luis tried to match his move, his limping gait drawing the tiger’s attention.
:Weak. Fear/Prey smell.: The tiger shot Trowa a hateful glare. :MINE!: He leapt for Luis. The other fighter frantically ducked under the mammoth paws, moving into the center of the ring.
Trowa immediately pressed an attack, :Too slow. My prey.: His thoughts whipped out mockingly, and the tiger screamed in outrage.
“Triton! What the hell are you doing! This thing is gonna kill us if we don’t work together!” Luis’s voice had risen a few octaves. A low sharp bark of laughter met his exclamation.
“I think you have the wrong idea here, Luis. Ivan and I are busy trying to determine who gets to kill you.” He continued circling, matching the tiger’s stalk. “But think of it this way, you’ll probably end up being his dinner, which is the most useful thing you’ll ever do.”
Luis’s eyes met his for one moment and saw the same pitiless stare that burned in the tiger’s eyes. The Brazilian broke, bolting for the walls with the tiger instantly in pursuit. The Siberian pulled him down in a perfect leap, jaws clamping down in a suffocating hold. The thunder from the crowd drowned out the death scream as Luis went limp. Dropping his prey, the tiger turned to Trowa, ice blue eyes locking with forest green.
:Blood. Kill you.: The tiger sank into a crouch.
:NO.: Trowa whipped his will outwards, pushing the cat backwards with mental strength alone. The tiger reared back onto his haunches, forelegs clawing the air.
:HATE YOU!: Under the anger, there was the beginnings of confusion. There were none of the usual goads that forced the animal’s compliance in the past, just an unwavering force that quietly demanded his obedience. The last time the tiger had felt that sort of simple, unquestioned dominance from another being it had been tied up in his mother's scent.
:Obey.: Trowa could feel the moment, sense the growing uncertainty in the tiger. It was on all fours now, tail curling defensively against the cat's hindquarters. Eyes never leaving the tiger, Trowa slowly lifted his right arm and made a single firm gesture. "Back." The command in both mind and voice echoed in a now near silent arena.
:Won't: Minute shivers raced across the animal’s skin.
:Obey. Back.: Again he spoke, watching as the paws trembled, weight shifting from side to side. “Back.” The cat began to pant, ribs pushing against the thin covering of fur and flesh. “Just one step.” :Back.:
The tiger’s will faltered, his head drooped as the cat cut eye contact, and he stepped back. One single step.
:Take your kill and go.: Trowa filled his mental voice with warmth, and praise. His eyes lifted and met with the arena judge. “Open the door. He’s finished.”
The tiger hesitated at its exit, Luis’s body in his mouth. :Hate you.: Then it vanished.
Trowa collapsed from the mental backlash the moment he reached the medics.
In the stands, Anatoly Ramius sat back, his eyes shining. "Magnificent."
A/N: For anyone at all interested, Quatre’s Sylph is taken from the series Yukikaze. However, it’s not the actual SuperSylph but the FRX-99 (http://musasi.okiraku-pc.net/goto/200308/12aug03yukikaze.jpg) a very pretty plane!
