Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For Medkit, the day started like any other Tuesday morning. 

The same grating sound of his alarm pierced through the air, harsh and unforgiving, jolting him out of a calming sleep. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with fatigue, as the relentless beeping continued from the nightstand beside him. With a groan, he stretched out his arm, weakly groping for the off button, his muscles sluggish and protesting the movement. 

The room was dim, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows on the floor. The air in his small, sparsely furnished bedroom was still and cold, a contrast to the cozy warmth of his bed, making the thought of getting up all the more unpleasant.

After several moments of internal debate, Medkit finally swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet making contact with the cold wooden floor. His body felt heavy, his joints stiff, and he stretched lazily. Medkit’s gaze drifted toward the small digital clock on his nightstand: 6:15 AM. It wasn’t early enough for Medkit to feel rushed, but certainly too late for him to indulge in any more sleep, especially since he already wasted 15 minutes doing nothing else but sitting. 

With slow movements, Medkit made his way across the room, the faint sound of his footsteps the only noise. His destination was the kitchen. The cabinets were plain, the countertops bare save for a few scattered utensils and, of course, the ever-reliable coffee pot. Having coffee ready to brew at a moment's notice was a necessity, a ritual Medkit adhered to religiously. His fingers brushed against the familiar handle of the coffee pot as he reached for it, initiating the brewing process with the ease of someone who had done it countless times before.

As the aroma of coffee began to fill the air, Medkit turned his attention to the closet located just off the main living area. His Blackrock uniform hung neatly inside along with multiple copies of relatively similar clothes. 

The Blackrock uniform was a stiff, uncomfortable outfit, its various components designed more for utility than comfort, and getting into it was always an ordeal. Medkit started the process slowly pulling on each piece of the uniform, and it required a frustrating amount of effort to fit it all together properly. The fabric was thick, almost suffocating, and the tightness around his right arm and chest made movement feel restricted.

By the time Medkit had finished wrestling with the uniform, his frustration was evident in the tense set of his jaw. He caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror as he passed by, being a bit displeased with his appearance. The dark circles under his eyes from his sleepless nights spent at Blackrock’s research facility didn’t help either. Medkit ran a hand through his unruly hair before grabbing a brush to smooth it down and quickly brushed his teeth until he felt slightly satisfied with his appearance. Once fiished, he returned to the kitchen where the coffee had finished brewing and poured the steaming liquid into his sealable cup, his small tail wagging slightly as he took a sip.

After grabbing his gear, Medkit stepped out of his apartment into the biting chill of Blackrock’s snowy climate. The wind was sharp, cutting through the air with a ferocity that made even the thick layers of his uniform feel inadequate. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he trudged forward, each step sinking into the soft, white powder that coated the ground. The journey to the lab wasn’t a long one, but it was arduous in these conditions, the cold gnawing at his exposed skin despite the protective gear he wore. His breath came out in visible puffs of white, disappearing into the frigid air as quickly as they formed. The coffee in his hand was a small blessing, its heat radiating through the cup and into his cold fingers, providing a fleeting sense of warmth in the otherwise harsh climate.

When Medkit finally arrived at the facility, he went through the usual security protocols. The hum of the scanners, the clanking of the heavy metal doors as they slid open, these were all routine. Inside, the stark, sterile environment of the lab greeted him, the harsh fluorescent lighting bouncing off the white walls and tiled floors, casting everything in a slightly blinding glow.

The first stop, as always for Medkit, was the staff lounge. The space was small with a few scattered tables and chairs, causing Medkit to maneuver around them, being too careless to try to put them back in place. Medkit grabbed a bagel from where breakfast was being served and sat down at one of the tables, biting into the bagel absentmindedly, his mind wandering as he stared at the wall ahead.

Just as he was starting to lose himself in his thoughts, the door to the lounge burst open, and Subspace came barreling in with the energy of a man who had been awake for far too long. His long tail flicked back and forth with excitement as he made a beeline for Medkit’s table, words already spilling out of his mouth in a rapid, almost incoherent stream.

“Meddy! You’ll never believe what happened last night! It was crazy! The crystals—they actually worked! Well, kind of. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something! We’re on the verge of something huge here!”

Medkit barely registered half of what Subspace was saying, his own fatigue clouding his ability to focus. He picked up on a few key phrases, "last night," "crystals," "worked", but most of the excited babble went in one ear and out the other. Subspace’s enthusiasm was palpable, but Medkit couldn’t muster the same level of excitement, especially not this early in the morning.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Medkit finally mumbled, blinking up at Subspace with a mix of confusion and annoyance. “Also, how many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me ‘Meddy’?”

“The crystals!” Subspace practically shouted, leaning forward with a wide grin. “I stayed late last night to work on them, and I finally got them to do something! It wasn’t a lot, but it’s a start! We’re going to change the world, Meds!”

Medkit stared at him, dumbfounded. Sure, they had been studying the crystals for years, trying to figure out how to harness their mysterious properties, but after so many failed attempts, he had all but given up on the idea that they would ever get anywhere. And now, Subspace was standing here, claiming they had finally made a breakthrough? It seemed too good to be true.

Without a word, Medkit stood up from the table, gesturing for Subspace to lead the way to the lab. Subspace practically bounced out of his seat and together they made their way down the long, sterile halls of the facility. The sound of their footsteps echoed off the walls as they walked, the distant hum of machinery and the occasional beep of electronic devices filling the air. Medkit’s mind was racing, thoughts of the crystals and their potential uses swirling in his head.

When they reached the door to their shared lab, Subspace quickly unlocked it, practically bursting inside with enthusiasm. Medkit followed more slowly, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the familiar space. The lab was cluttered with various pieces of equipment and half-finished experiments, but at the center of it all was the crystal array they had spent years studying. Subspace rushed over to the crystals, his tail wagging with excitement as he began to demonstrate their newfound abilities.

At first, the results were underwhelming, a faint glow here, a small pulse of energy there, but then Subspace used the crystals to heal a small plant, its wilted leaves springing back to life before Medkit’s eyes. It was a small victory, but a significant one nonetheless. Medkit couldn’t deny that there was potential here, but Subspace’s next words quickly brought his focus back to reality.

“We could build machines that use the crystals! Imagine what we could do with that kind of power, automated systems, robots, entire fleets of-”

Medkit sighed, cutting him off. “You healed a plant, and you’re already talking about machines? Come on, Subspace. Think about what we could do if we focused on advancing the healing aspect. We could eventually heal people, save lives. Who needs machines when we could just hire demons to do the same work?”

Subspace’s excitement deflated in an instant, his face twisting into a scowl. “You’re always against my ideas, Meds! You never listen! You always call them stupid, and I’m sick of it!” he snapped, his voice rising in frustration.

Medkit rolled his eyes at the sudden mood shift, moving closer to Subspace. “You’re always like this, getting so mad and instantly changing once I suggest something. You’re acting like a child,” Medkit was getting a bit annoyed and had a mood swing as well. “Your ideas are stupid. And can you please, for once, use my actual name instead of that ridiculous nickna-”

Medkit was cut off by a sudden, searing pain in his left eye. The world around him blurred as he instinctively reached up to touch his face, his fingers meeting the empty socket where his eye had once been. Medkit’s breath hitched in his throat as he pulled his hand away, his fingers now slick with blood. Time seemed to slow as he looked down at the crimson staining his skin. Medkit was caught between a gasp and a scream, as his hand instinctively shot up to his face again, fingers trembling.

Medkit’s heart raced, pounding violently in his chest as his fingertips brushed against his eye only, his eye wasn’t there, yet he already knew that the first time. His stomach lurched with nausea as he slowly pulled his hand away again. Medkit’s breath came in shallow, rapid bursts now, each intake shaky and uneven as he stared at his bloodstained hand in stunned disbelief. The pain was sharp, intense, radiating from the empty socket in a throbbing manner that seemed to blur his vision. The world around him seemed to tilt, becoming unstable, as his body wavered on the edge of collapse. Medkit’s knees buckled slightly, but he forced himself to stay upright, even as the blood continued to trickle down the side of his face, warm and sticky as it soaked into his cheek and dripped down his neck.

Desperately, he looked up, his one remaining eye locking onto Subspace, who stood mere feet away. The sight that greeted him twisted the pit of fear in his stomach even further. Subspace was standing there, holding Medkit’s eye in his hand, a twisted grin plastered across his face. He toyed with Medkit’s eye idly, rolling it between his fingers like it was some kind of grotesque prize, the blood from it dripping steadily onto the floor, causing a growing pool of bright red.

Medkit’s voice finally returned, breaking the silence in a hoarse, ragged scream. “S-Shit! What the fuck did you do?!”

The pain was unbearable now, a constant throb that sent jolts of agony through his entire head. He could barely stand as he stumbled backward, clutching his face with one hand, trying to block out the pain. His body felt weak, unsteady, but he fought to stay on his feet, his mind still reeling from the shock of it all. How had it escalated so fast? One moment they were arguing, the next, well this.

Subspace’s grin only widened at Medkit’s reaction, his eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of glee. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, his hand still holding Medkit’s eye as he leaned in close. His grip was firm as he grabbed Medkit’s chin, forcing his face upward so he could inspect the damage he’d done, his tail swishing on the floor below. His fingers dug into Medkit’s skin, his touch cold and unrelenting as he angled Medkit’s head to get a better look at the now-empty eye socket.

“Look at that…” Subspace murmured, his tone disturbingly casual. “I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?” His grin turned more manic, as if the horror of what he had done was nothing more than a fun experiment.

The feeling of Subspace’s grip on his face sent a wave of revulsion through Medkit, and in a surge of adrenaline-fueled rage, he yanked himself free, stumbling backward in a desperate attempt to put space between them. Medkit’s hands fumbled for the nearest object, his vision blurred by pain and panic, until they landed on his gear that was on the floor. Medkit didn’t even remember dropping it, but that didn’t matter now. Without hesitation, he swung it at Subspace’s head, the hard metal making solid contact with a sickening thud.

Subspace staggered backward, a look of surprise flashing across his face as he stumbled, but Medkit didn’t stop there. With trembling hands, Medkit scrambled around the lab, grabbing whatever he could find, test tubes, flasks, random chemicals, anything that could be used as a weapon. He didn’t know what half of the substances were that he grabbed, but it didn’t matter.

Medkit hurled a handful of the vials at Subspace and the glasses of them shattered on impact, the sound sharp and piercing as shards of it embedded themselves into Subspace’s face. Whatever chemicals were inside the vials began to react immediately, hissing and bubbling as they splashed across Subspace’s skin, causing an angry, red-ish pink burn to spread across his face.

Subspace screamed as he dropped to the ground, clutching his face with both hands. The chemicals sizzled as they ate away at his skin, the glass shards still lodged in his flesh adding to his torment. His once smug expression had been replaced by one of pure, unfiltered pain, his body writhing on the floor as he howled in anguish.

Medkit stood there, panting heavily, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His vision was still spinning, the room tilting dangerously as the blood loss from his missing eye started to take its toll. Medkit’s hands were shaking violently, his knuckles white as he clutched his gear in his hands, unable to process what he had just done.

For what felt like hours, but in reality was only a few seconds, Medkit stood frozen, unable to move, unable to think. Then, in one swift, panicked motion, he turned on his heel and bolted for the door. His mind screamed at him to flee and to get as far away from Subspace as possible.

Medkit ran through the hallways, his footsteps erratic and uncoordinated as he stumbled forward. The sterile white walls of the facility blurred together, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered in and out of focus. His hand pressed against his bleeding eye socket, trying to put pressure on the wound as blood dripped steadily onto the floor, leaving a dark trail in his wake.

As he rounded a corner, Medkit collided with someone, sending them both sprawling to the floor. The impact was sudden and Medkit barely registered the fact that it was Hyperlaser, a blackrock mercenary, who had been leaving the staff lounge with a fresh cup of coffee in hand. The scalding liquid splashed across both of them, probably burning the skin on Medkit’s chest, but the pain was nothing compared to the agony radiating from his eye.

“Watch where you’re going, assho-Medkit?” Hyperlaser’s voice was sharp, filled with confusion and alarm as he took in Medkit’s disheveled appearance and the blood pouring from his face. “What the hell happened to you?!”

But Medkit didn’t stop to explain. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring Hyperlaser’s startled shout as he kept running. His body was on autopilot now, his mind barely holding onto consciousness as he stumbled through the facility’s exit and into the harsh cold of the snowy landscape outside.

The freezing wind hit Medkit like a wall, the chill sinking into his bones, but Medkit barely felt it. His breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, each one more difficult than the last. His legs felt heavy, each step harder than the one before. Medkit’s vision now had dark spots creeping in from the edges as he pushed himself further into the snow-covered terrain.

Eventually, Medkit’s body gave out. His legs buckled beneath him, and he fell face-first into the snow. The pain in his head was overwhelming now, pounding in time with his racing heartbeat, and he could feel the warmth of his blood pooling beneath him, staining the pristine snow red.

Medkit closed his remaining eye, letting the darkness wash over him. The world around him felt distant, the snow-covered ground beneath him was the only thing anchoring him to reality, though none of this felt real to begin with. He could feel his consciousness slipping, fading in and out as the cold began to seep into his bones. 

This wasn’t his fault, was it? Medkit’s thoughts drifted as he laid there, his mind struggling to make sense of the situation. He hadn’t meant for things to get so out of hand. Sure, he had started the argument, but it was never supposed to escalate. It wasn’t supposed to end in violence, in blood, in… this. 

As the snow swirled around him, Medkit let out a low groan, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. Everything hurt. His body, his mind, his very soul felt like it was being crushed. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. He didn’t want to die.

Help me…

The thought echoed in his mind, a desperate plea. He was alone out here, in the middle of this frozen wasteland. There was no one around to hear him, no one who could save him. But still, he couldn’t stop the silent cry from repeating in his head. 

Please, someone, help me… I don’t want to die… not like this… not alone.

The cold was growing unbearable now, sinking deep into his bones. His body shivered uncontrollably, but there was a strange peace that came with it. His mind was drifting further from consciousness, the world around him fading into a blur of white. 

I want to live… Please… Help me… Everything… hurts…

•

When Medkit finally stirred awake, the first sensation that registered was pain, a dull, throbbing ache that pulsed from his left eye socket. It felt as though someone had taken a red-hot iron and pressed it into the empty space where his eye used to be, the pain constant and unforgiving. Groaning softly, he raised a trembling hand to his face, expecting to feel the raw, open wound, but instead, his fingers brushed against something soft. 

It was plush cotton. 

His eye… it was bandaged. An eye patch covered the socket, the fabric smooth and snug against his skin. Blinking groggily, Medkit pushed himself up into a sitting position, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. His head spun slightly from the movement, but he forced himself to take in his surroundings.

The room Medkit found himself in was… sparse, to say the least. The walls were a rough, sandstone-like material, giving the space an almost ancient feel. A small wooden desk sat in one corner, paired with an equally small wooden chair that looked like it could collapse at any moment. Next to the desk was a small fake plant, its plastic leaves coated with a thin layer of dust. The bed he sat on was simple, with rough, scratchy sheets and a thin mattress that offered little in the way of comfort.

Medkit’s mind raced as he tried to piece together how he had gotten here. Who had brought him to this place? He remembered the snow, the pain, the overwhelming sense of helplessness as he laid dying in the cold… but after that, it was a blur. Someone must have found him, saved him. But who? And why?

Before he could dwell too long on the questions swirling in his mind, the door to the room swung open with a bang. Medkit flinched at the sudden noise, his hand instinctively reaching for his side where his gear should have been. But his gear wasn’t there. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.

A woman strolled in, her presence commanding and unmistakably dangerous. She wore a white cowboy hat emblazoned with a symbol that Medkit recognized as the Lost Temple’s logo. Medkit assumed that he was somewhere in the faction due to the logo and bit his lip at the thought of how far away it was from Blackrock. The woman’s demeanor was confident, bordering on arrogant, as she sauntered into the room with a casual swagger. A large snake-like tail flicked behind her, swaying lazily as she approached.

She was striking in appearance, but not in a comforting way. Her sharp, predatory features were accentuated by an X-shaped scar beneath her left eye, giving her an air of danger. A fang poked out from the corner of her smirking mouth as she eyed Medkit with a look that was equal parts amusement and menace.

“Well, well,” the woman drawled, her voice carrying a thick accent that matched her cowboy hat. She set something down and pulled the wooden chair from the desk over to the bed and sat down, crossing her legs and leaning forward slightly, her sharp gaze never leaving Medkit’s face. “Looks like yer awake. Thought ya might kick the bucket back there.”

Medkit stared at her, trying to read her expression, but the smirk on her face made it impossible to tell if she was mocking him or genuinely concerned. “Who…?” he began, his voice hoarse and dry, causing him to have a small coughing fit.

The woman waved a hand dismissively. “I know ya got questions, but now ain’t the time fer answers, alright?” She leaned forward, her tie brushing against her legs as she got eye-level with him. “Here’s what you need to know: we saved yer life and nursed ya back to health, but we don’t do it fer free. Here’s the deal, you can stay and do me a favor, or I’ll toss ya back onto the streets. Yer choice.”

She leaned back in the chair, watching him carefully as she crossed her arms over her chest, the tails behind her flicking back and forth. Medkit felt his heart sink and honestly did not want to find out who the “we” was, causing him to look down at his lap.

The woman scoffed and stood up, walking back to the desk to retrieve the thing she had set down earlier when walking in. When she returned, she handed Medkit a bowl of oatmeal. It looked cold and unappetizing, plus Medkit could barely stomach the thought of food anyways, causing Medkit to scrunch his face slightly.

“Eat,” she said curtly after seeing Medkit’s expression, sitting back down in the chair. “And think about it. I’ll be back later fer yer answer.”

Medkit stared at the bowl in his lap, his stomach churning at the sight of the bland mixture. His thoughts were too scattered, too weighed down by pain and confusion to focus on food. He brought the spoon to his mouth, but the second the oatmeal touched his tongue, his body rebelled. He gagged, leaning over the side of the bed as he vomited.

The woman sighed in exasperation, shaking her head as she stood up to leave. “My name is Scythe by the way, yer gear’s next to the desk,” she said, her voice dripping with irritation. “And just so ya know, yer bein’ hunted down in Blackrock right now. If I were you, I’d make my decision real quick.”

With that, Scythe turned and strolled out of the roomnas her tail wagged lazily behind her. Medkit watched her go, his heart sinking even further as her words echoed in his mind. 

He was being hunted. Of course he was. 

After what had happened in the lab, he should have expected it. But hearing it out loud, spoken so casually by a demon who seemed to relish the danger, made it all too real.

Medkit’s slipped back into the bed, the weight of exhaustion and hopelessness pressing down on him. He glanced at the bowl of oatmeal in his lap and placed it on the chair next to him. Medkit wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt, his breath shaky and uneven.

Despite how uncomfortable the bed felt, it was oddly comforting, but maybe it was just the situation he somehow ended up in. The simplicity of lying there, feeling the pressure of the mattress under his aching body, was something to cling to. He stared up at the ceiling, its cracks and worn paint doing little to distract him from the dull throbbing in his eye socket and the gnawing ache in his bones.

•

It felt like hours passed, though he couldn’t be sure. Time had become an abstract concept, blurred by exhaustion and pain. The silence of the room was heavy. Medkit could feel the weight of the blankets pressing down on him, though they did little to stave off the cold that seemed to seep in from the thin walls of the room, which seemed weird if he was indeed in the Lost Temple faction. He pulled them tighter around himself, trying to find warmth.

Eventually, the door creaked open again, and Scythe entered the room. It was nighttime now, Medkit had figured that much, though his sense of day and night was completely skewed at this point. Scythe had confirmed it as she walked in, her cowboy hat tipped back slightly as if she had been outside and just returned from some unknown task.

The bowl of oatmeal that had been on the chair earlier was gone now, though the mess Medkit had made when he vomited earlier still stained the floor beside the bed. Scythe didn't seem bothered by it; she simply walked around it, her boots clicking lightly on the floor as she pulled the chair closer to the bed. She propped her feet up on the edge of the mattress to avoid said mess on the floor, and leaned back, crossing her arms behind her head as she fixed Medkit with that piercing gaze of hers.

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her eyes gleaming with something unreadable, expectation, perhaps, or maybe a hint of amusement. It felt like she was looking straight through him, as if she already knew what Medkit was going to say before he even opened his mouth. The silence stretched between them, thick and tense, until finally, Medkit cleared his throat, wincing as the sound scratched at his raw throat.

“I’ll… I’ll join you guys,” Medkit finally said, his voice quiet. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was agreeing to, but the idea of having shelter, of being cared for in some capacity, outweighed the fear and uncertainty gnawing at his insides. He had no other choice honestly, no place to go, no one else to turn to. He was trapped, and this was the only option laid before him.

Scythe smirked, her sharp fang glinting in the dim light of the room as she leaned forward slightly, her boots sliding off the bed and thudding lightly against the floor. “Good,” she said, her voice low and sinister, laced with a hint of satisfaction. “We’ll tell ya everything ya need to know tomorrow. Don’t stray off the path now.” Her tone was playful, but there was an edge to it, a warning beneath the surface that Medkit couldn’t ignore.

With that, Scythe stood up and made her way to the door. She paused for a moment, looking back over her shoulder with a wicked grin, before leaving the room, her laughter echoing faintly in the hallway as the door clicked shut behind her. Medkit stared at the door for a long time after she left, his mind buzzing with a mix of emotions he couldn’t fully process. He didn’t trust Scythe, but what choice did he have other than depend on this woman?

Medkit shifted in the bed, trying to get more comfortable, but the mattress pressed awkwardly against his back, and the cold air seemed to seep through the thin blanket, making him shiver. His gaze drifted over to the desk, where Scythe had said his gear was stored. Maybe going through it would give him something to focus on, something to distract him from the gnawing anxiety eating away at him.

Slowly, carefully, Medkit pushed the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His body protested the movement at first, his muscles stiff and sore, and he nearly slipped as his foot hit the slick spot where he had vomited earlier. He grimaced, steadying himself against the wall before making his way over to the desk.

Just as Scythe had said, his gear was there. He crouched down, wincing as his joints creaked, and began rummaging through the box. His fingers brushed against the familiar tools and equipment, things he had used countless times before, but as his vision narrowed around something small and smooth, he paused, pulling it out to examine it more closely.

It was a crystal, one he had studied during his time with Subspace. Medkit held it up to the dim light, turning it over in his hands, studying the way it faintly glowed green. The memory of Subspace’s face flashed in his mind, and for a moment, his stomach twisted with nausea.

Subspace. 

Just thinking of the name made Medkit’s skin crawl. 

Such an awful name, and an even worse person. 

He shuddered at the thought, his hands tightening around the crystal as he tried to force any memories of him away.

As if to drown out the unwanted thoughts, Medkit closed his eyes, sat fully down on the floor, and leaned back against the wall. But instead of finding peace, his mind wandered elsewhere, to a different time, a different place.

Medkit was leaning against a grimy subway wall, waiting for a train to Blackrock. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting a sickly yellow glow over the dirty tiles, and the air was thick with the stench of old, stagnant water. Medkit felt drained, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him as he waited for the next train.

Footsteps echoed down the empty platform, and Medkit turned his head, squinting as a figure approached. There was something familiar about them, something he couldn’t quite place. Four bright pink horns adorned their head, the vibrant color standing out against the otherwise drab environment. They wore a Blackrock uniform, but their face was blurred, distorted in a way that made Medkit’s head ache to look at.

The figure walked up to him, smiling unnaturally as they handed him a cup of coffee. It was strange, everything about them felt wrong, off, but Medkit was too tired to question it. He accepted the coffee, sipping it without really tasting it as he waited for the train.

When the train finally arrived, Medkit boarded, sitting down in one of the old, worn seats. The figure with the pink horns followed, sitting next to him with that same unnerving cheerfulness, even lightly tapping Medkit’s boots with their tail. 

“█████?” The demon sitting next to Medkit spoke, their voice muffled and distorted, as if they were speaking from underwater. Medkit couldn’t understand the words, but he nodded anyway, sipping his coffee as the train rattled along the tracks… wait, no… it wasn’t technically Medkit’s coffee.

Time passed in a blur, and before Medkit knew it, the train had arrived at his stop. Medkit stood, throwing ██ empty cup away as he stepped off the train, the snow outside biting at his skin. The figure followed him, their footsteps soft and almost inaudible as they trailed behind.

Medkit didn’t question it. He was too tired, too numb to care. He unlocked the door to his home, stepping inside, and the figure followed without a word. Medkit barely registered their presence as he made his way to his bed, collapsing onto the mattress without bothering to remove his clothes. His body felt heavy, leaden with exhaustion, and he barely had the energy to pull the blankets over himself.

The figure climbed into bed beside him, their body curling around his, their tail wrapping possessively around his leg. Medkit laid there, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind foggy and distant. He could feel the figure’s breath against his neck, hot and damp, and the sensation sent a shiver down his spine. They whispered something into his skin, words he couldn’t understand, but the sound made his flesh crawl.

Their lips pressed against his collarbone, soft and gentle, but Medkit’s skin burned where they touched. He wanted to scream, to push them away, but his body refused to move. He felt trapped, suffocated by their presence, as if their very existence was poisoning him. Their lips trailed up his neck, and then their teeth. Sharp, pointed teeth sank into his flesh, and a wave of burning pain shot through him.

Oh, how could Medkit forget how he agreed to invite them home at work today after they asked to hang out again. They were only being a good friend after all to Medkit. They would never lie… right?

Medkit’s body tensed, every nerve on fire as his mind screamed in protest. He wanted to tear them off, to rip their jaw away from his skin, but he was helpless, paralyzed. The pain was overwhelming, consuming him, as their kisses and bites left searing trails along his skin. Medkit groaned as they shifted on top of him and the unnamed demon lapped at the blood trickling from Medkit’s neck from the bites. They slid their hand under Medkit’s uniform, groping at his chest as…

Medkit awoke slowly. His head pounded with a dull, throbbing ache, and his body felt heavy, as if weighed down by unseen chains. His left eye socket, where his eye should have been, still ached. Groggily, he blinked his remaining eye open, and focused on his heartbeat that was definitely much faster than should be normal.

“Hey! You’re finally awake! …Took you long enough…” 

The voice was bright, almost too bright, and it grated against Medkit’s ears. He turned his head to see a demon standing in front of him, shaking him lightly by the shoulder. The demon looked to be shorter than him, with a playful smile plastered across his face and a tail that was thin with a pointed tip, similar to an arrowhead, small chunks missing along its length. A shackle, rusted and worn, encircled his right wrist, and an X-shaped scar marred the skin above his left eye. His energy seemed completely at odds with the heavy, oppressive atmosphere that clung to the room like a thick mist.

“I’m Broker!” the demon introduced himself with a flourish, his grin widening as if he were genuinely pleased to meet Medkit. “Scythe’s out harvesting again, sooo I’m here to guide you today!” His voice was bright and it felt out of place in the stark, cold room. Without waiting for a response, he continued, speaking in a rapid, breathless stream. “Oh yeah, here’s the Church’s handbook. It’s got all the rules, times, and blah blah blah for the Church. Make sure you memorize everything in it now that you’re part of the family, I would hate to see you get punished for something silly~.”

Medkit blinked, still trying to process what Broker was saying as the demon thrust a small, worn book into his hand. It was old, the cover faded and the pages yellowed with age, but the title on the front read, in neat, gold-embossed letters: The Church of the TRUE EYE. Before Medkit could even react, Broker shoved something else into his other hand, folded fabric, dark green and neatly pressed.

“Here’s your new uniform. Make sure you’re presentable, can’t have you looking like a slob. Breakfast is in 15 minutes!” Broker’s words tumbled out so fast, Medkit barely had time to register them before the demon turned on his heel and waltzed out of the room, humming some strange tune under his breath.

Medkit sat there for a moment, staring at the door Broker had just exited through, still holding the handbook and uniform in his hands. His mind felt sluggish. Everything about this place, these people, this situation, was bizarre. He sighed heavily, rubbing his face with one hand as he tried to shake the sleep he really wanted about now from his mind. 

His eye stung, the pain from the socket more pronounced now that he was fully awake. He had fallen asleep on the floor the night before, though the details of the strange, haunting dream he’d had were already slipping away, lost in the haze of morning. It was probably better that way. He didn’t want to remember it.

With a sigh, Medkit stood up, his limbs stiff and protesting the movement. He tossed the handbook onto the desk. Medkit hadn’t even opened it yet, and already it felt like a burden. He unfolded the uniform, inspecting it with a mix of curiosity. The pants were almost identical to the ones Scythe had worn, a deep forest green diamond pattern, and the suit provided was made of a dark green heavy material adorned with intricate gold embroidery. A teal cravat was tucked inside, adding a pop of color to the otherwise muted tones.

Medkit glanced down at the Blackrock uniform he was still wearing, the familiar fabric feeling strange and out of place in this new environment. He shrugged it off, dropping it onto the bed in a crumpled heap, and pulled on the Church uniform. It was snug, tailored to fit just right, though the stiff fabric made him feel constrained, like it was meant to restrain him as much as it was meant to present him.

As he dressed, Medkit spotted a small drawer in the desk and pulled it open, finding a plain, wooden-handled hairbrush inside. He sat back down, taking his eyepatch off, and began brushing his tangled hair. Before putting his eyepatch back on, he reached up, almost absentmindedly, and touched the hollow of his left eye socket. The skin there was tender, the scar tissue rough under his fingers. He sighed again, the weight of everything pressing down on him all at once, his missing eye, the strange cult he had found himself entangled in, the uncertain future ahead. 

Medkit had no idea what this Church was and already managed to call it a cult, causing him face palm.

He put the eyepatch back on, the familiar pressure of the band settling over his head like a small, comforting burden, and made his way out of the room. The hallway outside was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of something damp and old. The walls were made of the same sandstone-like material as the room he had slept in, though the corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, branching off into shadows in every direction.

Medkit followed the sound of footsteps and low murmurs, joining a group of demons who were all dressed in the same dark green uniforms, their cravats neatly tied around their necks. They moved in unison, walking toward a large, open room at the end of the corridor. As Medkit stepped inside, he realized it was a dining hall. Long tables stretched from one end to the other, and demons of all shapes and sizes were crammed into every available seat. The air was thick with the hum of conversation, and the clatter of dishes being served echoed off the high stone walls.

Medkit made his way to the end of the hall, trying to keep to himself as much as possible. He found a spot against the wall, away from the crowded tables, and waited as food was distributed. When a plate was placed in front of him, he stared down at it, feeling a wave of nausea rise in his throat. The food was… bleak, to say the least. It looked like some kind of grayish mush, with a side of something that might have once been bread but now looked more like a hardened piece of clay. He poked at it with his fork, his stomach turning at the sight.

Reluctantly, Medkit took a bite, forcing himself to chew and swallow. The taste was bland, almost metallic, and his throat tightened as he struggled to keep it down. His body still hadn’t fully recovered, and the mere act of eating felt like a monumental task, though as Medkit thought about it he wondered if it was maybe just the horrid food. Medkit pushed the plate away, his appetite completely gone.

“Hey, you gonna eat that?” 

Medkit glanced up to see a demon sitting across from him, eyeing his untouched plate hungrily. Without a word, Medkit shook his head and slid the plate across the table. The other demon wasted no time digging in, shoveling the food into his mouth with a fervor that made Medkit’s stomach churn even more.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur. Medkit kept to himself, watching the demons around him with a mix of wariness and curiosity. They all seemed so… invested in this strange place, in the routines and properties of the Church. He couldn’t help but feel like an outsider, like he didn’t belong here. 

Well, he was an outsider since he didn’t what to be here in the first place. He would much rather be in Blackrock, he just couldn’t go back for obvious reasons. 

After about thirty minutes, the demons began to file out of the dining hall, and Medkit followed, blending into the crowd as they moved toward another part of the building. He learned quickly that they were heading to the nave of the church, a vast, ornate room filled with rows of pews and towering statues carved from stone. The air inside was cool, almost cold, and the dim light filtered through stained glass windows, casting eerie shadows across the room.

Medkit took a seat at the very back, keeping his head down as the demons filled the pews around him. The ceremony began, led by an older demon known as “The Father”,who stood at the front of the nave, spouting religious nonsense that Medkit couldn’t make sense of. His voice droned on, and Medkit felt himself zoning out, his mind wandering as he glanced around the room. The statues lining the walls were intricate, their faces frozen in expressions of reverence or anguish, and the high, vaulted ceiling made the entire space feel oppressive, like the weight of the stone above was pressing down on him.

At the front of the room, Scythe and Broker stood beside “The Father”, Scythe even holding something aloft in her hands. It was bloody, though from where Medkit was sitting, he couldn’t quite make out what it was. The crowd of demons around him erupted into cheers, their voices rising in a fevered pitch as they chanted in unison. Medkit felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach. Whatever Scythe was holding, it had to do with the “harvesting” she had mentioned earlier, he at least picked that up.

When the ceremony finally ended, Medkit stood, watching as the other demons began to file out of the room. He followed, his mind still reeling from the strange, ritualistic display he had just witnessed. Just as he reached the door, he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. He turned to see Scythe standing behind him, a sly grin playing at the corners of her mouth.

"Hey," a familiar voice called out from behind him. It was Scythe, her voice laced with the unmistakable mix of confidence and mischief that Medkit had come to associate with her. "Remember when I told ya that I needed a favor done if you were to stick around?"

Medkit blinked, momentarily caught off guard. The ceremony had left him distracted, and Scythe’s words took a moment to register. He turned to face her, his eyes scanning her expression. There was something unsettlingly casual about the way she grinned at him that Medkit didn’t like.

"Look," Scythe continued, her grin widening, "I know you’ve got experience with machinery, 'Kit. I could really use your expertise with something." She slung her gear off her back and thrust it into Medkit’s hands. "Think you can work your magic on this and make it into something like a rifle for me, yeah?"

Medkit’s hands instinctively tightened around the cold, metallic device she had handed over. Medkit turned the gear over in his hands, inspecting it closely. Medkit thought it shouldn’t be too hard to do and wanted to go ahead and get it done to hopefully not talk to Scythe longer than he had to.

"How do you know me and my abilities?" Medkit asked cautiously, still unsure of how much these demons knew about him. His voice was calm, but there was an underlying sense of wariness fear as his eyes flickered up to meet hers.

Scythe let out a chuckle, her expression a mix of amusement and confidence. "How wouldn’t I know a famous scientist like ya?" she replied, her tone dripping with a playful arrogance. "The new uniform you're sporting looks way better than that Blackrock one you used to wear, by the way. Suits ya better."

The mention of Blackrock made Medkit tense for a moment, though he quickly composed himself. Medkit hated how the simple mention of Blackrock now made him tense, though there were too many questions swirling in his head about how they, or well Scythe, had found out about him. Before he could delve any deeper into his thoughts, Scythe’s tone darkened.

"Oh, and just so we’re clear," she added, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as she leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing, "if you mess up my gear, even in the tiniest little way… you're done for."

Medkit held her gaze, the weight of her threat sinking in. He knew better than to take her words lightly. Scythe didn’t seem like one to make empty promises, and there was something in her tone that made him believe she would carry through with her warning without hesitation. He watched her saunter off, her confident stride leaving no room for doubt. The grin on her face lingered in his mind, the playful menace behind it unsettling.

Once she was gone, Medkit exhaled deeply, his fingers gripping her gear a little tighter, and he made his way back to the room he had been given. Once inside, he closed the door behind him with a soft click and immediately set to work. 

Medkit rummaged through his gear, pulling out a pen and a scrap of paper, ans pulled the chair back into it’s proper place. The desk was uncomfortable, its hard wooden surface, though it was the only suitable place to work, so he sat down, laying Scythe’s gear and his paper in front of him.

The hours began to slip away as Medkit’s mind became fully engrossed in the task at hand. His pen darted across the paper, sketching out rough blueprints of how he would modify Scythe's gear. He muttered to himself under his breath, calculating the exact mechanisms he would need to adjust, the type of work required, and the precision with which he would need to work to turn this scythe into a functional rifle. Every time he thought he had figured something out, a new issue presented itself, forcing him to rethink his approach.

As time dragged on, Medkit became so absorbed in his work that he didn’t even notice when lunch had passed. His stomach growled softly in protest due to his lack of eating for the past day, but he ignored it. Just as Medkit was leaning in to inspect a particularly delicate component, the door to his room suddenly flew open. Startled, Medkit’s hand jerked, causing the sharp tool he had been holding to slip, pricking his finger and causing a small bead of blood to trickle from the wound.

"Hey, Meds!" a voice called out cheerily. Medkit glanced up, wincing as he applied pressure to his finger. It was Broker, standing in the doorway with his usual wide grin plastered across his face. "I saw you skipped lunch," Broker continued, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just caused Medkit to injure himself. "Don’t worry, skipping meals isn’t punishable or anything. But hey, how about joining us for dinner instead? You wouldn’t want to only eat breakfast all day, right?"

Broker’s tone was upbeat and friendly, but Medkit felt like the opposite. He forced a small, tight-lipped smile in response, his mind still preoccupied with the work scattered across the desk in front of him. Reluctantly, Medkit stood up, deciding it would be best not to offend Broker by refusing the offer. After all, the last thing he needed was to create any more trouble.

The two walked to the dining hall together in silence. The air between them was heavy with unspoken thoughts, though neither seemed inclined to break the quiet. Once inside, Medkit found his past spot at the table and sat down, though this time, he made no move to take any of the food being offered.

As dinner passed, Medkit’s thoughts drifted once again, and before he knew it, the nighttime ceremony had come and gone. He returned to his room, his legs feeling heavier with each step, and sank back into the chair at his desk. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him, but he knew he couldn’t rest just yet. There was still work to be done.

Sitting back at the desk, Medkit let out a long sigh. His thoughts briefly wandered to the earlier encounter with Broker. He was frustrated with himself for being so easily startled. It wasn’t like him to be that on edge. What had gotten into him? Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to Scythe’s gear, inspecting the progress he had made. 

His eyelids felt heavier with each passing minute, and despite his best efforts to stay awake, a yawn escaped his lips. The hours of work, combined with the weight of the day’s events, had drained him more than he realized. Unable to muster the energy to move back to his bed, Medkit slumped forward in his chair, his head resting on the desk. The faint sound of his soft breathing was the only thing that filled the room as he drifted off to sleep, still surrounded by the remnants of his work.

Chapter Text

Medkit groaned as he sat up in bed, feeling the dull throb of a headache pulsing behind his temples. The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, spilling into the room in a harsh, blinding glare. He winced, throwing his arm up to shield his eyes from the bright intrusion. The pounding in his head intensified as he blinked groggily, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Everything felt disjointed, as if the remnants of sleep still clung to his consciousness, making reality blur at the edges.

The bed beneath him was familiar, and as Medkit shifted to sit up, he became aware of a weight next to him. He turned his head, eyes narrowing as he noticed a demon lying beside him, still fast asleep. The demon’s presence was a jarring contrast to the solitude he had been craving. They had four bright pink horns, jutting out from their head. A sigh escaped Medkit's lips, the sound a mix of exasperation and resignation. He couldn’t even muster the energy to be surprised anymore.

Pushing himself off the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck, muscles stiff from the awkward position he had slept in. His head pounded, the dull ache making every movement feel sluggish and heavy. The other demon still slept soundly, their chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths, completely oblivious to Medkit’s discomfort. Medkit shook his head and made his way to the small closet at the corner of the room, grabbing a pair of casual clothes. Medkit then dragged himself to the bathroom, going in to take a shower.

The warm air of the shower hit Medkit like a wave of clarity, jolting him fully awake. The water washed over his body, sluicing away the sweat and grime of the previous night, but it did little to ease the headache or the gnawing irritation in the pit of his stomach. As the steam billowed around him, Medkit let his thoughts drift, piecing together fragments of memory. He had no idea how the demon had ended up in his bed, the previous night, or why they hadn’t left yet. The whole situation felt off, like a puzzle missing too many pieces to make sense, yet he somehow did made sense of it all. It confused Medkit.

After finishing his shower and dressing in fresh clothes, Medkit exited the bathroom, a towel around his neck. He was met with the sight of the demon standing casually in his kitchen, their back turned as they hummed softly to themselves. Their tail swished lazily behind them, going from left to right. As Medkit approached, the demon turned and extended a cup of coffee toward him with a bright, toothy smile.

“██████,” their smile widened as they spoke, their sharp teeth flashing as they held out the steaming cup. The smell of the coffee was rich and inviting, a stark contrast to the tension that still hung in the air.

Medkit accepted the cup without saying anything, though he didn’t take a sip. The warmth of the mug seeped into his hands, grounding him for a brief moment, but it did little to dull the sharp edge of his annoyance. He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes briefly before speaking.

“Why are you still here?” Medkit’s voice was low, laced with irritation. He was in no mood for the mangled mess the other was spewing, especially not with a pounding headache and a demon he barely remembered from the night before. “You should’ve left last night. I have a massive headache, and you’re the last person I want to deal with on my day off.”

The demon’s response was a garbled mess again, their voice soft yet distorted, as if their words were being filtered through static. “████████~?”

Medkit frowned, scrunching his face in confusion and frustration. The words didn’t make any sense. It was like trying to decipher a language he had never heard before, and the mangled sound only added to his growing discomfort. What was worse, he couldn’t even see the demon’s face properly. Their features were blurred, hazy, like something out of a half-forgotten dream, though their mouth remained fixed in that same unsettling smile.

“...Just leave,” Medkit muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion.

The demon complied without protest, though not before placing a hand on Medkit’s shoulder as they passed by him. The touch was brief but deliberate, their fingers cold against his skin. They leaned in close, whispering something unintelligible into his ears.

“█████…”

Medkit jerked away instinctively, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. He watched as the demon left, disappearing through the door without so much as a glance back…

Medkit shot awake as soon as the imaginary door shut, noticing it was all a dream… again. Rubbing his face, Medkit let out a long, weary groan. The dreams he's been having lately left a bitter taste in his mouth. It lingered in the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch, and the sensation of the demon’s cold hand on his shoulder stayed with him long after the dream ended.

The room felt stifling, the air thick and oppressive, made worse by the absence of windows. The same sandstone-esque walls around him gave the place a tomb-like quality, trapping the heat and making it almost unbearable. His skin was damp with sweat, and every breath felt heavier than the last, though Medkit didn’t know if this was because of him waking up or the actual heat of the desert. 

He wasn’t too sure if he preferred it hot like it is now, or feeling cold like before. 

Medkit pushed himself up, stretching his stiff limbs as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on the puddle of vomit still staining the floor from earlier, and his face scrunching in distaste.

He crossed the room, pulling open one of the drawers in the wooden desk and finding a rag. Kneeling down, he cleaned the mess as best he could, though the acrid smell still lingered in the air, making his stomach churn. Once he had finished, he tossed the soiled rag into the trash can with a sense of finality, hoping that would be the last time he would vomit.

With nothing else to do, Medkit returned to the desk, sitting down in the hard wooden chair. The surface was cluttered with papers and tools, remnants of the work he had been engrossed in the nights before. Without much thought, he resumed working on Scythe’s gear, losing himself in the familiar motions. Time passed in a blur, the steady rhythm of his hands moving over the machinery providing a temporary escape from the restless thoughts that gnawed at the back of his mind.

Hours later, a knock sounded at the door, breaking his concentration. Medkit blinked, his focus momentarily shattered as he turned toward the door.

“Hey, Meds!” Broker’s voice rang out from the other side, far too cheerful for Medkit’s liking. “Make sure to come to the morning ceremony! I didn’t see you at breakfast, so I just wanted to make sure you knew what time it was!”

Medkit sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose again as Broker’s footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the distance. Reluctantly, he stood from the desk and made his way to the door. He twisted the knob and stepped out into the hallway, joining the pile of demons heading toward the nave of the church.

The ceremony that followed was almost identical to the one from the previous day. Scythe and Broker stood at the front, flanking The Father as he delivered another monotone sermon filled with religious saying. There was no mention of “harvesting” this time, much to Medkit’s relief to not see anymore bloody things, though the oppressive atmosphere remained. The other demons seemed enraptured by The Father’s words, nodding and murmuring in agreement at almost every phrase, but Medkit found it difficult to care.

As soon as they were dismissed, Medkit decided to wander rather than retreat back to his room.

As Medkit strolled aimlessly through the church’s seemingly endless maze of sandstone corridors, the air hung heavy with an oppressive stillness. His footsteps echoed faintly, the soles of his boots scraping against the worn stone floor, while dim lights flickered sporadically overhead, casting long, distorted shadows on the walls. He had no real destination in mind, his thoughts drifting as his body moved on autopilot. The corridors all looked the same, their dull, sandy walls blending into one another, creating an unsettling sense of claustrophobia despite the space.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, something caught his eye, a narrow staircase at the far end of the hall, leading up to a floor above. The stairs were old, their once smooth surfaces worn down from years of use. Above the staircase, an open balcony beckoned, the heavy wooden doors leading outside ajar, allowing a sliver of daylight to stream through. It was the first hint of the outside world Medkit had seen since he’d arrived at the church, and a surge of curiosity stirred within him.

Without a second thought, Medkit quickened his pace, climbing the creaky steps two at a time, each footfall accompanied by the groan of old wood beneath his weight. The air grew warmer the higher he went, and by the time he reached the top, a slight sheen of sweat had already formed on his brow. He pushed open the doors to the balcony fully, stepping out into the blistering daylight. The heat hit him like a wall, the dry desert air thick and unforgiving as it wrapped around him. Beads of sweat immediately began to form on his forehead, trickling down his face as he squinted against the harsh glare of the sun.

The view from the balcony was far from impressive. The endless stretch of barren desert of The Lost Temple sprawled out before him, an ocean of sand dunes and jagged rock formations that seemed to go on forever. The horizon shimmered with heat, making the distant landscape waver like a mirage. The church stood isolated in this desolate wasteland, far removed from any signs of life or civilization. Medkit leaned on the railing, his eyes scanning the vast emptiness, but there was nothing, just the same monotonous, sandy expanse in every direction. The sun hung high in the sky, its brutal rays baking the world below, making the air shimmer and ripple.

The balcony itself was high, uncomfortably high, Medkit realized. He glanced over the edge, his stomach lurching slightly as he took in the dizzying drop below. A fall from this height would surely be brutal, and at the very least, would shatter every bone in his legs. The thought sent a chill down his spine despite the heat, and he instinctively stepped back from the edge, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Suddenly, Medkit felt a cold hand on his shoulder, the unexpected touch making him jolt. He spun around, his heart pounding, only to find Broker standing behind him, his ever-present smile fixed on his face. The smaller demon’s dark horns glinted faintly in the sunlight, and his tail swished lazily behind him, brushing lightly against Medkit’s leg in a way that made his skin crawl.

“Hmm… seems we didn’t close this earlier…,” Broker murmured in reference to the doors, his voice low and almost absent-minded. His eyes drifted to the open view of the desert before settling back on Medkit. “Most followers don’t get the luxury of viewing the outside like this, you know. It's not exactly encouraged.”

Medkit swallowed, feeling a tight knot of unease form in his stomach as Broker’s gaze lingered on him a moment too long. There was something unsettling about the way he spoke, the way his words seemed to jump from one subject to the next without warning, leaving Medkit on edge. The swish of Broker's tail against his leg did nothing to help matters, Medkit had no clue why Broker was doing this, but it felt invasive, causing Medkit to resist the urge to take another step back.

“Oh, and don’t have any ideas about trying to escape,” Broker added, his tone becoming almost singsong. “We would hate to see you leave.”

The cheerful cadence in Broker's voice clashed with the veiled threat embedded in his words. Medkit’s discomfort deepened, and he gave a stiff nod in response, understanding the unspoken warning. This wasn’t a place where wandering freely, especially outside, was permitted. He had already overstayed his welcome on the balcony.

Without saying another word, Medkit turned and headed back inside, his skin prickling with a sense of unease as he walked. He could feel Broker’s eyes on him, watching him as he retreated, and the sound of the heavy wooden doors being shut and locked behind him echoed through the corridor like a final, oppressive punctuation to the encounter.

The rest of the day passed in an eerie sense of routine. Lunch, dinner, the nighttime ceremony, it all blurred together in a haze of repetition. Medkit went through the motions, mechanically following the daily rituals of the church. His mind, however, was elsewhere, distracted by thoughts of the day’s strange events and the growing weight of his discomfort in this place. Even as he worked on Scythe’s gear, his hands moving with practiced precision over the intricate machinery, his thoughts drifted, unable to shake the feeling that something was very off here. Medkit thought that something was off since the beginning, but the idea was setting in at this point.

The clink of metal against metal was suddenly interrupted by a piercing scream, so loud and unexpected that it jolted Medkit out of his trance-like state. His heart raced as the sound echoed through the stone walls, and without thinking, he stood up from the desk, his body moving on instinct. He was curious to know where the scream had come from, which was stupid and Medkit knew that. 

Moving as quietly as possible, Medkit slipped out of his room, the door creaking slightly as he opened it. He paused, listening intently. There it was again, another scream, faint but distinct, coming from somewhere deeper within the church. He crept down the hallway, his footsteps soft against the cold stone floor as he followed the sound.

After several twists and turns, he found himself behind a corner of a more open area, the faint light of flickering torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. In the middle of the space, a demon knelt on the ground, blood pooling around them in a dark, viscous puddle. Medkit peered around the corner, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the gruesome scene. Scythe stood behind the demon, her twin tails swishing back and forth in a slow, methodical rhythm. In her hand, she held a long whip, its end slick with fresh blood.

Without warning, she lashed the whip across the demon’s back once more, the sharp crack of the leather striking flesh making Medkit flinch. Blood splattered across the floor, adding to the growing pool beneath the demon. The victim whimpered but remained silent this time, their body trembling with pain.

“Ya think that’s enough for the sins you’ve committed against the Church now?” Scythe purred, her voice low and dangerous. She leaned in close, her lips brushing against the demon’s ear as she whispered, her words dripping with malice.

The demon shook their head weakly, their body sagging under the weight of their suffering. Scythe sneered, a look of disdain crossing her face as she kicked them in the back, sending him sprawling face-first into the blood-soaked ground. The sound of their body hitting the floor echoed through the chamber, and Scythe turned her gaze toward the very spot where Medkit was hiding.

Panic surged through Medkit’s veins, and he quickly pulled back, pressing himself against the wall as quietly as possible. His heart hammered in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears as he prayed that Scythe hadn’t seen him. He could hear her footsteps approaching, the slow, deliberate click of her heels growing louder with each passing second.

Medkit’s breath caught in his throat as he bolted back down the hallway, his movements swift and silent as he navigated the twisting corridors. Every instinct screamed at him to get back to his room, back to the limited safety he had. Medkit’s pulse raced as he slipped into his quarters, shutting the door behind him with as little noise as possible.

Without thinking, Medkit rushed to his bed and slid under the covers, turning his body away from the door. He pulled the blanket up over his mouth to muffle his breathing, his heart still pounding in his chest. The room felt stifling, the air thick and oppressive, but he forced himself to lie still, hoping that if Scythe did enter, she would believe he was asleep.

Sure enough, the door creaked open, and Medkit’s heart nearly stopped. He could hear the soft click of Scythe’s heels as she stepped into the room, her presence a looming shadow at the foot of his bed. Medkit squeezed his eyes shut, willing his breathing to even out, hoping against hope that she would be convinced.

For what felt like an eternity, Scythe stood there, her gaze burning into his back. Medkit didn’t dare move, every muscle in his body tense with fear. Finally, after what seemed like an agonizing eternity, she made a noise of annoyance and turned to leave, the door clicking shut behind her as she exited.

Medkit exhaled shakily, his body trembling with the release of tension. He laid there for a while, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on him. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and his eyes grew heavy. Sleep claimed him, dragging him down into a dreamless void, though his unconscious mind was anything but peaceful.

In his dreams, Medkit was once again with the demon with the four bright pink horns. They sat together on a couch, side by side. Medkit was completely lost in a drunken haze, the world around him warping into a fuzzy, incoherent blur. He felt light, like he was floating, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. The demon sitting beside him on the couch, with their striking four bright pink horns, spoke the same way that Medkit couldn’t even begin to understand. The words rolled off their tongue like a foreign melody,, but utterly meaningless to Medkit’s intoxicated ears. Despite this, he found himself giggling uncontrollably at the sound, his tail swishing back and forth in a lively, erratic rhythm that mirrored his own lack of coordination.

The other demon tilted their head slightly, their gaze soft and curious as they scooted a little closer to Medkit. "████████?" they asked, their tone low and soothing.

“Youff’re making noo sens-! You’r- soo funny~!” Medkit slurred, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a jumbled mess. He laughed again, the sound bubbling up from deep in his chest before he lost his balance and toppled sideways, collapsing against the other demon’s shoulder. The world tilted along with him, spinning gently as his body came to rest against the demon. His vision blurred, the edges of everything fading into an indistinct haze, but even in his drunken stupor, he could feel the warmth radiating from the demon’s body.

The pink-horned demon didn’t seem to mind Medkit’s sudden collapse. They simply wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer with a gentle, reassuring pressure. The touch was comforting, grounding, and Medkit snuggled into it without hesitation, his face pressing against the soft fabric of the demon’s shirt. He groaned softly, the sound a mix of contentment and the vague awareness that he was, indeed, a mess.

“Ughh… I’mff such a messs… I’mf soo horibl-…,” Medkit muttered, his voice muffled against the demon’s chest. The weight of his own words, though slurred, felt heavy in his mind. Even in his drunken state, the feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy were bubbling up, unbidden, to the surface. He let out a long, shaky sigh, the alcohol dulling his usual defenses and allowing his insecurities to spill out without restraint.

The demon, however, didn’t seem fazed by Medkit’s self-deprecating mumbling. Instead, they carefully picked him up, shifting him so that he was now sitting in their lap. Their arms wrapped around him, cradling his body with an almost protective gentleness. Medkit’s head leaned forward slightly as the demon held his face in their hands, their touch firm yet tender, as if they were trying to convey something through the simple act of holding him.

“███████,” the demon whispered, their voice soft and melodic, though the words still made no sense to Medkit. The demon’s tail, which had been lazily swishing behind them, now curled around Medkit’s leg in an intimate, almost affectionate gesture. The sensation sent a strange, pleasant warmth through Medkit’s body, and for a brief moment, the drunken haze that clouded his mind seemed to lift, if only slightly.

The demon then leaned forward, their movements slow and deliberate, and gently clicked their horns against Medkit’s. The soft sound of the horns touching resonated in the quiet room, creating a sense of closeness that words could never quite capture. They held that position for a few moments, the warmth of their bodies mingling as their horns remained connected. Then, just as gently, the demon pulled back, a soft smile playing on their lips as they gazed down at Medkit.

Medkit, meanwhile, was struggling to keep his eyes open. His head felt impossibly heavy, and he could feel himself drifting, slipping further and further into the warm embrace of sleep. 

Medkit rested his head on the demon’s shoulder, his body relaxing fully as he mumbled incoherently in reference to the other’s previous whisper. “I dunno what youff’re saying-...” His voice trailed off into a sleepy mumble, the last of his words lost as exhaustion finally overtook him. The demon wrapped their arms around Medkit once again, holding him securely as he began to drift off. The warmth of their body, combined with the soft rhythm of their breathing, lulled Medkit deeper into sleep. 

When Medkit awoke again, it was with a sharp, pounding headache that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His mouth was dry, his throat parched, and his entire body felt heavy and sluggish, as if weighed down by the aftereffects of too much alcohol. Groaning softly, he cracked open his eyes, blinking blearily as his surroundings slowly came into focus. He was no longer on the couch, instead, he found himself lying in a large, soft bed, the sheets tangled around his limbs. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to block out the harsh morning light, and there, lying beside him, was the pink-horned demon.

Medkit’s head was resting against their chest, and the demon’s hand was gently stroking his hair, the motion slow and soothing. For a moment, Medkit simply laid there, too disoriented to process what was happening. Then, as the fog of sleep cleared and the reality of the situation sank in, he groaned and pushed the demon’s hand away, sitting up abruptly.

"Fuck… What... What happened..." Medkit muttered, his voice rough and gravelly from sleep. He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to massage away the headache that pulsed behind his eyes. His memory of the previous night was fragmented at best, a series of blurry images and disjointed moments that refused to fully come together. He didn’t want to know the full story. Whatever had happened between him and the demon, it was best left forgotten.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know, I’m leaving,” he mumbled, more to himself than to the demon. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he began to fumble for his shoes, his movements slow and uncoordinated. His head still pounded with every step, but he managed to pull on his shoes and stand up, albeit shakily. Without sparing the demon another glance, he left the house, stepping out into the cold, snowy region of Blackrock. When faced with his surroundings, he noticed that Medkit must've been in the other demon’s house.

The biting wind cut through his clothes as he made his way through the quiet streets, the fresh snow crunching beneath his boots. Eventually, he found a bench and sat down, the cold metal pressing against him as he rummaged through the pockets of his uniform. Medkit fished out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, pulling one out and lighting it with a flick of his thumb. Taking a long, deep drag, he tilted his head back and exhaled, watching the smoke curl up into the cold air. The nicotine hit him hard, helping to dull the lingering effects of the hangover, though it did little to soothe the turmoil in his mind…

Time flew by fast, surprisingly.

It had been a week since that close call with Scythe. 

A week since he had nearly been caught sneaking out after the nighttime ceremony. 

The memory still weighed heavily on him, though he wasn’t sure how close he had come to actually being discovered. He had spent the time working on Scythe’s gear, pushing himself to finish it before any more questions could be raised. When he had finally completed it, he had sought Scythe out, finding her outside the nave of the church.

“Way to go ‘Kit!” Scythe had praised him, her thick accent giving her words a playful edge. “Keep it up and I may even send ya a blessing to The Father!” She gave him a wink before continuing, her tone dropping to a lower, more serious note. “Oh, by the way… last week you didn’t happen to sneak out, did ya? I heard somethin', and I swore I also heard yer door opening and closing... though I may be wrong.”

Medkit had felt his heart skip a beat at her words, but he had kept his face impassive, nodding calmly as he lied. "Thank you, and no, it wasn’t me. If I find out something on whoever snuck out, I’ll let you know," he had responded smoothly, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest.

Scythe had studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read his thoughts. Then, after a tense second, she shrugged. “Ahh... I must’ve been mistaken, sorry,” she had said casually before walking off with her newly modified gear in hand.

Afterward, Medkit had wandered aimlessly through the church, eventually making his way to the library. As Medkit stepped into the dusty, dimly lit room, the air inside was thick with the scent of aged paper and neglect. A fine layer of dust clung to every surface, making the dim light from the windows appear hazy as it filtered through the neglected space. 

The dust tickled the back of his throat, causing him to cough softly as he flicked on the old lamp perched on the corner of a nearby desk. The weak, yellowish light illuminated the otherwise forgotten room, casting long, flickering shadows across the uneven rows of bookshelves that lined the walls.

It was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint rustling of his clothing as he moved through the space. For a moment, Medkit stood still, his eyes scanning the countless rows of bookshelves filled with crumbling tomes and forgotten knowledge. It was hard not to feel like he was the only person who had set foot in this library for years.

Medkit began wandering through the shelves, running his fingers over the spines of old books as he searched for something, anything, that might catch his interest. Eventually, his hand rested on a dusty, thick volume about plants. It wasn’t particularly appealing, but after the strenuous work he had been putting into Scythe’s gear over the past week, Medkit didn’t care. He just wanted a moment of peace. 

He pulled the book from the shelf and carried it back to a nearby table, the musty smell of decaying paper wafting up as he flipped through the pages. The book’s content was as dull as he had anticipated, detailing various species of plants with long, technical descriptions that he barely skimmed. His eyes glazed over as the words blurred together, the monotonous descriptions acting like a lullaby. Exhaustion crept in, the strain of days spent working non-stop beginning to take its toll. 

Before he knew it, Medkit’s eyelids grew impossibly heavy, and he slumped over the open book, fast asleep. The soft glow of the lamp was the only witness to his sudden surrender to sleep, the library as silent as ever.

Some time passed, Scythe, who had been patrolling the church like she often did, noticed the faint, flickering light coming from the small window of the library. Curious, she quietly stepped inside, her boots making barely a sound on the worn wooden floor as she approached Medkit’s sleeping form. She took in the scene for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the state of the room and the figure slumped over the table, fast asleep. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, amused by the sight.

Without making a fuss, Scythe carefully lifted Medkit, carrying him out of the library and down the dimly lit hallways of the church. She moved with ease, navigating the familiar twists and turns until she reached his room. With surprising gentleness, she laid him down in his bed, tucking the blankets around him before quietly slipping out, leaving him to rest.

When Medkit awoke the next morning, there was no memory of dreams to greet him, only the quiet, unremarkable sensation of waking from an unusually deep sleep. He blinked blearily at the ceiling for a moment, his body still heavy with sleep, before slowly sitting up.

As he stretched and rubbed his eyes, Medkit’s thoughts immediately turned back to the small crystal inside his gear. He had been studying it for weeks, trying to unlock the potential it held. Despite his efforts, he hadn’t been able to recreate the strange healing effects it once demonstrated. Frustration gnawed at him, but it only pushed him to work harder.

He dragged himself out of bed and shuffled to his desk, where his gear lay waiting. With careful hands, Medkit opened it up and removed the crystal, holding it between his fingers. He turned it over and over, inspecting its smooth surface in the light. He tried several different methods to get a response from it, each one as fruitless as the last. Just as he was about to give up for the day, his door suddenly creaked open, interrupting his thoughts.

Broker leaned against the doorframe, his familiar, mischievous grin plastered across his face. “Hey! Scythe told me that she wants you to ‘get a reward’ as thanks for all your hard work. Follow me,” he said, not waiting for a response.

Medkit, momentarily taken aback, quickly packed away his things and got up to follow. The two of them walked in silence through the sprawling church, their footsteps echoing in the vast, empty corridors. They passed through the more familiar parts of the building and ventured into areas Medkit had rarely seen, dusty, neglected corners that seemed to be forgotten by most of the followers. Finally, they reached an old door, its wood weathered and faded. Broker fished out a key, unlocked it with haste, and gestured for Medkit to step inside.

The room beyond was cluttered and chaotic, filled with all sorts of items and weapons scattered haphazardly on shelves and tables. Dust clung to every surface, adding to the sense that this room, like the library, had long since been abandoned by most. The only object of note was a sturdy desk sitting in the middle of the room, worn but still standing strong. Medkit approached it cautiously, his eyes darting around at the various clutter strewn about.

Broker rummaged through a nearby pile of weapons, pulling out a small, sleek revolver. His tail flicked with excitement as he brought it over to the desk, setting it down with a flourish. “Ever heard of gear laundering, Meds?” Broker asked with a sly grin. “Ha, well, Scythe wanted you to get a weapon, and I think this revolver suits you just fine, don’t you think?”

Medkit examined the gun silently. It was simple but well-crafted, with a weight that felt just right in his hand. He nodded in agreement, feeling a small sense of satisfaction at the prospect of adding it to his collection. Free weapons weren’t exactly something to pass up, especially considering how limited his own gear was when it came to combat.

“Good, good! Glad you like it! Aren’t I just the best?” Broker continued, his voice full of playful self-satisfaction. “Now, give me your gear for a second.”

Medkit hesitated but complied, handing over his gear. Broker set to work immediately, wrapping both the revolver and Medkit’s gear in the deep colors of the church’s uniform. He even incorporated the diamond shapes that adorned the pants of their uniforms, adding a sense of unity to the design. When he was finished, he handed everything back to Medkit with a grin. 

“Here you go! All followers get their gear wrapped eventually. Hope you enjoy your new toy, but don’t go abusing that power now!” Broker teased, giving Medkit a gentle push out of the room. Medkit took the hint and left, glancing back as Broker shut the door behind him.

Back in his room, Medkit sat at his desk, inspecting the revolver and his newly wrapped gear. He couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the gun, even if it felt a little strange to receive a gift like this. 

His mind drifted back to the crystal as he absentmindedly grabbed it from his gear again. He had been so focused on trying to replicate its healing powers, yet every attempt had failed.

And so, a year passed surprisingly fast as well. 

Day after day, Medkit followed the same routine. He would wake up, study the crystal, attend the morning ceremony, study some more, eat lunch, and continue his research well into the night, only stopping for the nighttime ceremony before falling asleep again. Time seemed to blur, the endless cycle of work and ritual distorting his sense of reality. Medkit barely noticed how fast time was going, his mind too focused on his goal. 

It wasn’t until night, after yet another long day of fruitless study, that Medkit realized something. As he sat at his desk, examining the crystal in his hands, he paused and glanced at the calendar he was gifted months ago. 

Today was his birthday. 

He stared at the date, the realization sinking in slowly. It didn’t feel like a birthday. No one at the church had mentioned it, and why would they? 

Birthdays weren’t something that held any significance here.

For a long moment, Medkit simply sat there, turning the crystal over in his hands, feeling the cool, smooth surface against his fingers. The soft light of the lamp on his desk cast long shadows across the room, and the quiet stillness of the night seemed to press in around him. He wasn’t even sure why he was bothering anymore. The endless cycle of studying, experimenting, and failing had drained him of the motivation that had once driven him. 

Still, out of habit more than anything else, Medkit pushed up the sleeves of his uniform, exposing his pale forearms to start working. As he did, he noticed a small scrape near his right wrist, a cut he hadn’t even realized he’d gotten. It was barely more than a scratch, but it gave him an idea. He held the crystal up to the scrape, more out of curiosity than any real expectation that it would do anything.

To his surprise, a faint glow began to emanate from the crystal, soft and barely perceptible at first, but unmistakable. 

His breath caught in his throat as he examined the now perfectly smooth skin where the scrape had been. There wasn’t even the faintest trace of the injury. No scar. No redness. Nothing to suggest he had ever been wounded at all. Medkit blinked, his mind racing to catch up with what had just transpired. He felt a wave of doubt wash over him, wondering if perhaps he had imagined the whole thing, if the long hours of work and sleepless nights had finally taken their toll and he was hallucinating.

But no, there it was, plain as day. His arm, fully healed.

Medkit shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the disbelief. His heart was pounding now, a mixture of excitement, fear, and curiosity swirling inside him. Could this be real? Had the crystal finally responded after all this time? Medkit’s mind was alight with questions, but there was only one way to be sure.

Without hesitating, he reached for the pencil that laid on the cluttered surface of his desk. Medkit stared at the tip of the pencil, sharp and unforgiving, and then back at his arm. 

With a sharp intake of breath, Medkit stabbed the pencil directly into his forearm, wincing at the sharp pain as the point punctured his skin. The pain was real, vivid, and raw, and for a brief moment, a voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to stop. 

Blood welled up from the wound, dark and thick, flowing in slow beads down his pale skin. Medkit watched the crimson droplets trail down his arm, felt the sting of the injury, and forced himself to remain calm.

His hands shook slightly as he reached for the crystal, holding it close to the wound, his breath shallow and uneven as he waited for something, anything, to happen. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly as he stared at the glowing crystal, feeling the weight of his decision settle on him. 

Was this going to work? Had the first healing been nothing more than a fluke, a trick of the light, or his exhausted mind playing tricks on him?

Then, just as Medkit was about to give up hope, the crystal began to glow again. It was faint at first, a subtle shimmer that bathed the room in a soft, almost otherworldly light. Medkit’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the glow intensify, the light spreading across his arm, enveloping the wound. Within seconds, the torn flesh began to knit itself back together. The blood stopped flowing, the skin smoothed over, and the gash disappeared as if it had never been there in the first place.

Medkit stared in awe at his arm, his mouth slightly agape. The wound was gone, completely healed, leaving behind nothing but the blood that had already spilled. His mind struggled to process what he had just witnessed. The pain, the blood, the injury, they had all been real. And now they were gone, erased by the strange powers of the crystal.

Medkit wiped the remaining blood off his arm with a scrap piece of paper, his hands trembling from both the shock and the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The crystal had healed him, again. There was no denying it now. This was real. The power was real. And it was far beyond anything he had imagined.

Medkit leaned back in his chair, brushing his fingers through his hair as he tried to collect his thoughts. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, excitement, curiosity, and a deep, gnawing sense of uncertainty. 

Medkit sighed deeply, the weight of the day settling heavily on his shoulders. He had been searching for answers for so long, chasing the faint hope that he could recreate the healing power of the crystal, and now, at last, it had happened. But instead of the triumph he had imagined, Medkit felt almost lost. What was he supposed to do now?

He stood from his desk, his legs feeling weak beneath him as he paced the small room. Medkit kept glancing at the crystal, still glowing faintly on the desk, its soft light casting eerie shadows on the walls. His mind raced with possibilities. If the crystal could heal these minor wounds, what else could it do? Could it heal more serious injuries? Could it be used to help others, to save lives? The potential seemed limitless, and yet Medkit couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of something much larger than he could fully grasp.

As Medkit continued to do circles, exhaustion overtook him. The emotional and physical toll of the day, combined with the months of sleepless nights and fruitless research, left him feeling drained. He cast one last glance at the crystal, now lying dormant on his desk, before making his way over to his bed. His body felt heavy, his muscles aching with fatigue, but his mind refused to quiet. 

Medkit laid down, pulling the thin, worn blanket over himself as he stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts still racing. Sleep seemed like an impossibility, but eventually, his body gave in, and the exhaustion pulled him under.

As Medkit drifted off into a slightly fitful and restless sleep, the crystal remained on his desk, its faint glow slowly fading until the room was once again bathed in darkness.

In the now quiet stillness of his room, the only thing that mattered was that the crystal had finally answered to Medkit. In its quiet, mysterious way, it had given him the one thing he hadn’t even realized he needed: hope.

Yet, it all felt bittersweet.

Chapter Text

The cold night air of Blackrock wrapped around Medkit like a suffocating blanket, the icy wind cutting through his clothes, chilling him to the bone. He leaned against the rough, weathered wall of the lab, his breath coming out in short, visible puffs that quickly dissolved into the dark. Next to him stood the same pink-horned demon, their presence a silent but familiar comfort. The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder in the frigid night, passing a nearly spent cigarette back and forth, the glowing ember flickering weakly in the biting cold.

Medkit tilted his head back, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky. The stars twinkled faintly above, scattered like distant specks of light in the inky blackness. The moon hung low on the horizon, casting a dim, silvery glow over the snow-covered landscape. He took a deep drag from the cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs with a warmth that momentarily eased the cold that clung to him. His hand shook slightly as he passed the cigarette back to the other demon, watching as they accepted it with a smile.

The demon’s bright pink eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the dim light from the stars above. Their gaze was intense yet soft, their eyes locking onto Medkit’s with an almost unnerving precision, as though they could see through him, peeling away the layers of weariness, frustration, and pain that clung to his soul. Medkit sighed heavily, feeling the weight of those eyes on him. The cigarette was passed back without him realizing.

As he took another long drag, the smoke burned slightly at the back of his throat, making him wince. Medkit exhaled slowly, the smoke swirling around him in a cloud before being whisked away by the wind. He rubbed his face with his free hand, the weariness etched deep into his bones. “Ugh,” Medkiy muttered, the words slipping out almost involuntarily. “I feel horrible right now.” His voice was low, raspy from the cold and smoke. “Sometimes I wish we could just have more days off than what we have… Nights like these make me feel gross.”

He coughed harshly after his words, the smoke irritating his lungs. “I’m not sure how to word what I’m trying to say, but I’m just… tired.” He paused, staring at the nearly finished cigarette between his fingers before glancing at the demon next to him. “Oh, why am I even talking to you… You can’t even understand what I’m saying…”

“██████… ███████,” the demon responded in their quiet, incomprehensible language, their voice soft and low. The words were foreign, unintelligible to Medkit, but there was a strange comfort in their tone, something gentle in the way they spoke. Without warning, they scooted closer to him, their warmth seeping through the cold night. They reached out and took Medkit’s hand, their touch cool but reassuring. Then, in a gesture that Medkit had come to recognize, they leaned in and gently clicked their horns against his, a subtle sign of closeness.

The demon took the cigarette from Medkit’s hand, their fingers brushing lightly against his as they did so. With a graceful movement, they stomped the cigarette out in the snow, the glowing ember flickering one last time before it was extinguished. The demon then gestured for Medkit to follow, their pink eyes catching the faint light of the moon as they looked back at him. They began to walk, their figure cutting through the snow like a phantom in the night, their long tail trailing behind them in the fresh powder.

Medkit hesitated for a moment before pushing off the wall and falling into step beside them. Their hands remained intertwined, the connection between them feeling oddly natural, as though it had been that way for much longer than he could remember. The snow crunched beneath their boots as they made their way through the quiet, desolate landscape, the wind whispering around them. The cold gnawed at Medkit’s exposed skin, but the warmth of the demon’s hand in his provided a strange comfort, a tether to the present as they made their way to the demon’s home.

After what felt like an eternity walking through the snow, they arrived at a small, nondescript building nestled among the others in Blackrock. The demon let go of Medkit’s hand to unlock the door, their fingers moving deftly despite the cold. They pushed the door open and stepped inside, holding it for Medkit to follow before closing it behind him and locking it with a soft click.

The inside of the home was simple and sparsely furnished. The air was warmer, though it still carried the faint chill of the outside. Medkit sat down on the worn but comfortable couch, his body sinking into the cushions as he exhaled a long breath. He could hear the faint sounds of the demon moving around in the next room, their footsteps light and purposeful. Moments later, they returned with a set of clothes in their arms, offering them to Medkit.

Medkit stood up from the couch, ready to take the clothes, but as he moved, something strange happened. He froze in place, his body suddenly rigid, as a wave of déjà vu washed over him. His heart raced as the realization struck him like a punch to the gut.

He remembered this. All of it. 

The cold night, the walk through the snow, the cigarette, the soft click of the demon’s horns against his own. This wasn’t just a random moment in his dreams, it was a memory. A memory that had been buried deep in the recesses of his mind, forgotten until now. His eyes widened as he looked at the demon’s face, the features that had been slowly unblurred in his dreams the past year coming into focus.

It was Subspace. 

Of course, it was Subspace. How had he not seen it before? Everything was the same, the same smile, the same bright pink eyes, the same matching horns. For the past year, Medkit had been dreaming of these moments, reliving them over and over without even realizing it. They were memories, not dreams, and now they had resurfaced, clearer than ever.

Subspace set the clothes down on the coffee table and walked toward Medkit, their expression soft but concerned. “███e █n let’█ r█n you █ bath,” they said quietly, their hand resting gently on the small of Medkit’s back. “You said you felt gross, right?”

Medkit shook his head, his voice barely a whisper as he replied, “No… I… I don’t want to. I’m fine… I’m going to leave now.” His body trembled slightly, his mind overwhelmed by the sudden rush of memories and emotions. He tried to move, to leave, but his legs refused to obey him. He was stuck, frozen in place by a combination of confusion and a strange, overwhelming sense of obligation.

Subspace frowned, their expression tinged with hurt as they placed their hands on Medkit’s shoulders. “Oh, you pain me, Meddy~!” Subspace said, their voice light but with an undercurrent of desperation. “You agree to come over, yet you decide to leave just as I try to do something nice. Come on, you’ve bathed here enough already. I’ll let you spend the night, make you dinner… or… or breakfast! That’s what friends are for, right?” Subspace’s voice wavered slightly as they rambled on, sounding more desperate with each word. “We’ve already done so much together, you’re making such a big deal over nothing~!”

Medkit’s heart sank as a wave of guilt washed over him. Was he really making a big deal out of nothing? Subspace had always been kind to him, always offering him a place to stay, food, and company. Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe he was just tired, confused from the sudden flood of memories. He looked down at the floor, his thoughts a jumbled mess. Medki’s fingers curling into fists at his sides as he wrestled with his decision.

Finally, he sighed, the sound barely more than a whisper. “Alright, I’ll stay the night,” he muttered, the words heavy on his tongue. 

He glanced up at Subspace, his eyes dull with resignation. The other demon’s face lit up with a wide grin, a spark of triumph flashing in his eyes as he grabbed the set of clothes from the nearby table and took Medkit’s hand once again, leading him toward the bathroom.

The bathroom was small, and cold. The walls were a dull, faded gray, the single light overhead flickered occasionally, casting long, wavering shadows over the space. Medkit stepped inside and quickly released Subspace’s hand, the warmth of their connection replaced by the cool air of the bathroom. He stood awkwardly by the door, staring at Subspace, waiting for him to leave so he could have some space to think.

Subspace, however, lingered. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a sly grin as he leaned against the doorframe. “Are you wanting me to leave?” he asked, his voice teasing, as if the idea itself was absurd. “Oh, Meddy, how rude! This is my house after all.” His grin widened as he stepped further into the room. “Don’t you remember the last time we did this? Remember how content you were, how your tail couldn’t stop wagging? You even fell asleep in the tub, if I remember correctly. It was so cu-”

“Okay, okay! Just… shut up,” Medkit snapped, his voice sharp, his face scrunched up in annoyance. His horns tingled with frustration, and he turned away from Subspace, desperate to block out the demon’s incessant talking. He moved to the faucet, gripping the handles a little too tightly as he turned the water on. The tub was a mix between a shower and a bath, the fixtures rusted and creaking as the water poured out in a steady stream. The sound of running water filled the small bathroom, drowning out the noise in Medkit’s head for a moment.

Subspace chuckled quietly, clearly amused by Medkit’s irritation. “Suit yourself,” he said, still smiling as he set the clothes on the counter. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” With that, he turned and exited the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As soon as Subspace was gone, Medkit felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. He stood there for a moment, staring at the water as it filled the tub, steam rising up and fogging the mirror. His hands trembled slightly as he began to undress, his fingers clumsily untying the sash-esque right sleeve of his uniform. He slipped out of his clothes, the familiar weight of the fabric falling away as he stood naked in the cold bathroom. The air pricked at his skin, goosebumps rising on his arms as he stepped into the tub and sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

The water was warm, but it did little to soothe the turmoil inside him. He sat there, his chin resting on his knees, his thoughts swirling in an endless loop. Why had he agreed to stay? Why hadn’t he just left? He felt trapped, not by Subspace, but by his own conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to leave, to run far away from this place and never look back. But another part of him, the part that remembered the warmth and comfort Subspace had provided in the past, told him to stay. Told him that maybe, just maybe, he owed Subspace something for all those times he had been there for him.

Medkit closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He just wanted to forget…

Medkit jolted awake, his heart pounding in his chest, his body slick with sweat. He gasped for breath, his lungs burning as if he had just run a marathon. His mind was a blur, the remnants of the dream, the memory, fading away as he tried to grasp onto the details. He sat up too quickly, the sudden movement sending him tumbling off the side of his bed. One of his horns hit the hard floor with a dull thud, and he groaned, rubbing the spot where the impact had been.

For a moment, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had happened. The dream had been so vivid, so real. The bathroom, the bath, Subspace’s voice, everything had felt like he was reliving it all over again.

His eyes drifted over to his desk, and suddenly, the memory of the previous night came rushing back. He had tapped into the power of the crystal, just like Subspace had over a year ago. Medkit’s heart raced again, but this time with excitement rather than fear. He scrambled to his feet and rushed to the desk, grabbing his gear, his fingers fumbling.

Medkit felt a surge of energy coursing through him as he held the crystal in his hands, its faint green glow pulsing gently. He wanted to tell someone. He had to show someone what he had discovered. But who? His mind raced through the possibilities before landing on one name: Scythe. She was a higher-up, someone with authority, someone who could help him, or at least give him some recognition for his work… hopefully.

Without wasting another second, Medkit weny out of his room, the excitement propelling him forward as he ran through the hallways of the church. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls, his breath coming in quick bursts as he searched for Scythe. Finally, he spotted her patrolling the church’s corridors, her imposing figure standing out against the dim light.

“Woah there, what’s got ya all hyper, ‘Kit?” Scythe asked, raising an eyebrow as Medkit skidded to a stop in front of her, rummaging through his gear with frantic energy. He finally found what he was looking for and held up the green crystal, its glow casting a soft light over his face.

“You know that I worked in Blackrock, right? In that lab?” Medkit started, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Well, I studied crystals for years, years!, trying to figure out their properties. And last night, I got it to work. I got it to heal. Here, watch!”

Without hesitation, Medkit grabbed a pair of scissors from his gear and made a small cut on his hand, the pain barely registering as he quickly pressed the crystal to the wound. The green light brightened, and within seconds, the cut was gone, the skin perfectly healed as if it had never been there. Medkit’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he looked up at Scythe, waiting for her reaction.

“Well, I be damned, that’s somethin’ alright,” Scythe said, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. She let out a low chuckle. “So why’d ya tell me this? What, you wanna be a part of our medics? …Actually, that doesn’t sound too bad. One of ours did just die recently, and we could use someone like you. Plus, it’d get you outta some of the things you don’t seem to enjoy so much around here,” she added, her tone darkening slightly at the end, her sharp eyes narrowing as she spoke.

Medkit listened to Scythe’s words, trying to suppress the shiver that crawled up his spine. Her tone was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something unsettling, as though she was hinting at something darker. It wasn’t the first time she’d made comments like this, comments that seemed innocuous on the surface but carried a weight that he didn’t quite know how to handle. He assumed she was talking about the ceremonies, or perhaps the dreadful food they were often told to eat that Medkif usually skipped out on.

“That would allow me to see the extent of its ability, so, I’ll take the job. Thank you for the position,” Medkit replied, his voice steady but his mind still racing. He had no idea how he had managed to secure a position so quickly. One minute, he was asleep and just woke up, and the next, he was being roped into becoming a medic. It didn’t make much sense to him, but then again, very little in this place did. He could only hope that the job wouldn’t require anything too complex, after all, he didn’t have any medical knowledge to speak of.

Scythe grinned, pleased with his decision, and turned on her heel. “Great, follow me. I’ll take you to our lil’ ‘sanatorium,’ though I gotta get going right after. Me and Brokes are going to do a heist and get us some money,” she joked, her tails swishing lazily behind her as she began walking down one of the many dimly lit corridors of the church.

Medkit followed closely behind, trying to keep up with her brisk pace. The church had lots of narrow hallways that seemed to go on forever. These particular halls were rarely used, and it showed. The floors were caked in layers of grime, the once most likely grand stone walls now crumbling and cracked. Cobwebs hung from corners of the ceilings, swaying gently in the drafty air. Every now and then, a distant echo would reverberate down the halls, the sound of some far-off activity within the building, a door slamming shut, the murmurs of hushed voices, the occasional scraping of something.

They passed through these remote passages in silence, the weight of the air oppressive, until finally, Scythe came to a stop in front of a doorless entryway. “Here we are,” she said, gesturing with a casual wave of her hand before walking off without another word. Her footsteps faded quickly as she left Medkit standing alone in front of the infirmary.

Medkit stepped inside, and the sight that greeted him made his stomach churn. Gross was the only word that came to mind, but even that felt like an understatement. The room was a disaster, far worse than he could have imagined. There were beds, though calling them “beds” was generous. The mattresses were thin, stained, and covered in torn sheets. They looked far worse than the one he had in his own quarters, which was saying something.

The walls were in a similar state of disrepair, chunks of sandstone were missing, revealing the fragile structure underneath. Cracks snaked their way from the floor to the ceiling, some of them so deep that Medkit feared the walls might collapse at any moment. The air smelled damp, thick with mildew, and a sickly odor lingered, almost like something was rotting. Every surface seemed to be coated in dust and grime, including the medical tools, if they could even be called that in their current state. The instruments were rusted and dull, scattered haphazardly on cracked countertops. Cabinets with broken doors held vials of various substances, all of which looked spoiled or moldy.

Medkit’s nose wrinkled in disgust as he surveyed the room. The entire place seemed to be in a state of decay, a forgotten corner of the church that no one had bothered to maintain. How could anyone possibly expect to heal in a place like this?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he jumped when he heard a weak cough coming from one of the beds. His body jolted, his heart skipping a beat as he quickly turned toward the sound. One of the patients, a demon who looked to be male, was lying on a bed near the back of the room. His chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths, and his body looked gaunt, as if he had been there for far too long without proper care.

Medkit’s eyes widened as he rushed over to the demon’s bedside. Up close, the patient looked even worse, his skin was pale, almost sickly gray, and his eyes were half-lidded, dull and unfocused. The bandages wrapped around his abdomen were soaked through with blood, and the smell of it was overpowering, mingling with the stench of infection.

“Let me unwrap your wound and treat it,” Medkit said hurriedly, his voice tinged with concern. “You look like you haven’t been taken care of in a while.” He set his gear on a nearby stool, his hands shaking slightly as he carefully began to peel away the blood-soaked bandages. The patient groaned in pain as the air hit his wound, his body flinching instinctively as the last of the bandages were removed.

Medkit’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the wound. It was deep, far deeper than he had expected, and it was clear that the demon had been suffering from it for some time. Blood oozed from the jagged gash across his stomach, and the edges of the wound were swollen and inflamed, the skin surrounding it an angry red. Medkit’s hands were soon slick with blood as he discarded the filthy bandages into a nearby trash can.

Trying to stay calm, Medkit hurried over to the sink to wash the blood from his hands. The water that sputtered from the faucet was brownish, murky, and the pipes groaned as if they hadn’t been used in years, but it would have to do. He scrubbed his hands clean and grabbed a wad of cotton-like material from one of the cabinets, using it to gently wipe the blood from the patient’s chest. The demon winced slightly but said nothing, his eyes glazed over with pain.

Medkit’s heart was racing. He didn’t know if the crystal would work on a wound this severe, but he had no choice but to try. He retrieved the glowing green crystal from his gear, its light casting a faint glow over the dim, moldy room. Medkit held it up to the demon’s wound, silently praying that it would be enough to heal him.

The crystal responded almost immediately, its soft green light growing brighter as it began to work. Slowly but surely, the demon’s skin began to knit itself together, the deep gash closing up as if it had never been there. Medkit watched  as the crystal did its work, and within moments, the wound was completely healed, though the blood still stained the demon’s chest.

“How do you feel?” Medkit asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he stood at the foot of the bed. “Any side effects?”

The demon sat up slowly, wincing at first but then blinking in astonishment. His hands moved instinctively to his chest, patting the smooth, unbroken skin where the deep gash had been just moments before. His eyes widened as he looked up at Medkit, disbelief evident on his face. “I have no idea what the Inpherno you just did,” he said, his voice hoarse but laced with amazement. “But I feel great! Wherever they found you, I wish they found the other medics ‘cause they don’t even treat us.” He let out a rough, relieved laugh, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe his luck. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, a stark contrast to the shallow, labored ones from before.

The mention of the other medics caught Medkit’s attention, and a question formed in his mind almost instantly. “How did you get injured so badly, if you mind me asking?” he asked, his voice steady but probing. The man looked like he had been in a state of near-death, and Medkit couldn’t imagine what could have caused such devastation.

The demon leaned back against the cracked stone wall behind his bed, his fingers tracing the now-healed area on his abdomen absentmindedly as he spoke. “Oh, yeah, I don’t mind you asking about that,” he started, his voice growing a bit more animated, though there was still an edge of exhaustion. “I was just walking out, heading toward the outer parts of the city, you know? Thought I’d stretch my legs a bit. But out of nowhere, this rabid thing attacks me. Big, real big. Deity height, even.” He shook his head, his brow furrowing as he recalled the event. “It was dark as Inphinity, so I couldn’t see it too clearly, but I remember it had one wing. Just one. And the damn thing looked rotten, like it was decaying right off its body.”

Medkit’s heart skipped a beat at the description. Something about the idea of a massive, rotting, one-winged creature stalking the outskirts of the city sent a chill through him. But instead of dwelling on the terrifying image the demon had painted, another thought suddenly surfaced, one that he couldn’t push aside. “Wait,” Medkit said, his brows knitting together in confusion, “you can leave here? I didn’t know followers were allowed to leave.”

The demon shrugged, as if it were common knowledge. “Yeah, sure you can,” he replied nonchalantly, resting his arms behind his head as he got more comfortable. “Once you’ve been here a few years and they trust you, they let you go out for a bit. You’re still expected to show up for the ceremonies, though, and you gotta stay in their good graces. But you,” he added with a grin, “you’re a medic now, right? Guess that means you can skip the whole ceremony deal. Lucky you.”

Medkit’s mind was racing again, the concept of being able to leave the church, even for a little while, seemed like a blessing. For as long as he’d been here, he hadn’t even entertained the thought that leaving was an option, no matter how fleeting. He nodded thoughtfully, thanking the demon for the information before he rose from his seat. His eyes scanned the rest of the infirmary, noting the other demons scattered throughout the room, most of them in varying states of distress. He had his work cut out for him.

For the next several hours, Medkit moved from bed to bed, treating as many demons as he could. Though his knowledge of medicine was limited to what the crystal could do, he managed to help those with injuries, healing wounds and easing pain where he could. Some of the demons had ailments that went beyond his capabilities, illnesses and conditions that required more than just magical healing. Those he could do little for, and by the time he finally sat back down on the small, rickety stool near the center of the room, he was exhausted. His hands ached from the repetitive motions, and his mind was foggy with fatigue.

He sighed heavily, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he fidgeted with the crystal once again. Its soft glow felt familiar now, almost comforting, though there was still an air of mystery surrounding it that kept him on edge. He was still lost in thought, turning the crystal over in his hands when a sudden, loud bang from the front doors of the church snapped him back to reality.

The sound reverberated through the infirmary, and Medkit’s head whipped toward the entrance just in time to see Scythe and Broker tumbling through the doorway, their silhouettes stark against the dim light from the corridor. Broker was supporting Scythe, his arm wrapped around her waist as she limped heavily, blood trailing behind them in thick, dark streaks on the already filthy floor.

Medkit’s stomach twisted into a knot. Scythe had been perfectly fine just a few hours ago, and now she looked as though she’d been through hell. Her clothes were torn, her skin bruised and bloodied, and her right arm, it was gone. The sleeve of her jacket was ripped away at the shoulder, revealing a mess of blood and torn muscle where her arm had once been. She was pale, even with her darker skin, and her breathing was labored, each inhale coming out as a ragged wheeze.

“That damn purple bitch,” Scythe spat, her voice raw with fury as she collapsed onto one of the empty beds. Blood oozed from the open wound where her arm had been, staining the sheets beneath her. “He fuckin’ set us up! Ugh, he knew we were greedy and he fucked me over fer it!” She coughed violently, blood splattering across her lips, and Medkit could see the pain etched into every line of her face.

Medkit hurried to her side, the crystal luckily already in his hand. He had no time to ask questions, Scythe was bleeding out fast, and the wound on her leg looked bad, too. Her left leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and she winced with every slight movement. He wasted no time, holding the crystal over her injuries and praying that it would be enough. The glow from the crystal intensified as it began to work, knitting together the torn skin on her arm and mending the broken bones in her leg. Slowly but surely, the worst of the damage was healed, though the crystal wasn’t capable of regrowing her arm. The bleeding stopped, and her leg was set properly again, but there was still so much that couldn’t be undone.

Scythe let out a long, shaky breath as the pain finally began to subside. “What happened?” Medkit asked, his voice barely steady as he observed the missing limb. “How did you get like this? If you give me some time and materials, I might be able to make a prosthetic arm for you.”

“A new arm would be nice, thanks,” Scythe muttered, her voice still hoarse but laced with a hint of gratitude. She looked down at where her arm used to be, her expression unreadable for a moment before she sighed. “Thanks for the healing too, ‘Kit. You’re too good to me.”

Medkit nodded, his gaze still fixed on the gruesome sight of her missing limb. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, she had been full of energy, teasing him about becoming a medic. Now, she was broken, barely holding herself together.

Scythe continued, her voice low and strained. “Me and Brokes went out robbin’, like I said earlier. We thought it’d be a simple job, just in and out, no trouble. But that bastard Banhammer set us up. Planned the whole thing.” Her eyes darkened with anger as she spoke, her fingers clenching the bedsheet. “Guess he hoped we’d show up to that bank, and we did. The setup was too perfect. When we got there, it was quiet, too quiet. We should’ve known.”

Scythe winced as she shifted in the bed, the pain clearly still gnawing at her despite the crystal’s work. “It all went south the moment we stepped inside. He came out of nowhere, started attacking. The bastard whacked my leg so hard I thought I was done for. As I reached for my gear, he grabbed me, and before I knew it, he ripped my arm clean off. Didn’t even give me a chance to fight back.” Her voice cracked, betraying the frustration she felt. “Brokes managed to pull me out, though. Got us out of there before Banhammer could finish the job. Brought me straight back here.”

Medkit glanced over at Broker, who had been standing silently nearby, his expression grim but resolute. Scythe’s last words hit hard as she continued. “I’m sure you know of our good ol’ warden,” she added bitterly, “the same guy who’s been after you for the past year, too. He’s had it out for us ever since we started this church. Guess he thinks he can break us apart.”

Broker gave a solemn nod in agreement, but Medkit’s stomach churned. Medkit quickly shook off the rising anxiety, focusing on the task at hand. “Get some rest,” he said gently, standing up and gathering his gear. “I’ll get dinner since I haven’t eaten yet. I can’t see any more noticeable injuries, but let me know if you need anything else.”

Scythe gave him a tired nod, laying back against the blood-stained sheets. Medkit turned to leave the room, but not before Scythe’s mention of being wanted had lodged itself firmly in his thoughts. His hand unconsciously went to his eye, tracing the scar that marred his face, a reminder of the day him and Subspace had their… incident. He had almost forgotten that day, or at least pushed it to the back of his mind.

Medkit left the infirmary, his footsteps echoing softly in the dingy halls of the church as he made his way back to his room. He wasn’t hungry, not really, and the thought of food felt distant compared to the weight now pressing on his mind, but he had no time to dwell on the past. There was work to do. Sitting down at the worn wooden table in his room, Medkit pulled out his tools and began sketching designs for the arm he had promised Scythe. Medkit wasn’t sure why he had offered to build it, it had slipped out in the heat of the moment, but now that he had, he was determined to follow through.

The following days passed in a blur of tending to his duties as a medic and working on Scythe’s new arm whenever he could steal a few moments of free time. The materials had arrived, pieces of metal and wiring that he could fashion into a simple yet functional prosthetic.

The nights, though, were harder than the work he put forth. Medkit couldn’t escape the recurring dreams of Subspace, nightmares of old encounters that left him waking in a cold sweat. Each night the visions grew more vivid, the memories more oppressive, but he brushed them off as best he could, focusing on his work.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Medkit finished the arm. It wasn’t perfect, nothing made under such circumstances could be, but it was functional. With the arm in hand, Medkit sought Scythe out, eventually finding her just as she was leaving the dining hall, her signature white jacket absent for once.

“Scythe,” Medkit called, quickening his pace to catch up with her. She turned, a curious expression on her face as he approached. “I finished it,” he said, holding up the prosthetic arm. “Your arm.”

Her eyes widened with surprise as he demonstrated how to attach it, her curiosity quickly turning to awe. She slipped the prosthetic onto the stump of her right arm, fastening it with practiced ease. Medkit watched closely, observing her every move as she stretched and tested the arm, moving it this way and that, watching the mechanisms respond to her muscle contractions.

“How is it?” Medkit asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. He had poured a lot of time into the design, and seeing it in use now filled him with a mixture of pride and anxiety.

Scythe’s expression softened, a smile spreading across her face as she flexed her new arm. “It’s great!” she exclaimed, her tone lighter than it had been in days. “I’m not sure if I could’ve lived another day without my arm, it sucked.” She laughed, her tails wagging behind her with a renewed energy. “You did good, ‘Kit.”

Medkit felt a swell of relief at her words, but before he could respond, Scythe continued. “Y’know what? I heard ya found out about going outside,” she said. “And you’ve been so good to us… I think you deserve a break. How about the rest of the day off? Go outside, explore, do whatever you want. Just make sure you’re back before the nighttime ceremony since you’ll be off work, that gives you a few hours.”

Medkit blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden offer. He had never been simply handed given a day off before in Blackrock, and the idea of going outside, of seeing the world beyond the church, was a pleasing thought. He nodded, unable to find the words to express his gratitude as Scythe waved him off, already focused on observing her new arm.

Medkit stood in silence, watching as Scythe walked away with her new arm. Her personality had an unfamiliar lightness to it, her movements tentative as she tested the flexibility of her new limb. For a moment, he simply stood there, frozen in place.

After a moment of reflection,, Medkit finally shook himself free of the reverie and wandered toward the front doors of the church. Each step echoed faintly in the vast, dimly lit halls, the old stone walls casting long shadows as he approached the exit. The weight of the heavy wooden doors resisted his push as they creaked open, revealing the blinding brightness of the outside world. Sunlight poured in, immediately flooding his vision with a harsh white glare, and Medkit instinctively raised a hand to shield his eye from the oppressive light of the desert sun.

He squinted as the brilliant light slowly subsided, allowing the barren landscape to come into focus. The church sat on the edge of an unforgiving wasteland, the vast desert stretching endlessly in every direction. The golden sands shifted under the weight of a searing wind that carried with it the faint scent of dust and dry earth. Despite the blistering heat, Medkit pressed forward, his boots sinking into the soft sand with each step as he followed a faint trail of footprints left by those who had traveled the path before him.

The desert seemed endless, the heat oppressive, but eventually, on the horizon, he spotted the shimmering silhouette of a  city. At first glance, the city appeared almost like a mirage, the buildings glimmering in the heatwaves that distorted the air. But as he approached, the features of the city became clearer, the makn city of The Lost Temple. He had heard of it before, a place where only the rich resided, but he hadn’t expected it to be so… luxurious. The towering buildings, each one designed with intricate detail. Expensive shops lined the streets, selling all manner of rare goods, things Medkit could never hope to afford in his current state.

As he wandered the streets, he couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of unease. Every step he took was heavy with the weight of his poverty, and he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of shame. He didn’t belong here. Not when he didn't even have a single bux to his name.

Medkit continued to walk aimlessly, letting his feet guide him through the narrow alleys. The streets were relatively quiet at this hour, the midday sun keeping most of the residents inside their homes, but Medkit soon became aware of a faint sound, a soft meow, followed by the hushed voice of someone speaking nearby.

“Here, kitty-kitty-kitty… C’mon, I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice called softly.

Medkit turned toward the sound, his curiosity piqued. Peering into a narrow alley, he spotted a red-horned demon crouched low, attempting to coax a small, sickly-looking cat out from behind a stack of crates. The demon looked young, perhaps no older than a teenager, and wore a cape that fluttered slightly in the breeze. A small scar ran just beneath his right eye, a mark of some past scuffle. On the ground beside him laid a helmet, a sword, and a small leather bag that he appeared to be rummaging through.

The cat, however, was unmoved by the demon’s efforts. Its thin, fragile body remained curled up defensively behind a pile crates, its large, sad eyes watching the demon with a mix of fear and exhaustion. It let out a weak meow in response, but refused to budge.

“Come on, little one… I won’t hurt you,” the demon pleaded again, this time holding out a small piece of dried fish in an attempt to lure the cat closer. But still, the animal didn’t move. Its body, gaunt and riddled with scabs, was too weak to do much of anything. Its bones jutted out painfully beneath its matted fur, and its legs looked as though they could give out at any moment. It was clear that the creature had been through a lot.

Medkit approached cautiously, taking in the pitiful sight of the cat and the demon’s failed attempts to help. The demon, noticing Medkit, straightened up slightly and stared, mouth slightly agape as Medkit knelt down beside the cat. Without saying a word, Medkit extended his hand toward the animal, allowing it to sniff his fingers. The cat, after a brief moment of hesitation, nuzzled against Medkit’s hand before rubbing its head against his leg in a gesture of trust.

The young demon blinked in astonishment, his tail twitching in surprise. “I… I’ve been trying to get her to come out for days,” he muttered, still staring at Medkit in disbelief. “How’d you do that?”

Medkit didn’t respond immediately. His attention was focused on the cat, whose condition made his heart ache. The creature was barely hanging on, its frail body covered in cuts, with patches of fur missing in places where the skin had been ripped away. Its ribs were clearly visible, the sharp outlines of bone pressing against the skin in a way that made it painful to look at. It wasn’t just injured, it was dying.

Medkit’s instincts took over. Without a second thought, he reached into his gear and pulled out the crystal. He held it up to the cat, watching as the soft glow from the crystal bathed the animal in a gentle light. Slowly, to Medkit’s relief, the cat’s skin began to mend, the open sores closing as the crystal’s healing energy did its work. The scabs disappeared, and the torn flesh began to regenerate. It wasn’t perfect, but the worst of the damage was healed.

The demon’s eyes widened in awe as he watched the transformation unfold before him. “Woah! You’re like a miracle worker!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement. “Thank you so much! I’ve been trying to help her for a while, but I didn’t know what to do… What’s your name? I’m Sword, by the way.” He grinned, clearly impressed by Medkit’s abilities.

Medkit stood up, cradling the now-healed cat in his arms. “I’m Medkit,” he replied simply, glancing down at the cat, which had begun to purr softly in his arms. Its eyes were no longer filled with fear, but with gratitude. “It was nice of you to try and help her.”

Sword stood as well, quickly grabbing his gear and helmet off the ground. “I’ve been trying to feeding her and  take her to the vet nearby,” he explained, his tail wagging enthusiastically. “But every time I get close, she runs off. I guess she was too scared… She eats at night, though, so I’ve managed to get her to gain a little weight. But she was looking way worse before you came along. I don’t know what you just did, but she looks almost healed! You’re amazing!”

Medkit felt a flicker of pride at Sword’s words, though he tried to remain humble. “I just did what I could,” he said modestly, adjusting his hold on the cat. “It looks like she still has some illnesses, though. She’ll need that vet to fully recover.”

Sword’s face lit up with determination. “Right! It’s nearby, let’s go!” he said eagerly, already starting to walk toward the end of the alley. “Follow me, I’ll show you the way.”

As they walked through the winding streets of the city, the gentle purring of the cat in Medkit’s arms became a soothing rhythm, its small, fragile body warm against his chest. The creature let out the occasional soft meow, its voice no longer filled with fear or pain, but with a kind of contentment. He glanced down at the cat, his fingers absently running through its now smoother fur, healed from its earlier state of injury. The streets around them began to shift, growing quieter as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows that danced across the buildings.

“You look awfully young,” Medkit remarked after a long stretch of silence, his voice cutting through the soft sounds of the city. The question came out more bluntly than he had intended, but it was already out there. “How old are you? Do your parents know you’re off saving stray cats?” There was a trace of awkwardness in his tone, as if he was unsure whether the question was appropriate, but Sword didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m only sixteen,” Sword responded with a wide grin, his voice filled with pride, as if his age were a badge of honor. “But I’m a lot stronger than I look.” His grin widened as he spoke, revealing a glimmer of youthful confidence that reminded Medkit of when he was younger. Sword walked with an effortless sort of swagger, his cape fluttering behind him as if it, too, shared in his bravado. “My dad doesn’t really care, though. He lets me wander around as long as I’m back home before it gets too late. He’s usually busy with his own stuff anyway. We have a crow at home, he’s obsessed with it, so, I think he’d be fine with me saving a cat. He loves animals surprisingly.”

Medkit raised an eyebrow at that, slightly thrown off by the mention of a pet crow. It wasn’t every day someone casually mentioned keeping such an unusual bird as a pet, but he decided not to question it. Instead, he sighed softly, more out of habit than anything else. “Just stay safe, alright? Wandering around on your own can be dangerous,” he warned, though there was a certain gentleness in his tone. He couldn’t help but feel protective, even though he barely knew Sword.

The younger demon, however, seemed unfazed by the concern. “Don’t worry, I stay safe,” Sword replied, his tone cheerful as ever. “Plus, I can defend myself just fine! I’ve got my gear and my training. I’m tougher than I look!” His tail swished confidently behind him as he spoke, and for a moment, Medkit saw the glint of determination in Sword’s eyes. There was something admirable about his spirit, the kind of unshakable optimism that only came with youth.

“How old are you, anyway?” Sword asked suddenly, glancing up at Medkit with curiosity. “You don’t look that old… You’re younger than thirty, right?”

“Twenty-two,” Medkit responded in a flat, almost detached voice, not really wanting to dwell on the topic of his age.

“See! We’re not that far apart,” Sword said with a grin, clearly pleased with his deduction. “Only six years! Plus, I’m practically an adult already.” There was an endearing sense of self-assuredness in his voice, the kind that made Medkit smile faintly despite himself.

As they continued walking, the entrance to the vet clinic finally came into view. It was a modest building compared to the rest of the lavish city, but clean and professional-looking. Medkit and Sword approached the counter, where a receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. They explained the situation, and after a brief examination and some paperwork, the receptionist told them the cat would need to stay overnight for treatment. Medkit gently placed the cat down on the counter, watching as it was taken into the back room by a vet assistant.

“We’ll take good care of her,” the receptionist reassured them. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll let you know how she’s doing.”

Medkit nodded, but as they left the clinic, he found himself feeling oddly uncertain as he wasn’t sure what to do next. That uncertainty must have been written on his face, because Sword piped up almost immediately with a suggestion.

“It’s getting a bit late,” Sword said, glancing at the darkening sky. “How about we grab dinner? I know a great place nearby!” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he looked up at Medkit, clearly eager to spend more time together.

Medkit considered the offer for a moment. He didn’t really have anywhere else to be, and the idea of sitting down for a meal wasn’t entirely unappealing. With a nod of agreement, he followed Sword through the city’s winding streets, the evening air growing cooler with each passing minute.

The restaurant they arrived at was, like everything else in The Lost Temple, elegantly decorated and expensive-looking. Its grand entrance was flanked by polished marble columns, and the interior was filled with the soft hum of quiet conversation and the clink of fine silverware. Medkit felt even more out of place here than he had earlier.

As they were seated at a table, Sword wasted no time in ordering a glass of water, while Medkit opted for a cup of coffee. The warm, bitter liquid was a small comfort as he sipped it slowly, watching Sword with mild amusement as the younger demon barely touched his drink, too busy talking to notice.

“So, what do you do?” Sword asked eagerly, leaning forward slightly. “Do you have a job? Where do you live in The Lost Temple? I live a bit further down, west of here.”

Medkit paused for a moment, setting his cup down before answering. “I work as a medic for The Church of the TRUE EYE,” he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual energy. “I just got the job recently, and I live at the church. They provide everything I need.”

Sword blinked, his expression shifting slightly as he processed Medkit’s words. “The Church of the TRUE EYE?” he repeated, his tone now more cautious. “Oh… that’s their uniform, isn’t it?” His eyes drifted toward Medkit’s clothing, the simple yet distinct uniform marking him as a member of the controversial organization.

“I haven’t heard much good about them, to be honest,” Sword continued, his voice softening. “A lot of people say that half of their followers are wanted criminals. My cousin told me once that they’re more like a cult than a real church and that they mistreat their people. No offense, but… you don’t exactly look like you’re in great shape right now.”

Medkit stiffened slightly at the words, though he tried not to let it show. Sword’s tone wasn’t accusatory, but it still hit a nerve. Before he could respond, Sword continued.

“Look, if you need a place to stay, I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind,” Sword offered earnestly, his eyes filled with genuine concern. “We’ve got a guest room, and… well, I don’t know what things are like at the church, but you don’t have to stay there if it’s not good for you. You can come stay with us.”

The offer was unexpected, and for a moment, Medkit didn’t know how to respond. He appreciated the kindness in Sword’s voice, the sincerity of the offer, but the idea of leaving the church felt… impossible. It wasn’t just a place to live, it was his entire world now, for better or worse. Medkit shook his head slightly, pushing his chair back as he stood up.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “But I have to leave. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

Sword’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly nodded, though there was a trace of disappointment in his expression. “Alright… but please, think about it, okay? You don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”

Medkit gave a brief nod before turning and walking away, his steps quick and deliberate. He could hear Sword call out after him one last time, but he didn’t look back. The streets were darker now, the city’s lights casting long shadows across the ground as Medkit made his way back toward the church. The cold desert air nipped at his skin, and he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, his breath coming out in small, visible puffs.

As he walked, Sword’s offer lingered in his mind, a quiet temptation that gnawed at the edges of his thoughts. A life away from the church, away from the constant pressure and the ever-present danger… it was appealing. But at the same time, it felt like a dream, too far out of reach to even consider seriously.

In the end, Medkit shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside as he neared the familiar silhouette of the church. His place was here, no matter how difficult it might be. For now, this was his reality, and he couldn’t afford to indulge in fantasies of escape.

Chapter Text

It had been several restless nights since the encounter with Sword, and Medkit found himself struggling to sleep, his mind swirling with thoughts he couldn’t shake. He laid in his small, uncomfortable bed, the blankets tangled around him, staring blankly at the crumbling ceiling of his room. He had probably been staring for hours, his eye tracing the cracks and uneven textures that marked the ceiling, letting his mind wander. Despite his exhaustion, sleep refused to come, leaving him trapped in an endless loop of thoughts, regrets, and unvoiced questions.

The conversation with Sword kept replaying in his head. At the time, Medkit had brushed it off, dismissing the boy’s offer of help and a place to stay. But now, in the quiet stillness of the church, Sword’s words echoed louder than ever. The idea of leaving this place, this decaying, oppressive structure that was both his home and his prison, was tempting. 

With a heavy sigh, Medkit sat up, rubbing his face in frustration. Lying in bed wasn’t helping; if anything, it only made things worse. Deciding he needed to clear his head, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, quietly sneaking out of his small room. He sneaked through the dimly lit hallways of the church, his footsteps nearly silent on the old, creaky floorboards. The walls seemed to loom over him in the darkness, the once-grand church now crumbling with age and neglect. The eerie silence was only broken by the soft rustling of the wind outside, seeping through cracks in the stone walls and the occasional groan of the building settling.

As Medkit wandered through the dark, narrow corridors, he noticed the faint glow of moonlight seeping through a crack in one of the walls. The light drew him in, and he soon found himself at the foot of the creaky staircase that led up to the balcony. The doors were open again, just like they had been before. Without a second thought, he began to climb the stairs, his hand brushing along the worn wooden railing as he ascended. Each step creaked under his weight, causing the sound to echo in the vast emptiness of the church.

When Medkit finally reached the top, he stepped out onto the balcony, the cool desert breeze immediately hitting his face. The sky was a vast, inky black canvas, dotted with countless stars that twinkled brightly in the distance. He leaned against the weathered stone railing, staring up at the night sky in silence. The stars seemed to stretch on forever, their distant light a stark contrast to the suffocating darkness he felt within himself. He had always found some comfort in the night, in the quiet solitude it offered, but tonight felt different. Tonight, his mind was restless.

His thoughts inevitably drifted back to Sword. That brief encounter had left more of an impression on him than he had expected. Sword had offered him something no one else had in a long time: a chance. A way out. A future outside of the cold, unforgiving walls of the church. Standing here in the moonlight, Medkit couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake by not accepting the offer right away. What future did he really have here? Would he ever get another chance like that?

The more he thought about it, the more it gnawed at him. His fingers gripped the stone railing tightly as his mind raced, weighing his options. The church had been his life for what felt like so long, but it had also drained him. It felt like he had lost himself somewhere along the way. Medkit couldn’t remember the last time he had felt truly free. But could he really leave? Could he really just walk away from everything he had known?

With a frustrated sigh, Medkit pushed away from the railing and turned back toward the church. The thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, and staying here, trapped in indecision, was starting to feel unbearable. Without thinking much more about it, Medkit jumped over the balcony railing, landing roughly in the sand below. The impact sent a jolt of pain through his body, his knees buckling under the force of the fall. He groaned in pain, clutching his right leg, which was now bent at an unnatural angle.

“Damn it…” he muttered through gritted teeth, wincing as he tried to move. Every inch of his body ached, but the pain in his leg was sharp and unrelenting. He cursed himself for acting so recklessly, but there was no turning back now. He could see his gear and revolver lying a few feet away, having been flung from his grasp when he fell, though he didn’t remember dropping them.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Medkit began to slowly scoot toward his gear, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through his injured leg. By the time he reached his bag, his breaths were shallow and ragged, his face pale with the effort. With shaky hands, he rummaged through his gear until he found the crystal, the small, glowing shard that had healed countless times before. Holding it against his leg, he activated its healing properties, feeling the warmth of its magic spread through his body.

Within moments, the pain began to fade, the bones and muscles knitting themselves back together. The relief was immediate, and Medkit let out a sigh of exhaustion, his body going limp as the last remnants of pain disappeared. He took a moment to catch his breath before standing up, brushing the sand from his clothes as he grabbed his gear and gun.

With his injuries healed, Medkit didn’t waste any more time. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, or if it was the right decision, but he knew he couldn’t stay at the church any longer. He needed to see if Sword’s offer was still on the table. Without looking back, Medkit began walking toward the city, his steps purposeful despite the lingering doubts in his mind.

The streets of The Lost Temple were quiet at this hour, the usual hustle and bustle of the city replaced by the stillness of the desert night. The buildings stood tall and imposing, their gold accents catching the faint glow of street lamps that lined the roads. Medkit walked with a sense of urgency, his eyes scanning the darkened streets for any sign of Sword. The vet was the only place he knew the location of for sure, so that was where he headed.

As Medkit approached the vet, he was surprised to see Sword stepping out of the building, a bag of cat food slung over his shoulder. The young demon stopped in his tracks when he saw Medkit, his eyes widening in disbelief. For a moment, they both stood there, illuminated by the faint glow of the vet’s sign, before Sword broke into a wide grin.

“Medkit!” Sword called out, jogging over to him. He was dressed casually, wearing a loose shirt and sandals, his tail swishing behind him in excitement. “What are you doing here? Did you change your mind?”

Medkit hesitated for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet and uncertain. “Is your offer still available?” he asked, his words barely louder than a whisper.

Sword’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yeah, of course it is! But we’ll need to sneak in. I, uh, kind of snuck the cat in a few days ago, and I had to sneak out tonight to get her some food. I was a little nervous to ask my dad if we could keep her, so I haven’t mentioned it yet.” He rambled on excitedly, his tail wagging as he motioned for Medkit to follow him. “But we’ll talk to him in the morning, I’m sure he won’t say no. We’ve got a guest room and everything.”

Without another word, Sword started walking. They walked west through the dimly lit streets, the quiet of the night broken only by the soft shuffling of their feet against the sandy ground. Sword led the way with a certain confidence, occasionally looking back at Medkit to make sure he was still following. The city around them was still and silent, a far cry from the bustling streets during the day. The buildings they passed had their grandness slowly fade, giving way to smaller, more modest homes, though modest and small were an understatement for any home in The Lost Temple. The sky above was painted with deep hues of blue and purple, the stars scattered across it like shimmering dust, their light casting faint shadows on the ground below.

Eventually, they reached a neighborhood that was quieter, more residential. The houses here were still well-kept, but there was an air of calm and privacy that made it feel secluded. Sword led Medkit toward a decently sized house nestled in the middle of the block. It wasn’t as grand as some of the estates they had passed earlier, but it had an air of comfort and warmth that was inviting. The stone exterior of the house was adorned with small, flowering plants in ceramic pots, and a narrow path led to the front door. However, instead of heading to the door, Sword motioned for Medkit to follow him around the side of the house.

The two of them crept silently along the side wall, the soft crunch of sand under their boots the only sound in the stillness. Sword pressed a finger to his lips as they approached a cracked-open window, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he quietly lifted it open just enough for them to slip inside. Sword went in first, tossing the bag of cat food ahead of him, and then pulled himself through the window with practiced ease. Medkit followed, though not as gracefully. He hoisted himself up onto the windowsill and clambered inside, falling inside with a soft thud on the wooden floor.

Inside, the room was dimly lit by a small bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over the space. It was clear that this was Sword’s room, though it wasn’t particularly organized. Expensive-looking objects and clothes were scattered across the floor and piled on top of a cluttered desk. A large bed took up most of the room, its dark sheets crumpled and a few pillows haphazardly strewn across it. In the middle of the bed, curled up in a tiny ball, was the same cat they had rescued days ago, peacefully asleep on a pillow. Sword smiled fondly at the sight of the cat and walked over to pour some of the food into a small bowl he had set up on the floor by the bed. The cat stirred for a moment at the sound of the food hitting the bowl but quickly returned to its slumber.

“Sorry about the mess,” Sword said with a sheepish grin, glancing around his room. “I don’t usually have guests over without warning, so… yeah.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, then moved to his closet, rifling through the clothes that were hanging there.

Medkit, still standing by the window, took in the room. Despite the mess, there was something oddly cozy about it. He was someone who clearly didn’t care much for order but lived comfortably in his own chaos. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the cold, empty halls that Medkit had left behind.

After a moment, Sword pulled out a few articles of clothing and handed them to Medkit. “These might be a bit small for you,” he said, eyeing Medkit’s frame, “but they should be comfortable for the night. You can use the guest room across the hall. I’ll wake you up in the morning, and we can talk to my dad about everything then.”

Medkit took the clothes, nodding his thanks. “Thank you… for everything,” he said quietly, feeling an odd sense of gratitude wash over him. Sword’s casual kindness, his willingness to help without asking for anything in return, was something Medkit wasn’t used to.

“No problem at all!” Sword replied, already climbing into his bed and gently scooting the cat to the side to make room for himself. He gave Medkit a final smile as he pulled the blankets up. “Goodnight! We’ll figure everything out tomorrow.”

Medkit stood there for a moment longer, watching as Sword settled in, the room quickly quieting as the boy closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. The only sounds left were the soft purring of the cat and the gentle rustling of the sheets. With a final glance at Sword, Medkit turned and slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He found the guest bedroom across the hall, just as Sword had said. The room was much cleaner and more organized than Sword’s, though it was plain. The furniture, while sparse, was undeniably expensive. A sleek dresser sat against one wall, a mirror hanging above it, and a large bed with crisp, neatly folded blankets took up the center of the room. It felt strange, almost surreal, to be in a place like this after spending so many years within the cold, deteriorating walls of the church. Everything here was clean, orderly, and peaceful.

Medkit set the clothes Sword had given him on the bed and slowly began to peel off his uniform. He folded it neatly, placing it on a chair in the corner of the room before slipping into the fitting clothes. They were soft, and worn in a way that was comfortable. Once dressed, Medkit slid into the bed, pulling the heavy blankets over himself. The softness of the mattress and the warmth of the blankets were foreign to him, and for a moment, it felt almost too luxurious, too comfortable.

But the weight of exhaustion quickly overtook him, and before he even realized it, Medkit’s eyes drifted shut, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Medkit awoke, his surroundings had changed. The cold air of the desert night and the comfort of the house were gone. Instead, he found himself sitting cross-legged on a hotel bed, his body still, but his mind clouded. His gaze focused slowly, and he realized that Subspace was sitting behind him, brushing his hair with deliberate care. The gentle rhythm of the brush against his scalp was soothing, but Medkit couldn’t shake the irritation rising inside him.

Subspace seemed entirely content, his tail wagging happily behind him as he focused on the task at hand, his fingers moving through Medkit’s hair with ease. Medkit sighed in frustration, his patience wearing thin. He hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place, especially not in such an intimate and mundane situation like having his hair brushed. It felt too close, too personal, and Medkit was never one for that kind of vulnerability.

The two of them, along with several other staff members from Blackrock Laboratory, had been told to stay in another region of the Inpherno for an important meeting. The exact location escaped Medkit’s memory, but he didn’t particularly care. The trip itself had been long, tedious, and entirely uneventful, and now they were all staying in a modest hotel that the higher-ups had booked for them. The room he shared with Subspace was basic, bordering on unremarkable. Two beds sat on opposite sides of the room, separated by a small bedside table with a single dim lamp casting weak light across the space. A small television was mounted on the wall, and the blinds on the window were drawn shut, blocking out the night.

Medkit hadn’t had much of a say in who he would be sharing a room with, but Subspace had been eager, almost overly so, to pair up with him. Not wanting to come off as rude or a bad friend, Medkit had reluctantly agreed. But now, sitting here, he wished he had declined. He wasn’t in the mood for company, least of all Subspace’s.

“Are you done yet? It shouldn’t take this long,” Medkit muttered, his voice edged with annoyance as he turned his head slightly to look at Subspace.

Subspace smiled, his fingers still lightly tangled in Medkit’s hair. “Have you never been told to brush your hair before bed?” he asked, his tone playful but sincere. “Your hair was a mess, imagine how it would’ve looked in the morning, but yes, I’m done now.”

As Medkit looked away, feeling the awkward weight of the moment sink in, he stiffened at the sudden sensation of Subspace’s arms wrapping tightly around his waist from behind. The embrace was soft but insistent, Subspace’s grip firm as though he didn’t want to let go. Medkit could feel the warmth of Subspace’s breath on the back of his neck, hear the low murmur of his voice, almost hushed and intimate, as he spoke.

“Oh, Meddy…” Subspace’s voice was barely above a whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “How long has it been since it was just me and you alone together?” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning, as he hugged Medkit tighter. There was a longing in his voice, an undeniable yearning that made Medkit uncomfortable in ways he couldn’t fully express. Subspace’s head rested against Medkit’s back, and the closeness, the familiarity, felt suffocating to him.

Medkit’s mind raced, but he could only focus on the sensation of being held so tightly, so intimately. The tension in the room grew unbearable. Every fiber of his being screamed to get out of this situation. He didn’t want to deal with Subspace, not right now. The entire evening had already been too much, and this sudden, emotional embrace was the breaking point. Without saying a word, Medkit’s body moved on instinct. He pushed Subspace off with more force than he intended, shrugging out of the embrace and standing up abruptly.

The moment felt cold and jarring as Medkit pulled himself free. Subspace stumbled slightly, his arms falling back to his sides, his face a mix of surprise and hurt. The sudden rejection left a palpable silence in the air. Medkit didn’t look at Subspace as he stood there, his body rigid, fists clenched by his sides, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Meddy-” Subspace’s voice wavered as he reached out as if to grab Medkit’s arm, but Medkit was already moving, already turning away from him. “Meds-wait a second, don’t leave!” The desperation in Subspace’s voice grew, but it was too late. Medkit was done. He couldn’t stay in that room any longer.

Without a word, Medkit walked briskly to the door, ignoring the pleadings behind him. He stepped out into the hallway, his mind spinning as he let the door close softly behind him. The hotel’s fluorescent lights were harsh, buzzing faintly as they illuminated the narrow corridor. The stark, generic design of the hallway, the bland beige carpeting, the repetitive pattern of numbered doors, provided a strange sense of grounding. It was dull, but that dullness was what Medkit needed right now.

He walked down the hallway, his boots echoing slightly on the carpeted floor, until he reached the elevator at the end. The cool metal of the elevator button felt dreary under his fingertips as he pressed it. Medkit stood in silence, watching the floor numbers above the door light up as the elevator descended from the upper floors. A soft ding signaled the arrival of the elevator, and the doors slid open. He stepped inside the empty car and pressed the button for the lobby, watching as the doors closed him off from the rest of the floor.

The hum of the elevator was soft and rhythmic, and for a moment, Medkit allowed himself to relax, leaning back against the wall of the elevator. He closed his eyes, letting out a long, slow breath. The weight of the evening was pressing down on him, and now that he was alone, the exhaustion began to settle in. The situation with Subspace, the stifling closeness, the confusing emotions, it all washed over him at once, but for now, he pushed it aside.

When the elevator doors opened again, Medkit stepped out into the quiet lobby. The hotel was relatively empty, its large, open space dimly lit by a few strategically placed lamps. The front desk was unmanned, the staff likely rotating shifts or attending to other guests. Medkit moved past it, making his way through the lobby toward the exit doors. Just outside, there was a designated smoking area, a small patio with a few chairs and tables scattered about. The air outside was crisp and cool, the night sky clear and dotted with stars, though they were barely visible against the faint glow of the city lights.

Medkit pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, his fingers working almost automatically. The familiar click of his lighter followed as the small flame flickered to life, igniting the end of the cigarette. He took a deep drag, feeling the warmth of the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling slowly, watching the thin trail of smoke rise and dissipate into the night air. He found a nearby chair, one of the cheap plastic ones, and sat down heavily, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face with one hand. Another groan of frustration escaped him as he leaned back in the chair, staring blankly at the ground…

Hours later, Medkit was shaken awake from what felt like a dreamless sleep, though he didn’t recall ever fully falling asleep in the first place. His eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was Sword’s face hovering above him, illuminated by the faint light filtering in through the bedroom window. Sword was practically bouncing with excitement, his usual energy palpable even in the early morning. He pulled Medkit up by the arm, dragging him out of bed with surprising strength.

“Come on, my dad’s in the living room,” Sword said, smiling brightly, the cat perched comfortably on his shoulder. “Let’s go talk to him.”

Still groggy, Medkit nodded, barely processing what was happening as he followed Sword out of the guest room and into the main living area of the house. The living room was large, with ornate decorations much like the rest of the house. Expensive-looking furniture was arranged in a neat but lived-in fashion, and the soft light of the morning sun streamed through the large windows, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor.

As they entered the living room, Medkit’s eyes were immediately drawn to the figure standing by the fireplace. Sword’s father was tall, his lean, muscular frame making him seem even more imposing. His sharp fangs were visible as he concentrated on cleaning his rapier, his long, curved horns catching the morning light. The casual clothes he wore seemed oddly out of place on someone with such a commanding presence. Medkit couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of unease. Out of all the things he’d expected, the last thing he thought Sword’s father would be was a literal deity.

There was something about Venomshank’s presence that made Medkit feel trapped, as if he were in the presence of something far beyond his understanding. His piercing, almost predatory gaze flicked up from the rapier and landed on Medkit, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. Venomshank’s tail flicked lazily behind him as he continued to clean the weapon, his movements precise and calculated. Medkit had never seen him without his mask before, and now that he did, the deity’s sharp features made him all the more intimidating.

Sword, seemingly unfazed by his father’s imposing aura, smiled brightly as he approached. “Don’t be mad, but I may have rescued a cat… and a demon from the church nearby… but they’re both nice and well-behaved! Can you please let them stay? I promise I’ll make up for it, even do more chores or training!”

Medkit stood frozen in place, his heart pounding in his chest as Venomshank’s gaze shifted back to him. It felt like those eyes were dissecting him, looking through him as if determining whether or not he was worth the trouble. Medkit swallowed nervously, unsure of what to say or do.

Venomshank’s gaze softened slightly as he picked up the cat from Sword’s shoulder, cradling her in his arms. He stroked her fur gently, his expression thoughtful as he continued to study Medkit.

“This demon’s name is Medkit,” Sword explained quickly, his voice softer now. “He healed her, the cat I mean.”

There was a long pause as Venomshank continued to pet the cat, his sharp eyes never leaving Medkit. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Venomshank spoke. “You’ve grown enough that I should allow you to keep this feline,” he said, his voice calm but laced with authority. “As for the demon…” He paused again, his gaze hardening as it returned to Medkit. “I suppose we can house you, but don’t get any wrong ideas. If I catch you doing anything, just know I will be the last person you will ever see.”

Medkit nodded quickly as Venomshank set the cat down on the floor. The deity’s towering figure, which had radiated authority moments ago, seemed to soften as he turned and disappeared into the dimly lit hallway. Medkit’s eyes followed Venomshank’s form until the deity turned the knob of what Medkit presumed was his bedroom door, the soft click of the latch echoing faintly in the silence of the living room. As soon as Venomshank was out of sight, Medkit turned sharply to Sword, his heart still racing.

“You didn’t tell me your father was a deity!” Medkit’s words came out in a hurried whisper, his voice tinged with panic and disbelief. It wasn’t just the sheer power Venomshank had emanated that left Medkit unnerved, it was the unexpectedness of it all. Of all the places he thought he might find himself, living under the roof of a deity had never once crossed his mind.

Sword blinked at him, seemingly unbothered by the intensity of Medkit’s reaction. “I didn’t know that was an issue for you,” Sword replied, tilting his head slightly as though confused as to why Medkit would be so surprised. “He’s nice, probably much better to live with than the church officials.” Sword shrugged, his carefree demeanor unshaken by the fact that his father was, well, a deity. To Sword, it seemed like just another fact of life, something he had long grown accustomed to.

Medkit sighed, a slow exhale that carried with it the tension of the moment. He rubbed his temples, trying to calm the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. After a moment, he glanced around the house, taking in his surroundings more fully now that his nerves were beginning to settle. The place was, unsurprisingly, grand. The ceilings stretched high above, giving the living space an airy, almost cathedral-like feel. Every detail seemed to scream luxury, from the polished marble floors that reflected the soft glow of the morning light, to the ornate crown molding that adorned the walls.

It was, in many ways, what he would expect from a deity’s home, unlike the modest aspects which he did not anticipate. And yet, despite the opulence, there was a warmth to the place, a sense that, though grand, it was still lived in and not just for show. Even the furniture, though elegant and expensive, bore signs of everyday use, a soft indentation in the couch where someone had often sat, or a worn spot on the armrest, barely noticeable but there nonetheless.

By now, Venomshank had returned to the room, dressed in his usual coat, boots, mask, and well-tailored pants. He looked every bit the part of the deity Medkit had imagined, powerful and dignified, his presence filling the room without effort. His curved horns gleamed under the soft light, and Medkit couldn’t help but notice the way they clicked softly against Sword’s as Venomshank bent down to say his parting words.

“I’ll be in Crossroads,” Venomshank said, his deep voice even and calm. “Call me if you need me.” He gave Sword a final nod, his tail flicking behind him as he turned and left through the front door, the sound of it closing behind him somehow final.

Medkit let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the tension easing from his shoulders now that Venomshank had left. The house felt quieter, calmer. Sword, still unbothered by the earlier events, smiled at Medkit and stood up. “Come on, I’ll show you around the place.” His tone was casual, as if giving a house tour was the most normal thing in the world, even when the house in question belonged to a deity.

Medkit just couldn't get over that fact.

They wandered through the house, Sword pointing out different rooms and features as they went. “Here’s the laundry room,” he said, waving a hand at a small but neatly organized space filled with gleaming appliances. “And this is the bathroom,” he continued, showing Medkit the luxurious bathroom with its deep claw-foot tub and sleek, modern fixtures. The place was immaculate, every surface spotless, the towels folded neatly on a shelf nearby.

Medkit nodded, taking it all in quietly. It wasn’t just the obvious wealth that struck him, but the care with which the house seemed to be maintained. Even the more minor areas, like the small bookshelf in the corner of the living room or the simple guest room he’d been staying in.

When the tour was finished, Sword and Medkit returned to the living room, where Medkit sat down on the couch, a book resting in his lap. He thumbed through the pages absentmindedly, his mind still processing the day’s events. The couch was surprisingly comfortable, and the atmosphere in the house was peaceful, the soft ticking of a nearby clock the only sound breaking the silence.

“Do you mind if I invite a friend over?” Sword asked, breaking the quiet. He was glancing at Medkit, his expression hopeful. “I invite him over a lot when Dad’s gone, just so I have something to do other than wander around the city.”

Medkit shrugged, not particularly concerned. “I don’t mind,” he said, his tone easy. “It’s your house, anyway. I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to.”

Sword grinned at that, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he quickly pulled out his phone. He was already dialing before Medkit could say anything else, his voice drifting off as he walked into his room to make the call and presumably clean up.

Medkit returned his focus to the book in his lap, though his eyes drifted lazily across the words without really absorbing them. The quiet of the house lulled him into a sense of calm, and before long, he found himself dozing off, the book slipping from his fingers as he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

A soft chime at the door woke Medkit from his slumber some time later. He blinked groggily, the edges of his vision still blurred from sleep as Sword practically bounded toward the door to answer it. Medkit sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes as he heard the door swing open. He could make out Sword’s voice, excited and cheerful, as he greeted whoever was standing on the other side.

“Hey, Rocket! Come on in.”

Medkit glanced over in time to see the newcomer step through the threshold. The demon, who Sword had called Rocket, was younger-looking, maybe a year or two younger than Sword himself. He had four distinct blue horns that curved upward, giving him a unique appearance. His blue tank top contrasted against his pale skin, and a pair of goggles perched atop his head gave him an almost playful look.

Rocket smiled awkwardly as he entered and noticed Medkit, clearly unsure of what to say. “Oh, uh… hi! I’m Rocket. Nice to meet you,” he mumbled, offering a small wave in Medkit’s direction.

Medkit nodded in return, his expression neutral. “Nice to meet you,” he replied, though his voice was still groggy from sleep.

Sword, ever the extrovert, wasted no time in throwing an arm around Rocket’s shoulders. “He’s friendly when you get to know him,” Sword explained, casting a glance at Medkit. “But he’s a bit shy around people he doesn’t know.”

Rocket, clearly embarrassed by Sword’s teasing, pouted and wriggled free of Sword’s grasp, swatting his arm away. “Don’t embarrass me!” he huffed, though his tone was more annoyed than angry.

Sword laughed, the sound light and carefree as he led Rocket toward his room. The door closed behind them, and Medkit found himself alone once again. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he settled back into the couch, his gaze drifting toward the evening light that was now filtering through the windows, casting soft, silvery beams across the floor. The quiet returned, and with it, a sense of peace that Medkit hadn’t felt in a long time. He let out a soft breath, leaning his head back against the couch as he closed his eyes once again.

After what felt like only moments of sleep, Medkit found himself gently roused by the soft sound of Sword’s voice. The pale moonlight filtered in through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor, making the room feel ethereal in its quietness. Sword’s words were soft, almost a murmur, as he stood at the edge of the couch, his face partially illuminated by the silvery glow of the night sky.

“…Medkit? Oh, you’re awake. Dad made dinner for us, it’s ready now,” Sword said, his voice gentle, as though he didn’t want to startle him.

Medkit blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as he rubbed his face, trying to shake the lingering fog of sleep. As he shifted to sit up, he noticed a small weight on his chest. Glancing down, he saw the cat, who had settled herself comfortably on his stomach while he slept. Her eyes gleamed faintly in the moonlight as she gazed up at him with mild annoyance. Medkit couldn’t help but smile, even as he carefully lifted her off and set her on the cushion beside him. She let out a soft, protesting meow but quickly settled herself down, curling up into a small, fluffy ball.

Medkit pushed himself to his feet and followed Sword into the kitchen. The house felt different at night, quieter, more intimate. The soft glow of the kitchen lights was a stark contrast to the moonlight that bathed the rest of the house, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere. Rocket was already seated at the counter, talking quietly to Sword as the two demons sat next to each other. Their voices were hushed, the kind of soft conversation shared between close friends late at night.

Venomshank was at the sink, his tall figure somehow looking even more imposing in the dim light as he calmly washed dishes. It was strange, Medkit thought, to see someone so powerful doing something so mundane. The image of the deity, dressed in simple clothes, scrubbing plates and utensils, felt out of place.

As Medkit took a seat at the counter, a plate of food was placed in front of him. The smell hit him first, a rich, savory aroma that made his stomach rumble in anticipation. He hesitated for a moment, his mind flashing back to the bland, poorly cooked meals he had been forced to endure at the church. But the first bite of Venomshank’s cooking dispelled any doubts he had. The food was flavorful and perfectly seasoned, each bite a stark contrast to the miserable meals he had grown used to. Medkit found himself eating slowly, savoring every mouthful.

The quiet sounds of utensils against plates filled the kitchen as the group ate in comfortable silence. Every so often, Sword or Rocket would exchange a few words, their voices soft and relaxed, while Venomshank continued washing dishes, his movements slow and deliberate. Medkit could feel the warmth of the meal spreading through him, easing some of the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

Once everyone had finished eating, Sword and Rocket stood up, their conversation picking up again as they headed back toward Sword’s room. Venomshank left the kitchen soon after, offering a brief nod in Medkit’s direction before disappearing down the hallway toward his own room.

With the kitchen now empty, Medkit quietly stood up and began cleaning his plate, rinsing it off and placing it in the sink. He lingered for a moment, staring down at the clean, orderly kitchen, before turning and heading toward the guest bedroom.

The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of the curtains as a gentle breeze passed through the partially open window. Medkit closed the window and flopped onto the bed, the weight of the day finally catching up with him as he sank into the soft mattress. He laid there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the house settling in for the night. A soft meow from the side of the bed caught his attention, and he turned his head to see the cat, her eyes watching him intently. It seemed she had snuck in when Medkit was entering the room.

She jumped up onto the bed with a graceful leap, padding over to his side before curling up next to him, her small body warm and comforting. Medkit sighed, reaching out to gently pet her, feeling the soft vibrations of her purring against his hand. It was oddly soothing, the quiet companionship of the little creature. After a few moments, Medkit reached over and turned off the lamp beside the bed, plunging the room into darkness. The cat’s purring was the last thing he heard as he drifted off to sleep.

•

The next morning, Medkit woke up feeling surprisingly well-rested. The sunlight filtered in through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. The cat was still curled up beside him, her small body rising and falling with each breath. He stretched, careful not to disturb her, before quietly getting out of bed, leaving the door open in case she wanted to leave.

When he made his way into the living room, Sword was already there, sitting on the couch. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that comes early in the morning when most of its inhabitants are still asleep. Medkit sat down beside him, sinking into the comfortable cushions as he rubbed the last bit of sleep from his eyes.

“Looks like it’s just me and you awake right now,” Sword said, his voice soft in the morning quiet. “Rocket’s still knocked out, and I’m guessing Dad’s still sleeping too.” He glanced over at Medkit, his gaze lingering on the eyepatch that covered Medkit’s left eye. After a moment, curiosity seemed to get the better of him, and he leaned forward slightly. “What happened to your eye, by the way? …If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Medkit tensed for a moment, his hand instinctively going to the edge of the eyepatch. His voice was quiet when he finally responded, a guarded edge to his tone. “I’d rather not say.”

Sword nodded, seemingly unbothered by the vague response, though his curiosity remained. “Have you ever had an eye exam done with only one eye?” he asked, leaning forward a little more, his tone suddenly inquisitive. “Is it hard to do? I always have trouble reading the last row of letters. I can never get them right.”

Medkit blinked, a little taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. He leaned back slightly, caught off guard by Sword’s enthusiasm. “No,” Medkit replied slowly, “I don’t think I’ve ever had one. …Why?”

Sword shrugged, his expression brightening. “Just curious! How about I take you for one after Rocket and Dad leave? Dad makes me get an exam done every two or three years, so you should at least get one.” His tone was casual, as though he were suggesting something as simple as a walk in the park.

Medkit hesitated for a moment but eventually agreed. After all, he hadn’t had an eye exam before. He wasn’t entirely sure how much it would help, but he figured there was no harm in trying.

An hour or so later, both Venomshank and Rocket had left the house, each saying their goodbyes as they headed out for their respective errands. The house felt quieter in their absence, the only sounds coming from the same soft ticking of a clock and the distant hum of traffic outside. Medkit and Sword left to walk to a nearby doctor’s office.

When they arrived, the office was a pristine sight to behold. The building’s modern architecture was immediately noticeable, with sleek lines and large windows that allowed natural light to flood the lobby. Inside, the walls were a clean, almost sterile white, and the entire space felt minimalist yet undeniably fancy. A large potted plant sat near the waiting area, its vibrant green leaves offering the only real splash of color in the otherwise monochrome room. Everything was neat and orderly, from the perfectly aligned magazines on the coffee table to the spotless, cushioned chairs.

Sword had booked the appointment under Medkit’s name, and once they checked in, they sat in the lobby. The quiet hum of air conditioning was the only real sound in the room, aside from the occasional flipping of a magazine page by one of the other patients. Sword, ever the optimist, tried to strike up small talk, but Medkit was too distracted by the quiet unease building in his chest. It wasn’t anything serious, just the familiar anxiety that came with any kind of medical visit.

Before long, Medkit’s name was called, and the nurse led them into the back. The exam room was just as clean and orderly as the rest of the office, with bright overhead lights and a large, prominent eye chart on the wall. Medkit stood in front of it, feeling strangely out of place in this spotless environment. The nurse was a young female demon with a nervous smile, though appeared kind.

“Alright,” she began, her voice betraying a slight tremor, “stand here and cover your-uh, I mean… Stand here and recite the letters on the chart, stop for a moment when going to the next row.” Medkit nodded as he squinted slightly, trying to make out the letters on the chart.

“E,” he began, his voice steady at first. “P, F.” The letters were clear enough at the top, and Medkit felt a brief surge of confidence. “T, O, Z.” He moved down to the next line, pausing for a moment. “L, P, E, D.” So far, so good.

Then came the fifth line.

“P… E…” He squinted harder, trying to make sense of the increasingly blurry shapes. “…uhm…”

His voice trailed off as the letters blurred together into an indistinct mess. Since when had his eyesight gotten so bad? He’d always known his right eye wasn’t great, but this was worse than he expected.

The nurse, sensing his hesitation, smiled gently. “That’s okay. Let’s see…” She scribbled something down on her clipboard, then glanced back at him. “We’re going to prescribe you glasses. As we get your lenses sorted out, go ahead and pick out a pair from our catalog.”

She handed him a magazine filled with various styles of glasses, and Medkit sighed inwardly as he accepted it, sitting down in a nearby seat. Glasses weren’t something he had ever anticipated needing, especially now. He always hated the idea of wearing them, and now it felt like yet another reminder of his damaged eye. But, he reasoned with himself, if it helped him see better, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

As he flipped through the catalog, Sword sat beside him, offering a smile of encouragement. “Don’t worry! I’m sure your eyesight is just a bit… off since you only have one eye… ha, y’know…” Sword trailed off awkwardly, realizing his attempt at lightening the mood might have touched a nerve.

Medkit didn’t respond, scanning the catalog as he searched for a pair that looked halfway decent. After a while, he settled on a half-framed pair, the top part of the frame being absent, which gave them a minimal, unobtrusive look. He didn’t love them, but they seemed like the best option.

Once he made his choice, the nurse returned to collect the information, assuring him the glasses would be ready shortly. She disappeared into the back again, leaving Medkit and Sword alone in the sterile room.

“Glasses, huh?” Medkit muttered to himself as he tapped the magazine against his leg. He wasn’t thrilled, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He started to regret going through with Sword’s stupid idea.

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the nurse returned with the glasses in a small, sleek case. She went over some basic care instructions and cautioned him to wear them consistently, especially when reading or focusing on anything at a distance. Medkit nodded absently, accepting the case before standing up to leave. Sword,  the same ball of energy, practically bounced to his feet beside him.

As they returned home after paying, Sword’s excitement only grew. The moment they stepped through the front door, Sword ushered Medkit into the bathroom, determined to see how the new glasses looked. They stood in front of the mirror, the bright bathroom lights casting a stark glow over their reflections. Medkit reluctantly opened the case and pulled out the glasses, sliding them on with a resigned sigh.

He stared at his reflection for a long moment, his single visible eye scrutinizing every inch of his appearance. He hated it. The glasses, though minimal, felt like they drew attention to the very thing he wished people would ignore, his missing eye. His face looked… off, unbalanced. It wasn’t as if anyone else would notice, but to him, it felt glaringly obvious.

Sword, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear. “They look great on you! I’m sure you can see way better too, right?” he said, his tail wagging eagerly behind him.

Medkit had to admit, his vision had improved significantly. The world around him looked sharper, clearer, like he was seeing things in high definition for the first time in a year. He nodded in response, though his expression remained stoic as he walked out of the bathroom, Sword trailing behind him.

He made his way to the guest bedroom and Sword parted for his own room, Medkit feeling a weight settle over him as he entered. The door was still open, likely from when he had left it open and forgot to go back to shut it that morning. 

His new glasses sat on the nightstand once he took them off. Medkit could already feel the tension building in his chest as he contemplated wearing them regularly. Without bothering to turn off the hallway light that spilled faintly into the room, close the door, or change clothes, Medkit walked over to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting out a deep breath as he sank into the mattress.

For a moment, everything was still. The gentle hum of the distant city outside the window and the faint ticking of the same clock somewhere in the house were the only sounds breaking the otherwise silent night. Medkit stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts hazy and unfocused as exhaustion began to take over. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shoes or remove the covers; his body simply didn’t care anymore.

Then, from the doorway, came a soft sound, a meow. Medkit slowly turned his head, his gaze landing on the small figure sitting contently in the entrance. Medkit sighed again, this time a little more affectionately, and raised his hand in a silent invitation for the cat to join him on the bed.

Without hesitation, the cat padded into the room, its movements graceful and fluid as it jumped up onto the bed. It settled itself on Medkit’s stomach, curling into a tight ball of warmth and contentment. Medkit could feel the gentle rise and fall of the cat’s breathing, its soft purring vibrating faintly against his chest. The rhythmic sound was soothing, almost hypnotic, and before long, Medkit felt his eyelids grow heavy, his body finally surrendering to the pull of sleep.

The room remained unchanged as Medkit drifted off. The lights stayed on, casting a warm glow over the space, and the door remained open, allowing a slight breeze from the hallway to flutter into the room. It didn’t matter. In that moment, the gentle weight of the cat and the quiet of the house were all he needed. The world outside seemed distant, unimportant, as sleep overtook him, pulling him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

Years passed with a quiet, seamless flow, each day blending into the next with a kind of comforting monotony. Nothing significant or dramatic happened during that time. Medkit continued to live at Sword’s house, the days slipping by with an almost eerie regularity. His life had settled into a peaceful, albeit uneventful, routine. He had grown close to both Sword and Venomshank, their bonds strengthening as they spent more time together. Sword, insisting he needed one, had even gone so far as to buy Medkit a phone, stating they needed a way to stay in touch even when they weren’t together. Medkit hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now, as the years stretched on, he found himself appreciating the small gesture more than he ever expected, though he still rarely used the phone.

Today, however, was different. Today was a day of interest, a rare occasion that broke the usual pattern of quiet days and nights. It was Sword’s twenty-first birthday, a milestone that demanded celebration. Medkit himself, now twenty-five, couldn’t help but reflect on how quickly the years had flown by. It felt like only yesterday they had been younger. Where had the time gone?

The plan for the night was simple but exciting. They were going out to drink in honor of Sword’s birthday, something Sword had been eagerly anticipating for weeks. Medkit, though not as enthusiastic about alcohol due to his low tolerance, was happy to join in the festivities for the sake of his friend. After all, moments like this didn’t come around often.

They made their way to a fancy bar, the kind of place that exuded luxury and class. The interior was dimly lit, with sleek, dark wood furnishings and the soft glow of ambient lighting creating an intimate atmosphere. The patrons, dressed in their finest, sipped on expensive cocktails as they chatted quietly among themselves. Medkit, Sword, and Rocket all wore suits, with Medkit’s being borrowed from Sword for the night. The suit fit well enough, though Medkit found himself tugging at the collar every now and then, still not quite used to the formal attire, though at this point Sword was almost his height, so the suit fit a bit better than the clothes he had first borrowed years ago.

They sat at a table near the bar, ordering their drinks for the night. Sword and Medkit both went for light drinks, something to start the evening off slowly, while Rocket, not yet of age, opted for a mocktail. He didn’t seem to mind being the only one not drinking alcohol, eager just to be part of the celebration. As the drinks arrived, the three of them settled into conversation, Sword and Rocket chatting animatedly while Medkit sipped his drink in relative silence. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying himself, he was, in his own way, but he had always been more of an observer than a talker in these settings.

The evening was going smoothly, with laughter and light conversation filling the air, until Medkit noticed a commotion near the entrance. His gaze shifted toward the source of the noise, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. A crowd had gathered near the door, the murmurs of the patrons growing louder as someone pushed through the throng.

At first, Medkit couldn’t quite see who it was, but as the figure emerged from the crowd, his heart skipped a beat.

A demon with two massive purple horns, unmistakable even among the varied guests, strode into the room with purpose. He was dressed in a sleek, dark suit that clung to his broad frame, the fabric impeccably tailored to his muscled form. Though it wasn’t his sharp attire that sent a wave of panic through Medkit, it was who he was. 

Banhammer.

Medkit could feel a cold sweat starting to form at the back of his neck. This wasn’t good. Banhammer was infamous, a demon known for his strict enforcement of order, and someone Medkit had now feared due to his wanted status. And now, here he was, moving through the crowd like a shark cutting through water, and to Medkit's horror, it seemed like Banhammer was headed directly toward him. 

Medkit’s pulse quickened, and a creeping sense of dread wrapped itself around his chest like a vice. Banhammer wasn’t wearing his usual blindfold, his eyes now sharp and focused, scanning the room. Medkit knew that look, Banhammer was looking for someone. He was here for a reason, and Medkit had a sinking suspicion that reason involved him.

Sword, engrossed in his conversation with Rocket, had also noticed the stir in the crowd. He turned in his seat, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the sight of Banhammer entering the room. As Sword began to speak, Medkit unintentionally cut him off.

"Hey… uh… I gotta go," Medkit muttered, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. His words came out in a rushed, awkward jumble as he pushed his chair back and stood up, already inching toward the exit. "I’ve enjoyed the birthday so far, but… I just remembered I agreed to meet up with someone, totally slipped my mind, super important. Sorry about this… enjoy the rest of the night though!"

Sword began to reply, this time to Medkit, his brow furrowing in confusion, but Medkit was already moving, barely listening to whatever response Sword gave. His sole focus was on getting out of the room as quickly as possible, his gaze darting toward the front door, the only viable escape route.

He moved swiftly, trying not to draw too much attention as he weaved through the crowd. But his heart was pounding in his chest, and it felt like every demon in the room could hear it. His eyes flicked back toward the entrance, and sure enough, Banhammer had spotted him, probably due to his frantic state, great. Even from a distance, Medkit could feel the weight of the demon’s stare locking onto him like a predator eyeing its prey.

"Hey!" a voice shouted, cutting through the noise of the room. It was Banhammer, also great.

The single word froze Medkit in place for a split second, but his body reacted before his mind could catch up. He bolted. His legs carried him forward in a blur as he pushed through the remaining demons, ignoring the startled gasps and curses as he shoved past them. He couldn’t afford to slow down, not for anything. Not if he wanted to avoid Banhammer’s wrath.

The cold night air hit him like a wall as he burst out onto the street. Medkit didn’t stop, his feet pounding against the pavement as he sprinted down the dimly lit road. The city stretched out before him, a maze of narrow streets and towering buildings, all bathed in the soft, eerie glow of the moonlight. 

Behind him, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoed in pursuit. Banhammer was fast, faster than Medkit had anticipated. He could hear the demon’s deep voice barking orders, though the words were lost to him as the adrenaline surged through his veins. The demons who had been milling about the streets turned to watch the spectacle, their glowing eyes following Medkit’s mad dash as he ran through the night.

His breath came in sharp, shallow gasps, his heart hammering against his ribcage. Banhammer was still on his tail, and there was no telling what he would do if he caught him. Medkit couldn’t afford to think about it. All that mattered was putting as much distance between them as possible.

Up ahead, Medkit spotted an alleyway, narrow and shadowed, but it was his only option. Without hesitating, he turned sharply, darting into the alley with the hope that it would lead him to safety. The darkness swallowed him, the tall buildings on either side casting long shadows that obscured everything in front of him. But as he sprinted deeper into the alley, his hope quickly turned to dread.

Dead end.

Medkit skidded to a halt, his eyes widening as he took in the brick wall looming ahead of him. He let out a frustrated scoff. Of course there was a dead end. It was almost laughably cliché, a dark alley with no way out, right when he needed an escape the most.

His eyes darted around, searching desperately for something, anything that could provide a way out. But there was nothing, no fire escape, no loose grating, no windows to climb through. He was trapped. The only way out was the way he came in, and that was no longer an option.

As Medkit stood there, panting and cornered, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, a shadow, tall and menacing, growing larger as it approached. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his ears. Banhammer had caught up.

The demon’s towering silhouette filled the entrance to the alley, his built form outlined by the faint light from the street behind him. His purple horns glinted ominously in the low light, and his eyes gleamed with a cold, unyielding intensity. There was no escape. Banhammer blocked the only exit, and his expression made it clear that he had no intention of letting Medkit walk away unscathed.

Instinct took over.

Medkit’s hand shot to his side, fingers wrapping around the grip of his revolver. In one swift motion, he drew the weapon, aiming it directly at Banhammer without thinking twice. His hands shook slightly, but his grip remained firm. There was no room for hesitation. His only chance was to act first.

With a sharp intake of breath, Medkit pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, a deafening crack that echoed through the narrow alley.

Bang!

Chapter Text

The instant Medkit squeezed the trigger, the sharp crack of the revolver echoed off the narrow alley walls. The bullet whizzed through the stale, humid air and hit Banhammer’s left arm. The warden barely flinched and glanced down at the wound as if it were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, blood seeping slowly from the injury, staining the sleeve of his crisp, dark suit. For a moment, there was an eerie silence between them, the sound of the shot still ringing in Medkit’s ears, but Banhammer broke it with a deep, rumbling chuckle.

Medkit’s heart pounded in his chest. His mind raced, instincts screaming at him to shoot again. His fingers trembled as they gripped the revolver tighter, his pulse erratic. Banhammer was a demi-deiity, fierce, relentless, and near unstoppable. The revolver might as well have been a toy in Medkit’s hands for all the good it seemed to be doing, but he wasn't about to give up. He raised the gun again, determined to at least try and make his escape.

However, before he could even line up his next shot, Banhammer moved with a speed and strength that belied his massive frame. In a blur, he lunged forward, slamming Medkit’s wrists against the rough brick wall behind him with a brutal force that made Medkit grunt in pain. His revolver slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground, joining the rest of his scattered gear. The alley seemed to close in on him, suffocating, as Banhammer’s grip tightened like iron around his wrists, pinning him in place.

Medkit’s breath hitched, his brow furrowing in frustration and panic as he struggled against the warden’s hold. He tried to twist his right hand free, desperate to regain some control over the situation, but his efforts only seemed to amuse Banhammer further. The warden sneered, pushing Medkit harder against the wall, the brick digging painfully into his back.

“Ha! You think your puny gun is going to stop me?” Banhammer growled, leaning in close enough for Medkit to feel the heat radiating from his body. His smirk was vicious, the kind of smile that held no warmth, only malice, and Medkit could almost swear he could see Banhammer’s large tail swaying back and forth. “You’ve got a high price on your head, traitor. And I’ve finally caught you.”

Medkit’s mind reeled at the word “traitor,” but he wasn’t given much time to dwell on it. His muscles tensed as he squirmed, trying once more to break free from Banhammer’s grasp. But no matter how much he wriggled, the warden’s hold was unbreakable. Banhammer moved swiftly, his free hand reaching into one of the pockets of his tailored suit. Medkit’s eyes widened as he watched the warden pull out a length of thick, coiled rope.

“Rope?” Medkit blurted out, his voice edged with disbelief and a hint of annoyance as Banhammer began expertly tying his wrists together. “Do all wardens just keep rope with them at all times? How’d you even fit that in your pocket?”

His tone was sarcastic, an attempt to mask the rising anxiety bubbling in his chest, but Banhammer didn’t seem amused. If anything, the warden’s eyes darkened as he finished securing the rope around Medkit’s body, then methodically tied his ankles, leaving him completely bound and immobilized.

“Shut up before I rip your other eye out,” Banhammer snarled, his voice low and dangerous. There was no room for jokes in his tone, and Medkit could feel the weight of that threat settling heavily in the air between them.

Medkit fell silent, glaring at the warden but keeping his mouth shut. The comment stung, but Medkit knew better than to provoke Banhammer further, especially when he was already in such a vulnerable position. He shifted uncomfortably as Banhammer hoisted him effortlessly over his shoulder, the world tilting slightly as Medkit’s body hung upside down. His revolver and gear, now scattered across the ground, were quickly scooped up by Banhammer, who showed no intention of leaving anything behind.

As they left the alley, Medkit didn’t need to ask where they were going, he already knew. 

Banland was calling.

The streets of The Lost Temple were quiet at this hour, the usual hustle of the day replaced by the stillness of the night. Only a few demons lingered, most of them too engrossed in their own affairs to notice Banhammer carrying a tied-up Medkit through the streets. The night air was warm, uncomfortably so, and Medkit could feel the heat pressing against his skin through the borrowed suit he still wore. His body was twisted awkwardly over Banhammer’s shoulder, and no matter how much he shifted, he couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position.

“Stop moving!” Banhammer barked suddenly, his voice sharp as he glanced back at Medkit.

Medkit froze, biting back a retort. He didn’t respond, just let his body go limp and stared at the cobblestone streets as they passed. He had no idea how far Banland was from The Lost Temple, or even how to get there, but Banhammer clearly did. And as they walked, the route they took brought them right past the bar where the night had begun.

The crowd outside from before had thinned somewhat, but several patrons still lingered, their conversations continuing late into the night. Medkit kept his head down, hoping to pass unnoticed, but that hope shattered when he saw two familiar faces in the crowd, Sword and Rocket. They stood near the entrance, both glancing in his direction, their eyes wide with shock.

“Medkit? What happened?” Sword called out, his voice full of confusion and concern.

Medkit’s stomach tightened with a wave of embarrassment. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at them, especially not Sword. Instead, he turned his head, staring back at the ground and refusing to meet his friend’s gaze. There were no words to explain this situation, and even if there were, Medkit wasn’t sure he could bring himself to say them.

Sword hesitated, then leaned over to whisper something to Rocket, scratching his head as he shot Medkit one last look from the corner of his eye. Medkit could feel the weight of Sword’s gaze even after they’d passed, but he didn’t dare glance back.

The journey to Banland was long, uncomfortable, and utterly miserable. The air grew hotter as the night dragged on, and the oppressive heat, combined with the suit and the ropes still binding him, made Medkit feel like he was slowly suffocating. His muscles ached from the awkward position, and the tight ropes chafed against his skin with every jolt of Banhammer’s steps.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived at an interrogation room. The walls were stark and colorless, a bleak blackish-grey that matched Medkit’s own sullen mood. The room was small, with only a single table and two chairs in the center, lit by a harsh, overhead light that cast long shadows across the floor.

Without a word, Banhammer dropped Medkit into one of the chairs and untied the ropes binding him. The relief of being free from the restraints was immediate, though Medkit’s wrists and ankles throbbed where the ropes had cut into his skin. He flexed his fingers, trying to get the blood flowing again, as Banhammer took a seat across the table, his expression hard and unreadable.

Medkit’s green eyes locked onto Banhammer’s glowing purple ones, a brief moment of silent defiance passing between them. Medkit wasn’t sure what to expect from this interrogation, since well, he had never been in this predicament before. His mind was already working through scenarios, trying to figure out the quickest way to get out of this situation, though the plainness of the room and Banhammer’s looming presence did little to inspire hope.

“Alright,” Banhammer grunted, his deep, gravelly voice breaking the tense silence. He grabbed a clipboard that had been lying on the edge of the table, flipping through a few pages before glancing up at Medkit. The fluorescent light above them buzzed faintly, casting a cold glow over the scene. “I’m sure you know the drill. I’m gonna ask some questions, and you’re going to answer them.” Medkit clenched his jaw, already disliking where this was going, but he didn’t say anything yet.

Banhammer continued, his tone curt and serious. “Starting off, what’s your age, height, date of birth, and birthplace?”

Medkit cleared his throat, his voice steady but edged with a subtle irritation. “I’m twenty-five. Five-foot-eight and a half. Born on December nineteenth. And I’m from Blackrock.”

Banhammer’s pen scratched against the paper as he quickly jotted down the information. His eyes flickered up toward Medkit again, cold and probing, before he added, “What year were you born? You skipped that.”

Medkit crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair slightly as a small, sarcastic smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure you can do some math and figure that out yourself, warden,” he replied, his attitude becoming cocky.

Banhammer’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips twitching as if he were suppressing the urge to lash out. The room seemed to grow colder with the tension that passed between them, but Banhammer didn’t bite. Instead, he scoffed, glancing back down at his clipboard as if Medkit’s attitude was nothing more than an expected obstacle.

“What did you do during your time away from Blackrock?” Banhammer asked, moving swiftly to the next question, though there was a sharp edge to his voice now. It was clear that Medkit’s earlier remark had gotten under his skin.

Medkit let out a soft sigh, his mind flashing back to those days, the dark corridors of The Church of the TRUE EYE, the strange ceremonies, and the distant gaze of the clergy members. “I stayed at The Church of the TRUE EYE,” he began, his voice flat but tinged with a bitterness that he couldn’t fully suppress. “And with a friend.”

Banhammer jotted down more notes, his expression unreadable. “What is your affiliation with The Church of the TRUE EYE?” he pressed, his voice sounding almost bored now, as if the routine of questioning was wearing on him.

“They took me in and saved me,” Medkit replied, his green eyes growing slightly colder as he recalled the Church’s influence over him. “They treated me as one of them. I worked as a medic for them.”

Banhammer’s pen stopped briefly, hovering over the page as he processed that information. There was a flicker of something, interest, maybe, or suspicion, but the warden reverted to his previous expression. “What happened on the day you betrayed Blackrock?”

That question hit like a physical blow. Medkit’s muscles tensed, his jaw tightening as a flare of anger surged within him. His hands, now free from the ropes, clenched into fists as he stared directly into Banhammer’s eyes. The accusation stung.

“I never betrayed anyone,” Medkit replied, his voice low, but steady. There was no hesitation in his words, only the simmering heat of frustration. “If you want information that bad, go ask that freak who did this to me,” he said, pointing to the eyepatch he wore. “All I did was protect myself.”

Banhammer’s gaze darkened, the interrogation room seeming to grow heavier with each word. The silence stretched between them, the tension thick enough to choke on. But Banhammer wasn’t one to back down so easily. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes boring into Medkit’s.

“What happened on that day?” he repeated, his voice cold and unyielding.

Medkit’s lips curled into a thin frown. “Let’s skip to another question.”

Banhammer’s expression hardened, his patience clearly wearing thin. He straightened in his chair, his muscles tensing as if he were preparing to snap. “What. Happened,” he growled, each word dripping with barely contained anger. “Answer me.”

“I’m done.” Medkit’s voice was firm as he spoke. He pushed back from the table, standing up abruptly from the chair. His body ached from the sudden movement, but he was too angry to care. He had no intention of letting Banhammer drag him through his past, not like this.

Banhammer’s eyes flashed with rage, his fists clenching at his sides. For a brief moment, it looked as if the warden might lunge at him, but instead, he sneered, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Fine.”

With a rough, deliberate motion, Banhammer grabbed the rope that had been discarded earlier and roughly tied Medkit’s wrists together again. His movements were harsh, his fingers biting into Medkit’s skin as he bound him, the frustration evident in every knot he tied. Once secured, Banhammer hauled Medkit to his feet and dragged him toward the far side of the room, where a large metal cell sat, waiting, similar to a cage.

Without a word, Banhammer unlocked the cell, untied Medkit, and shoved him inside. The sound of the cell door slamming shut echoed throughout the mountains of Banland, and Medkit could feel the faint sway of the cage as it was hoisted up, lifted into the air by another set of rope by Banhammer. The higher the cage went, the hotter the air became, as if the very walls of Banland itself were pressing down on him.

Medkit leaned against the metal bars, the heat stifling, his skin prickling with discomfort as the cell rocked gently back and forth. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed movement in the cage next to him, and a familiar figure sat inside, their legs dangling off the side.

Broker sat casually on the cold, uneven metal floor, as he kicked his feet in an almost childlike manner outside the cell. His tail swayed lazily back and forth, a rhythmic motion that seemed to reflect the demon’s carefree attitude despite the grim surroundings. He gazed downward, seemingly lost in thought, watching the dust particles swirl below. But the moment his eyes caught sight of Medkit, all traces of idle distraction disappeared. With a sudden burst of energy, Broker shot up, practically bouncing to the bars of his cell as he leaned against them, pressing his face between the cold, rusted metal.

“Oh, you’re here!” Broker’s voice rang out, loud and filled with an unmistakable enthusiasm, as if they weren’t both locked up in swaying cages far above the ground. His tail flicked back and forth with renewed vigor, the bright glint of mischief in his eye impossible to miss. “We thought you had left for good! I like the whole suit and glasses thing you have going on, but honestly, our uniform always looks better~!” His sing-song tone was light, almost teasing, as if the situation they found themselves in was some minor inconvenience rather than a serious predicament.

Medkit, already exhausted from the day’s events and the oppressive heat of Banland, felt his frustration simmering beneath the surface. Broker’s upbeat attitude was like sandpaper on his nerves, but he managed to keep his expression neutral, simply watching as the demon continued to ramble on without pause.

“Anyways, it’s practically perfect timing!” Broker went on, barely giving Medkit a second to respond. “Scythe is coming to pick me up anytime now, and I’m sure you want to leave as well. You could probably work out some deal with her to gain access back into the Church and leave this cell! That’s pretty much a win-win in my books!” His words tumbled out in a chaotic but strangely coherent stream, his tail twitching more rapidly as he seemed to relish the thought of their impending freedom.

Medkit stood in silence for a long moment, the words hanging in the air. He could feel the weight of the decision he had to make. Going back to the Church, the same place that had used him, wasn’t an appealing option, but what was the alternative? Rotting in this sweltering cage, suspended high above the ground, waiting for whatever twisted fate Banhammer had in store? The decision gnawed at him, pulling at his insides like an invisible tether.

Broker, ever perceptive, must have noticed Medkit’s hesitation. His grin faltered, just for a moment, his excitement dimming slightly as he watched the gears turning in Medkit’s head, but neither responded. Medkit turned his back to the bars of his cage, unwilling to meet whatever look might have crossed Broker’s face. The reality was, as much as he hated it, going back to the Church was likely the only option he had. The thought filled him with a deep, gnawing resentment, but in the end, survival came first. Medkit let out a small, frustrated breath as he slowly lowered himself to sit on the cold, unforgiving floor of the cage. The metal beneath him was hard, uncomfortable, and did little to soothe his rising tension.

He leaned his head back against the bars, his eyes drifting upward to the dark sky above, though the faint sound of Broker’s continued rambling drifted into the background. His words were a distant, almost muffled sound now, something Medkit could no longer focus on. Time seemed to stretch on, and before long, the soft murmur of the breeze and the occasional creak of the cages were the only sounds filling the space around them.

•
An hour must have passed, maybe more, before the silence was suddenly broken by a sharp, metallic clank. Medkit’s eyes snapped open, and he immediately tensed. From his vantage point, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure moving quickly, gracefully from one of the jagged cliffsides that towered over the prison. It didn’t take long for Medkit to recognize who it was.

Scythe.

She leapt from the peak of one of the mountains with an almost predatory grace, landing effortlessly on top of Broker’s cell with a soft thud. Her hair shimmered in the dim light as she moved, her eyes glowing faintly with a fierce intensity that Medkit remembered all too well. Scythe crouched low for a moment, scanning the area around her, before swiftly climbing down the side of the cell with practiced ease. Her movements were sharp, precise, and Medkit couldn’t help but feel a tight knot of unease forming in his gut.

Once she reached the side of the cell and stood on its floor, Scythe pulled a small, makeshift lockpick from her pocket. She glanced up at Broker, flashing him a sly grin before she quickly began unlocking the cage. The door swung open with a soft creak, and Broker wasted no time, leaping down and grabbing the rope that held his cell up, sliding down with an exaggerated flourish, his tail whipping through the air as he landed on the ground. Though, Scythe’s eyes found Medkit.

“‘Kit, is that you?” Scythe’s voice was laced with an amused surprise, a low chuckle escaping her lips as she slowly approached Medkit’s cage. “Never thought I’d see ya again. I’m guessin’ ya want me to save you from this lil’ predicament yer in?” She laughed softly, the sound mocking, as she jumped to his cell and worked on unlocking it as well. Her hands moved quickly, the lock clicking open in mere seconds. But as she opened the door, she reached out and grabbed Medkit’s wrist, her grip tight and firm.

“Kinda obvious that I’m gonna ask ya to join the Church again to gain your freedom,” she said, her voice dropping into a more serious tone. The amusement in her eyes flickered, replaced with something colder, more calculating. “I don’t just rescue traitors for free.” She gave his wrist a small, warning squeeze before continuing. “All I need ya to do is work yer medic job again, stay in line, and do what yer told. That’s pretty easy, right?”

Medkit’s jaw tightened, his pulse quickening as Scythe’s words sank in. He looked down at the hand that held his wrist, his mind racing with a mix of resentment and desperation. He hated the idea of being dragged back into the Church’s web, but he also knew he didn’t have many choices left. With a begrudging sigh, he nodded.

“I’ll join,” Medkit muttered through gritted teeth, his green eyes flicking up to meet Scythe’s teal-ish ones. “Just let me out of here.”

Scythe snickered, her grip loosening as she released his wrist. “That’s what I thought,” she said with a smirk, her voice dripping with satisfaction. She hopped down from the edge of the cage with ease, grabbing hold of the thick rope that suspended it high in the air. With a graceful slide, she descended to the ground, her movements fluid and controlled.

Medkit cautiously sat himself on the edge of the cell, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he mentally prepared himself for the descent. Grabbing the rope with both hands, he felt the rough fibers bite into his palms. The texture was coarse, worn from years of use, and as he tightened his grip, he could already feel the strain on his hands. His muscles tensed, and for a moment, he hesitated, casting a quick glance down at the rocky ground below.

Unlike Scythe and Broker, who had slid down the rope with an effortless grace, Medkit lacked their dexterity. The fall seemed much steeper from this angle, and he cursed under his breath as he took a deep breath to steady himself. His knuckles turned white as he clutched the rope tightly and hopped down, his dress shoes scraping against the cell’s edge as he began his descent.

The air rushed past him as he slid down the rope, the friction burning against his palms because of his firm grip. Every muscle in his arms strained as he fought to maintain control of his speed, his legs dangling awkwardly beneath him. He clenched his jaw, focusing on each second as his body jerked slightly with each downward movement. The ground seemed to approach faster than he expected, and when his feet finally made contact, he stumbled, his legs wobbling under the force of the landing.

Gasping for breath, Medkit stood still for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He turned slowly to face Broker and Scythe, who stood waiting for him with amused looks. Just as Medkit was about to exhale a sigh of relief, Scythe tossed his gear and revolver in his direction with a casual flick of her wrist. He barely had time to react and his hands shot out instinctively, and the weight of the items caught him off guard. They fumbled awkwardly in his grip, and for a brief moment, it seemed like they might clatter to the ground, though Medkit managed to recover, holding the items close to his chest.

Scythe didn’t comment on his clumsiness or how it took forever for him to slide down, she simply smirked, her gaze sharp and calculating, as if she were sizing him up for something far more important. Medkit glanced down at the items in his arms, his mind swirling with questions. When had she retrieved his gear? Had she been planning this? Medkit kept those questions to himself, knowing better than to ask.

•

The walk back to the Church was a strange, uncomfortable affair. Medkit lagged a few steps behind Broker and Scythe, the silence between them almost palpable. The oppressive heat of Banland seemed to cling to his skin, but as they crossed the boundary into The Lost Temple’s territory, the air changed. It was cooler, crisper, and the night breeze brought with it a sense of fleeting relief. The contrast between the two regions was stark, as if they were passing from one world into another. Medkit welcomed the cooler air, though it did little to ease the growing tension in his gut.

As they approached the towering stone structure of the Church, its silhouette dark against the night sky, Scythe moved ahead and unlocked the front doors with swift, practiced movements. The heavy wooden doors groaned open, revealing the darkened interior of the temple, and without warning, Scythe’s hand shot out, grabbing Medkit’s wrist once more. Her grip was firm, almost possessive, as she pulled him forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as she spoke in a low, deliberate tone.

“I’m gonna need ya to follow me,” she murmured, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. “I’m not going to let ya just leave freely without punishment…”

Medkit swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. The ominous tone in her voice left no room for argument, and he found himself nodding silently as she released his wrist. His skin tingled where her fingers had been, a lingering reminder of her control over him. As they stepped inside, the air grew heavier, the weight of the Church’s cold stone walls pressing in on him from all sides.

The vast hallways stretched before them, dimly lit by flickering torches mounted along the ancient walls. Their footsteps echoed through the corridors, the sound bouncing off the cracked stone floors. Medkit’s eyes darted around, the familiar architecture of the Church stirring memories he didn’t know he tried to suppress. It felt like the walls themselves were watching him, judging him for his return. He followed Scythe without a word, watching her tails swish back and forth.

Broker, who had been unusually quiet during the walk, handed a neatly folded Church uniform to Scythe as they passed through the halls. She accepted it with a curt nod, gesturing for Broker to leave. Medkit assumed the uniform was meant for him, but the thought of putting it on made his stomach turn.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, they finally arrived at a large, open room deep within the Church’s interior. Medkit immediately recognized it, though it had been years since he’d last set foot there. The room was almost entirely bare, its stone floors cracked and uneven, with patches of dried blood staining the ground. There were various weapons scattered around on the nearby tables, tools of torture and punishment that hung ominously on the broken walls. Some were rusty, their age apparent, while others seemed well-used, polished from frequent handling. The room was dimly lit by a single, flickering light that cast eerie shadows across the floor and walls, making the entire space feel even more oppressive.

Medkit’s eyes wandered over the faint patches of blood that dotted even the walls and ceiling. It looked as though someone had attempted to scrub them off, but the stains were too deep, too ingrained in the stone to ever fully disappear. They served as a constant reminder of the countless victims who had been brought here before him.

Scythe walked to the center of the room, her expression unreadable. She casually set the uniform and her own gear down on a table off to the side, picking up an aged, leather-bound whip. Medkit recognized it instantly, the same whip he had seen her use all those years ago. His throat tightened, and a wave of dread washed over him as she inspected the weapon with an almost casual air, as if it were an extension of herself.

“Did ya say anything that could hint at where we are located or how we operate?” Scythe’s voice cut through the air like a blade as she turned to face Medkit. Her eyes bore into him, sharp and unyielding as she walked closer until they were face-to-face. Scythe tossed his gear and revolver aside with a flick of her wrist, the clatter of the metal echoing through the room.

Medkit’s mouth felt dry, his heart racing as he struggled to form a response. He shook his head, too panicked to speak. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, but he tried to hide his fear. He couldn’t let her see how terrified he truly was.

Scythe’s expression darkened as she stood before Medkit, and in that moment, she seemed like something out of a nightmare, her predatory stance, the calculating smirk playing on her lips, and the sheer menace in her eyes made her seem larger than life. Medkit’s instincts screamed at him to beg for mercy, though he shot that down as well.

“Good…” Scythe’s voice was calm, almost too calm. It sent a shiver down Medkit’s spine. “Now kneel for me.”

The command was so simple, yet it carried a heavy weight. Medkit’s knees buckled as he dropped to the ground without hesitation, the rough stone floor biting into his kneecaps. He tried to steady his breathing, his heart pounding in his ears, but the fear twisted his stomach into knots. The cold air of the room brushed against his skin, and for a moment, it was like he was completely exposed to her judgment, stripped of all pretense, all the strength he thought he had.

“You were gone for what, over five years?” Scythe’s words dripped with mockery, her voice echoing in the hollow space between them. She paced in front of him, her steps slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the moment before the kill. “One way we deal with stragglers who escape… is hit them once for every day they were gone.”

Medkit’s throat tightened. He could feel sweat starting to bead on his brow despite the cold, a clammy slickness that only made his terror more tangible. His fingers twitched at his sides, desperate to do something, anything, but he stayed still, unable to move. Scythe was reveling in this, in the power she held over him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Let’s see,” she mused, tapping her chin with mock thoughtfulness. “Three hundred and sixty-five days times five years is… one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five.” She laughed softly to herself, the sound sending a fresh wave of dread through Medkit. It was a laugh devoid of warmth, something cold and cruel that made the blood drain from his face.

Before he could even react, Scythe knelt down, her fingers moving with unsettling precision as she unbuttoned Medkit’s suit jacket. The fabric slipped off his shoulders, leaving him vulnerable. His undershirt followed soon after, revealing his bare chest to the frigid air. The cold hit his skin like a physical blow, his scrawny form shivering involuntarily. He felt so small, kneeling there, exposed not just to the cold but to Scythe’s unrelenting gaze. She discarded his clothing off to the side, a gesture so casual it was as if she was merely clearing away clutter.

Laughing to herself once more, Scythe stood back up, positioning herself behind him. Medkit’s breath quickened as he felt her presence looming over him, her shadow stretching out like a predator ready to strike. His heart raced in anticipation of the pain, his mind spinning in a thousand directions as he tried to brace himself for what was coming. But nothing could prepare him for the reality of it.

With a swift, practiced motion, Scythe raised her prosthetic arm, the whip gripped firmly in her metal fingers. There was a brief moment of silence, an agonizing pause where Medkit felt the weight of inevitability settle over him like a suffocating blanket. Then the whip cracked through the air.

The sound was deafening, reverberating through the room like thunder. The impact hit Medkit’s back with brutal force, sending a shockwave of pain coursing through his body. His mouth opened in a loud, guttural groan that bordered on a scream, his body instinctively hunching forward to try and shield itself from further assault. The pain was like fire, searing through his skin, and Medkit felt his body go rigid from the shock of it.

Before he could even catch his breath, another crack followed.

And another.

Each strike seemed worse than the last, the pain compounding with every brutal lash of the whip. It burned, a hot, searing agony that ripped through him, igniting every nerve in his body. Medkit tried to hold back his screams, to maintain some semblance of control, but by the time the twentieth blow struck, his resolve shattered. His cries echoed off the stone walls, raw and desperate as the pain overwhelmed him.

His back was a mass of burning welts, and he could feel the warm trickle of blood starting to flow down his skin. The metallic scent of it filled his nose, and he felt a nauseating sense of helplessness wash over him. His glasses, the one thing that remained intact, began to blur as his eyes filled with tears. The moisture collected in the lenses, distorting his vision until all he could see were the faint outlines of the room and the ghostly, flickering light overhead. His voice mixed with the sound of the whip, his anguished wailing adding to the symphony of torture Scythe conducted.

Another crack.

And another.

The lashes came relentlessly, one after the other, with no pause or mercy in between. Medkit lost track of time, each second stretching out into an eternity of pain. His back felt like it was on fire, the burning sensation consuming him completely. He could feel his blood pooling beneath him, small splashes of it hitting the stone floor with sickening regularity.

The room seemed to close in on him, the darkness pressing against the edges of his vision. He could hear himself sobbing, the wet sounds of his crying mixing with the steady rhythm of Scythe’s whip. His nose was running, snot mingling with his tears as he tried futilely to wipe it away. The simple act of lifting his arm caused another sharp flare of pain to shoot through him as the whip came down again, eliciting a pitiful whine from his lips.

More lashes.

More cracks.

The pain was unbearable, like nothing Medkit had ever experienced before. It wasn’t just physical, it was a deep, soul-crushing torment that gnawed at him from the inside out. He tried to distract himself, to think of anything other than the agony coursing through his body, but every attempt was futile. His mind fixated on the rhythm of the strikes, the relentless tempo that Scythe seemed to follow, around fifty beats per minute. The calculation did nothing to help though, it only made him more aware of each excruciating second that passed, each lash that landed on his raw, bleeding skin.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold stone floor fully. His body curled into a ball instinctively, a last-ditch effort to protect himself from the onslaught. But Scythe wasn’t having any of it. She continued her punishment, each lash striking with precision. Medkit’s tail, which had previously been tucked against his body, was now soaked in his own blood, a crimson reminder of the violence.

The splatters of blood on the floor were everywhere now, large, dark patches that reflected the dim light illuminating the room. Medkit’s stomach churned at the sight of it, and he felt the disgust rising in his throat. His vision was a blur, his glasses smeared with tears, and the world around him seemed to spin.

Another lash.

Another.

He couldn’t keep count anymore. His throat burned from screaming, his voice hoarse and broken. His body had run out of tears, but the pain still clawed at him, relentless and unyielding. His muscles twitched involuntarily, spasming from the sheer trauma his body was enduring. His head pounded with each heartbeat, lightheadedness creeping in, though he knew only a fraction of the punishment had been delivered.

All Medkit could do was lie there, twitching and whimpering as the blows continued to rain down upon him.

Around forty minutes passed before Scythe finished, delivering a kick to Medkit’s side, flipping him over onto his back. The motion sent sharp jolts of pain through his already battered body, and he let out a small, involuntary whine as his raw, bloodied back made contact with the cold, hard floor. The impact was jarring, the stone beneath him unforgiving as it pressed against the open wounds and torn flesh, sending shockwaves of pain through his body. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhale sending sharp stabs of pain up his spine. The air around him felt dense, suffocating, as if the very room itself was closing in, trapping him in this hellish moment.

Medkit stared up at the ceiling, his vision swimming. The dim light above flickered in and out of focus, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. His eye, bloodshot and swollen from the endless flow of tears, barely registered his surroundings anymore. Everything was a blur, a mixture of stone, blood, and darkness. His mind felt disconnected from his body, as though he were floating above himself, watching the broken shell of a man lying there on the floor. The room around him seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his shallow, ragged breaths, the world tilting and spinning as the dizziness took hold.

Without thinking, he instinctively curled up on his side, his arms wrapping around his stomach in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the pain. His body trembled uncontrollably, every movement sending sharp, burning jolts of agony through his back and down his limbs. 

He was cold, so cold. 

The blood that had soaked his skin was cooling rapidly, leaving him shivering and vulnerable on the stone floor. His muscles twitched involuntarily, spasming from the sheer trauma they had endured. Every inch of him screamed in protest, begging for some kind of relief that never came.

He wanted to vomit.

The nausea churned violently in his gut, rising up his throat. He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to retch, but it was a losing battle. His body was overwhelmed, his senses bombarded by the iron tang of blood, the sharp sting of sweat and tears, and the nauseating scent of his own broken flesh. His mind was hazy, clouded by pain and exhaustion, teetering on the edge of consciousness.

Scythe stood over him, her whip still dripping with his blood. The dull, rhythmic splattering of crimson drops onto the floor was almost hypnotic, adding to the oppressive silence that had settled over the room. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the church uniform next to him, the fabric landing unceremoniously beside his limp, trembling form. Medkit barely registered it, his vision too blurred, his mind too far gone to process anything beyond the raw, pulsating pain that throbbed through his body with every shallow breath he took.

“Doubt you can walk, so I’ll call someone to come get you,” Scythe’s voice was low, devoid of the mockery that had laced her words earlier. Now, it was cold, detached, as if she were simply completing a task, no more personal than discarding a piece of broken equipment. “Oh, and yer punishment is over,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “Though I’ll only give ya gear over once yer naturally healed. I’ll let ya take a small break from yer medic duties as well.” Her words felt distant, muffled, as though they were being spoken from the far end of a tunnel. Medkit could barely comprehend them, his mind too foggy to fully grasp the meaning behind them.

“The sins of the guilty shall scar those who don’t follow the Guiding Light,” she finished, her voice heavy with the weight of some twisted doctrine. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away, her heels clinking against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the empty, oppressive space. Each step she took seemed to reverberate through Medkit’s bones, the rhythmic clinks mingling with the distant echoes of his own ragged breaths.

Medkit laid there, motionless, his body trembling uncontrollably. He clutched the uniform she had thrown beside him, his fingers tightening around the coarse fabric as if it were a lifeline, something to ground him to reality. He pressed it to his chest, desperate for something, anything, to hold onto in this moment of overwhelming pain and despair. His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, the sobs came again. They were quiet, barely audible above the sound of his shuddering breaths, but they wracked his body nonetheless. He couldn’t help it. The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the blood and sweat that coated his skin, his whole body shaking with the force of his silent weeping.

Sometime later, Medkit woke in the dimly lit clinic. The world around him was still, save for the soft shuffle of footsteps as a demon, wearing a kind expression, approached him. The demon gently shook Medkit awake, rousing him from his fitful sleep. As Medkit blinked groggily, the demon handed him a tray of food, placing it on his lap before walking away without a word. The silence felt deafening, as if even the air around him was heavy with the weight of his suffering.

Medkit tried to sit up, though his body screamed in protest the moment he moved. His muscles, sore and stiff, resisted the motion, sending sharp jolts of pain through his chest and back. He groaned softly, the sound weak and pitiful as it escaped his dry, cracked lips. Glancing down at his chest, he noticed that he was clothed now, the church uniform covering his bruised and battered body. The fabric was stiff and felt strange.

Looking lower down, Medkit’s stomach churned at the sight of the food sitting on his lap. Even the mere thought of eating made him feel sick. The nausea from before had returned, stronger now, and he couldn’t imagine forcing anything down. With a soft sigh, Medkit pushed the tray aside, setting it down on a nearby stool before attempting to stretch. His muscles groaned in protest, stiff and aching, but he forced himself to move, and to stand.

Though, as soon as his feet touched the ground, his legs gave out beneath him..

Medkit collapsed onto the cold stone floor, his body too weak to support itself. He laid there for a moment, sprawled out on the floor, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The world around him spun violently, his vision blurring as the dizziness returned. For a moment, he considered staying there, lying on the ground and letting the exhaustion take him. But something inside him, some small, stubborn spark of determination, forced him to try again. With great effort, he pushed himself up, his limbs trembling as he slowly, painstakingly rose to his feet.

Once he had regained his balance, Medkit began to make his way to the library. Medkit’s legs trembled beneath him as he slowly made his way down the dimly lit corridors of the church. The air was thick with dust, particles swirling around in the pale beams of light that streamed in from the narrow cracks in the walls. Each step felt heavier than the last, and his back throbbed relentlessly, every movement sending waves of pain through his muscles. Medkit pushed on, driven by a vague sense of routine, a need to retreat somewhere familiar, somewhere quiet.

As he approached the entrance to the church’s library, the massive, weathered wooden doors loomed before him like ancient sentinels. The heavy brass handles, probably once polished to a shine, were now dull and tarnished, worn down by years of use. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the cold metal, his fingers trembling slightly. With a soft sigh, Medkit pushed open the door, the hinges creaking loudly in the silence, and he stepped into the musty, dimly lit room.

The library was a sanctuary of sorts, a place Medkit had often retreated to when the world around him became too overwhelming. It was a relic of a time long past, with shelves that stretched up toward the vaulted ceiling, each one sagging under the weight of ancient tomes and crumbling manuscripts. The scent of aged leather and yellowed paper filled the air, mingling with the ever-present dust that clung to every surface.

Medkit’s feet shuffled quietly across the floor as he moved to the back of the room, where the shadows were deepest, and the weight of the world felt furthest away. He traced his fingers along the spines of the books as he walked, feeling the rough, cracked leather beneath his touch. Most of the titles were faded, their once-proud lettering worn away by time and neglect. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t here to read in truth.

He reached a tall, narrow bookshelf near the back corner of the library, slowly lowering himself to the ground to sit, his legs trembling beneath the strain. His back burned with every movement, the fresh wounds stinging as his body tried to settle into a more comfortable position. Sitting there, in the darkened corner, Medkit felt a momentary sense of peace. The weight of the outside world felt distant, muted.

Reaching up, he grabbed a random book from the shelf and opened it on his lap, not caring what it was. His eyes skimmed over the faded pages, the words blurring together into an incomprehensible mess. He wasn’t really reading, his mind was too clouded by pain and exhaustion to focus on the text. Instead, he just let his eyes drift over the words, using the act of skimming the pages as a way to occupy his mind, to distract himself from the gnawing ache that pulsed through his body.

Time passed slowly in the quiet of the library. Medkit could feel his eyelids growing heavy, the strain of staying awake becoming more difficult with each passing minute. His head lolled forward slightly, his body desperately craving sleep, though he knew it would be anything but restful. Just as his eyes began to flutter shut, the sudden sound of the library door slamming open startled him awake.

Scythe stormed in, her presence immediately filling the room with a tense energy that shattered the peace Medkit had been clinging to. Her heels clinked against the stone floor with each step, the echo of her approach ringing out in the stillness. She spotted him almost instantly, her sharp gaze locking onto his figure sat against the ground.

“Looked everywhere for ya,” Scythe barked, her voice rough, carrying that same edge of annoyance she sometimes had when addressing him. She strode over, her footsteps heavy, like a predator closing in on its prey. “I totally forgot ‘bout how you like this place.”

Medkit blinked up at her, his expression blank, not entirely sure how to respond. His mind felt sluggish and still foggy, her words barely registering at first. He simply stared, his gaze unfocused, his brain struggling to piece together what she was saying.

“Look, seems like our buddy Banhammer placed a tracker on your gear,” Scythe continued, her face twisting into a look of disgust as she spoke. “So he knows where we are.”

The words hit Medkit like a blow to the chest, the weight of the realization crashing down on him. Banhammer knew where they were. He had unknowingly led him right to them. His stomach churned with a weird sense of guilt, a hollow, sickening feeling spreading through his gut. He wanted to speak, to say something in response, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was stare blankly at her, his mind reeling from the implications of her statement.

“I sent someone out to look for him, y’know, see how close he is to us,” Scythe went on, her tone flat, as if delivering a simple report. “And let’s just say we don’t have long. Tomorrow mornin’ we’re going to move locations, so just warning ya when we wake ya up early. We told everyone this during the morning ceremony, though you were sleepin’, so I’m just tellin’ ya now.”

Medkit could feel his chest tightening, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps as the reality of the situation set in. Banhammer was close, too close. And it was his fault. He had unknowingly put everyone in danger. It seemed like everything at this point was his fault.

“You basically fucked us all over, ‘Kit,” Scythe finished, her tone dripping with disdain. She stared down at him for a long moment, her eyes boring into him as if she expected some sort of reaction, some sign of remorse or apology. But Medkit had nothing to give. His mind was too numb, too overwhelmed by everything that had happened.

Satisfied that she had made her point, Scythe finally turned and left, muttering something under her breath as she stormed out of the library. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing through the empty room.

Medkit sat there in silence for a long while after she left, his mind racing, his heart pounding in his chest. The book lay forgotten in his lap, its pages fluttering slightly in the faint breeze that drifted through the room from the doors slamming. He couldn’t bring himself to focus on anything, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a physical force. All he could think about was the fact that he had endangered everyone, every single person in this church. 

When the time for the nighttime ceremony came hours later, Medkit forced himself to rise from his spot in the library, his legs feeling like lead beneath him as he trudged down the hall toward the nave of the church. The familiar sight of the vast room greeted him as he entered, the rows of pews stretching out before him, the dim light of flickering candles casting long shadows across the stone walls.

He took his usual spot in the back pew, sitting quietly as the ceremony began. The prayers and chants filled the room, a soft murmur of voices rising up toward the high, vaulted ceiling. But Medkit wasn’t really paying attention. His mind was elsewhere.

Suddenly, the soft hum of prayer was interrupted by loud, insistent knocks at the front doors.

The noise cut through the room like a knife, silencing the congregation. Scythe and Broker exchanged glances before standing and walking to the front of the nave, their expressions tense. Scythe turned to address the demons seated in the pews, her voice sharp as she spoke.

“Sorry for our prayer to be interrupted,” she said, “but it’s probably one of the followers we sent out to check the predicament we’re in arriving back as mentioned this morning.”

The atmosphere in the nave shifted the moment Scythe and Broker approached the grand front doors. A hushed tension fell over the congregation, an anxious quiet that rippled through the pews as all eyes followed their leaders’ movements. The heavy wooden doors, centuries old and weathered by time, groaned under the weight of their hinges as Scythe reached for the handle, her movements deliberate and cautious. The room seemed to hold its breath as she gripped the door and pulled it open, her face set in a hardened, unreadable expression.

Medkit, sitting toward the back of the nave, couldn’t see who was at the door from his vantage point, but the sudden shift in Scythe and Broker’s demeanor was unmistakable. Their postures stiffened, and for a fleeting moment, both of their faces registered surprise, something rarely seen in the typically stoic Scythe. Whatever they saw on the other side of that door had thrown them off guard, and before Medkit could fully process the gravity of the situation, both Scythe and Broker sprang into action, desperately trying to force the doors shut once more.

But it was too late.

With a loud, resounding crash, the doors were flung open as an imposing figure forced its way through, sending Scythe and Broker stumbling backward. The two were knocked to the ground with brutal efficiency, their bodies hitting the stone floor hard. The sound of the impact echoed throughout the cavernous hall, drawing the attention of every demon present. Medkit’s breath caught in his throat as a wave of tension swept through the room. The murmurs of confusion and concern quickly grew louder as demons began standing, craning their necks to get a better view of the chaos unfolding at the entrance.

Then, through the commotion, Medkit saw him, the warden himself, Banhammer.

Banhammer stood in the doorway, towering over the fallen forms of Scythe and Broker like a grim specter of judgment. His presence was almost surreal, his figure outlined by the faint moonlight streaming in from the outside, casting a long, menacing shadow across the stone floor. He was clad in his signature heavy armor, every inch of it gleaming under the dim light of the church’s torches. His face was obscured, as it often was, by the blindfold that concealed his eyes, but there was no mistaking the raw power that radiated from him. His silence was far more unnerving than any words he could have spoken.

Panic rippled through the church. Demons that had once sat attentively now scrambled in every direction, their fear palpable as they tried to flee the scene. Some ran toward the emergency exit that Medkit didn't realize the church had, others ducked behind pews, and a few brave souls drew their gear, though they were obviously no match for the warden’s overwhelming presence.

Scythe was the first to react. With a snarl of frustration, she pushed herself up from the ground, brushing off the impact as if it were nothing. Without a moment’s hesitation, she lunged at Banhammer with her gear. The air around her crackled with energy as she engaged in combat, her movements quick and precise.

“This eager for us, huh? Couldn’t even wait one more day?” Scythe spat, her voice laced with a venomous mixture of anger and sarcasm. Her blade clashed against Banhammer’s hammer with a sharp, metallic ring, but the warden didn’t respond. He remained silent, focused entirely on the task at hand.

Meanwhile, Broker had not fared as well. He laid on the floor a few feet away, pinned beneath a large piece of rubble that had fallen during the initial struggle. His face was still oddly happy as he tried, unsuccessfully, to free himself. Every attempt to move caused the rubble to press down harder on his chest. He was trapped, helpless, and completely at the mercy of the chaos around him.

Medkit watched the scene play out from the back of the room, his heart pounding in his chest. He should have felt fear, panic, even guilt for what was happening, but all he felt was a cold detachment. He had never been one for heroics in the first place, and the idea of jumping into the fray to help Scythe or Broker never even crossed his mind. They were strong, capable fighters, they could handle themselves. Besides, he had no interest in dying for someone else’s fight.

So, instead of intervening, Medkit made a decision. He slowly stood from his seat, his legs shaky and unsteady beneath him, and quietly slipped out of the pew. Keeping his head low and his movements careful, he began to make his way toward the emergency exit at the far end of the nave, though quickly readjusted his target to the ‘punishment room’ due to remembering he lacked his gear. He hoped Scythe hadn't come back later in the night to collect his gear.

The chaos provided enough cover for him to go unnoticed by the others, but as he scurried away he felt a sharp chill run down his spine.

Scythe had noticed him.

In the middle of her furious battle with Banhammer, she whipped her head around, her eyes locking onto Medkit with a look of pure, unbridled rage. Her face twisted into a snarl as she realized what he was doing, abandoning her in the middle of a fight. The fury in her gaze was enough to freeze him in place for a split second, his stomach churning with guilt.

“Fuck! ‘Kit, help me, damnit!” she screamed, her voice hoarse with desperation as she struggled to overpower Banhammer’s strength.

Medkit didn’t stop, though. He turned his head away, ignoring her cries as he pushed through the door and into the corridor beyond.

Banhammer, sensing her distraction, seized the opportunity. With a swift, brutal motion, he disarmed Scythe, sending her gear clattering to the floor. Before she could react, his hand shot out, wrapping around her throat with a crushing grip. Scythe’s eyes widened in shock as her feet left the ground, her hands clawing uselessly at Banhammer’s arm in a futile attempt to free herself.

Medkit could hear her muffled curses echoing down the hall as he fled, but he didn’t look back.

His footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of the church as he retraced his path, heading for the room where he had been punished just the day before. His heart raced in his chest, his mind clouded with a frantic mix of fear and urgency. He knew he had only a limited window of time before Banhammer’s attention shifted, and he needed to act fast.

When he reached the room, it was just as he had left it. The floor was still stained with his blood, the harsh scent of iron lingering in the air. And there, in the corner, sat his gear and revolver, untouched, just as Scythe had left it. Without wasting a moment, Medkit grabbed his belongings. 

With his gear in hand, Medkit bolted back for the emergency exit. As he passed through the nave once more, he saw that Scythe and Broker had both been subdued. Banhammer had them tied together, thick ropes binding their arms and legs as they struggled futilely against their restraints. Scythe’s face was contorted in fury, and as Medkit passed, she caught his gaze.

Her eyes blazed with fury, and she practically hissed at him, her voice dripping with disdain. The sight of her in such a helpless position should have stirred something in him, guilt, remorse, perhaps even a sense of duty, but Medkit still felt none of it. He turned his head away and kept running.

Once outside, the cold night air hit him like a slap to the face. The wind howled through the barren landscape surrounding the Lost Temple, carrying with it a biting chill that cut through his clothing. His boots crunched against the sand as he sprinted across the open ground, the weight of his gear slowing him down, but he pushed on, desperate to put as much distance between himself and the church as possible.

He had no plan, no destination in mind. All he knew was that he needed to get away. Away from the church, from Banhammer, from Scythe, and probably the region as a whole.

As the minutes turned into hours, his adrenaline began to fade, replaced by exhaustion. His body, still battered and bruised from the punishment he had endured, screamed in protest with every step. Eventually, he had no choice but to slow down, his legs trembling beneath him as he transitioned from a run to a staggered walk. His lungs burned, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and the pain in his back was nearly unbearable.

The journey felt endless, a long and grueling trek across a seemingly infinite stretch of desert that weighed down on Medkit with each passing moment. The wind howled through the vast expanse, carrying fine grains of sand that stung his face and slipped into his clothes, chafing his already aching body. His boots sank into the sand with each step, the coarse particles finding their way inside, grinding against his skin. The cold of the night crept in, biting at his exposed hands and face, numbing him to the core.

Just when the solitude of the desert seemed unbearable, when the stars overhead twinkled mockingly at his plight, Medkit spotted a sign, lit up by bright, flashing neon that contrasted sharply with the natural glow of the celestial bodies above. The garish colors danced in the night, almost blinding after the endless darkness of the desert. His heart skipped a beat, relief and anxiety swirling together as he read the words.

“Welcome to Playground!”

The sign stood tall, an invitation and a warning all at once. Playground was bright, colorful, and alive in a way Blackrock never was. The city itself seemed to pulse with energy, the neon lights reflecting off the metallic surfaces of buildings, casting the streets in an otherworldly glow. The air was thick with the smell of oil and smoke, mingling with the sweet scent of street food that wafted through the air.

For Medkit, it was overwhelming.

He found himself wandering aimlessly, his tired legs carrying him through the bustling streets without any real direction. Everywhere he looked, demons moved with purpose, some hurried, others leisurely, but all seemed to belong here in a way Medkit did not. The buildings towered above him, their walls covered in graffiti and flashing advertisements for various vices. Demons of all shapes and sizes walked past, their eyes briefly flicking toward him before moving on. He kept his head down, trying to blend in, though his disheveled appearance made it difficult. Blood had seeped through the back of his shirt at some point, and the exhaustion was evident in his eye.

For thirty minutes, he wandered the streets, the unfamiliarity of the city pressing down on him. The lights, the noise, the constant movement, it was a sensory overload, and he was too worn out to fully process it. Eventually, Medkit found himself standing outside a tall apartment building. The structure was old, its brick exterior chipped and worn, though a few hastily applied patches of fresh paint indicated someone was trying to maintain it. As he stood there, unsure of what to do next, his eye caught movement nearby.

A demon was outside, casually taking out the trash. He looked up when he noticed Medkit standing on the sidewalk, their brow furrowing in concern. The demon’s outfit was neat, a green button-up shirt with a darker green tie. A chain hung from his pocket, glinting in the streetlight, and his black gloves were immaculate. His horns were the same shade of green as his outfit, curling just above his head.

The demon’s gaze lingered on Medkit, taking in his disheveled appearance, and after a moment, he spoke. “Geez, what happened to you, did you run a marathon or somethin’?”

Medkit froze, caught off guard by the question. His eyes met the demon’s, and he instinctively smoothed down his hair, trying to make himself look somewhat presentable. It was a pointless effort, given the state he was in. His clothes were bloodied, his face covered in dirt most likely, and exhaustion clung to every part of him.

“I…” Medkit started, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He cleared his throat and forced a weak smile. “I was in a hurry to find somewhere to stay for the night. I ran a bit trying to find somewhere, that’s all.”

The demon didn’t seem convinced, his sharp gaze lingering on Medkit for a moment longer before he shrugged. “Well, you look like you’ve been through the whole Inpherno and back,” he remarked, though there was no malice in his tone, just casual observation. “Hey, I got a spare room at my place. You seem pretty chill, so I don’t mind letting you crash here. I can give you some clothes if you need ‘em too, looks like you brought nothin’ with you. Oh, and the name’s Boombox, by the way.”

Boombox’s offer hung in the air, and for a moment, Medkit didn’t know how to respond. The idea of staying with a complete stranger seemed reckless, especially in a place like Playground where he had never been before, but what other option did he have? He had nothing to lose, and if Boombox tried to rob him in his sleep, well, he didn’t have anything worth stealing anyway.

After a moment of hesitation, Medkit nodded. “Sure, thank you. I’m Medkit.”

“Nice to meet you, Medkit. Follow me, I’m on the fifth floor,” Boombox replied, gesturing toward the building behind him.

Medkit followed Boombox up a set of creaky outdoor stairs, his legs protesting with every step. By the time they reached the fifth floor, his body was screaming for rest, his muscles burning from the long journey. Boombox led him to a door at the far end of the corridor and unlocked it, pushing it open with a casual familiarity. “Come on in,” Boombox said, stepping aside to let Medkit enter first.

The apartment was a stark contrast to the chaotic streets outside. It was cozy, with a muted green color scheme that seemed to dominate every aspect of the space. The walls were painted in soft shades of green, and string lights were hung all around, casting a warm, gentle glow. The air smelled faintly of incense, a calming scent that immediately put Medkit at ease. Fake plants lined the shelves and tables, adding a touch of nature to the apartment.

Boombox led him down a narrow hallway to a spare bedroom. The room mirrored the rest of the apartment in style, with the same green walls and string lights hanging above the bed. Long blinds covered a sliding door that led to a small balcony, though Medkit had no interest in venturing outside at the moment. The bed itself was neatly made, the sheets a deep green color, and a nightstand sat beside it with a small fake plant perched on top.

Medkit couldn’t help but notice the abundance of green. He half-smiled to himself, thinking that if he were to ask Boombox what his favorite color was, he’d likely get a very obvious answer.

Boombox stepped back, gesturing toward the room. “Here it is, feel free to look around. I’ll grab some clothes for you to change into. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry, and if you need anything, just ask. Oh, and there’s your own bathroom over there,” he pointed to a door near the bed. “Take your time, get comfortable.”

Medkit nodded as Boombox left, sitting on the bed in the corner of the room soon after. The bedd was soft, a comforting kind of soft that seemed to pull him into its embrace the moment he sat down. The sheets, though simple, were the kind that whispered promises of a good night’s rest, and for Medkit, who had spent the past night sleeping on cold, unforgiving ground, it was a luxury that he hadn’t realized he wanted. The mattress conformed to his tired body, and he could feel the warmth from within the blankets already beginning to seep into his aching muscles.

For a few moments, Medkit just sat there, absorbing the quiet of the room. The distant hum of the city outside, the faint sound of cars passing by on the street below, they all felt muted. It was as if the entire chaotic world outside had been momentarily put on hold, allowing him to exist in this tiny bubble of peace. The string lights overhead glowed faintly, their warm light adding to the sense of calm that filled the room. He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, but before he could let the temptation of sleep fully overtake him, Boombox returned, knocking gently on the doorframe as he entered with a set of clothes in hand.

“Here, these should fit you,” Boombox said, handing the clothes over with a friendly smile. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Medkit nodded his thanks, taking the clothes from Boombox before watching him leave the room, the door closing softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, holding the clothes in his hands, feeling the soft fabric between his fingers. The offer of kindness from a stranger was something he wasn’t  entirely used to, but he wasn’t in a position to question it.

Shaking off his lingering thoughts, Medkit walked over to the bathroom door, twisting the knob and stepping inside. The bathroom was small but surprisingly neat. The walls were white, a stark contrast to the green that dominated the rest of the apartment, but even here, Boombox’s preferred color made its appearance, every towel in the room was green, hanging neatly from the racks. The space smelled faintly of eucalyptus, the scent calming and clean, as though the air itself was refreshed by it.

Medkit set the borrowed clothes on the countertop, glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he did so. The face staring back at him was one he barely recognized, worn, bruised, and gaunt. His once-pristine uniform from Blackrock was now nothing more than rags, stained with dirt and blood. His dark hair was messy, clinging to his forehead in wet strands, and his eye was shadowed with exhaustion. He turned away from the mirror, stripping off the remnants of his old clothes and stepping into the stand-in shower.

The water came on with a hiss, and as the first spray hit his skin, Medkit winced. The heat of the water felt like fire against the cuts and bruises that covered his back, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as the pain washed over him. For a moment, he stood there, letting the scalding water run down his body, his muscles tensing as it touched each fresh wound. But slowly, the heat began to soothe, loosening the knots in his back and shoulders, and the pain dulled to a manageable throb.

Reaching for the soap, Medkit lathered his hands and began scrubbing away the dirt and grime on his body. The soap smelled surprisingly nice, a clean, citrusy scent that filled the bathroom as it lathered on his skin. It was gentle, the kind of soap that left your skin feeling refreshed rather than raw. He moved slowly, careful not to aggravate the more serious wounds on his body, and as the suds washed away, they carried with them a layer of exhaustion that had weighed him down for far too long.

Once he was done, Medkit stood in the shower for a few more minutes, just letting the water cascade over him. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed this, a simple, warm shower, free from the constant threat of danger. Finally, he turned off the water, the steam swirling around him as he stepped out and grabbed one of the green towels hanging nearby. He dried off carefully, wincing as he dabbed at the deeper cuts, then wrapped the towel around his body.

The clothes Boombox had given him fit relatively well. They were soft, cozy, sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt, both in neutral tones. For the first time in what felt like ages, Medkit felt something close to normal. He ran his fingers through his damp hair, brushing it out of his face before stepping out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

The bed called to him, and he didn’t resist. Slipping under the covers, Medkit let out a long, contented sigh. The sheets were cool against his skin, the pillow soft and inviting. He pulled the blankets up to his chest and closed his eyes, letting the comfort of the bed wrap around him. Sleep came quickly, pulling him into a dreamless void where, for the first time in a long while, he slept relatively peacefully.

When Medkit awoke the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the music. It was loud, thumping through the walls from somewhere else in the apartment. He groggily blinked, his body heavy with the lingering remnants of sleep, and sat up in bed. The soft light of early morning filtered through the blinds, casting a gentle glow across the room. The music wasn't something Medkit would listen to in his free time, upbeat, with a catchy rhythm that vibrated through the floor.

With a yawn, Medkit shrugged out of bed and shuffled toward the door, rubbing the sleep from his eye. The apartment felt different in the morning light, brighter, more alive. He followed the sound of the music to the kitchen, where he found Boombox standing by the stove, cooking breakfast. Boombox’s gear sat on the kitchen counter, blasting the music that filled the space, while his tail flicked back and forth in time with the beat.

“Can you turn that down?” Medkit asked, his voice still groggy from sleep.

Boombox turned, flashing him a smile. “Oh, hey! Good morning!” He turned the volume down on his gear, the music fading to a more bearable level. “Here, I just finished making breakfast.”

He passed a plate of food over to Medkit, who accepted it with a quiet nod of thanks. The food smelled amazing, eggs, bacon, and some kind of fried potatoes that made Medkit’s mouth water. His stomach growled in response, reminding him that it had been far too long since his last proper meal.

The two sat on the couch in the living room, their plates balanced on their laps as they ate. Boombox was quick to start talking, even as he shoveled food into his mouth. “So, I was thinkin’... if you’re gonna live here with me, I’ll need you to help out with rent. I mean, y’know, it’s more expensive with two people. My rent’s due tomorrow, but you don’t have to worry about that one. Next time, though, I’m gonna need you to pitch in a bit.”

Medkit nodded between bites of food, it was expected he couldn't just live for free, though a sinking feeling settled in his stomach. “I understand,” he replied. “But I don’t have a job… or at least, not any way to make money.”

Boombox waved his fork around, not seeming too concerned. “No problem, dude, just join some phights! They pay a ton if you win, and the bar for entry is super low. I go to them all the time, in fact, I’ve got one later today! If you’re good, you can make like a thousand bux per round, sometimes more if you hit the multiplier rounds. It’s a crazy effective way to make cash.”

As he spoke, Boombox pulled out his phone and quickly looked something up. After a moment, he passed the phone over to Medkit. “Here’s the application form. Trust me, it’s super worth it. Just fill this out, and you’re set.”

Medkit glanced at the form, it was short, surprisingly simple. He filled it out as they ate, answering the basic questions before handing the phone back to Boombox. The whole thing felt a little too easy, but Medkit didn’t have many other options. He would need money soon, and fast.

Once they were done eating, Boombox suddenly shot up from the couch, checking the time on his phone. “Oh man, I gotta go. That phight I was talking about? It’s happening right now. I’ll see ya later!” He quickly dumped his plate in the sink, grabbed his gear, and rushed out the door without even locking it behind him.

Medkit, left alone in the now-quiet apartment, stood for a moment before placing his own plate in the sink. He walked over to the front door, locking it behind Boombox, and then returned to the couch. A book laid on the coffee table, its cover worn and faded. With a sigh, Medkit picked it up and began to read, hoping that, maybe, this strange new life would work out after all.

He doubted it, but there's always hope.

Chapter Text

The apartment was silent and shadowed when the front door swung open, the night cloaking everything in a still, heavy quiet. The only illumination in the room came from the moonlight flooding through the open blinds, casting silvery beams across the floor and walls. The light softened the apartment’s features, making the familiar shapes seem slightly surreal and dreamlike. Every object, a chair, a table, even a stray mug left on the coffee table, seemed to glow faintly in the moon’s gentle touch.

Boombox stepped inside, and with a fluid motion, he shut the door behind him and turned the lock with a soft click, sealing himself off from the lively city just outside. The world within these walls felt almost suspended in time. Boombox exhaled, releasing the remnants of a long, exhausting day, and flipped on a light. The soft hum of electricity filled the room as the bulbs overhead bathed everything in a warm glow that pushed the shadows back, just enough for him to see clearly.

As his gaze drifted across the room, it landed on Medkit, curled up on the couch, fast asleep. The book he had been reading laid forgotten in his hand, his fingers barely holding onto it as he breathed in a steady rhythm. He looked oddly peaceful, his usually guarded expression relaxed, with the tension from his face smoothed away. The quiet vulnerability made Boombox pause, feeling a strange pang of empathy that he hadn’t quite expected. Medkit looked so different from the tense, defensive figure Boombox had first met, and he thought of how heavy Medkit’s burdens must truly be.

Boombox approached, his footsteps soft and careful on the wooden floor. Slowly, he reached down and gently lifted the book from Medkit’s fingers, slipping it from his grip with ease and placing it back on the coffee table. Medkit shifted slightly, mumbling something under his breath but never fully waking. Deciding it would be best to let him rest more comfortably, Boombox bent down, slipping his arms beneath Medkit’s shoulders and knees, lifting him with surprising ease due to him being unexpectedly light.

As he carried Medkit toward the guest bedroom, the apartment was silent except for the occasional creak of the floor under Boombox’s feet and the soft murmur of Medkit’s breathing. The room felt warmer as he stepped inside, the moonlight filtering softly through the blinds that were half-closed. Boombox laid Medkit down on the bed, pulling the covers over him, making sure he was warm and comfortable. Medkit instinctively curled up beneath the blankets, nestling into the softness, looking more peaceful than he had in the past day. Boombox watched him for a moment, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he took in the sight. Without another word, he turned and slipped back out, closing the door quietly behind him.

When morning came, Medkit slowly stirred awake. The first thing he felt was the sun streaming through the blinds, casting golden beams across the bed. One of those beams landed squarely on his face, making him scrunch his eyes against the brightness. Groaning, he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face to wipe away the last vestiges of sleep. His muscles ached with a pleasant sort of tiredness that came from a night of truly restful sleep, a rarity he hadn’t enjoyed in quite some time.

He let out a deep yawn, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to shake off the morning grogginess. The room felt almost surreal in its quiet, with the soft sounds of the city outside providing a distant, comforting background. He got out of bed, stretching his arms above his head, feeling each muscle stretch and relax as he moved. Finally, he wandered out of the guest bedroom, his steps slow and a little unsteady as he adjusted to being fully awake.

In the living room, Boombox was already up, seated on the couch with his phone in hand. Gratefully, the apartment was free of the loud music that Boombox seemed to favor, and the quietness was surprisingly peaceful. Boombox glanced up as Medkit approached and took a seat next to him, looking a bit dazed and not entirely present. Without missing a beat, Boombox held up his phone, flashing the screen for Medkit to see.

“Look, you got accepted already!” Boombox announced, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Plus, I think they’ve been needing more people anyway,” he added with a grin. “Seems like they filled you in for one of our last-minute quitters.”

He didn’t stop there, swiping through a few screens as he pulled up Medkit’s new schedule. Medkit blinked, trying to process everything that Boombox was saying, his mind still catching up with the fast-paced chatter. “How about we celebrate?” Boombox continued, his enthusiasm infectious. “Let’s go get some breakfast. Honestly, I don’t feel like cooking right now, and there’s this place down the street I’ve been craving. Don’t worry about the cost, it’s on me.” As if on cue, Boombox’s stomach let out a low growl, and he laughed.

Medkit nodded, his mind still a bit foggy from sleep. The flood of information was almost too fast for him to follow, but he could see the excitement in Boombox’s eyes, and he felt a faint warmth spreading through him at the thought of a celebratory breakfast. He shifted slightly, feeling a slight pang of self-consciousness as he looked down at his rumpled clothes. “I’ll get ready now,” he mumbled, standing up a bit awkwardly. “Do you… have any spare clothes?”

“Yeah, I actually put some in your closet last night while you were sleeping,” Boombox replied, grinning. “Just grabbed some random stuff, so feel free to pick whatever you like.”

With a nod, Medkit headed back to the guest bedroom. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow that filled the room with a sense of quiet tranquility. He walked over to the closet, where he found a small selection of clothes neatly folded and hanging up. He picked out a basic short-sleeved shirt and a pair of comfortable pants, something simple that wouldn’t draw much attention.

Stepping into the bathroom, Medkit started his morning routine. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and washed his face, all the while avoiding looking too closely at his reflection in the mirror. The thought of seeing the weariness and the bruises etched onto his skin felt too raw, too close, so he focused on the familiar, repetitive motions, letting them ground him. The cool water against his face was refreshing, a small comfort that made him feel just a little more awake and ready to face the day.

When he was done, Medkit returned to the living room. Medkit settled back into the well-worn couch, its cushions sagging slightly under his weight. He leaned against the armrest, feeling the fabric under his fingers as he glanced around the living room. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the morning city noise filtering in through the apartment walls. Boombox had disappeared into his bedroom a few minutes ago to finish getting ready, leaving Medkit with a moment to himself.

He studied the green walls around him, noticing small marks and imperfections, evidence of the years Boombox had spent here. A few framed photos hung on the walls, slightly crooked, images of people Medkit didn’t know but assumed were significant to Boombox. There was a warmth to the space, a kind of messy familiarity that made it feel lived-in and comfortable. Medkit’s gaze lingered on a shelf filled with vinyl records and old CDs, remnants of Boombox’s love for music, which gave off a nostalgic feeling. The spines of the records were faded, each one well-worn from years of use, and he wondered how often Boombox would sit here, listening to music alone in the quiet of the apartment.

Ten minutes had passed when Boombox finally reappeared from his room. He had a familiar, easygoing grin on his face, adjusting the collar of his green shirt as he walked into the room. “Ready to go?” he asked, his voice bright and full of anticipation.

Medkit nodded, managing a small forced smile to attempt to match the other’s energy, though it failed. “Yeah.”

Together, they left the apartment, stepping out into the fresh morning air. The narrow outdoor staircase stretched down in front of them, each step creaking slightly as they descended. The city of Playground was just waking up, and the world around them was bathed in the warm, golden light of early morning. Even at this hour, faint remnants of neon signs and brightly colored billboards glowed, but the sunlight dulled them, casting the city in a softer, more muted light.

Once on the sidewalk, Medkit followed close behind Boombox, feeling slightly out of place in the unfamiliar city. Playground’s morning atmosphere was vastly different from the evening hustle and neon-lit energy he had experienced the previous night. The streets, usually painted in vibrant colors under the city lights, now seemed almost washed out in the brightness, revealing the wear and age of the buildings and sidewalks. The lively ads and digital displays were still present, but they seemed less intense in the daylight, as if the city itself was catching its breath after a long night.

As they walked, cars zipped by on the busy road beside them, their engines humming a low, constant melody that blended with the city sounds. Every now and then, a puff of smoke would billow out from a passing vehicle, hitting Medkit directly in the face due to his proximity to the street. He coughed, waving his hand to clear the air in front of him as the acrid smell lingered.

“City life, right?” Boombox chuckled, glancing over his shoulder. Medkit groaned, feeling a bit overwhelmed as he tried to ignore the uncomfortable sting of the exhaust in his throat. 

Medkit, of course, had no idea if this was common in the city or not, but he hoped it wasn't. It would be annoying to suffer the consequences of getting secondhand smoke from a car.

They turned a corner, and suddenly the entire street seemed to burst with life. Large buildings towered around them, each one draped in massive digital screens and neon-lit advertisements that flashed and flickered with various commercials. A jingle from one of the displays looped over and over, the tune echoing in Medkit’s ears. He could feel the sensory overload beginning to build, a stark contrast to the minimalist, almost sterile environment of Blackrock, the region he was used to.

The difference was almost jarring. Playground had a kind of chaotic vibrancy that felt wild and unpredictable, while Blackrock was subdued, its architecture and design clean and modern but devoid of this overwhelming energy. The fact that the two places bordered each other almost seemed ironic, like two worlds that shouldn’t coexist but somehow did.

Eventually, Boombox led them toward a large, eye-catching blue building that stood out among the other establishments nearby simply by its height. The structure was three, maybe four stories tall, with sleek lines and a polished exterior that gave it a distinctly modern vibe. Above the entrance, a massive sign spelled out “Ranged Royale” in bold, stylized letters, accompanied by a cartoonish doodle of Rocket alongside another figure clad in blue. Medkit couldn’t help but wonder if Rocket was sponsored by this place, it wouldn’t be surprising, given the prominent display.

Boombox pushed the door open, and they stepped inside, greeted by a burst of cool air and the faint smell of grilled meat and spices. The interior, oddly enough, reminded Medkit of a fast-food restaurant, with its bright colors and plastic seats arranged around simple, sturdy tables. It was almost disappointing in a way, the grand exterior had led him to expect something more upscale. The space was larger than it needed to be, with a high ceiling and a few scattered tables, giving it an odd, empty feel.

Boombox walked confidently toward the reception counter, his eyes immediately darting up to scan the large menu hanging above. Medkit took a moment to look around, noticing the small details, the faint sound of upbeat music playing over the speakers, the smell of food drifting from the kitchen, and the occasional low murmur from the kitchen staff hidden in the back.

“Ooh!” Boombox’s voice broke Medkit’s focus. “Today they’ve got their famous ribs on the menu!” Boombox’s face lit up as he pointed to the menu excitedly. “Trust me, Medkit, they’re to die for! The only annoying thing is how they rotate their menu daily, like sometimes you’re craving something, and then bam, it’s not there the next day. …But today’s our lucky day!”

A young demon, dressed in a simple blue uniform with the restaurant’s logo embroidered on the chest, walked up to the register. They looked tired, a faint smell of smoke clinging to their clothes, probably back from a smoke break. Their eyes were slightly red, and their posture was slouched, giving off an air of quiet resignation. Medkit observed these small details, while Boombox, entirely focused on the menu, barely seemed to notice.

Boombox wasted no time, rattling off his order with a cheerful grin. “Yeah, uh, I’ll take your signature ribs, cooked medium, please. Oh, and a Diet Phoke, with a side of fries. Thanks.”

The worker nodded, their fingers flying across the register keys with practiced efficiency. They turned their attention to Medkit, waiting for his order with the same neutral, tired expression.

Medkit felt a moment of indecision, glancing up at the menu. “I’ll have… the burger on your menu, with a water, thank you. Oh, and cooked medium-well, please,” he added, his voice a bit quieter than Boombox’s enthusiastic tone.

The worker punched in the order, then cleared their throat before speaking in a hoarse, monotone voice. “Your total will be three hundred and seventeen bux.”

Boombox casually reached into his pocket, counting out the cash with practiced ease and handing it over to the cashier. In exchange, he received a crinkled receipt, which he tucked into his pocket as they moved away from the counter.

They found a small table near the entrance and sat down. The restaurant was almost eerily quiet, with no other customers in sight, making the large space feel oddly empty. Medkit felt a bit awkward in the silence, fidgeting slightly as his eyes wandered around the room. Boombox, on the other hand, seemed entirely at ease, pulling out his gear, setting it on their table, and tinkering with it, adjusting the settings with a concentrated frown.

Medkit’s gaze drifted around the space again, his eyes catching on random details. The decor was an odd mixture of different blue colors and industrial metal finishes, and the entire place seemed slightly off, like it wasn’t quite sure what aesthetic it was trying to follow. He noticed small scratches on the tabletops, perhaps the marks left by other impatient patrons. His attention wandered to the walls, painted bricks in a neutral shade adorned with framed posters of random things.

Meanwhile, Boombox continued to tinker with his gear, adjusting dials and twisting wires, an expression of concentrated frustration on his face. His fingers moved deftly over the small controls, as though he’d done this a thousand times. Every so often, he would play a portion of music, glancing up and asking, “How does this sound to you?” His voice was hopeful, eager for some sign of improvement.

After the tenth or so adjustment, Medkit, feeling increasingly weary, replied, “The same. Actually… a bit more distorted, I guess.” He spoke quietly, his tone laced with a dull impatience that even he hadn’t meant to reveal. He was more than ready for the food to arrive, hoping that a meal might break the awkward silence and relieve some of the tension building up in his chest.

Boombox sighed, visibly deflated, and placed his gear down on the floor with a quiet clatter. For a moment, he simply sat back, folding his arms and looking off to the side, his jaw clenched slightly.

After a pause, Boombox began to talk, his tone suddenly animated as he leaned forward. “Yesterday, some demon tried to punch me during the phight I was at, but they missed and ended up hitting my gear instead,” he said, gesturing to his gear on the floor. “Busted it up pretty bad. I was gonna call my friend Skate to see if he could help me fix it, but, like always, his phone was on do not disturb.”

Medkit nodded, half-listening, but Boombox continued.

“Then I tried my other friend, Sling. Thought he’d pick up for sure, but nope. He didn’t answer either, which was surprising. Normally, they both help me out when this kind of thing happens. But I think it should be fine for today. Just a little busted.”

Boombox’s voice had that rambling quality, like he was talking more to fill the silence than to say anything of real importance. Medkit acknowledged him with a slight nod, not feeling particularly inclined to respond. The topic was foreign to him, and he found his mind drifting again, just barely holding onto Boombox’s words.

Their food finally arrived, steaming and warm, and the smell alone was enough to break Medkit from his daze. Boombox’s plate was piled high with ribs, dripping in sauce, and accompanied by a heaping side of golden fries. Medkit’s burger looked modest by comparison, but the scent was tantalizing.

The two ate in silence, Medkit taking quiet bites as he tried to ignore the occasional messy sounds of Boombox tearing into his ribs. He had to admit, the music segments were almost soothing than hearing Boombox’s sloppy eating. The burger he was nibbling on was juicy, the bread soft and slightly sweet, a small comfort that eased some of his earlier tension.

After about ten minutes, they finished, Boombox leaving a generous sixty-three bux tip on the table. Medkit noted the amount with a touch of surprise. it seemed a bit excessive for the minimal service they’d received, though he didn’t mention it. Boombox, however, seemed completely unfazed as he pocketed his wallet and led them out of the restaurant. After all, it was indeed the twenty percent.

Medkit told himself that he needed to stop having a habit of calculating stuff like that.

They made their way through the bustling streets of Playground toward one of the city’s phighting arenas. As they walked, Medkit could feel a low, buzzing energy building in his chest. Phights were a common practice in the Inpherno, but this would be his first, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

The arena loomed ahead, a massive structure of steel and glass, its facade dotted with neon signs advertising upcoming events. They entered and checked in, their phight scheduled to begin in a mere five minutes, a little too close for comfort for Medkit who preferred being at least thirty minutes early to events or appointments. Boombox didn’t seem concerned though, his relaxed demeanor giving Medkit a bit of reassurance.

They stepped into the makeshift locker room, which served as a chaotic blend of a changing area and a prep zone, though most demons didn't change clothes as it was for all genders, making most uncomfortable to undress, save for a few. 

The space was cramped, packed with phighters which looked like they came from various backgrounds, each one focused on preparing for their turn. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and metal, and Medkit instinctively scrunched his nose, the stifling atmosphere pressing in on him.

As Medkit adjusted to the setting, a voice called out, cutting through the noise and catching him off guard. “Medkit, is that you?”

Medkit froze, his heart giving a small, uncomfortable jolt as he turned toward the voice. Standing a few feet away was a young demon with red horns and a confident stance, his face unmistakable.

Sword.

Sword was wearing a look of shock, his gaze fixed on Medkit, while next to him stood another figure in blue with goggles perched atop his head, staring as well.

And Rocket… though Medkit barely talked to him when he stayed with Sword.

A wave of mixed emotions washed over Medkit, surprise, discomfort, and a faint trace of guilt. The last time he’d seen Sword had been on his birthday, a memory that now left a bitter taste in his mouth. He wasn’t exactly prepared for this reunion, especially not in a crowded locker room just minutes before a phight.

Boombox looked between them, clearly puzzled but choosing not to say anything, sensing the tension in the air. Medkit swallowed, feeling his voice catch before he finally managed a weak reply. “Y-yeah, uh… Hey,” he said, wincing as his voice cracked slightly, betraying his nerves.

Sword didn’t waste a moment, his expression shifting from shock to something more intense. “What happened with you and my cousin a few days ago? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?” His voice held a mixture of worry and frustration, and his gaze never left Medkit.

Medkit’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He hadn’t anticipated a confrontation, much less one laced with concern. Rocket remained silent, observing the exchange but choosing not to interject, his eyes flickering between the two of them as he tried to gauge the situation.

After a brief pause, not even realizing Sword had said the word ‘cousin’, Medkit replied, his voice low. “I think… I must’ve dropped my phone or something. I… don’t have it anymore.” He looked away, knowing full well that he hadn’t answered the first question. 

In reality, he’d forgotten about the phone Sword had gifted him, especially after everything that had happened. For all he knew, the device had been left behind or taken away back at the church. He hadn’t cared to search for it.

Sword opened his mouth to speak, his eyes holding a mix of curiosity and something else, maybe hurt, or worry. Before he could get a word out, the loudspeaker in the locker room blared to life, announcing that the next phight was about to begin. The booming voice echoed, cutting through the tension like a blade, and Sword seemed to reconsider whatever he was going to say. After a moment of hesitation, he simply gave Medkit a nod, his voice low. “Never mind… Good luck out there, Medkit.”

Medkit could only nod back as Sword turned and walked out of the room, Rocket following close behind. Sword’s retreating figure had a sort of deflated look, causing Medkit to feel an uncomfortable tightness in his chest, like he’d let down Sword. He forced himself to shake it off.

There would be time to think about that later.

The locker room began to empty as the other demons filed out, leaving just Medkit, Boombox, and a few other phighters waiting for their scheduled times. Boombox turned to Medkit, tilting his head slightly. “Ready to go? We need to check the teams and see who’s on which side. The rest of the demons in here won’t be phighting till later rounds.”

Medkit gave a small nod and followed Boombox out. They walked down a narrow corridor that led to the main entrance of the arena. Outside the heavy gates, a large crowd of demons gathered, all of them focused on a massive screen displaying names, each one listed under either “Team Red” or “Team Blue.” The screen flickered with a slight static hum, casting a faint glow over the crowd’s faces.

He quickly scanned the list of names, spotting Sword and Rocket under Team Blue. They were talking animatedly off to the side, sharing a few laughs, and seemed genuinely pleased to be on the same team. Medkit’s chest tightened at the sight of them. Dismissing that feeling, he looked back and found his own name under Team Red, luckily alongside Boombox. The tension in his body eased slightly.

A loud buzzer sounded, and the metal doors to the arena swung open with a mechanical groan. A group of around ten demons who had just finished their phight came trudging out, looking worn out but smiling, laughing, and chatting with each other, seemingly unaffected by the physical exhaustion. Their skin and clothes were covered in dirt, sweat, and marks, a few sporting fresh bruises, but they seemingly didn't care. Medkit’s gaze lingered on them as they passed, feeling his heart rate pick up slightly due to their current state.

Was he about to get beaten up?

A worker approached, placing a red sticker on Medkit’s shoulder as a marker of his team. Medkit noticed that other fighters were being marked as well, a quick flash of blue or red as they were directed to their respective groups. The worker’s face was impassive, barely even glancing at the demons he marked, as if this routine was entirely mechanical for him.

A green light overhead flashed on, bathing the entranceway in an eerie glow, signaling that it was time to enter the arena. Medkit took a deep breath and followed Boombox inside, his heart pounding harder with every step.

The arena was massive, stretching out in front of them like a battlefield of concrete and steel. Medkit’s first sensation was the blinding sunlight overhead, pouring down mercilessly from the open sky. He squinted, instinctively raising his hand to shield his eyes as he adjusted to the harsh transition from the indoor lighting of the locker room to the outdoor brightness. He blinked rapidly, trying to refocus.

When his vision finally adjusted, he realized they were standing in what looked like a skate park, though the features were exaggerated and much larger than a typical one. There were ramps that rose and fell like waves, railings running alongside steep drops, and scattered structures that seemed designed for quick, agile movements. The concrete was worn and scratched, marked with the signs of previous battles. Graffiti was splattered across the walls, symbols and signatures from phighters who had left their mark over the years, and for some reason brought spray paint.

As they moved to their spawn point on the far side of the arena, Medkit stole a glance at the opposing team across the way. He could see Sword and Rocket standing there, their blue markers shining under the sunlight. Sword had an intense look of concentration on his face, while Rocket seemed to be making some last-minute adjustments to his gear, his goggles glinting in the sun.

When they reached their side of the arena, Medkit turned to Boombox, who was fiddling with his equipment again. “What do we do now?” Medkit asked, his voice quieter than usual, as if the sheer vastness of the arena had subdued him.

Boombox gave a relaxed shrug. “We wait for the rest of our team to join up here and for the announcement that the phight’s starting. There’s not much else to it, just a bit of waiting around before the real action starts,” he explained, a hint of excitement, though frustration in his tone, probably because he still couldn't fix his gear. Medkit nodded, watching the other demons on their team trickle in, each one marked with a red sticker.

The air seemed to vibrate with a subtle tension, and Medkit found himself fidgeting, his fingers twitching slightly as he scanned the arena. He noticed every detail. The faded lines painted on the ramps, the chipped edges of the railings, the way the sunlight cast long shadows that seemed to move as the seconds ticked by.

It felt like an eternity before the arena loudspeakers finally crackled, the static-laden announcement signaling the phight was about to start. Medkit took a deep breath as the final preparation phase began, his hands tightening around his gear. A nervous excitement thrummed through the air as the announcer outlined the rules, the first team to reach twenty “kills” would be declared the victor. Of course, “kills” in this context weren’t literal, it was more of a way to quantify points earned from subduing the other team without actually causing fatal harm. Medkit felt a small wave of relief knowing that, though he still had no plans to get up close and personal with the action.

Medkit’s plan was straightforward. He would stay in the backlines, using his crystal to support his team, maybe even a few items from his gear. He’d keep his revolver holstered unless he found himself in a tight spot, only shooting as a last resort if he was cornered or in immediate danger.

As a quick countdown started and the buzzer blared, signaling the start of the phight, his teammates surged forward like an unleashed flood, shouting and charging into the chaos. Medkit stayed back, watching as his team members scattered across the arena.

Medkit’s heart raced as he saw demons darting between cover, leaping over railings, and executing skilled maneuvers that were hard to keep up with. He kept his eyes peeled, ready to heal anyone who came back injured, focusing on his surroundings while trying to avoid direct confrontations.

Almost immediately, Medkit noticed a particularly erratic teammate, a demon clad in a red tank top, his, more on the small side, muscles taut as he flipped and twirled over every ledge he could find. He moved with an almost show-offish grace, doing tricks that seemed less about strategy and more about style, making it nearly impossible for Medkit to track him. Every time Medkit aimed, the demon would zip out of range, leaving him frustrated. He found himself muttering under his breath, silently wishing the guy would just hold still for a second.

Despite the chaos unfolding around him, Medkit was grateful for one thing, he hadn’t yet run into Sword or Rocket. He could see them in the distance, blue markers gleaming, as they worked together on the opposite side. He wasn’t sure he could handle a direct confrontation with either of them, not after everything that had happened with Sword. He didn’t trust himself to pull the trigger if they came close, so he made a mental note to stay as far from them as possible.
•

As the phight dragged on, Medkit found himself feeling increasingly drained. Though he’d managed to keep most of his teammates healed for the most part, stray attacks kept hitting him. Every now and then, someone on his team would shout at him to pay more attention, to heal faster, or to stop getting distracted. Medkit grounded his teeth, trying to ignore the comments and focus. He felt like he was stretched thin, struggling to keep up with the demands of his team while constantly watching his back.

Then, as he was tending to a wounded teammate, a loud sound blared from the speakers, signaling there was only one minute left in the match. Medkit felt a pang of anxiety. The time limit ramped up the intensity, and the chaotic energy in the arena seemed to redouble as demons scrambled to rack up last-minute points. Medkit’s hands were shaking from fatigue, his vision blurring slightly from the hits he’d taken that were meant for other demons. He could feel the complaints from his team simmering beneath the surface, ready to boil over if he missed a single beat.

Focused on healing, Medkit didn’t realize he was leaving himself open. He was so intent on mending his teammate’s wounds that he didn’t hear the heavy footsteps approaching from behind until it was too late. He gasped as a thick, rough rope looped around his chest, jerking him backward with a violent force. His mind went blank with panic as he stumbled, the ground seeming to tilt beneath him as he was pulled off his feet.

Medkit hit the concrete hard, the impact sending shockwaves through his body before being grabbed by the neck upwards, causing him to close his eyes for a moment. When opening his eyes, he was disoriented, finding himself face-to-face with a towering demon who seemed almost impossibly tall for a regular guy. The demon wore a sinister-looking mask with the Thieves’ Den logo, obscuring his face. The almost deity-height demon held a katana that gleamed menacingly in the sunlight, though slammed Medkit down on the ground and stepped on his stomach as soon as he processed the blade. Medkit’s heart pounded as he struggled to break free, but the weight of the demon was crushing, pinning him down with a force that made him feel utterly helpless.

He barely had time to comprehend everything before the demon raised his blade, the sharp edge catching the light as it descended toward him. Medkit braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut, fully expecting the hit, but just before the blade struck, the demon vanished, his body dissolving as he was “killed” and respawned far away.

Medkit exhaled a shaky breath, his body going limp with relief. A young demon clad in green with shurikens appeared beside him, extending a hand. “Hey, get up! We can’t heal ourselves!” they said urgently before dashing off, leaving Medkit no choice but to pull himself together and hurry after his team.

As the seconds ticked down to the match’s end, Medkit found himself running frantically from one teammate to another, barely keeping up with the relentless demand for healing. By the time the final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the phight, he was completely spent. His muscles ached, and he felt like he could collapse right there in the middle of the arena. The match had gone into overtime, with neither team reaching the twenty-point goal in time. The score had come close though, sixteen to seventeen. Miraculously, Medkit’s team managed to scrape together enough points in those final moments to claim victory.

Boombox was over the moon, slapping Medkit on the back and gushing about his performance. “You were great, Medkit! Seriously, the way you kept us going out there, it was awesome!” Boombox rambled on, his enthusiasm radiating with every word. Medkit trudged out of the arena once the doors opened, he felt none of the excitement his teammate did.

If he was really as great as Boombox claimed, why did it feel like his team had been at his throat the whole time ready to attack him instead?

Off to the side, a smaller screen displayed the match stats based on a point system, ranking phighters from one to ten. Medkit’s eye scanned the list, searching for his name. The stats were divided into categories, and a combination of kills, deaths, and assists were listed first. Medkit’s eye looked lower and lower down the screen, finally finding his name.

He was in tenth place.

He frowned, trying to brush it off.

He was a healer, after all, he hadn’t been aiming to rack up kills. Moving on, he checked the damage category, half-hoping he’d somehow contributed more than he thought.

Tenth place again.

Of course, he thought, a bitter edge to his sigh. He hadn’t even drawn his revolver, afterall he’d been too busy healing to even think about dealing damage. 

There was only one stat left that mattered, healing. That was his role. He might have failed in the other categories, but healing was where he’d really shine. With a surge of hope, he looked at the healing stats.

He was number three!

…He was number three…

Medkit’s heart sank as he processed the number. Third place… out of three healers. 

His total healing points sat at a measly one hundred and fifty-four, a stark contrast to the other two healers, who each boasted numbers well over a thousand. In every category, he’d been last, the lowest of the low. It was a crushing blow, and he felt a hot flush of shame rise to his cheeks. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead as if he could erase the numbers from his mind.

Boombox, seemingly oblivious to Medkit’s internal turmoil, but sensing something wrong, put a hand on his shoulder with his usual boisterous enthusiasm. “Hey, c’mon, cheer up! It was only your first time! You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.” Boombox’s voice was loud and confident, but a small part of Medkit wondered if he truly believed it or if he was just saying it out of kindness.

They made their way back to Boombox’s apartment, the walk filled with idle chatter from Boombox about the match, the arena, and some passing mentions of his friends he saw. Medkit’s mind, however, felt fogged over, each word from Boombox blurring into the next. He couldn’t shake the feeling of inadequacy that the scoreboard had stamped into his mind.

He wanted to collapse on the sidewalk face-first and be forgotten about.

Back at Boombox’s apartment, the atmosphere was entirely different from the chaotic energy of the phight. Boombox plopped onto his couch with a deep, weary sigh, his limbs splaying out as though every ounce of energy had drained from his body. He pulled out his phone, the dim screen casting a soft glow over his face. The bluish light from his phone mixed with the pale, fragmented moonlight filtering in through the blinds,, creating stripes of light and shadow across his features. Without his usual animated grin and boundless enthusiasm, Boombox looked older, the weariness etched into his face giving him an unusual fatigued appearance.

Medkit stood near the doorway, watching as Boombox scrolled through his phone, the faint glow occasionally catching the frustrated furrow in his brows. Boombox let out another sigh, louder this time, the exhale filled with irritation that Medkit didn’t expect from him.

“I’m kinda pissed,” Boombox admitted, his tone low and simmering with frustration. He didn’t look up as he spoke, his eyes glued to the phone screen as if avoiding Medkit’s gaze. “Skate ignored me the whole phight. I kept trying to talk to him, y’know, strike up a conversation. But every time, he’d just give me these… these one-word answers and walk off again.” One of Boombox’s feet swung up onto the coffee table, landing with a soft thud as he slouched back, arms folding defensively across his chest. “It’s just… it’s totally not like him at all.”

Medkit didn’t quite know how to respond. Boombox was usually so effortlessly upbeat, his personality as loud and colorful as his music. Seeing him so deflated was unusual, and Medkit found himself at a loss for words. 

He chose to sit down beside him in silence, offering quiet support. The weight of Boombox’s unspoken thoughts seemed to settle in the air around them, an invisible heaviness pressing down on the room. Medkit glanced at Boombox, noting the way his gaze remained unfocused, distant as though he were somewhere else entirely. Medkit could feel Boombox’s agitation simmering down, the simple companionship offering some ease. After a few more minutes, Boombox let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping.

Boombox broke the silence, his voice noticeably softer, almost hesitant, as if asking for a favor was out of character for him. “Hey, uh… I forgot to tell you,” he began, glancing over at Medkit, the edge creeping back into his tone. “Our bux will be ready to claim in a few hours.” His voice dropped even lower, and he glanced away, scratching the back of his neck. “Do you… mind staying up and getting ours? I’m just really tired, and I’d love to crash early, but I’d be really grateful if you could handle it.” He hesitated, his tone suddenly unsure. “If not, I can go first thing in the morning, no big deal.”

Medkit hesitated as well, glancing at Boombox’s tired face. He wasn’t keen on the idea of wandering the streets alone at night, especially while he was technically still a wanted criminal. 

Plus, he also desperately wanted to sleep just as much as Boombox.

“No, I’ll go. You get some rest,” Medkit replied, giving Boombox a small nod as he stood up from the couch, even though he wanted to say ‘No’.

Boombox’s shoulders relaxed visibly, and he flashed Medkit a grateful smile. “Thanks, Medkit. I really owe you one.” He pushed himself up from the couch, patting Medkit on the shoulder as he walked off toward his room, his footsteps slow and heavy. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he mumbled, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway before shutting the door behind him.

Medkit lingered for a moment in the silent apartment, the quiet pressing down on him in the absence of Boombox’s presence. Without his usual chatter filling the space, the apartment felt vast and empty. After a moment, Medkit slipped out the door, not wanting to just stand there forever, stepping into the stillness of the nighttime street.

The walk through the city was quiet, the silence only broken by the distant hum of cars passing on the main road and the occasional footsteps of someone walking past him. The streetlights cast an artificial glow over the sidewalks, each pool of light carving a sharp circle in the otherwise shadowed streets. The stars were almost invisible, swallowed up by the overpowering glow of the city’s neon lights due to the light pollution. 

Medkit glanced up at the blank sky, a pang of homesickness catching him off guard. He missed Blackrock, the cold bite of the air, the snowflakes that dusted the ground like powdered sugar, the vast, open stretches of sky unmarred by artificial light, and how they hung low and clear above the icy landscape.

Here, everything felt claustrophobic, confined, even in the open air.

The city’s warmth felt weird, and as he walked, his thoughts drifted, his steps carrying him through unfamiliar streets with a sense of detachment. By the time he arrived at the arena, the world around him felt muted, the weariness settling into his bones making every sound, every movement feel slow and distant.

He entered the arena’s large doors, the reception area bathed in a sterile, fluorescent glow that felt harsh against the darkness outside. A line of demons waited at the counter, each figure silent and still. Many had blank and tired expressions, looking like they’ve experienced too many phights for their own good. 

When Medkit reached the front, the receptionist behind the counter barely looked up, her eyes dull and expression blank, matching those previously in line.

“I’m here to claim my bux… for winning,” Medkit began, his voice sounding thin in the empty space. “It should be under Medkit and Boombox.”

The receptionist barely spared him a glance, her fingers tapping at the keyboard with a mechanical efficiency as she checked the system. “You’re early,” she said in a flat tone, her eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes to go. Come back later or wait off to the side,” she continued, her voice utterly devoid of interest as she waved him away.

He felt a bit foolish for no particular reason other than being early. 

He nodded and scratched at the back of his neck, the fatigue weighing on him more with every passing second as he drifted away from the front counter and sank onto a nearby bench. He slouched, leaning heavily against the cold, hard wall behind him. The bench was unforgiving and stiff, and the dim light filtering through the arena’s interior did nothing to ease his exhaustion. The faint breeze from passing phighters rustled the fake potted plants stationed around him, their plastic leaves swaying slightly each time someone walked by. Medkit’s eyelids grew heavier as he tried to focus, but the rhythmic sway of those plants and the occasional whisper of air lulled him, each moment tugging him closer to the edge of sleep.

Eventually, he drifted off into that strange liminal state where his consciousness hovered between being awake and slumber. He was aware, in a distant way, of the faint sounds around him, the noise from announcements, murmured conversations, the occasional opening and closing of the doors. 

The world around him felt soft, blurred, like looking through a frosted window. He could hear voices but couldn’t make out the words, he could feel the faint pressure of the wall against his shoulder but not the discomfort. In that strange in-between state, Medkit didn’t notice the distinct, heavy sound of footsteps approaching or the faint creak of the bench as someone settled beside him, which felt almost ironic.

He didn’t stir, didn’t react until his head, having gradually slipped from the support of the wall, leaned against something firm and unexpected, a solid arm. Startled, Medkit shot upright, blinking rapidly to clear the fog from his vision. He looked to his side, and his breath caught in his throat as his gaze landed on the figure beside him. Sitting next to him, taking up almost more than his share of the bench, was a massive man with sharp, imposing features partially concealed beneath a dark blindfold. Thick purple horns jutted out from the man’s head, while his large frame was clad in heavy armor that looked as though it had been through several battles. Off to the side, leaning against the wall, there was a giant hammer, the worn grip and notched metal suggesting it had seen its fair share of action.

Medkit blinked, half convinced he was still in some surreal dream state, but after rubbing his eyes and glancing again, the man was still there, staring down at him with an intense, almost predatory gaze.

Banhammer. The warden of Banlands himself. 

Medkit’s heart nearly stopped as he took in the demi-deity’s presence. Why was Banhammer here, of all places? And more importantly, why was he sitting next to him?

Banhammer’s armor bore scratches and scuffs, the dark fabric beneath that showed through the joint areas where his armor wasn't connected was dotted with small cuts that revealed hints of dried blood. His hair was tousled, strands sticking out at odd angles, and a faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin. The smell of iron and sweat hung around him, grounding Medkit in the reality that he was most definitely real.

Medkit’s immediate reaction was to bolt. His entire body screamed at him to run for the door, to get as far away as possible from Banhammer and his infamous, unyielding sense of justice. But his legs felt as heavy as lead, refusing to cooperate. Instead, he sat there, frozen, his muscles tense as if any slight movement might provoke the warden.

The silence stretched between them, each second feeling like an eternity as they stared at each other, neither one willing to break the standoff. Banhammer tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement flickering across his expression as he pulled up a corner of his blindfold, revealing a set of sharp, assessing eyes. He let out a low chuckle that rumbled through the air like distant thunder.

“You look so scared right now,” he said, his voice rich with mirth and layered with a faint trace of mockery. “You know I can arrest you on phighting grounds, right?” His lips curled into a smirk, and his laughter grew louder, a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the near-empty arena lobby. “I knew coming over to see your reaction would be worth it.”

Medkit stared blankly at the demi-deity, too stunned to respond immediately. Banhammer’s laugh, though mocking, wasn’t entirely unkind. Still, Medkit couldn’t shake the feeling of dread creeping up his spine. He managed to compose himself enough to respond, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. “Are you… wanting something from me? Why are you still staring?”

Banhammer didn’t answer right away. Instead, he fully lifted his blindfold, his piercing gaze settling on Medkit with an intensity that made him feel exposed, as though the warden were dissecting every aspect of his being. Banhammer’s eyes lingered on Medkit’s gear before he finally spoke again, his voice casual yet commanding. “Not really,” he replied with a shrug, his gaze unwavering. “But I wouldn’t mind some healing, doc.”

Medkit cringed slightly at the casual use of the nickname, the term “doc” sounding strange coming from Banhammer of all people, but he did tell him that he was a medic.

Despite his reluctance, he felt a strange compulsion to comply, as though denying Banhammer would invite consequences such as being arrested. Sighing softly, Medkit rose to his feet, reaching for his gear. Banhammer’s initial reaction didn't seem too surprised as he watched Medkit stand, seemingly assuming Medkit was leaving, and he opened his mouth, likely to issue a snarky remark, but his words died on his lips when Medkit reached out, his hand catching Banhammer’s face and turning it to the side.

Medkit’s gaze sharpened as he examined the various small cuts on Banhammer’s face, noting with a quiet scoff that they weren’t nearly as severe as he had expected. The warden’s wounds were superficial, mere scratches that didn’t require much effort to heal. His thumb brushed over a faint scrape on Banhammer’s cheek, the action more absentminded than deliberate. Banhammer’s skin was warm, rough under his touch, and faint scars from countless battles were evident on his face. Medkit lifted his crystal, a soft glow emanating from it, and he watched as the cuts closed, leaving smooth skin in their place.

When he finished with Banhammer’s face, Medkit moved on to his hands, since they were the only other area he could heal without asking the other to shed their armor, which bore a few deeper gashes.

Banhammer’s hands were massive compared to Medkit’s, the fingers also rough and calloused. Medkit’s smaller hands rested on Banhammer’s for a moment longer than necessary as he worked, the warmth radiating from the warden’s skin oddly comforting. For a brief, strange moment, Medkit found himself reluctant to let go, a strange feeling of loneliness creeping into his mind.

Maybe he was touch-starved. It had been years since he had held anyone’s hand, since he had shared such simple, human contact. In fact, Medkit could barely remember the last time he’d held anyone’s hand, the last time he’d felt this subtle, grounding connection to another person. He told himself it was just part of the healing process, that his hands lingered for the sake of thoroughness, but the rationalization felt hollow even to him. 

Medkit mentally shook himself, forcing his thoughts back to the present. He felt an unsettling mix of emotions he couldn’t quite identify, his mind swirling with questions and confusion he didn’t dare voice. He had merely healed the warden, nothing more, nothing less. But the simple act had left him feeling… vulnerable, exposed in a way he hadn’t expected. He glanced up at Banhammer, who was still watching him with that same unreadable look, his expression tinged with something Medkit couldn’t quite place.

Finally, with a faint, inaudible sigh, he released Banhammer’s hands, stepping back and giving a small, almost self-conscious nod to signal he was finished. He quickly busied himself with putting away his gear, his fingers moving with a mechanical precision that belied the turmoil roiling within him. 

He felt strange, off-balance. His mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions, gratitude of not being arrested, confusion on his feelings, and something deeper, something nameless that he couldn’t quite grasp. 

Why was his heart beating that small bit faster? Why did he feel this strange, hollow ache as he stepped away?

Banhammer, apparently noticing the shift in Medkit’s demeanor, tilted his head, his brow furrowing in mild concern. He seemed to mistake Medkit’s inner turmoil for apprehension, his voice breaking the silence with a gentle, almost reassuring tone. “You alright?” he asked, his rough voice softened with a hint of amusement. “C’mon, you know I can’t harm you or anything.”

Medkit blinked, jolted from his thoughts by Banhammer’s words. The warden seemed convinced that Medkit’s tension was due to fear, probably the fear of arrest or injury. Though those worries did in fact linger in the back of Medkit’s mind, they were nothing compared to the strange, inexplicable sense of vulnerability he felt at that moment. Medkit simply nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line, not trusting himself to speak in case his voice cracked. He turned abruptly, retreating to the reception line without a word.

As he reached the front of the now-empty line, Medkit exhaled a shaky breath, trying to steady himself. Banhammer, meanwhile, watched his retreating figure with a puzzled expression, but made no move to follow. Medkit glanced at the receptionist, his voice barely above a murmur. “Medkit and Boombox. I’m here for the bux.”

The receptionist handed him two small, plain brown bags, each one marked with a scrawled label. Medkit clutched them tightly, his knuckles turning white as he made a beeline for the exit, his footsteps quick and purposeful. The moment he stepped outside, he broke into a brisk walk, almost a jog, his heart pounding in his chest as he put as much distance between himself and the arena as he could.

Now he really did want to fall down, though preferably in a deep hole in the sidewalk instead of face-first.

The walk back to Boombox’s apartment was a blur, his mind replaying the encounter with Banhammer in fragmented, disjointed flashes. By the time he arrived at Boombox’s building, his nerves had settled somewhat, though the strange, hollow ache in his chest remained. 

Climbing up the stairs up to the fifth floor, his pace slowed as he reached the door to the apartment. He was relieved to find it unlocked, a small blessing that he hadn’t realized he’d been counting on. After all, Boombox had neglected to give him a key, and he could only imagine the awkwardness of being locked out with nowhere to go. He stepped inside, the door creaking softly as it closed behind him, and he made sure to turn the lock, securing the bolt with a quiet click.

The apartment was dark, shadows stretching across the floor as faint slivers of moonlight seeped in through the cracks in the blinds. Medkit moved with careful steps, trying to be quiet to not wake Boombox who Medkit assumed was sleeping. He went over to the blinds, closing them and plunging the apartment into a deeper darkness.

As he padded quietly through the apartment, he reached Boombox’s room, Medkit hesitated for a moment before gently pushing the door open. The faint creak echoed softly in the quiet apartment, and he winced slightly, hoping it wouldn’t disturb the other’s sleep. Boombox laid sprawled across his bed, his face softened in sleep, one arm tossed carelessly above his head.

With careful movements as to not be loud, Medkit placed the two small bags of bux on the nightstand. He lingered there for a moment, his gaze shifting from Boombox’s sleeping form to the bags, feeling a strange sense of gratitude for his presence. Without him, he doubted he’d have made it through the past two days with any sense of stability.

Medkit turned away and made his way to the guest room. The space was small, but it felt welcoming and cozy in a way. He kicked off his shoes, the weight of them dropping from his feet with a sense of finality. His eyes scanned the room, settling on a random shirt and pair of shorts folded neatly in the closet. He quickly swapped his clothes, the soft fabric of the borrowed clothes a stark contrast to the worn ones he had just removed. He folded the previously worn clothes with a quick pace born from habit, setting them neatly on the corner of the bed before slipping under the cool sheets.

As he laid there, the weight of the day finally settled over him, pressing into his bones with a heavy, unyielding presence. He reached for a pillow, pulling it close, his arms curling around it in a gesture that felt almost instinctual. There was something strangely comforting in the soft give of the pillow, something that soothed the ache that lingered in his chest.

Medkit closed his eyes, the quiet hum of the apartment enveloping him, lulling him into a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in a long time. That odd feeling was still distantly present from before, the same quiet yearning that seemed to settle deep within him, a soft ache that refused to fade even as exhaustion claimed him.

He felt his body relax, his breathing slowing as he sank deeper into the bed, the familiar rhythm of sleep pulling him under. His fingers clutched the pillow a little tighter, as though it were a lifeline tethering him to some sense of stability, of comfort. In the darkness, he allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his thoughts blurring into a hazy, comforting fog.

And as he drifted off, curled up in the warmth of borrowed clothes, he felt a faint sense of peace settle over him, a quiet, unspoken contentment that lingered long into the night.

Chapter Text

Log Start <

Play <

…

“Ooh, is it working?”

“Yes. Maybe if you were actually on time for something for once, you could’ve read the manual.”

“Shut it, Illumina! You know it’s my first time filling a Sanctum Log! Plus, I couldn’t help how bad the traffic was!”

“Moving on… This is Illumina filling Sanctum Log c6-3, co-filled by Icedagger. We wish you find what you search for. May the gods be in your favor.”

Pause <

Icedagger stood silently, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the shimmering crystal ball before them, his posture heavy with skepticism. He frowned slightly, his blue wings flicking with irritation as he leaned closer, examining the ethereal sphere that glowed faintly in the dim, sacred light of the shrine. The shrine itself was an ancient, humble space, tucked away in the wilderness. Faint beams of filtered sunlight streamed through cracks in the stone walls, casting a gentle glow over moss-covered carvings that depicted forgotten and lost deities, while shadows seemed to dance along the edges, concealing secrets known only to the oldest spirits.

As Icedagger shifted, he let out a frustrated groan, a low rumble echoing through the quiet space, his wings fluttering in agitation. “I thought when I heard deities talk about you filling these things it was gonna be cool,” he muttered, staring pointedly at Illumina. “We’re just in some random shrine in the middle of nowhere, scrying into some magic ball to see into the past, so some random demon can view the private lives of people. Don’tcha think that’s a bit creepy…?”

Illumina sighed, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. The taller deity brushed a stray lock of silvery hair away from his face and turned to Icedagger. “I’m just doing what my followers want,” he replied softly, his voice imbued with a choleric resonance. “It makes them happy.”

Icedagger huffed, crossing his arms defiantly, a pout forming on his face. He watched with mild annoyance as Illumina extended a slender hand toward the crystal ball, fingers moving gracefully in a practiced scrying technique. With an almost ceremonial air, Illumina reached for the recording device, adjusting it with careful precision before his fingers hovered over it for just a moment.

Illumina gave one final glance at Icedagger, his lips curving in a small grin. Icedagger watched, barely masking his curiosity behind a mask of indifference, as Illumina pointed the camera downward to the crystal ball and resumed the log.

Play <

{1}

The scene that emerged was vivid, like a dream caught in fragments of shimmering light. Colors shifted and reformed, transitioning to the heart of a chaotic phighting arena. Skateboard, his mind barely tethered to the action around him, was lost in his own thoughts, his attention drifting in and out as he battled alongside his teammates. His mind was buzzing with anticipation and a mild anxiety that tingled in his chest like the start of a storm. Nearby, his best friend Boombox chatted enthusiastically, hoping to engage with him.

“I heard they got some new boards that are like twenty percent off at Bogio,” Boombox was saying, his tone friendly and casual as they stretched during a brief break in the action. “They looked like your style and everything else you like too. Maybe wanna check them out later?”

Skateboard’s eyes were fixed on a point far in the distance, lost somewhere in the noisy arena and within his own swirling thoughts. Only when he felt Boombox’s gaze lingering on him did he snap out of his reverie. He blinked, his mind struggling to catch up with the conversation.

“Huh?” he muttered, barely processing Boombox’s question. “…Oh, uh, no.”

He hadn’t meant to sound so dismissive, but his mind was miles away, preoccupied with thoughts that felt heavier with each passing moment.

For a brief instant, a flicker of hurt crossed Boombox’s face. “Oh… Alright then,” he murmured, the usual brightness of his tone dampening. But he quickly brushed it off, offering a small smile before starting to jog back to his team on the opposite side of the arena. “Well, I’m gonna go back in. Talk to you later,” he called out cheerily, though once again Skateboard barely noticed.

The energy of the arena pulsed around Skateboard, the air thick with the smells of metal and dust, and the hum of adrenaline electrified his skin. Despite the vibrant atmosphere, he felt distant, like he was watching from somewhere outside himself. His team, identified by the vivid red stickers that adorned their shirts, was focused and intense, though there was a new member among them, a support demon attempting, somewhat clumsily, to aid them. 

The new demon’s healing attempts were spotty, and Skateboard felt mildly irritated, though he brushed it off, chalking it up to nerves. After all, they were in his favorite phighting arena, the skatepark, a gritty, time-worn structure that held memories of countless battles.

The skatepark, though scarred by years of wear, still held a certain beauty. Graffiti adorned nearly every surface, vibrant and alive with stories, while the cracked concrete ramps and faded railings spoke of the countless demons who had passed through, leaving their mark. It was a place that resonated with him, a little rough around the edges, but fiercely alive.

But even with all that familiarity, Skateboard found himself zoning out, his mind barely registering the chaos around him. The match ended abruptly, pulling him back into reality. He blinked in mild surprise at the scoreboard, his team had won. A small rush of satisfaction flared in him, but it was fleeting. Almost immediately, he felt the urge to leave, the anticipation of what laid ahead overshadowing his victory.

As soon as the arena doors swung open, Skateboard didn’t hesitate. He bolted out, his feet carrying him quickly away from the crowd, his hand reaching up to rip off the red team sticker from his shirt. He was dimly aware of the odd look Boombox gave him as he sped past, but he paid it no mind.

There was only one thing on his mind now.

The cool night air greeted him as he emerged onto the street, and every step he took toward the subway station seemed to make his heart pound faster, a mixture of nerves and excitement bubbling within him. He was headed to Thieves’ Den, and the thought of it made his palms feel clammy. Self-consciousness gnawed at him. 

What if he looked ridiculous? What if his outfit was all wrong? What if he was running horribly late out of no where?

As Skateboard stepped onto the escalator and descended into the depths of the subway station, his nerves flickered to life. His cheeks were flushed, his heart racing, though not from the competition. 

He boarded the subway car going to his destination, finding a spot in the corner where he could sit by himself, the usual buzz of commuters around him fading into a dull hum. As he sat down, he wiped the sweat from his forehead, feeling a surge of embarrassment. 

What was he even going to say when he got there? Would he come off as too eager? Too nervous?

Skateboard’s mind spun with self-doubt and he rubbed his face with both hands, trying to calm the anxious jitters that wouldn’t leave him alone. He ran his fingers through his slightly damp hair, which was messier than he would have liked. His clothes were rumpled, and he felt the ache of tired muscles from the match weighing on him. He propped his head on one hand, looking down at the subway car’s scuffed and dirt-streaked floor as he tried to collect himself.

It wasn’t long before the train lurched into motion, heading toward Thieves’ Den. Every passing minute felt like an eternity, each stop punctuating the steady build of anticipation and nerves in his chest. 

Skateboard could barely focus on anything around him. He shifted in his seat, tugging at his shirt to try and smooth out the creases, though he knew there was little he could do now.

The twenty-minute ride passed in a blur of restless thoughts and second-guessing. When he finally arrived at Thieves’ Den station, Skateboard hopped out quickly, his heart pounding as he rushed toward the escalator that would take him back up to the surface. He pulled out his phone, double-checking the address he’d been sent. He already knew where he was going, he’d memorized the directions a while ago, but the last thing he wanted was to lose his way now.

Outside the subway, the city lights painted the night in a warm, orange glow, the tall buildings of Thieves’ Den looming like ancient giants around him. He walked briskly toward the high-rise complex where Slingshot lived, his hands stuffed into his pockets to keep them from trembling. The building was sleek, modern, and intimidating, with a polished lobby that felt almost too pristine for someone like him. He hit the button for the elevator, glancing around nervously as he waited, his mind once again racing with doubts and anxieties.

Inside the elevator, the mirrored walls reflected his flushed face, and he could see just how unkempt he looked, sweat from the phight still lingering. He tried to ignore the self-conscious feeling that bubbled up as he ascended, one floor after another, the elevator ticking up until it reached the eighth floor. With a deep breath, he stepped out and headed toward room fifty-seven, each step echoing in the quiet hallway. When he finally reached the door, he stopped, his hands clenched tightly behind his back, fingers twisting together nervously as he tried to steady himself.

For what felt like an eternity, Skateboard simply stood there, staring at the door. His tail swished back and forth in nervous excitement, betraying the usually cocky, carefree demeanor he carried. He felt the unfamiliar sensation of shyness creeping over him, as if every ounce of confidence had been left behind. After a long moment, he finally raised his hand and knocked.

The door opened almost immediately, and there stood Slingshot, looking as relaxed and casual as ever in a blue varsity jacket and grey sweatpants. His eyes lit up when he saw Skateboard, and a warm smile spread across his face.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it on time!” Slingshot said, his voice filled with relief and excitement. “I know you were a bit worried about it, what with the phight and all…” He trailed off, his smile faltering slightly as if unsure of what to say next.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hallway was silent, the soft glow of the apartment light spilling out around them, casting a warm glow over their faces. Skateboard’s heart pounded in his chest as they simply stood there, the quiet stretching out between them, comfortable yet charged. The faint sounds of the city below drifted through, the murmur of distant traffic a low hum in the background.

Then, in a sudden movement, Slingshot stepped out from the doorway, locking the door behind him with a swift turn of the key. He reached for Skateboard’s hand, his grip warm and firm, and without a word, he began to pull him toward the emergency stairwell. Skateboard stumbled slightly, caught off guard but not resisting, letting himself be led down the dimly lit stairs. The cool night air swept around them as they reached the ground floor, their footsteps echoing in the quiet stairwell.

They burst out onto the sidewalk, Slingshot still holding Skateboard’s hand, and they began to run together, moving through the winding streets of Thieves’ Den. The city around them was bathed in silver moonlight, casting shadows that danced along the grassy patches and sidewalks as they moved. The sounds of the city faded as they ventured farther, heading toward the outskirts, the calm night enveloping them in a peaceful stillness that felt almost surreal.

Eventually, they arrived at a secluded beach, the stretch of sand glowing softly in the moonlight. Slingshot came to a stop, panting and slightly out of breath, but he didn’t let go of Skateboard’s hand. The two of them stood at the edge of the boardwalk, which creaked under their weight, the old wooden planks worn and weathered from years of ocean breeze and saltwater.

A faded sign read, “Beach Closed,” but they ignored it, stepping past it and onto the cool sand. The ocean stretched out before them, vast and shimmering, the waves catching the light of the stars as they rolled gently onto the shore. The air was thick with the scent of salt and seaweed, and the gentle sound of the waves was almost hypnotic, blending with the quiet murmur of the night.

For a moment, they stood side by side, looking out over the ocean, neither of them saying a word. Skateboard felt a tightness in his chest, a nervous energy that seemed to make every sensation sharper, more intense. He could feel the warmth of Slingshot’s hand in his, grounding him in this surreal, dreamlike moment. Without realizing it, he squeezed Slingshot’s hand a little tighter, finding comfort in the simple connection between them.

Skateboard took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he tried to find the right words to break the silence. Finally after a long moment, he let out a small huff, his breath misting in the cool night air.

“What… what was that all about, Sling?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with a hint of confusion. “Why did you pull me all the way out here? I thought we were just hanging out at your place and-”

His words were suddenly silenced as Slingshot’s hand found its way to his chest, the gentle touch steadying the nerves Skateboard hadn’t even realized were bubbling over. Without hesitation, Slingshot leaned forward, closing the distance between them in a swift, bold movement. Their lips met softly, catching Skateboard off guard, and for a heartbeat, he was frozen, his eyes wide open in shock while Slingshot’s were squeezed shut, his whole expression one of concentration and quiet vulnerability.

Skateboard’s grip loosened as his hands instinctively dropped his gear onto the sand below, forgotten entirely as the weight of the moment took over. But just as quickly as it began, Slingshot pulled away, his face flushed with color as he looked down, his cat-like tail drooping behind him. There was an awkward pause, the air between them thick with unsaid emotions, as Slingshot stammered out an apology.

“I’m… I’m sorry, fuck, I…” He took a breath, visibly flustered, eyes darting anywhere but directly at Skateboard. “I like you, okay? …I know it’s a bit sudden…, but I want to be yours, and you mine. I want to wake up and see you next to me, to feel you hold me. I want to go on those sappy movie theater or picnic dates with you. I want to do everything with you… I love you…”

The words tumbled out all at once, unfiltered and raw, each confession striking like a spark in the cool night air. Slingshot’s voice softened, almost breaking with his last words. “If you don’t feel the same… can we at least stay friends? …You’re pretty much all I have…” He finally met Skateboard’s gaze, his eyes wide and pleading, his vulnerability laid bare.

Skateboard felt his heart leap, words failing him entirely as his mind raced to find some way to respond. 

He liked Slingshot, there was no doubt about it. But facing the reality of his own feelings, vocalizing them, was a daunting challenge. A thousand thoughts spun through his mind, each thought stumbling over the next. In the end, he took the simple, unspoken path. He cupped Slingshot’s cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under his palm, and leaned forward, closing his eyes this time as he pressed his lips to Slingshot’s in a soft, lingering kiss.

The world seemed to slow down, everything fading away except for the warmth and softness between them. He felt Slingshot’s hand tighten around his, a slight, reassuring squeeze as the younger demon kissed him back, his tail giving a little wag of excitement. For what felt like an eternity, they stayed locked in that quiet embrace, the cool night air mingling with the warmth between them. When they finally parted, both were left breathless, their lips tingling and hearts racing.

Skateboard’s mouth opened, words finally coming to him after a brief, blissful silence. “I would love to be yours, Sling.” He managed to say, his voice quiet but filled with a certainty that surprised even him. “I love you too.”

Slingshot’s face broke into a radiant smile, one that seemed to light up the whole beach, even in the night. He let out a soft laugh, a mix of relief and joy as he leaned his head onto Skateboard’s shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad… I’m sorry if this was super awkward… I didn’t know what to do, really.” Slingshot tilted his head, and they locked eyes again, both their faces flushed with embarrassment and happiness.

Without a second thought, Skateboard did the same trick the other did and tugged at Slingshot’s hand, suddenly pulling him toward the shore. The two sprinted hand-in-hand toward the water’s edge, laughter filling the air as they left the dry sands behind. Reaching the shoreline, Skateboard dropped Slingshot’s hand just long enough to slip off his shoes and roll up his pants, the sand cool beneath his bare feet as he waded into the shallow surf. He looked back, motioning for Slingshot to join him with a mischievous grin.

Slingshot chuckled, mirroring Skateboard’s movements as he shed his own shoes and rolled up his pants, stepping into the water beside him. Under the moonlight, the ocean’s gentle waves sparkled with a silvery glow, the water lapping around their ankles as they moved deeper into the shallows. 

To Skateboard, Slingshot looked stunning, the moonlight accentuating every line of his face, casting his features in a soft, dreamlike glow. He was beautiful, breathtakingly so, and for a moment, Skateboard felt his breath catch.

Then, in one impulsive movement, Skateboard bent down, scooping up a handful of water and flinging it playfully in Slingshot’s direction. The droplets caught the moonlight as they scattered, sparkling in the air before landing in a cold splash against Slingshot’s face. For a second, Slingshot’s eyes widened in shock, and then he burst into laughter, retaliating by scooping up his own handful of water and flicking it back at Skateboard.

A water fight erupted between them, each splash followed by laughter as they tried to dodge and block each other’s attacks. Their laughter echoed across the quiet beach, blending with the soft rush of the waves. They moved back and forth, splashing and playfully shoving each other, completely caught up in the moment. Skateboard felt a sense of pure joy bubbling up, a carefree happiness he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages.

Just as Skateboard bent down to scoop up more water, his foot slipped on the wet sand beneath him, sending him stumbling forward. He collided into Slingshot, and the two tumbled down together, landing with a soft thud in the shallow surf. Slingshot hit the water first, partially submerged in the cool waves, while Skateboard landed awkwardly on top of him, the two a tangled mess of limbs.

They stayed like that, lying in the surf with their clothes half-soaked, laughter bubbling up between them as they tried to catch their breath. Skateboard’s heart pounded in his chest, both from the exhilaration of their playful fight and the closeness of the moment. His hand found Slingshot’s again, their fingers intertwining in a simple, natural gesture that felt more intimate than any words could express.

As their laughter quieted, they lay there in comfortable silence, listening to the gentle ebb and flow of the waves around them. Slingshot’s hand gave his a slight squeeze, and Skateboard felt his chest tighten with an overwhelming sense of peace. He looked down at Slingshot, meeting his gaze in the moonlight, and for once, words seemed unnecessary. The warmth of their connection, the quiet joy in each other’s presence, spoke louder than anything he could have said.

Finally, Slingshot broke the silence with a soft murmur, his voice warm with affection. “I could stay like this forever, you know…”

Skateboard smiled, his own heart swelling with the same sentiment. “Me too.”

After a moment, Skateboard shifted slightly, his weight still on Slingshot, and leaned down, his heart pounding as he brought their lips together in another soft, tender kiss. Slingshot’s eyes fluttered shut, his free hand reaching up to touch Skateboard’s face, fingers tracing along his jawline. When they finally pulled apart, Skateboard was smiling, unable to hide the absolute joy that filled his heart. He reached out, brushing aside a stray strand of hair that clung to Slingshot’s forehead, slicked back by the water, his own smile mirrored on Slingshot’s face.

They really were just two idiots in love.

Just as they were lost in each other’s gaze, the moment was interrupted by a harsh beam of light suddenly illuminating them. Blinking against the brightness, they turned toward the source to see a figure standing on the boardwalk, shining a flashlight at them. A demon in a police uniform sighed heavily, hands on her hips as she looked at them, clearly exasperated.

“Beach is closed,” she called out, her voice sharp and unimpressed. “Get out before I gotta arrest y’all for trespassing. I’ll give you two minutes.”

The light remained trained on them, casting a spotlight over their soaked, sandy forms. Sharing a look, Slingshot and Skateboard scrambled to their feet, brushing off what sand they could from their clothes. They quickly gathered their shoes, and Skateboard snatched up his gear from the sand, their movements hurried as they half-stumbled, half-laughed their way back to the boardwalk. They hurriedly left the beach behind, the faint sounds of the waves receding into the background as they crossed back into the quiet city streets.

Once they were a safe distance from the beach, they slowed their pace, breathless from laughter and adrenaline. Their clothes were still dripping from the saltwater, leaving little puddles on the sidewalk beneath them as they walked. The night air had taken on a distinct chill, seeping into their damp clothes and making their skin prickle with goosebumps. Yet even as the cold set in, their spirits remained high, a warm glow lingering between them as they walked hand-in-hand.

Skateboard suddenly shivered, rubbing his arms in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. “Fuck, it’s freezing out here,” he muttered through his teeth, his free hand working to warm himself up.

Noticing, Slingshot released his hand and immediately shrugged off his blue varsity jacket, offering it to Skateboard. “Here, take this,” he said, holding it out. “It’s probably still a bit wet, but it might help a little. You can still stay over at my place like we planned. Vine and Shuri are still out of town.”

Grateful, Skateboard slipped the jacket on, feeling its damp but comforting warmth settle over his shoulders. He buttoned it up, pulling it snug against his frame before reaching back out for Slingshot’s hand, their fingers intertwining once more as they resumed their walk.

He looked over at Slingshot, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. “I love you,” he said, the words simple yet carrying the weight of everything he felt.

Slingshot’s smile widened, his own eyes shining with quiet affection as he echoed the sentiment. “I love you too.”

They walked through the dark streets, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, their breaths misting in the chilly air as they headed toward home.

{2}

When Banhammer checked the stats from the phight, he felt a familiar sense of satisfaction. His name stood confidently at the top of every category, except for healing, of course. As he skimmed the scoreboard, most of the other demons were already filtering out, making their way from the arena lobby and out into the night.

Usually, Banhammer switched up his arenas to keep things interesting, and tonight he’d ventured out into Playground. With it being a trek back to Banlands, he decided he might as well claim his bux here and now instead of doubling back tomorrow. He stretched, feeling the satisfying pull of muscles that had spent a while under tension. Finally, he headed toward the benches by the side of the arena, hoping to take a moment to unwind. After phighting, standing any longer sounded about as fun as being hit by his own gear.

As he scanned the benches, his eyes landed on someone unexpectedly familiar, a figure slouched on the far end, curled up on the bench as if he’d been there all night. The soft rise and fall of his shoulders revealed the demon to be fast asleep. Banhammer blinked, momentarily surprised, and then grinned a little in recognition.

It was Medkit.

Banhammer felt his tail give a small wag, which was strange. Medkit was, after all, a wanted criminal, a fact Banhammer usually wouldn’t forget. Yet, something about seeing the demon made him feel oddly… interested. It was the fact the medic was here of all places possibly, but Banhammer quickly brushed the feeling away. After all, this was Medkit, a traitor of Blackrock, not some long-lost friend.

As he approached, he realized Medkit looked different while asleep. In the low light, Medkit’s face was softened, the sternness absent, leaving him looking surprisingly young and peaceful. Banhammer’s footsteps slowed as he took a seat next to him, setting his gear off to the side with a muted clang. He glanced at Medkit again, drawn in by the unlikely serenity of his expression. They’d met in far less relaxed circumstances, so seeing him like this, vulnerable, unarmed, and well, relaxed, felt weird. 

Banhammer wasn’t sure why he was just sitting there, watching, but he didn’t feel like moving.

Minutes drifted by, perhaps ten or so, when Medkit’s head began to tilt to the side, his unconscious form leaning until it finally rested against Banhammer’s arm. The contact jolted Medkit awake, his eyes fluttering open and landing on Banhammer in groggy confusion. Banhammer lifted his blindfold slightly, just enough to see the sleepy, slightly disoriented expression on Medkit’s face. His lips formed a slight pout, his eyes still half-lidded, looking utterly uncharacteristic for the usually stoic medic.

Endearing. The word lodged itself in Banhammer’s mind before he could shake it off, and he almost laughed at himself for the thought. But something about the sight of Medkit, who usually wore a mask of professionalism, looking so lost and… real? It threw him. Quickly, he pulled his blindfold back down, hiding any betraying expression of his own.

Maybe he did really need some more sleep like his momma had said.

Medkit blinked a few more times, and as his senses cleared, his gaze shifted from sleepiness to confusion, his posture straightening in recognition and slight alarm. Banhammer tilted his head with a smirk, lifting the corner of his blindfold again.

The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of demons still leaving the arena lobby, their voices fading into echoes. Banhammer couldn’t stand the quiet, it was unsettlingly intense. He let out a laugh, hoping to dispel whatever tension had taken hold. “You look so scared right now,” he teased, the words coming out before he’d fully thought them through. He leaned back a little, flashing a grin. “You know I can't arrest you on phighting grounds, right?” He chuckled again, louder this time, his laughter echoing through the nearly empty arena. “I knew coming over to see your reaction would be worth it.”

Medkit’s face went from mildly confused to utterly blank, staring at Banhammer with a mixture of shock and wariness. Banhammer hadn’t meant to come across as intimidating, but as he took in Medkit’s expression, he wondered if his approach wasn't the best.

After a few long seconds, Medkit finally spoke, his voice softer than usual, carrying a hint of hesitance. “Are you… wanting something from me? Why are you still staring?”

Banhammer didn’t answer Medkit’s question right away, his words momentarily lost as he realized he’d been staring more intently than he’d intended. Fully lifting his blindfold to avoid any sign of hesitation, he glanced to the side, hoping he didn’t appear as awkward as he strangely felt. He tried to think of something casual, something to break the odd tension between them. “Not really,” he replied with a shrug, his gaze shifting over to the sight of Medkit’s wrapped gear. “But I wouldn’t mind some healing, doc.”

He let the words hang, hoping they’d sound nonchalant, maybe even a bit humorous. Banhammer watched for Medkit’s reaction, expecting, or perhaps hoping, for a smirk or a small acknowledgment of the nickname. But instead, Medkit’s face subtly contorted, as if cringing. Medkit sighed softly, standing and reaching for his gear, giving Banhammer the impression he might simply walk away.

Banhammer tensed. He wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. And then, unexpectedly, Medkit didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped forward, reaching out with a surprisingly gentle, deliberate movement. Banhammer felt Medkit’s hand softly touch his chin, guiding his head to the side, his fingers tracing the line of his jaw. Banhammer froze, his initial surprise held back only by years of discipline as Medkit’s fingertips brushed along his face with unexpected care. The touch was light yet firm, each movement calculated but carrying an unspoken gentleness.

The younger demon’s thumb lingered on one of the scrapes Banhammer had gained during the phight, his fingers warm against Banhammer’s skin. The sensation of warmth radiating from Medkit’s hand spread through him.

With practiced precision, Medkit lifted a small crystal, its soft green glow casting an ethereal light that danced along the edges of his face. As Medkit carefully passed the crystal over Banhammer’s cuts. Banhammer found himself relaxing subconsciously under Medkit’s meticulous care, barely daring to move, not wanting to break the moment’s fragile stillness.

Once Medkit finished with the scrapes on Banhammer’s face, he glanced down at Banhammer’s hands and also gently took them in his own. Medkit’s fingers were smaller, yet they seemed to fit perfectly as they rested on Banhammer’s larger hands, giving a comforting weight as he examined each rough knuckle and worn line. Medkit’s hands lingered for just a moment too long, almost as if he were hesitating before proceeding with his work, and Banhammer couldn’t help but notice the contrast between his own roughened skin and the smooth warmth of Medkit’s touch. 

Medkit’s expression remained focused, his gaze steady as he moved the healing crystal along Banhammer’s hands, its glow dimly illuminating their almost intertwined fingers. Banhammer had little expertise in healing and didn’t understand the subtle intricacies of the process, but he was certain that Medkit’s care was more than adequate. Medkit finally released his hands, stepping back with a small nod signaling that he was finished.

Banhammer blinked, realizing only now that his hands were fully healed. He flexed his fingers experimentally, noting the absence of pain. As Medkit busied himself with putting away his supplies, Banhammer’s gaze lingered on him, taking in the way the younger demon’s expression seemed slightly off, his movements tense, almost preoccupied. A thought flashed in Banhammer’s mind. 

Was Medkit worried? Or maybe even afraid?

Banhammer tilted his head, watching Medkit’s movements carefully before breaking the silence with a voice softened unconsciously in a way he hadn’t used often. “You alright?” His tone held a hint of amusement but also a gentle edge of concern. “C’mon, you know I can’t harm you or anything.”

Medkit blinked, a subtle shift in his expression, before nodding wordlessly, his lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, Banhammer thought Medkit might respond, but instead, he turned abruptly, heading toward the arena’s reception line without a word.

Banhammer watched as Medkit reached the counter. He saw the receptionist hand over two small brown bags, each marked with a hastily scrawled label. They were undoubtedly two bags of bux for a phight. Medkit took them, his grip noticeably tight, the tension visible in his white-knuckled grasp. Without so much as a glance back, he made a beeline for the exit, his steps brisk, shoulders hunched slightly as he disappeared into the night.

Banhammer sat back, feeling an odd heaviness settle over him. His thoughts drifted to Medkit, wondering about the life that laid beyond the arena. 

Did he have a home to return to? Friends, or perhaps a family waiting for him? He did have two bags after all.

The sudden surge of curiosity surprised Banhammer, yet he couldn’t shake it. There was something about Medkit that lingered in his mind, a sense of mystery that left him wondering about things he’d usually brush aside.

He sighed, resting his cheek on his hand as he sat alone in the now-empty arena. The cool air was quiet, and the distant hum of voices faded.

{3}

“Nghh~!, Fuc-Ahh~!, F-Fas- Haahh~ -ter!”

“...Fuck, you’re so, ngh…, needy…”

Medkit laid on his bed, wrapped loosely in Subspace’s arms whilst being impaled by the pink-horned demon. The room was dimly lit, casting soft shadows across their sweaty figures. He leaned into Subspace, resting his head on the older demon’s shoulder. The sounds of their harsh breathing filled the room, blending with the distant noises from outside.

The story so far was simple. Subspace had wanted some relief, but Medkit, who wasn’t in the mood originally, hadn't realized how potent the aphrodisiacs he'd taken were. Medkit was currently a trembling, oversensitive mess, his body wracked with wave after wave of pleasure.

Medkit had lost count, but he must have climaxed at least half a dozen times already, and everytime Subspace's seed was implanted inside of him, he felt even hornier than before. 

Straddling the other man, Medkit leaned heavily against him, his tail wagging weakly behind him as he let out pathetic, whimpering moans.

"F-Fuck, you, Nghh~!, feel so good..." Medkit panted, his voice quivering with need as Subspace moved inside him.

It was only a few more minutes before they climaxed together, Medkit crying out loudly as he collapsed boneless against Subspace. The two laid panting for a moment, Subspace smirking as he gazed at Medkit's painted, debauched form. 

Minutes passed, and the warmth of their shared closeness lulled Medkit into a daze, though just as he felt himself melting into the moment, he noticed Subspace shifting, suddenly pulling out and getting off the bed. He just watched as Subspace collected his clothes and got dressed, heading off to the bedroom door.

Medkit laid still, watching, not yet ready to move, …or more unable to move. He wanted to say something, to reach out, but he didn’t know what words would be right. Instead, he simply observed as Subspace adjusted his sashe-esque sleeve, turning without a word to leave the room. The sound of the front door closing echoed faintly moments later, and Medkit realized he was alone.

A pang of sadness hit him, causing him to sigh. Medkit still felt aroused, but was too tired to do anything about it.

He felt like Subspace should have done more, though didn't quite know what he meant by ‘more’.

Sure, he had never been in a real friendship before, and was even a virgin until he met Subspace, or whatever Subspace had called it when someone hadn't had sex before, so he wasn't sure what to expect. 

He didn't know what was normal, but maybe this was normal behavior for friends…

He felt confused.

And frustrated.

As Medkit laid there, staring up at the ceiling, he felt that there was an emptiness that lingered in the room, one that left him feeling strangely hollow.

With a sigh, Medkit slowly sat up, each movement heavy with fatigue. He pulled himself off the bed and retrieved his clothes from the floor. The ache in his limbs reminded him of the evening’s closeness, but the feeling was more bittersweet than comforting now.

Medkit dragged himself to the bathroom weakly, struggling to even support his own weight. Once inside, he grabbed a towel and quickly wiped the mess from his stomach, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He also cleaned the liquid that had dripped down his legs, but was too exhausted to properly deep clean himself.

The dimness of the room matched his mood, wrapping around him as he went through the motions of cleaning. When Medkit went to put on his clothes, he realized he had only grabbed his shirt. He slipped it on anyway and sighed, looking at his tired reflection in the mirror, faint bite marks visible on his neck.

Not wanting to return to his bed, he wandered over to the bathtub and laid down. Medkit curled up in a ball, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position, though it ultimately only added to his discomfort. The cold tile and the fabric of his shirt pressed harshly against the fresh bites on his neck and chest, causing a burning sensation. 

Feeling a liquid start to pool down his legs again, Medkit let out a quiet moan and squeezed his legs together in a futile attempt to stop the substance from flowing.

He felt utterly disgusted with himself.

~

When Medkit woke up, it was the middle of the night, and he had a burning sensation in his groin. Too tired to even try to address the issue, he mentally cursed at himself. He clutched the pillow he was holding tighter, burying his head into it for what he told himself was no particular reason.

He wanted to hold someone.

He wanted to be loved.

He wanted to be held, to be cuddled…

He was lonely…

Pause <

End of Sanctum Log c6-3

Alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

With sparkling crystals souls aglow

A part of thee in the key of what we know to be every part without me

Knows only two can make it light

You’ll live forever tonight

May the gods be in your favor.

Chapter Text

When Medkit pushed through the heavy double doors of the phighting arena’s lobby, the harsh fluorescent lighting inside made him squint. He was already running later than he liked, and his nerves were frayed from rushing through the still unfamiliar streets. The usual hum of muted conversation and the low whir of the ventilation system filled the space. Medkit had barely stepped into the lobby when his gaze locked onto a figure near the entrance, fidgeting with the hem of his uniform. His heart stopped for a moment.

There, standing in the dim glow of the lobby’s overhead lights, was a demon he hadn’t expected to see again, let alone in this place. 

Subspace.

The sight of those pink horns was like a punch to the gut. Medkit’s breath hitched, his body freezing in place as memories came flooding back, unbidden and sharp. 

Subspace. 

The one who had twisted his life into a chaotic spiral. 

In the two months he’d spent with Boombox, phighting to have a place to live and trying to rebuild his shattered sense of self, he had managed to push thoughts of Subspace to the farthest corners of his mind. Though right now, standing face to face with him, every buried emotion came rushing back.

The lobby doors groaned shut behind Medkit, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room, sealing him inside with the last person he wanted to see. He felt trapped, the walls of the lobby suddenly too close, the air too thick. His mind screamed at him to turn around and leave, but his feet were rooted to the ground, his wide eyes fixed on the figure before him.

Subspace must have sensed his presence, because he stopped fidgeting and slowly turned around. His sharp eyes, or rather eye, locked onto Medkit immediately. His left eye was obscured by a strap attached to something similar to a gas mask, giving him a more menacing appearance. The exposed areas of his skin looked raw and singed, particularly the left side of his face and his right hand, which was an unnatural pink, as though it had been burned. Medkit’s gaze traveled upwards, drawn to the swirling pink crystal that hovered between Subspace’s horns, pulsating faintly with an eerie glow. It was unsettling, yet strangely captivating.

Medkit swallowed hard, his mind racing. Subspace looked different, scarred, damaged, but fundamentally, he was still the same. That same smug and obnoxious energy radiated off him, as though he owned the space around him and that he was better than everyone else. Medkit’s pulse quickened as Subspace took a step closer, leaning in slightly to get a better look at him.

“Meddy, is that you?” Subspace’s voice was smooth, almost playful, but there was a dangerous edge beneath the surface. His tail was wagging steadily behind him as well, which didn't help. “I’ve missed you so much~” He dragged out the last word in a sing-song tone, his lips curving into what Medkit could only assume was a smile beneath the mask. “It was such a shame you ran away and left me…”

Before Medkit could react, Subspace raised a finger and gently poked his cheek, a deliberate invasion of personal space that made Medkit’s skin crawl. Subspace chuckled, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “You look so different! I like the whole glasses and casual clothes thingy you have going on,” he continued, his voice light, as though they were old friends catching up after a long separation.

Medkit felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to push Subspace away, to lash out, but he forced himself to stay still. He knew better than to cause a scene here, especially with the phight about to start. Taking a small step back, he glared at Subspace, his voice cold. “If you’re here to provoke me, please go away.”

Subspace tilted his head, his expression hidden but his amusement unmistakable. “Oh, Meds, don’t be like that. I know you don’t mean it,” he said smoothly. “You’ve always had such a sharp tongue, but deep down, I know you missed me.”

Medkit’s jaw tightened. He wanted to tell Subspace to go away, but the words caught in his throat. Subspace’s presence was overwhelming, and the smug confidence radiating off him only made it worse. For a moment, they stood in tense silence, the atmosphere between them thick with unspoken history.

Before Medkit could gather his thoughts, the arena’s loudspeaker crackled to life, announcing the next round of phights. Subspace’s visible eye flicked toward the speaker, then back to Medkit. “Oh, you’re on team blue,” he said, his tone casual but his words pointed. “Thought I’d let you know, since you’re not your usual minimum of fifteen minutes early.” He chuckled, clearly finding humor in Medkit’s uncharacteristic tardiness. Without waiting for a response, Subspace sauntered off toward the arena doors, his boots clicking against the tiled floor.

Medkit stood there, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Subspace’s presence, even as the other demon disappeared through the doors. The encounter left Medkit feeling uneasy, his thoughts a tangled mess. 

Why had Subspace acted surprised to see him if he’d already known about his involvement in the phight?

Shaking his head, Medkit forced himself to move, trudging towards the large doors that led into the arena, each step feeling heavier than the last. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, the dim lights reflecting faintly off the polished tiles. He made a deliberate effort not to look in Subspace’s direction, though he could feel the demon’s gaze burning into him like a laser. The weight of that constant stare pressed on Medkit’s shoulders, making his neck tense and his thoughts scatter.

Once inside after the doors opened, which like an eternity, Medkit took a deep breath, hoping to steady himself for the match ahead.

The phight went… decently.

Actually, no. That was far too generous of a description.

Team Blue lost, and they lost badly. It wasn’t even close. Medkit spent most of the match desperately trying to keep his teammates on their feet, his crystal glowing a steady green as he poured his energy into healing wounds and reviving fallen allies. But it wasn’t enough.

And then there was Subspace.

From the moment the match began, Subspace had made it his personal mission to torment Medkit it seemed like. Every time Medkit thought he had a moment of peace to focus on his healing, the air would shift, and a sickly pink mist would materialize behind him. The first time it happened, Medkit barely had time to register the poison cloud before it was too late. He coughed and wheezed as the toxic fumes clawed at his throat, his vision blurring. Seconds later, he was sent back to the spawn point.

It didn’t stop there. Every time he respawned, Subspace was waiting, lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce. No matter how far Medkit tried to move, no matter what cover he sought, Subspace always seemed to be two steps ahead. The pink-horned demon would chuckle darkly, his voice dripping with mockery as he delivered another dose of poison or sent Medkit flying upwards.

By the end of the match, Medkit was exhausted. His body felt heavy, his legs barely able to carry him out of the arena. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and dark circles had formed under his eye, making him look like he had aged a decade in the span of one match. His hands trembled as he clutched his gear, too tired even to glance at the phight’s final stats displayed on the giant screens above. He knew the numbers would only confirm what he already felt: utter defeat.

Medkit leaned against a nearby wall, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The cold glow of the arena lights gave way to a softer illumination from the moon outside. Its silvery beams filtered through the large windows, casting long shadows across the lobby. The fake potted plants lining the walls swayed gently in the air currents, their leaves rustling faintly. For a brief moment, Medkit allowed himself to be lulled by the quiet. It was almost peaceful.

But peace, of course, never lasted.

“Meddy~!”

The voice was sickeningly familiar, drawing out the nickname in a cheerful tone that made Medkit’s skin crawl. He stiffened, his temporary calm shattered. Slowly, he turned his head to see Subspace approaching, his tail swishing behind him in an almost playful manner. His visible eye sparkled with mischief, his expression one of pure amusement.

Medkit sighed, turning fully to face him, though his posture screamed of reluctance. His narrowed eye silently questioned what the other demon wanted, even though he knew it was unlikely to be anything good.

“How about we have dinner together?” Subspace asked, tilting his head slightly. His tone was light, casual, as though he were proposing something as simple as grabbing coffee. “It’ll be my treat,” he added, his smile practically audible. When Medkit didn’t immediately respond, Subspace followed up with a sly grin. “Take it as a… reunion of our friendship!”

Medkit resisted the urge to roll his eye. “If I agree, will you leave me alone?” he muttered, his voice flat. His stomach growled faintly, betraying his hunger, but more than anything, he craved sleep. Every part of him ached, and the thought of spending even another second in Subspace’s presence made his head pound.

Subspace’s face lit up with satisfaction. “Of course!” he said, wasting no time as he reached out to grab Medkit’s hand. Before Medkit could protest, Subspace was already leading him out of the arena, his grip firm, but not forceful. Medkit stumbled slightly but decided against pulling away, too tired to argue.

The walk was longer than Medkit expected. Much longer.

What he assumed would be a short stroll to a nearby restaurant turned into an over-hour-long trek that led them past the border of Playground and into the snow-covered outskirts of Blackrock. The air grew colder with each step, their breath visible as faint clouds in the moonlight. The ground beneath them became slippery with ice, and Medkit had to focus on not losing his footing. His thin shirt did little to shield him from the biting cold, and he began to shiver even with already being adapted to the climate.

It wasn’t until they stopped in front of a small, snow-dusted house near the border between the regions that Medkit finally realized something was off. The house was modest, clearly designed for one or two occupants, and its exterior was coated in a thick layer of frost. The soft glow of light from inside spilled out through the frosted windows, casting a warm contrast against the icy landscape.

Medkit stared at the house, his confusion growing. “This… is your house?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. The question was meant to be more of “Why did you take me to your house?”, but it came out wrong, more like if he was asking if it was Subspace’s house, which he already knew it was.

Subspace nodded, a playful glint in his eye as he reached out to brush a few stray snowflakes from Medkit’s hair. The gesture was oddly intimate, and it made Medkit’s hair bristle. “Whoops! Looks like you misunderstood my invitation,” Subspace said with a grin. “But hey, it’s already so late, and walking back alone at night can be dangerous. Why not stay? I’ll whip up something delicious. My cooking skills are still top-notch, I promise!”

Medkit scowled, jerking away from Subspace’s touch. “Look, I don’t want to spend time with you, okay? I didn’t realize your idea of ‘getting dinner together’ meant dragging me to your damn house!” His voice was sharp, his frustration bubbling over.

Subspace, unfazed, chuckled softly. “Come on, Meddy, don’t be like that! It’s cold, and you’re tired, let me take care of you.”

Medkit clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth in frustration. He didn’t want to admit that Subspace had a point. The thought of trekking two hours back to Boombox’s apartment in the freezing night wasn’t exactly appealing. His legs already felt like lead after the grueling phight, and the biting cold would only make things worse. Still, the alternative, spending the night in Subspace’s house, wasn’t much better.

Neither option was good. But between freezing to death and enduring Subspace’s company for a few hours… at least he’d be warm.

“Fine,” Medkit muttered, his voice laced with irritation. “But this is a one-time thing, okay?” He shot Subspace a warning glare, though it seemed to go completely unnoticed.

Subspace, now fully focused on unlocking the door, hummed happily as if Medkit hadn’t just begrudgingly agreed. His fingers fumbled with his keys, slipping on the icy metal. After a few awkward moments of jingling and muttered curses, the lock finally clicked open. With a dramatic flourish, Subspace pushed the door wide, stepping aside and gesturing grandly for Medkit to enter. “After you, Meddy~.”

Medkit hesitated for a moment, staring into the dimly lit interior. The familiar sight stirred an uncomfortable mix of nostalgia and dread. He hadn’t been here in years, and yet the place looked almost exactly as he remembered. With a resigned sigh, he stepped inside, the warm air of the house immediately enveloping him, providing a stark contrast to the icy cold outside.

The house was just as he recalled, a strange blend of sleek, modern design and chaotic disarray. The furniture was clean and minimalist, but stacks of papers, scattered tools, and random trinkets cluttered the countertops and shelves. The air smelled faintly of ozone, mixed with something metallic, likely from Subspace’s experiments. The faint hum of the A.C. buzzed in the background, giving the space an oddly alive feeling.

Medkit followed Subspace into the kitchen, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting. Subspace moved with an almost giddy energy, bouncing from the fridge to the pantry and back again as he gathered ingredients. Medkit lowered himself onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, his gaze wandering as he absently took in the surroundings. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the countertop, a small, unconscious effort to keep his growing unease at bay.

Subspace worked quickly, pulling out various utensils with a clatter, and after around ten minutes, he spoke. “I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” Subspace said, glancing over his shoulder. His visible eye crinkled in what might have been a smile. “So I decided on chicken! I remember you like your food… unseasoned,” he added with a slight chuckle. “It was the first thing that came to mind. Should take, oh… thirty, maybe forty minutes to cook? I forget exactly, but we’ll know when the oven beeps!”

Medkit stared at him blankly. Subspace could’ve just asked what he wanted to eat, but that would’ve been too reasonable. Of course, Subspace never did things the easy way. Medkit didn’t even like chicken all that much, but free food was free food. At least he wouldn’t have to split a bill at some overpriced restaurant.

“Sure,” Medkit said flatly, his voice devoid of enthusiasm.

Subspace continued bustling around the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he prepped the meal. After a few minutes, he leaned casually against the island, his gaze fixed on Medkit. His expression was unreadable beneath the mask, but his posture exuded a strange mix of smugness and familiarity.

“So, I was thinking,” Subspace said, his voice light and casual, though his tone carried an undertone of playful mischief. He had inched closer to Medkit without him even noticing. “Since we have nothing to do, and we were just at a phight, we should probably shower. You know, all that running around, I bet you’re feeling sweaty and gross.”

Medkit’s entire body tensed. He knew exactly where this was going, and he hated it. Subspace always had a way of making seemingly innocent suggestions become insidious, and his idea of efficiency always seemed to align perfectly with his own intrusive antics.

When Subspace said “we,” he meant “we.” As in, together.

Medkit’s mind flashed back to previous instances when Subspace had pulled this stunt. Subspace also had a knack for pushing boundaries, often making sly comments about his body when he would eventually agree. Whether it was about his weight, attributes, or even the faint scars or scrapes, Subspace’s remarks always managed to strike a nerve. Medkit hated it, hated the scrutiny, hated the teasing.

And yet, he couldn’t entirely dismiss the idea, which Subspace knew. As much as he loathed the thought of sharing a shower with Subspace, he couldn’t deny that he felt disgusting. His skin was sticky, his clothes clinging uncomfortably from the sweat of the day’s phight. He wanted to wash it all away alone, but the prospect of arguing with Subspace was almost as exhausting as the phight itself. He knew exactly how it would go, it was always the same spiel: a long, drawn-out debate where Subspace would insist that showering together was practical, economical, and completely harmless.

“It saves time! It’s better for the environment! Think of the water bill!” Medkit could practically hear Subspace saying already.

He weighed his options. Feel gross for the rest of the night and endure the discomfort until he could shower back at Boombox’s apartment, or submit to this ridiculous routine and at least be clean.

“Make it quick,” Medkit finally muttered through gritted teeth. “And nothing extra.”

Subspace’s visible eye lit up with triumph, his tail swishing behind him. “Of course!” he chimed, already turning on his heel and leading the way toward his bedroom. Medkit followed reluctantly, his stomach twisting with unease. He tried to convince himself that this was purely a matter of practicality and routine.

Once in the bedroom, Medkit stood stiffly by the door, watching as Subspace rummaged through his disorganized closet as clothes were tossed in a chaotic flurry. “I think I still have some of your clothes… Ah, here they are! Catch!”

Medkit caught the bundle of clothes he was tossed instinctively, unfolding it to reveal a short-sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts. His brow furrowed. “Wait. Why the hell do you still have my clothes?”

Subspace, now holding his own outfit, shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t remember! Maybe I forgot to give them back, or maybe you forgot to take them! Either way, lucky for you, right?”

Medkit opened his mouth to retort but stopped himself. It wasn’t worth it. The less he engaged, the less Subspace would have to say. He let out a quiet sigh, resolving to get through the night with as little conversation as possible.

Subspace headed toward the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to gesture for Medkit to follow. Hesitating for a moment, Medkit eventually complied, dragging his feet as he entered the small, humid room. The air was already starting to warm up as Subspace turned the shower knob, the sound of rushing water filling the space.

The bathroom was as clean and orderly as ever, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. Subspace set his change of clothes on the counter and began to unfasten the straps of his gas mask. Medkit watched silently, his gaze narrowing as Subspace lifted the mask away, revealing the damaged skin underneath.

The left side of Subspace’s face was a patchwork of ruined flesh, pink and raw, the texture somewhere between burnt and decayed. His left eye, now fully visible, was clouded and lifeless, surrounded by scar tissue that seemed to pulse faintly with the same strange, unnatural pink hue. Medkit couldn’t help but stare.

Subspace seemed unfazed by Medkit’s scrutiny. He moved to the sink, opening the drawer beneath it and pulling out two small orange pill bottles. Without hesitation, he unscrewed the caps and poured a handful of pills into his palm. Medkit watched as Subspace dry-swallowed them, his throat bobbing as he forced them down.

It was then that Medkit noticed that Subspace’s mouth was a grotesque mirror of his ruined left eye, a gross display of ruined flesh, presumably eaten away by the chemical disaster years ago. The inside of his left cheek bore several small holes, revealing glimpses of his teeth and raw tissue. It was a sight that unsettled Medkit. The right side of Subspace’s mouth, in fact the whole right side of his face, however, was disturbingly normal, as though mocking the destruction on its counterpart.

Subspace caught Medkit staring and smirked, his sharp, jagged teeth glinting faintly under the bathroom’s sterile light. “Oh, don’t worry, Meddy!” he said, his tone deceptively cheerful. “You didn’t do that much to me. Just, you know, ruined my face and left me to rot away piece by piece!” His laughter followed, a shrill, unhinged cackle that echoed in the small space and sent a chill down Medkit’s spine. 

Medkit instinctively took a step back, his body tense. Subspace’s laughter subsided as he noticed Medkit’s reaction, “Oh, don’t fret, I forgive you. I’m practically the same as before, just gotta pop some pills to ease the pain and keep the spread under control. …Also so I can come in contact with water, so my breath isn't poisonous, this list goes on and on!” His voice dropped slightly, though picked up slightly at the end. The energy from his earlier outburst fading into something more subdued, almost hollow, but it only took a moment for Subspace to fully regain his earlier composure.

As Subspace started to undress, he paused at his pants when he noticed Medkit still standing motionless. With a disconcerting smoothness, he closed the distance between them, his working eye gleaming with a mixture of amusement. He reached out with his right hand, a hand that bore the same signs of chemical damage as his face. Subspace’s fingers curled gently under Medkit’s chin, cradling his cheek with a grotesque kind of tenderness.

Medkit’s stomach churned. He wanted to think about anything other than the demon standing before him, but it was impossible. His eyes betrayed him, drawn to the damaged hand resting against his face. The scars and decay told a story of desperation, of someone who had tried, and failed, to shield themselves with that very hand.

“Don’t overthink it, médecin,” Subspace said softly, his voice taking on an almost soothing tone. “Tu m’as pas blessé.” [..., doctor. You didn’t hurt me.]

The words were meant to be reassuring, but to Medkit, they were anything but. The fact that Subspace was even trying to be kind irked him to no end. His jaw clenched, and he swatted Subspace’s hand away in a sharp, jerking motion.

“Appelle-moi plus jamais par c’nom-là hideux,” Medkit snapped, his voice low and biting. “T’es ben l’seul assez agaçant pour essayer de m’parler dans une autre langue.” [Never call me by that hideous name again. You’re the only one annoying enough to try speaking to me in another language.]

Subspace’s grin widened, as if he found Medkit’s irritation amusing rather than off-putting. He let out a soft chuckle, his good eye gleaming with mischief. “Oh, Meddy,” he said in a mockingly affectionate tone, “I know you don’t mean it.”

Before Medkit could react, Subspace reached out again, this time grabbing the hem of Medkit’s shirt, well, technically Boombox’s shirt, and lifting it over his head with ease. Medkit didn’t resist, though his expression darkened as the demon’s cold fingers brushed against his skin. Subspace’s touch lingered on Medkit’s stomach, his hand resting on the outline of his ribs.

Medkit tensed, his discomfort intensifying. He had gained some weight in the months since living with Boombox and Sword, enough to fill out his previously skeletal frame, but he was still painfully thin. His ribs were visible beneath his skin, a subtle yet constant reminder of the malnourishment he had endured at the church. It made him feel pathetic.

Subspace’s fingers began to trace the outline of the bones, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. The sensation was all too familiar, and it made his skin crawl. Subspace leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Medkit’s collarbone as he spoke. “Did you actually take my advice and lose weight?” he mused, his tone a blend of teasing and condescension. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re finally listening to me~!”

Medkit’s stomach twisted at the words, his face flushing with a mix of anger and shame. Subspace had always been like this. He had a way of framing it as concern, as though he was doing Medkit a favor by pointing out every perceived flaw.

Subspace was always like this, and it was an infuriating habit, one that Medkit had learned to endure over the years. Subspace always masked his critiques with a thin veneer of care, claiming, “That’s what friends are for, right? To tell you what looks good and what doesn’t.”

Medkit swallowed the lump rising in his throat, his voice barely a whisper. “Can we… can we just get this over with and shower already?”

Subspace’s smirk widened as he let go of Medkit, the touch lingering longer than necessary before he finally stepped back. Without missing a beat, Subspace began to undress them both, his movements deliberate and unhurried. The cold air of the bathroom nipped at Medkit’s exposed skin, sending a shiver down his spine. He hated this, the vulnerability, the loss of control, but he didn’t protest. He stood there, allowing Subspace to strip him down to nothing, even when the demon reached up to remove his glasses and eye patch.

For a moment, Medkit stiffened, instinctively raising a hand as if to shield his face. He didn’t have the energy and felt sluggish, as if his body were weighed down by an invisible force. His limbs were heavy, his thoughts clouded. It was easier to just let Subspace take control, to allow himself to be guided.

The hot water of the shower poured over him, a sharp contrast to the cold tile beneath his feet. Subspace’s hand clasped his, the grip firm yet oddly gentle as he led him under the stream. Medkit let out a slow, shaky breath, his mind racing with second thoughts.

“Why?”

“Why did I agree to this?”

He knew exactly how this would end. He knew Subspace couldn’t just leave things at a simple dinner, a simple shower.

“Why did I agree?” Medkit thought bitterly, his chest tightening. The answer gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, a dark and uncomfortable truth he wasn’t ready to face.

“Did I agree on purpose?”

The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, leaving him momentarily breathless.

“Did I selfishly agree because I knew he’d touch me?”

The realization twisted in his gut. It wasn’t just about convenience, about avoiding the long walk back to Boombox’s apartment. It was about something deeper, something more shameful. He had agreed because, in some dark corner of his mind, he craved this. He craved the contact, the attention, even if it came from someone as manipulative and infuriating as Subspace.

“Am I that desperate? That lonely?”

The questions spiraled in his head, each one more damning than the last. His breath hitched as he felt Subspace’s hands slide up his back, lathering shampoo into his hair. Subspace’s body pressed against him, warm and solid, and Medkit found himself leaning into the touch despite every instinct screaming at him to pull away.

“If this is what I wanted… why do I feel so empty?”

Subspace’s fingers worked methodically, scrubbing at his scalp, but his attention soon drifted. Medkit felt the demon’s lips ghosting over the scars that crisscrossed his back, leaving a trail of faint, lingering kisses. He shuddered under the sensation, a mix of disgust and something dangerously close to longing.

Subspace wasn’t subtle. He never was. His hands roamed freely, greedily exploring every inch of Medkit’s skin. One hand settled on his chest, the other drifting down to rest on his waist, pulling him closer. His lips found their way to Medkit’s neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin with a fervor that left Medkit breathless.

For a moment, he let himself get lost in the sensation. His body responded instinctively, leaning into the touches, his breaths coming out in shallow, uneven gasps. There was a part of him, a small, desperate part, that relished the attention, that craved the validation Subspace’s touch seemed to offer.

“Is this what I’ve become? Some kind of egotistical hedonist?”

He hated himself for it, hated the way his body betrayed him. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when Subspace was offering exactly what he wanted, even if it came wrapped in manipulation and deceit.

...

Medkit found himself sitting on the edge of Subspace’s bed, his body sore and heavy with exhaustion. The soft hum of the demon’s breathing filled the quiet room, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of a brush running through his hair. Subspace sat behind him, focused on the task, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so brash and overbearing.

Medkit’s muscles ached, and he knew if he peeled back his clothes, he’d find his skin dirtied with bruises and marks from Subspace, but he would rather not check. It was easier to pretend they weren’t there, to let himself sink into the momentary calm.

Somewhere in the distance, the faint beeping of a timer echoed from somewhere in the house, maybe the kitchen. The sound was a small intrusion, but it eventually stopped, leaving only the soft rustle of sheets and the steady rhythm of the hairbrush.

Medkit’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, his body swaying slightly as he fought against the pull of sleep. Subspace noticed, his sharp eyes catching every yawn, every slight nod of Medkit’s head.

“Why not get some sleep?” Subspace suggested, his voice low and almost… kind. “You can sleep here. The bed’s a lot comfier than the couch. Trust me, I know you remember how awful that thing is.”

Medkit turned over his shoulder to glance at the demon. Subspace stood there, brushing a few stray strands of hair from Medkit’s face, his usual smirk softened into something resembling genuine concern.

“Mn,” he finally mumbled, a noncommittal sound that served as both acknowledgment and acceptance.

The truth was, Medkit didn’t know why he agreed. The couch would’ve been fine, uncomfortable, sure, but manageable. Yet, here he was, climbing into Subspace’s bed, rationalizing it as nothing more than giving in to selfishness again. A bitter taste lingered in his mouth as he dismissed the thought, pulling the covers over himself.

The sheets were surprisingly warm, the mattress firm yet comfortable. It wasn’t long before sleep claimed him, dragging him into a deep, dreamless void. The faint sensation of an arm wrapping around his waist went unnoticed as he drifted off.

When Medkit woke, it was to the distinct sensation of being held. His mind was slow to register the situation, the grogginess of sleep still clouding his thoughts. But as clarity returned, so did the realization: Subspace was curled around him, one arm draped possessively across his waist. The warmth of his body pressed against Medkit’s back felt suffocating in the quiet intimacy of the room.

Disgusted with himself, Medkit shoved Subspace off, the force causing the other to groan softly but not fully wake. Medkit sat up, pressing his palms into his face with a low groan. His shoulders sagged as he let out a heavy sigh, disappointment weighing heavily on him. He had let things go too far, again. 

How had he sunk this low?

He glanced over his shoulder. Subspace remained undisturbed, his breathing slow and even. The faint remnants of his smirk still tugged at his lips, even in sleep. Medkit clenched his jaw and swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching before standing. His body ached, a dull soreness that only fueled his frustration.

Quietly, he made his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy in the form of caffeine. Subspace had to have a coffee machine somewhere, he vaguely remembered seeing one during a previous visit. After a few minutes of rummaging through cluttered cabinets and drawers, he finally found it, along with a dusty bag of coffee grounds that were hopefully not expired.

The brewing process felt like it dragged on forever, the faint hum of the machine and the slow drip of coffee into the pot were the only sounds filling the silence. Medkit leaned against the counter, arms crossed as he waited. Once the pot was finally full, he poured himself a cup into a plain white mug and took a cautious sip. The bitter warmth spread through him, grounding him in the moment.

He stood there for a while, sipping his coffee and staring absently at the wall. His thoughts swirled, alternating between self-loathing and planning his next move. Should he just leave? The thought was tempting. Walking back to Playground would be the logical choice, and yet something held him back. Maybe it was the fear of confrontation, or perhaps it was the quiet, unspoken pull that Subspace always seemed to have over him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Medkit turned his head to see Subspace strolling into the kitchen, his usual smirk firmly in place. He leaned casually against the counter, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous energy.

“Good morning, Meddy~!” Subspace said, his voice too loud for the early hour. “I was thinking… I’m running low on groceries. How about we go shopping? It’ll be fun! I’ll even take you to a store near Playground’s border.”

Medkit raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden suggestion. It wasn’t like Subspace to run errands with anyone, let alone invite someone along, but the mention of Playground caught his attention. It was an opportunity, if he went along, he might be able to slip away once they were in the city.

“Alright then,” Medkit said after a moment, draining the last of his coffee and setting the mug in the sink.

Subspace’s grin widened, flashing teeth that seemed sharper than usual. Without another word, he turned and headed back to the bedroom, presumably to get dressed. Medkit followed silently, his mind already forming a plan.

The grocery store was a study in contradictions. On the surface, it bore the lively aesthetic typical of Playground, bright, colorful signage, and upbeat music faintly playing over the crackling speakers, yet beneath that veneer was a different story. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered intermittently, casting a harsh, uneven glow on scuffed tile floors. The shelves, sparsely stocked, hinted at neglect, their contents a mix of necessities and outdated items no one seemed to care about. It was clear that this area, tucked near the border, had long been forgotten by those in charge of Playground’s upkeep.

Subspace strode ahead with a casual air, his boots clicking softly against the worn floor. He reached for a battered carrying basket near the entrance, its handles creaking as he lifted it. With his mask securely in place, his expressions were hidden, but the way he turned to glance at Medkit was deliberate, as though silently gauging his every move.

The store was nearly empty, the occasional employee restocking shelves the only other signs of life. As they wandered through the aisles, Subspace occasionally plucked items off the shelves, dropping them into the basket with little regard for organization. Medkit followed a few paces behind, his eyes darting around, searching for a chance to slip away unnoticed.

But Subspace was keenly aware of his every move. “You’re awfully quiet today, Meddy,” he said, his voice light and teasing. “Something on your mind?”

Medkit resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Just tired,” he replied flatly, causing Subspace to chuckle.

Medkit’s posture was tense, the weight of the previous night clung to him like a second skin, and his mind buzzed with fragmented thoughts he wished he could ignore. He barely noticed when Subspace stopped to speak.

“Go over to the drink aisle and grab some water. We’re out.” Subspace’s tone was light, almost dismissive, as he waved a hand and began walking away without waiting for a response.

Medkit sighed softly, his breath visible for a moment in the colder air of the store. He made his way toward the back, where rows of industrial refrigerators hummed quietly, their glass doors fogged slightly from the cold, and the chill bit at his skin

As he neared the drink aisle, something caught his eye, a figure slouched against one of the refrigerators. The person’s green clothing stood out against the muted backdrop of the store, and their hand traced aimless patterns along the glass before they slowly sank to the floor.

“Ughhh… Every single store is out… Walked hours for nothing…” The voice was unmistakable.

It was Boombox. His usual energy seemed dimmed, his tone heavy with disappointment. He sat there for a moment, his frustration palpable, before noticing someone else’s presence.

“What are you looking for?” Medkit called out, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the refrigerators. He wasn’t sure why he asked, he knew the chances of finding whatever Boombox sought were slim. Still, the idea of helping, no matter how small, felt like a way to redeem himself from the weight of his recent choices.

Boombox straightened up, his eyes widening slightly as he turned to face Medkit. “Oh, uh, hey Med! It was just something stupid, really. Don’t worry, they don’t have it here,” he said, brushing off the concern with an awkward chuckle. His eyes lingered for a moment, noticing a faint red mark near Medkit’s shirt collar. Boombox’s expression shifted briefly, an unspoken question flickering behind his eyes, but he chose not to comment.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his tone becoming more cautious. “Hey… where did you go yesterday? I mean, you’ve got free will and all, but… you kinda just left outta nowhere, y’know?”

Medkit felt his stomach twist. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he stammered, “I… I, uh…” His gaze darted around the aisle, looking for something, anything, that might fill the awkward silence.

Before he could force out a coherent response, a hand landed on his shoulder, its grip firm yet deceptively calm. Medkit’s body tensed, and he turned his head slightly, only to be met with Subspace standing right beside him.

Subspace had returned, carrying three bags in his free hand as if he had already paid for his items, the weight of their contents barely noticeable in his grasp. “Is there a problem here?” Subspace’s voice was smooth, but there was a subtle undertone of something darker. His question carried the faintest hint of mockery, as though he found the idea of a conflict laughable.

Boombox’s expression shifted, his discomfort evident. His lips pressed into a thin line. “…No,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter now. He hesitated before adding, “Look, Med, you don’t have to explain anything. It’s fine. If you’re staying somewhere else, I can drop off some clothes for you… or something.”

There was a nervous energy in Boombox’s words, his usual casual demeanor now tinged with unease. Medkit wanted to respond, to tell Boombox that he still wanted to stay at his apartment, that he didn’t want to be here, not with Subspace. Words formed in his throat, desperate to be spoken, but they never left his mouth.

The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly, the unspoken command clear, as if it was a silent warning. Medkit’s resolve crumbled, and he swallowed the words he longed to say.

“We’re living together now,” Subspace said smoothly, his voice carrying a false warmth that felt almost mocking. “And he has clothes. Thank you for your consideration, though.” His head tilted slightly as he spoke, his gaze briefly shifting to Medkit as if to reinforce his point. Then, with an air of finality, Subspace added, “Let’s go.”

Medkit’s feet moved before his mind fully processed the command. He glanced back at Boombox, whose face was a mix of disappointment and something unspoken, perhaps concern or frustration. Boombox said nothing more, watching silently as Medkit followed Subspace out of the aisle.

...

Medkit sat on the edge of Subspace’s bed, his posture stiff, hands resting limply on his thighs. The room was eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the A.C. in the room. The awkward tension between them was palpable, as thick as the musty air that hung around the small, dimly lit space. The weight of unspoken words seemed to press down on Medkit’s shoulders, making the air feel heavy, suffocating even.

After they had returned from the grocery store, the brief illusion of normalcy had crumbled. Subspace had been quiet while they put away the groceries, his movements methodical yet sharp, as though each item he placed on a shelf carried the burden of his simmering thoughts. Medkit, for his part, had avoided eye contact, focusing on his task as if organizing cans and produce could somehow put his life back in order. Luckily neither commented on the lack of water.

Now, Medkit sat, glancing across the room at Subspace who stood with his back turned, his hands gripping the edge of a wooden dresser. His shoulders were tense, the fabric of his uniform stretching taut over his frame. He exhaled sharply, a sound that cut through the stillness like a knife. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he raised his hands and unfastened the clasps of his mask. The metal clinked softly as he pulled it away from his face and set it down on the dresser with a muted thud.

Subspace turned, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto Medkit. His face was bare now, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He took a step forward, and then another, closing the distance between them until he stood directly in front of Medkit. His hands came down on either side of Medkit, gripping the mattress as he leaned in, his face mere inches away.

“So,” Subspace began, his voice low and mocking, “what was that about earlier? Did you whore yourself out like a prostitute to a stranger for a place to stay?”

Well, that was something he didn't expect.

The words hit Medkit like a slap, his eyes widening in shock. He recoiled slightly, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to process the accusation. “No?! Who the hell do you take me for?!” he finally snapped, his voice cracking with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Subspace’s smirk widened, a cruel glint flashing in his eyes. He laughed, a hollow, chilling sound that echoed in the small room. His hand shot up, grasping Medkit’s right horn with a firm, almost possessive grip. “Shh!” he hissed, silencing Medkit’s protest. “I don’t want to hear your excuses.” Medkit’s breath hitched as Subspace tightened his grip on the horn, a sharp jolt of pain radiating down his skull.

Curse horns for being so sensitive.

His pulse quickened, fear clawing at his chest. Subspace’s voice lowered, his tone almost playful, but with an undercurrent of menace. “Have you ever heard the saying that a demon dies when their horns are removed? I’ve always wanted to test it out, and you…” He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more sinister. “…you could be my perfect subject.”

Medkit’s heart pounded in his chest, his body instinctively trying to pull away, but Subspace’s grip held firm. “No… Subspace, stop- We… We can talk this out-” he began, but Subspace cut him off.

“Even though I’d hate to do it on you,” Subspace mused, his grip tightening further, “you did break my heart earlier. So, I think it’s only fair that I break something of yours, too…” Subspace’s words were laced with mockery, his free hand shooting up to his chest and clenching as if to show this nonexistent heart-break.

Terror flashed across Medkit’s face as the realization of Subspace’s intent fully sank in. His mouth went dry, and his eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape. But there was none. Subspace’s hand cupped Medkit’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “Oh, don’t worry~” Subspace cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “We can start small. Let’s see what happens if I take just one horn.”

Without warning, Subspace’s hands shifted, both now gripping Medkit’s right horn with renewed force. He began to pull, the pressure building rapidly. Medkit gasped, his hands flying up to try and push Subspace away, but the demon was stronger. Subspace easily overpowered him, shoving Medkit down onto the bed and pinning him beneath his weight.

The pain was immediate and excruciating, a sharp, searing sensation that shot through Medkit’s skull like a lightning strike. His vision blurred with tears, and a choked sob escaped his lips. He thrashed beneath Subspace, his legs kicking out in a futile attempt to free himself, but every movement only seemed to increase the agony.

“Shh, shh,” Subspace cooed, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “It’ll all be over soon.”

The pain intensified, a searing, white-hot agony that radiated through Medkit’s entire body. His vision blurred with tears, the world around him dissolving into a haze of pain and fear. He could feel the horn starting to give, the pressure building to an unbearable crescendo. Every pull, every tug sent waves of agony crashing through him, each more excruciating than the last.

Medkit’s resistance began to wane as the pain sapped his strength. His hands fell away from Subspace’s arms, his body going limp beneath him. Tears streamed down his face, his sobs growing quieter, more desperate. “Please…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please… stop…”

But Subspace didn’t stop. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Medkit’s ear. “Almost there,” he whispered, his tone sickeningly sweet.

Then, with a sickening, wet rip, the horn came loose.

The sound was grotesque, a mixture of tearing flesh and cracking bone. For a brief moment, there was a strange, eerie silence. The pain stopped, replaced by a numb, almost surreal sensation. But the reprieve was short-lived. The pain came rushing back, more intense than before, as if the initial agony had merely been a prelude.

Medkit screamed, a raw, guttural sound that tore from his throat. His hands flew to his head, clutching at the jagged, bleeding stump where his horn had once been. Blood poured down the side of his face, warm and sticky, soaking into the sheets beneath him. His body convulsed with sobs, his mind unable to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the pain.

Subspace sat back, holding the broken horn in his hand like a trophy. His laughter filled the room, loud and triumphant, a sound that seemed to echo endlessly in Medkit’s ears. He looked down at Medkit, his eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction.

Medkit couldn’t bring himself to look. His eyes remained squeezed shut, as if by doing so, he could block out the reality of what had just happened. But reality was inescapable. The pain, the blood, the weight of Subspace’s presence, it was all too real.

Subspace leaned in close, his laughter subsiding into a low chuckle. He reached out, his hand cupping Medkit’s tear-streaked face once more. His thumb brushed against the skin just beneath Medkit’s right eye, smearing the tears that had pooled there. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he leaned in and pressed a quick, mocking kiss to the spot.

“See?” Subspace murmured, his voice soft and almost gentle. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Medkit didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His body was trembling, his mind a swirling storm of pain, fear, and shame. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, a thought surfaced, a question he didn’t want to confront.

Had it been worth it?

Had it been worth giving in, letting himself fall into this twisted dynamic, just to satisfy the dark, gnawing desires that had plagued him for so long?

He didn’t have an answer.

Chapter Text

Time had slipped through Medkit’s fingers like sand, or well, snow, but still the point was that it was fast, yet somehow agonizingly slow. It felt like the universe had played a cruel joke, stretching every second into eternity while letting the months blur into an indistinguishable haze. A year and some more had passed since this strange, suffocating chapter of his life began, yet the weight of it felt as though he’d endured centuries.

In that time, small flickers of familiarity had come and gone. He’d seen Sword and Rocket a handful of times. Their faces, though a welcome sight, made something sharp twist in his chest, a mix of embarrassment. He’d been unable to explain, to reach out, or to bridge the growing distance between who he had been and who he’d become. The fear of saying too much, or worse, not enough, kept him silent. It was a weird feeling to explain.

Life with Subspace was no better. They attended phights occasionally, but it was never for Medkit’s gain. Whatever he earned, Subspace pocketed with a casual dismissal: “Living expenses, you know.” The cycle left Medkit utterly reliant on him, stripped of even the smallest sense of autonomy. He’d dreamt of breaking free, of earning just enough to scrape by on his own, but fear kept him rooted in place. Fear of what Subspace might do.

And Subspace did plenty.

Plenty of “punishments”...

The “punishments” were always swift, cruel, and merciless. Every time Medkit attempted to escape, the price he paid was his body. Beatings that left him bruised for weeks. Cuts that marred his skin with jagged lines. Each scar told a story he wished he could forget—a narrative of pain, control, and humiliation. Sometimes, the punishments veered into territory so twisted that the memory alone made his stomach churn.

Subspace wasn’t just cruel; he was sadistic. Medkit couldn’t deny it. No normal demon would go to such lengths to hurt someone for no reason other than enjoyment. No normal creature would take such pleasure in watching another squirm.

“Blchkk—”

The sound of retching echoed in the small, dimly lit bathroom. Medkit leaned over the sink, his tail drooping behind him as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The bitter taste of bile lingered on his tongue, but he didn’t move to rinse it away just yet. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, the flickering light overhead casting uneven shadows across his battered face.

His eyes traced every detail, every imperfection carved into his once-smooth skin. Scrapes. Bruises. Scratches. Scars. Even the half-grown horn, jagged and uneven, a constant reminder of Subspace’s cruelty. It was impossible to look at himself without seeing the aftermath of every punishment he’d endured.

“Hiihh… Hnhh…”

A shaky inhale. A trembling exhale.

Medkit stared. It was all he could do. His reflection seemed to mock him, the weight of his self-loathing pressing down like an anvil on his chest. 

Today was supposed to be different. Today was his birthday, a day meant for celebration, for joy. But instead, here he was, alone in a bathroom, tears streaking his face and vomit clinging to the back of his throat.

Gross. Disgusting. Pathetic.

The words looped in his mind, relentless and cruel.

He clenched his fists and forced himself to take a deep breath, the air shaky as it filled his lungs. 

Slowly, he turned on the faucet, the water rushing out in a cold, steady stream. With deliberate movements, Medkit removed his eyepatch, setting it carefully on the counter beside him. He cupped the water in his hands, the cool liquid soothing against his battered skin, and splashed it onto his face.

The sensation grounded him. For a moment, it was just him and the water. He scrubbed at his face, as if trying to wash away not just the physical grime, but the emotional weight that clung to him like a second skin.

“Today is your day,” he told himself silently, repeating it like a mantra. “It’s okay. It’s all okay.”

Grabbing a towel, he dried his face, the fabric rough against his raw skin. His reflection stared back at him, hollow and tired, but also slightly determined. Medkit lifted his shirt, peeling the fabric away from his body, and dropped it to the floor. His shorts followed, leaving him standing in front of the mirror, vulnerable and exposed.

He tried not to look. He tried not to see the roadmap of scars that crisscrossed his thighs, his arms, his torso. Each one was a reminder of his failure to escape, and the control Subspace held over him. His breath hitched as his eyes betrayed him, taking in the sight he so desperately wanted to avoid.

“Hnnh…”

A choked sound escaped him, his hands trembling at his sides. The urge to cry threatened to overwhelm him, but he bit his lip and forced it down. 

“Don’t cry. It’s okay. He doesn’t matter right now. Today isn’t about him.”

Medkit inhaled deeply, holding the breath for a moment before letting it out slowly. He tried to calm the nervous fluttering in his chest as he grabbed his clean clothes from the toilet seat. It wasn’t much, just a formal shirt and pants that were slightly wrinkled, but the best he had.

Slipping into the fresh clothes; the shirt hung loose over his thin frame. The pants fit a bit snugly, though not uncomfortably. When he finished dressing, he smoothed his hands over the fabric and straightened the hem of his shirt. It wasn’t fancy, but it was enough. It had to be enough.

He ran a hand through his hair, tidying it the best he could. His reflection in the mirror caught his eye, and for a moment, he hesitated. His fingers brushed the edge of his eyepatch as he put it back on, pausing as if considering something, before he set it securely back into place. 

The clothes he’d discarded laid crumpled on the bathroom floor, but Medkit barely spared them a glance. He didn’t care about tidying up right now, any reminder of the mess in his life might drag him back down. He was holding onto hope with trembling hands, and even the smallest weight could crush it.

He pushed the bathroom door open and stepped out, the cool air of the hallway brushing against his skin. Finding Subspace wasn’t difficult; he was lounging on the couch, phone in hand, the glow of the screen highlighting the decay in his features. His teeth, visible through patches of exposed flesh, gleamed unnervingly in the dim light.

Medkit approached cautiously, his footsteps soft against the floor. He stopped a few feet away, hesitating for a moment before stepping closer. When Subspace finally looked up from his phone, a smirk spread across his face, his sharp gaze raking over Medkit’s appearance.

“You look nice,” Subspace drawled, his voice lower and quieter than usual, though no less unsettling. His tail swished lazily behind him, the motion almost serpentine. “Is there some sort of occasion, or did you just decide to dress up for me?”

Medkit shifted uneasily under Subspace’s gaze, feeling as though he were being appraised rather than complimented. “I was wondering if… if I could go out,” he said carefully, each word chosen with deliberate caution. “Somewhere like a bar, perhaps. To get a drink for my birthday. I haven’t left this place in a while.”

His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nerves. To steady himself, Medkit moved to sit on the far end of the couch, keeping a safe distance between himself and Subspace. He tried to appear composed, though his hands were clenched tightly in his lap.

Subspace watched him for a moment, his smirk fading into something more unreadable. Then, slowly, he scooted closer, closing the gap between them. His hand reached out, taking Medkit’s in a surprisingly gentle grip. His fingers were cold, the sensation sending a shiver up Medkit’s spine as Subspace began to trace small circles on the back of his hand.

“We could stay here,” Subspace murmured, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. He leaned closer, his breath brushing against Medkit’s cheek. “Celebrate amongst ourselves. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

Medkit tensed, his muscles stiffening as he pulled his hand away, the loss of contact almost a relief. He turned his gaze away, unable to meet Subspace’s eyes. “It would mean a lot to me…” Medkit’s voice was quieter now, tinged with purposeful desperation in hopes it might break Subspace’s demeanor. “Please… just this once…”

He glanced back at Subspace, his heart pounding as he waited for a response. The other demon’s expression had darkened, his features hardening as he stared at Medkit. For a moment, the silence stretched uncomfortably between them, the weight of it pressing down on Medkit’s chest.

“Fine.”

The single word hung in the air like a double-edged sword. Relief and dread warred within Medkit, the conflicting emotions twisting his stomach into knots. Subspace stood abruptly, his movements sharp as he extended a hand toward Medkit. Hesitating only briefly, Medkit took it, allowing Subspace to pull him to his feet before he quickly let go.

Subspace moved to the front door, his tail flicking behind him as he grabbed his keys. Without a word, he unlocked the door and stepped outside, waiting for Medkit to follow before locking it behind them.

The walk through the icy streets was blanketed in an almost oppressive silence, broken only by the soft whistle of the wind weaving through the snow-laden buildings. The faint crunch of their footsteps seemed to echo in the empty night, each step punctuating the growing tension Medkit felt in his chest. He tucked his hands into his pockets to shield them from the biting cold, though his fingers still trembled, not entirely from the chill.

At some point during their walk, Subspace lit a cigarette, the faint flicker of the flame briefly illuminating his rotting features. The acrid smell of smoke coiled around them, mingling with the crisp winter air. Medkit’s eyes locked onto the cigarette like a starving predator, his mouth practically watering at the thought of just one drag. It had been so long since he’d last smoked. Too long.

But Subspace, ever cruel in the smallest ways, flicked the half-burned cigarette into the snow without a second thought. Medkit’s gaze lingered on it as the embers fizzled out, the faint wisp of smoke spiraling up into the night sky. He clenched his fists in his pockets, forcing himself to keep walking. The urge to stoop down, retrieve the discarded cigarette, and savor what little remained burned within him, but he pushed it down.

Subspace didn’t even notice… or maybe he did, and simply didn’t care.

Maybe Medkit was overthinking everything.

When they finally arrived, the bar’s exterior was coated in layers of snow that glittered faintly under the dim glow of an old sign and the moonlight. Medkit hesitated for a brief moment before stepping inside, his heart thudding in his chest as the warm, musky air of the bar enveloped him. 

For a split second, his mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Would someone recognize him? Would his wanted status make him a target the moment he crossed the threshold?

Thankfully, the patrons barely glanced in their direction. A few demons lifted their heads, casting lazy, disinterested glances before returning to their drinks or conversations. Medkit exhaled, the knot in his stomach loosening slightly. For now, it seemed, he could breathe.

The dimly lit interior was a mishmash of old wood and worn leather, the faint clink of glasses and murmured voices adding to the cozy yet chaotic atmosphere. Off in the distance, a small crowd of demons surrounded a pool table, their laughter and jeers punctuating the otherwise low hum of the room. Medkit’s eyes lingered on them for a moment before jumping slightly as Subspace’s cold hand clasped his own, tugging him toward the bar counter.

They approached two vacant stools, Subspace guiding Medkit to sit beside him before sliding onto his own seat. His hand lingered on Medkit’s for a moment longer, a subtle possessiveness in his grip that made the medic’s skin crawl. The bartender, a youthful-looking demon who couldn’t have been older than twenty-one, approached them, a dishrag in hand as he polished a glass.

“What can I get you two gentlemen tonight?” the bartender asked, his tone polite but distant.

“I don’t need anything,” Subspace replied smoothly, glancing at Medkit and giving his hand a light squeeze. The touch jolted Medkit back into the moment, and he realized their hands were still interlocked. With a quick motion, he slipped his hand free, his fingers brushing against the counter as if to ground himself.

“Gin, please,” Medkit said quietly, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Neat?” the bartender clarified.

“Mn,” Medkit hummed in affirmation, nodding once.

The bartender moved with practiced efficiency, returning in what felt like an instant with a glass of clear liquid that gleamed under the low lights. Medkit wrapped his fingers around the cool glass, bringing it up and taking a sip. Subspace, meanwhile, leaned his head against his hand, his gaze fixed on Medkit with an unsettling intensity.

“So?” Subspace prompted, a sly smile tugging at his lips as he reached out with his free hand. He gently tucked a stray strand of Medkit’s hair behind his ear, the touch both tender and invasive.

“Bitter,” Medkit replied bluntly, taking another small sip from his glass. The sharp burn of the gin spread across his tongue, but he welcomed it. Anything to distract him from Subspace’s looming presence.

Subspace sighed, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. He watched as Medkit took another sip, and then another, until the glass was nearly empty. Without a word, he signaled the bartender for another round, his chair scraping slightly against the floor as he scooted closer as he began to snicker.

Medkit noticed the shift in proximity and turned his head to look at Subspace, his brow furrowing slightly. “Why arrf *hic* you laughin’ af me?” Medkit slurred, his words betraying the alcohol’s quick grip on his system. His cheeks were flushed, whether from the gin or embarrassment, it was hard to tell.

Subspace chuckled softly, his hand cupping Medkit’s cheek with a disarming gentleness. “Because I’ve never seen anyone lose it at one drink like you before,” he teased, his voice low and almost affectionate. He leaned in, pressing a light kiss to Medkit’s cheek, his tail swaying lazily behind him. “…It’s cute, seeing your speech slurred so quickly.”

Medkit turned away, his face growing warmer as he downed the rest of his drink in one swift motion. The glass clinked softly against the counter as he set it down, his hands lifting to wipe his face. Despite himself, his tail swished faintly behind him, betraying the flurry of emotions swirling in his chest.

Subspace’s chair creaked again as he scooted even closer, his arm snaking around Medkit’s waist. The contact sent a shiver down Medkit’s spine, though he refused to meet Subspace’s gaze.

Just as Subspace opened his mouth to say something, the shrill, grating sound of his phone interrupted the moment. The noise cut through the hazy warmth of the bar, causing Medkit to flinch slightly.

Subspace’s brow furrowed in irritation as he removed his arm, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the device. He answered with a clipped, “What?” before rising to his feet. Medkit, still seated, didn’t bother to tune into the conversation. The words blurred into meaningless noise, but when Subspace’s tone softened slightly, he turned his head, catching the scientist’s eye.

“I have to go to work for a little bit, but it shouldn’t take too long,” Subspace said, his voice devoid of apology. He extended a hand, the gesture as routine as it was commanding.

Medkit hesitated, but like always, he took it. The warmth of Subspace’s palm felt wrong, a mockery of comfort. They began walking toward the exit, though Medkit’s legs felt weak and unsteady, his steps growing clumsier with each movement. Before he could catch himself, he stumbled, his body pitching forward.

Subspace’s hand tightened, catching him mid-fall. “Careful,” Subspace murmured, his tone laced with feigned concern as he steadied Medkit. He held onto the younger demon for a moment longer than necessary, his calculating eyes scanning Medkit’s swaying form.

After what felt like an eternity, Subspace sighed and turned them back toward the bar stools. “You’re in no state to walk,” he declared, guiding Medkit back to his seat with an almost parental sternness. “Stay here. I’ll come back once I’m done, and we can celebrate at home.”

Medkit didn’t bother responding, only watching as Subspace adjusted his clothes, stepped out into the cold night, and disappeared into the swirling snow.

For a moment, Medkit sat frozen, unsure of what to do now that he was untethered, however briefly, from Subspace’s presence. His gaze drifted around the room until it landed on the pool table he had noticed earlier. The small crowd of demons surrounding it seemed lively enough, and the noise was a welcome distraction.

He pushed himself off the stool, his legs still shaky, and began making his way across the bar. Each step was a battle, his body swaying unsteadily as though the floor beneath him shifted with each movement. By the time he reached the table, he was already out of breath, but he grabbed a cue stick from a table that had needed another player and chalked it up with as much dignity as he could muster.

The first game was a disaster. His unsteady hands made it nearly impossible to aim properly, and the alcohol muddled his coordination. Yet, as the rounds progressed, something unexpected happened, Medkit began to improve under the alcohol’s influence. His instincts took over, and soon enough, he was sinking balls with surprising precision. The demons gathered around the table began to murmur in appreciation, their eyes alight with the thrill of competition.

Game after game, Medkit played, each victory adding to the small crowd surrounding him. His confidence grew, and despite the haze of alcohol, he found himself laughing softly at the lighthearted trash talk exchanged between players. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a small sliver of freedom, joy even.

Two hours passed in a blur of clinking cue balls and muffled cheers. Medkit had just sunk another eight ball into the corner pocket, securing yet another victory, when a sudden commotion near the bar’s entrance shattered his focus.

The sound of raised voices and shouts echoed through the room, drawing the attention of everyone present. Medkit’s hand froze mid-chalk, his heart skipping a beat as he turned his head toward the noise. His vision, already blurred from the alcohol, made it impossible to discern what was happening, but the tension in the air was palpable.

His opponent took their turn, breaking the uneasy silence at the table, and Medkit forced himself to refocus. With measured precision, he lined up his next shot and sank the last solid-colored ball into a corner pocket. The eight ball followed soon after, sealing his victory once again.

As the crowd behind him erupted into cheers, Medkit turned to offer his usual polite thanks, though he could feel a strange shift in the atmosphere. Several of the demons in the crowd had stopped cheering, their gazes fixed on something, or someone, behind him.

A cold chill ran down his spine as he noticed their expressions, a mixture of fear and unease contorting their faces. Medkit’s blood ran cold as he began to turn, though before he could complete the motion, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, freezing him in place.

Medkit turned his head slowly, the movement deliberate, his instincts screaming for him to stop before it was too late, butthere was no way to avoid it now. His gaze was met with the towering figure of Banhammer, the warden’s hulking presence casting a shadow over him that felt heavier than any weight Medkit had ever borne.

The demi-deity’s four glowing eyes locked onto Medkit’s, their intensity piercing through him like spears. A smirk stretched across Banhammer’s face, his sharp teeth bared in a grin that held equal parts amusement and menace. Medkit could feel the weight of the warden’s attention pressing down on him, and though he tried to remain composed, his body betrayed him, his hands trembled, his knees threatened to buckle, and his tail gave a small, involuntary flick.

“You’ve got quite the crowd, ehh?” Banhammer’s voice was rough, carrying the distinct slur of someone who had indulged in one too many drinks, though his speech still came through clear. The smell of alcohol rolled off him in waves, mixing with the scent of leather and smoke that clung to his clothes, which surprisingly weren't armor. “Wanna do a round against me?” he asked, his grin widening as he leaned closer, his towering form looming over the medic.

Medkit’s heart raced. His mind scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, to get out of this situation. But his tongue betrayed him. Words spilled out before he could stop them, carried by the false courage of alcohol.

“S-Suree… I won’ff go easy on you thoughh!” Medkit slurred, immediately regretting every syllable that left his mouth. What on Inferno was he doing?

Banhammer let out a deep laugh, a booming sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. “Ha! I wouldn’t need your pity anyway!” he declared, stepping back to grab a cue stick. The warden chalked it up with the precision of someone who, despite being drunk, knew exactly what he was doing.

Medkit remained frozen on the opposite side of the table, gripping his own cue stick tightly. His stomach churned as he watched Banhammer swiftly set up the table. This was a nightmare. What was he thinking agreeing to this? He silently cursed himself for his inability to simply say no and walk away.

The first few rounds passed in a blur. Medkit was hyper-aware of the growing crowd around them, the bar patrons abandoning their own games and conversations to watch the match unfold. The noise of clinking glasses and murmured bets blended into the background, drowned out by the pounding of Medkit’s heart. Despite his drunken state, his skills hadn’t abandoned him, and he managed to keep up with the warden.

Banhammer, for all his bravado, was surprisingly competitive. He played with an intensity that made Medkit sweat, the warden’s large hands handling the cue stick with an ease that belied his size. Every shot Banhammer made was deliberate, calculated, and even when he missed, he laughed it off with a carefree attitude that somehow made him even more intimidating.

From time to time, the two were handed free drinks by the crowd, which only added to Medkit’s growing unease. He barely sipped at his glass, but Banhammer downed his with ease, the alcohol seeming to fuel his energy rather than hinder it.

By the time they finished their sixth round, the score stood at four games to two in Medkit’s favor. His legs ached from standing, and his hands felt stiff from gripping the cue stick for so long. Exhausted, he handed the stick off to a demon who eagerly stepped up to take his place, mumbling a half-hearted “Thanks” to the crowd before shuffling back to his stool.

As Medkit sat down, he couldn’t help but wonder what Subspace was doing. How long had it been since he left? His thoughts drifted as his body sagged against the counter, only to be jolted back to reality when Banhammer dropped heavily onto the stool beside him.

“Hey, you did good back there,” Banhammer said, his tone surprisingly genuine as he signaled for another drink. He took a sip from his glass before continuing. “You look familiar. What was your name again?”

Medkit froze. His pulse quickened as a cold sweat broke out across his back. For a moment, he considered lying, but his drunken haze made it difficult to think of anything convincing. Instead, he blurted out, “Ahh… it was Medkit…”

Banhammer chuckled at the name, his deep laughter sending a shiver down Medkit’s spine. “Swords, I must suck at my job, forgetting a face like yours,” the warden said, his voice laced with amusement. He took another sip from his drink before adding, “Too bad my gear isn’t with me right now.”

Medkit’s breath hitched at the implication, his body stiffening as he felt a wave of panic rise within him. Banhammer, noticing the change in his demeanor, waved a dismissive hand. “I was just jokin’, no need to look so scared.”

“I don’f know what to expect wiff a man like you,” Medkit replied, his voice trembling slightly as he stared at the warden.

Banhammer grinned, his four glowing eyes narrowing as he leaned closer. “And I don’t know what to expect with a man who’s a wanted criminal,” he shot back, his tone light yet carrying an undercurrent of something darker.

Medkit let out a nervous laugh, though it was barely audible, his lips pressing together as he tried to stifle it. The warmth flooding his cheeks was unmistakable, but he prayed the dim lighting of the bar and the alcohol already painting his complexion would mask it. His tail, however, betrayed him, wagging faintly in a rhythm he couldn’t control. He mentally cursed its disobedience.

When he dared to look back at Banhammer, the warden’s glowing eyes were still fixed on him, unwavering and intent. It wasn’t the kind of stare Medkit could ignore. Feeling trapped by the sheer intensity of it, he returned the gaze, his own eye locked with Banhammer’s as if silently daring him to say something.

And then he did.

“Wanna come back to my place, Med?” Banhammer asked, his voice low and casual, though there was a hint of something deeper beneath his words. His tail swayed behind him in a slow, deliberate motion, mirroring the grin curling at the edges of his lips.

Medkit’s heart skipped a beat, his face heating up further at the sudden proposition. There was no mistaking what the warden meant. He wanted to say something clever, perhaps make a sarcastic comment to lighten the mood, but all he could manage was a flustered nod.

He stood from the stool, his movements slightly unsteady thanks to the alcohol coursing through his veins, and followed Banhammer out of the bar. The frigid air of Blackrock hit him immediately, biting at his exposed skin and forcing him to pull his arms tight around himself. Snow crunched under their boots as they walked, the streets eerily quiet save for the faint howling of the wind.

For what felt like thirty minutes, they trudged through the snowy wasteland. Neither spoke much, the silence between them filled only by the rhythm of their footsteps and the occasional flick of Banhammer’s tail brushing against Medkit’s leg. The medic’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess, each one louder than the last.

What am I doing? Why did I agree to this?

His questions only grew louder when they finally arrived at a subway station in Crossroads. The ride to Banlands was a blur, the hum of the train and the sway of the car lulling Medkit into a hazy state of anticipation and nerves.

When they reached Banhammer’s house, Medkit couldn’t help but marvel at its simplicity. For a warden, he had expected something grander or more imposing, but it was cozy; the more he glanced at it, the more expensive it did look, so maybe it was just a ruse. The moment the door creaked open, though, Medkit barely had time to take in his surroundings.

Banhammer practically pulled him inside, shutting the door behind them with a thud. Before Medkit could react, he was pinned against the door, the warden’s hands on either side of him. The sudden closeness left him breathless, their faces mere inches apart.

Medkit’s initial shock gave way to a laugh he could no longer contain, the absurdity of the situation bubbling up inside him. His laughter only deepened when one of Banhammer’s hands moved to his waist while the other fumbled with the lock, the warden muttering curses under his breath.

When Banhammer finally managed to lock the door, he turned back to Medkit, his expression softer, silently asking for permission without uttering a word. Medkit hesitated only for a moment before pulling the warden into a kiss, his movements hungry and desperate. Their lips crashed together with a force that made Medkit’s heart race, the taste of whiskey and gin mingling in their mouths.

Banhammer’s hands roamed freely, exploring Medkit’s waist and back, his touch firm yet careful. The medic didn’t mind the eagerness, it only fueled his own desire. By the time they stumbled into the living room, still tangled in each other’s arms, their kisses had turned rougher, more demanding.

Medkit found himself on top of Banhammer, straddling the warden as they collapsed onto the couch. His hands slid into the other’s hair, tugging slightly as their lips met again and again. Banhammer groaned against his mouth, his tail coiling around Medkit’s leg like it had a mind of its own.

The warden’s kisses trailed down to Medkit’s neck, his sharp teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. Medkit gasped, his breath hitching as Banhammer’s hands began to unbutton his shirt, one slow movement at a time. The chill of the room hit his chest as the fabric fell away, and he shivered involuntarily, though the heat radiating from Banhammer’s body quickly made up for it.

“Tu es si exigeant…” [You’re so demanding…] Medkit murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he tangled his fingers in Banhammer’s hair.

The warden pulled back for only a moment, his four eyes gleaming with amusement. “Takes one to know one,” he quipped before diving back into another kiss, his hands gripping Medkit’s waist as if anchoring him in place.

Medkit felt lightheaded, a combination of the alcohol, the heat, and the sheer intensity of Banhammer’s presence. When he finally broke the kiss, gasping for air, he pressed his forehead against the warden’s, his hands sliding down to rest on Banhammer’s shoulders.

“You’re somethin’ else,” Banhammer muttered, his voice softer now, though no less filled with want.

Medkit didn’t reply, instead leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to the warden’s cheek. He rested his head on Banhammer’s shoulder, his body sagging as exhaustion overtook him. The warmth of the warden’s embrace and the rhythmic motion of his tail brushing against Medkit’s leg was oddly soothing.

He clung to Banhammer’s frame, the warden doing the same, almost as if they were locked in a hug that neither dared to break. As his breathing slowed, Medkit heard Banhammer mumble something, though the words were lost as sleep claimed him. In the safety of the warden’s arms, the chaos of the evening melted away, leaving only a sense of fleeting peace.

~|+|~

Medkit’s groan echoed softly through the quiet room as he blinked against the sunlight streaming through an unfamiliar window. The pounding in his head was relentless, a dull, throbbing ache that made every sound feel sharper and every movement slower. He shifted slightly, intending to stretch the stiffness from his body, but his movements froze as something warm and solid pressed against him.

As he adjusted his position, something far too intimate for comfort occurred, an accidental grind that made his eyes snap open. The realization hit him like a freight train: this wasn’t his bed. In fact, it wasn’t even his home. His groggy, mismatched gaze was met by four glowing eyes staring back at him, wide with confusion and just as startled as he felt.

It took several moments for Medkit to piece together the scene in front of him. He was half-lying on top of Banhammer, who was sprawled beneath him on the couch. The demi-deity’s strong arms were still loosely wrapped around Medkit, as though the warden had instinctively held onto him even in sleep. Medkit blinked in stunned silence, his thoughts racing, his mouth slightly agape as he struggled to comprehend how they ended up in this position.

“Oh… swords,” Medkit finally muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse from both sleep and the sheer weight of his disbelief.

Banhammer seemed just as caught off guard, his expression a mix of embarrassment and confusion. His arms dropped to his sides almost immediately, and he shifted away slightly, though the narrow confines of the couch made it impossible to put much distance between them.

Medkit, now acutely aware of his disheveled state, glanced down at himself. His shirt was hanging precariously off his shoulders, buttons undone enough to leave his chest mostly exposed. Flushing deeply, he scrambled to pull it back together, fumbling with the fabric in his haste to cover himself.

The warden watched silently, his brow furrowed as though trying to recall what had led to this. “Wait, Med—”

“No!” Medkit snapped, his voice cracking slightly as he stood and turned his back to the warden. He hastily buttoned his shirt, his movements stiff and jerky. When he finally spun back around, his face was a mixture of indignation and flustered frustration.

“What on Inferno did you do to me?! I wake up with my shirt practically off, on top of you no less, and you just sit there like it’s no big deal!” Medkit’s voice rose with each word, his tail flicking erratically behind him as his emotions spiraled. “And what is this place? Did you kidnap me?!”

Banhammer, still seated on the couch, raised his hands defensively. “Kidnap you?!” he echoed, his deep voice tinged with incredulity. “I don’t even remember what happened either! I swear I didn’t do anything—I’m not that kind of guy! You’ve got to believe me.”

Medkit narrowed his eyes at him, the accusation still burning on the tip of his tongue. But the warden’s genuine tone gave him pause, and he begrudgingly lowered his voice.

“You’re telling me the truth?” Medkit asked, his gaze scrutinizing the warden’s every move.

“Of course I am!” Banhammer replied, standing now and towering over the medic with his impressive height. “This is weird for me too, okay? Let’s just… forget this happened. You can go your way, I’ll go mine. I won’t arrest you, and neither of us will ever bring this up again. Deal?”

Medkit crossed his arms, his mismatched eyes narrowing into a sharp glare. “Imbécile! [Idiot!] You sound even more suspicious saying it like that.” He tapped his foot as if contemplating the offer, his tail flicking in irritation. “Fine, but if I hear even a whisper of this getting out, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Banhammer interrupted, folding his own arms. “I’m the warden of the Inpherno. What are you going to do, throw me in one of my cells?”

Medkit scowled at him, his face still faintly flushed. “I’ll find a way, believe me.”

Banhammer smirked faintly at the medic’s flustered expression, though his expression softened as he watched Medkit turn toward the door.

“Wait—” the warden called again, his tone shifting from sharp to unusually gentle. Medkit paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“At least clean yourself up before you leave,” Banhammer continued. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later. There’s a bathroom down the hall on the left. You’ll find everything you need in the drawers.”

Medkit’s suspicion deepened at the unexpectedly considerate suggestion. “Why do you care?”

Banhammer shrugged, leaning against the back of the couch with a faint smirk. “You look like a mess, that’s all. I don’t need rumors flying around about me dragging someone out of here looking like… that.”

Medkit bristled at the comment but begrudgingly turned and headed toward the hallway. “This had better be worth my time,” he muttered under his breath, disappearing into the hallway while Banhammer let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to make sense of what little he could remember from the night before.

Medkit made his way down the hall Banhammer had pointed out. He pushed open the bathroom door, stepping into a surprisingly pristine and luxurious space. The polished tiles gleamed under the soft overhead light, and the faint scent of citrus soap lingered in the air.

He caught sight of himself in the large mirror above the sink and immediately grimaced. His reflection was a wreck. His hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction as though he’d been caught in a windstorm. His shirt, despite his earlier attempt to straighten it, was wrinkled and untidy, and his eye was ringed with dark shadows… well both of them technically.

Medkit let out a long sigh and began rummaging through the drawers beneath the sink. A brush caught his attention, and he pulled it out, running it through his unruly hair. The bristles tugged at stubborn knots, but the result was marginally better, his hair now lay flatter, though still not perfect.

He smoothed out his shirt again, tugging at the fabric to eliminate the worst of the wrinkles. His hands moved to his collar, but as he adjusted it, he froze. There, just above his collarbone, was a faint reddish mark, a hickey.

Medkit’s breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him like a slap. His face flushed a deep crimson, his tail flicking behind him in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He hastily buttoned the top of his shirt, concealing the mark, though he couldn’t stop the heat that rose to his cheeks.

“What in the Inferno…” he muttered under his breath, cupping his face in his hands. He let out a low, muffled groan into his palms, the weight of the situation crashing down on him.

What had his life become? Of all the people in the world, he’d somehow ended up tangled, literally, with Banhammer, the warden of the entire Inpherno. And to top it off, he was a wanted criminal.

Maybe he should stop saying the word “Inpherno” so much.

“At least my pants stayed on…” he muttered dryly, shaking his head.

Once he felt reasonably presentable, or at least not entirely humiliating, Medkit stepped out of the bathroom and made his way toward the front door. He didn’t bother sparing Banhammer another glance, too focused on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the warden. After a few moments of fumbling with the lock, he stepped out into the cold streets, inhaling deeply as the brisk air hit his face.

The walk to Crossroads was long, cold, and uneventful. The snow crunched beneath his boots, and the distant hum of the subway tracks reminded him how far he still had to go. Medkit’s mind raced as he walked, replaying fragments of the night before that refused to fade from his memory.

By the time he reached Crossroads, exhaustion seeped into his bones. He considered heading straight back to Blackrock, but the thought made his stomach churn. Subspace would likely be waiting, and Medkit couldn’t stomach the idea of returning to that suffocating life.

But, that left him with another problem, he had nowhere to go. His life had been a chaotic mess for years now, with no clear direction or stability. He’d been drifting, surviving one day at a time, but now… now he needed something more.

He wandered aimlessly through the bustling streets, his eye scanning the shop windows and bulletin boards for anything resembling an opportunity. The plan was simple: find a job, work hard, save money, and eventually secure a place to live. It was a modest goal, but it was a start.

After nearly half an hour of wandering, Medkit’s gaze landed on a brightly colored poster tacked to a notice board. The cheerful design was almost jarring against the dreary backdrop of Crossroads, but it caught his attention immediately.

“HELP WANTED: Cat Café in Thieves’ Den! Looking for enthusiastic staff to join our team. Great pay, flexible hours, and endless cuddles with our adorable feline friends. No experience required!”

Medkit tilted his head slightly as he reread the poster. A cat café? That seemed… oddly specific, but it was far from the worst job he could imagine. Plus, the promise of good pay and the apparent lack of need for prior experience sounded almost too good to be true.

Hopefully he could get past the “enthusiastic staff” part.

He tore the poster off the board and folded it carefully, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. Since Medkit didn’t have the money to take the subway, he had to walk the entire way to Thieves’ Den. The journey was long, but it wasn’t the most welcoming area when he got there; it had a certain charm to it—the kind of charm Medkit figured would grow on him if he didn’t think too hard about it.

Finally, after what felt like another forever, he arrived at the café’s location. He stopped in front of a small, preppy blue building that stood out like a sore thumb among the more rugged structures surrounding it. The café’s name, “Slingshot’s Cat Café,” was painted on a sign above the entrance. A few cars were scattered across the parking lot, and soft light glowed from the café windows, spilling warmth onto the snowy ground outside.

Medkit hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open, the gentle chime of a bell announcing his arrival.

The interior was cozy and inviting, with pastel walls, wooden furniture, and an array of cat trees, beds, and toys scattered around. Several cats lounged about, their soft purring and occasional meows adding to the relaxed atmosphere. The faint scent of coffee and baked goods wafted through the air, mingling pleasantly with the subtle smell of lavender.

“Welcome to Slingshot’s Cat Café!”

Medkit’s thoughts were interrupted by a cheerful voice. He turned to see a young woman in a pink maid outfit standing behind the counter. She looked to be in her early twenties, with bright eyes and an enthusiastic smile.

“I’m Vine Staff! What may I do for you today?” she asked, her voice light and bubbly.

Medkit cleared his throat, feeling a little out of place in the overly cheerful environment. “I saw a poster for a job opening,” he explained, pulling the folded paper from his pocket and holding it up. “It said you were looking for workers, so I wanted to apply.”

Vine’s eyes lit up, and she nodded eagerly. “Oh, perfect! Wait here just a moment, okay?” Without waiting for a response, she darted off into the back, her pink skirt bouncing slightly as she moved.

Left alone, Medkit glanced around awkwardly. His eyes landed on the café’s only customer, a man in a red tank top and some various protective pads littering his limbs sitting by a large cat tree. The man’s back was to Medkit, and he appeared to be playing with a fluffy white cat. Something about him seemed familiar, but Medkit couldn’t quite place where he’d seen him before. He shook the thought from his mind, chalking it up to coincidence.

Moments later, another figure emerged from the back. This time, it was a man wearing a blue maid dress. His hair was neat, yet messy at the same time, and he had an air of confidence about him as he approached Medkit. He pointed at him with a clipboard, his expression neutral but polite.

“You’re the guy who wants to apply, right? If so, follow me,” he said curtly.

Medkit followed the man in the blue maid dress silently, weaving through the café’s back rooms. They passed through what appeared to be a lounge area, a cozy space outfitted with mismatched chairs and soft lighting. A young demon in a green maid dress was slouched in one of the armchairs, engrossed in his phone. His long horns glinted faintly in the light, and his tail swayed lazily over the armrest, the perfect picture of disinterest.

Medkit glanced at him briefly, wondering if the maid dress was really a strict requirement or if it was just some quirky decision the staff embraced. The thought lingered, adding a new layer of unease to the already strange situation.

The blue-dressed man, who had yet to introduce himself, led Medkit down a short hallway and into a small, cramped office. The room was dominated by a heavy oak desk, cluttered with paperwork, pens, and a laptop that hummed softly, which looked like it was on life-support. A single chair sat opposite the desk, its fabric worn but clean. The walls were decorated with colorful posters of cats and advertisements for past café events. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the polished, pastel-themed establishment, almost as if this room existed in its own world.

“Take a seat,” the man said, gesturing toward the chair before settling into his own with a sigh.

Medkit sat, adjusting his posture to appear as professional as possible despite his nerves.

“I’m Slingshot,” the man introduced himself, leaning back in his chair. His expression softened slightly as he studied Medkit. “Owner of this fine establishment. So, you’re here to apply for the job, huh?” Slingshot repeated.

“Yes,” Medkit replied, his voice steady despite the uncertainty brewing inside him. “I saw the poster and thought I’d give it a shot.”

Slingshot nodded approvingly. “Great, great. Let’s cut to the chase, then.”

The interview itself was surprisingly brief. Slingshot asked a few basic questions about Medkit’s availability, his experience with customer service—none, though Medkit managed to spin his past scientific endeavors into an answer that sounded vaguely relevant, and his comfort level with cats. Medkit wondered why experience was brought up when the poster stated that no experience was needed, but maybe Slingshot was interested if Medkit did in fact have any. When Slingshot brought up the uniform policy, however, the conversation took a more awkward turn.

“So, about the maid outfits,” Slingshot began, folding his hands on the desk. “I know it might seem a little odd, but they’re mandatory for staff working the floor. Customers love the theme, it’s quirky, fun, and we’ve found it significantly boosts tips. Trial and error, you know?” He chuckled lightly.

Medkit’s brow furrowed slightly. “And if I don’t want to wear one?”

“You can still work here, but it’ll have to be in the back,” Slingshot explained. “Cleaning, stocking, organizing inventory... It’s not glamorous, and the pay is lower, but if you want the higher wages, and the tips, you’ll need to wear the uniform.”

Medkit resisted the urge to groan aloud. The thought of wearing a maid outfit was almost mortifying and degrading, but the promise of better pay made it difficult to argue. He was desperate, and beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Fine,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll wear the uniform, and take the job.”

Slingshot beamed. “Excellent! You’re a good sport!” He rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a small slip of paper. “I’ll have Vine train you tomorrow morning, eight A.M. sharp. Don’t be late.” He handed Medkit the paper, which listed basic employee guidelines.

As Medkit stood to leave, Slingshot added with a wide grin, “Oh, and I think we’ve got an old uniform that matches your horns perfectly! I bet it’ll look great on you, you and the past employee look like a similar build. Ah… don't worry, the uniforms are washed!”

Medkit’s face flushed, though he wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment, irritation, or both. “Thanks,” he muttered, pushing the chair back under the desk and heading for the door.

“No, thank you!” Slingshot called after him. “See you tomorrow!”

He wandered a short distance outside the café before finding a quiet alley nearby, where a long piece of flattened cardboard rested against the side of a dumpster.

“Well, at least that’s the bedding covered,” he muttered to himself.

He laid the cardboard out on the ground and sat down, pulling his knees to his chest. It wasn’t an ideal place to sleep, but it was better than nothing. He had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to, and the thought of walking back to Blackrock filled him with dread.

As he settled onto the cardboard, his body aching from exhaustion even at eleven A.M., and he glanced upward. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a figure perched on the rooftop above him. The silhouette was faint against the pale blue sky, but it was distinct, a single glowing eye and a thin, swishing tail.

Medkit’s heart skipped a beat. He squinted, trying to make out more details, but the figure was gone as quickly as it appeared. Was it real, or was his mind playing tricks on him? Either way, he decided not to dwell on it, closing his eye and resting his head against the wall.

He forced himself to focus on the sliver of hope he felt. Maybe this job at the café would be the fresh start he needed. Maybe, for once despite the amount of times he had said these very words, things would work out.

As sleep began to claim him, Medkit’s thoughts drifted to a future where he had a steady income, a warm apartment, and a semblance of stability. It was a fragile hope, but it was enough to keep him going, for now.

Chapter Text

Medkit stood stiffly in the uniform room of Slingshot’s Cat Café, the walls painted a soft pastel blue that matched the café’s cheerful theme. The air smelled faintly of lavender and catnip, an odd combination. It was just past eight A.M., and the morning sunlight streaming through the frosted windows did little to warm his mood. He sat hunched on a cushioned stool in front of a well-lit vanity, his reflection staring back at him. Clad in a tealish-green maid uniform with delicate lace trim, Medkit felt utterly humiliated.

The uniform was snug but not uncomfortable, though the ruffled skirt made him want to sink into the floor. The fabric shimmered slightly under the vanity lights, the color eerily matching the hue of his horns. His mind raced with thoughts of how absurd he looked and how far he’d fallen.

Beside him, Vinestaff hummed softly as she worked. She dabbed a brush into a small palette of muted colors, carefully applying some light makeup to his face. “You don’t need much,” she said in her cheerful tone, tilting his chin up slightly to examine her work. “Just a little to brighten you up, you know? Customers like staff who look lively!”

Medkit offered a noncommittal grunt, his gaze fixed on the mirror. Vinestaff had already brushed and tidied his hair, smoothing it down from its usual disheveled state. He looked… different. Polished, almost, though in a different way he would've liked. He didn’t like it.

“There!” Vinestaff stepped back, clapping her hands together as she admired her handiwork. “You look great, Medkit. Don’t be so tense, it’s not as bad as you think!”

Before Medkit could respond, the door swung open, and Slingshot strolled in. His outfit, a blue varsity jacket paired with grey sweatpants, gave the impression he’d just rolled out of bed. His cat-like tail twitched slightly, and his eyes lit up as they landed on Medkit.

“Now that’s my new worker!” Slingshot announced, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. He strode across the room, his tail swishing behind him as he circled Medkit like he was appraising a masterpiece. “I knew that uniform would suit you! Customers are going to love you. Oh, and someone actually asked me the other day if we’d ever hire someone older. Guess you’re fulfilling that request, huh?”

Medkit’s eyebrow twitched at the comment, but he bit his tongue, unwilling to argue with his new boss. Slingshot leaned in, inspecting Medkit’s face closely before straightening with a satisfied nod.

“Fantastic work as always, Vine!” he chirped, giving Vinestaff a thumbs-up.

Vinestaff smiled modestly, stepping aside as Slingshot rummaged through a rack of uniforms. He pulled out a blue maid dress with matching accessories and disappeared behind a curtained corner to change.

“Guess it’s my turn,” Vinestaff said, grabbing her pink uniform from the rack. She moved to another curtained area, leaving Medkit alone with his thoughts.

The uniform room fell silent except for the faint rustling of fabric. Medkit shifted uncomfortably, his reflection still mocking him from the mirror. 

“We open in fifty minutes, so learn fast!” Slingshot called out as he stepped out from behind the curtain, now fully dressed in his blue maid outfit. His enthusiasm was almost contagious, though it did little to ease Medkit’s nerves. Without waiting for a response, Slingshot bounded out of the room, leaving Vinestaff and Medkit behind.

Vinestaff reappeared moments later, adjusting the frills of her uniform. “Don’t mind him,” she said with a reassuring smile. “I’ll show you the basics now, and we’ll focus on the cats and cleaning for today. Once you’re more comfortable, I’ll teach you how to serve customers.”

Medkit nodded silently and followed her out of the uniform room.

-/+/-

The day dragged on at an agonizingly slow pace. The café’s cheerful atmosphere, with its pastel-colored furniture and faint classical music playing in the background, did little to distract Medkit from his discomfort.

Vinestaff led him through a series of tasks, starting with cleaning the café. She demonstrated how to sanitize tables, polish cat trees, and even sweep up stray tufts of fur that the cats shed throughout the day. Medkit followed her instructions diligently, though his mind wandered as he worked.

Tending to the cats was slightly more tolerable. The café was home to a dozen felines of various breeds and colors, each with their own distinct personality. Vinestaff introduced him to the more social cats, like a fluffy white persian who loved to nap in customers’ laps, and a mischievous tabby named who had a penchant for knocking things off counters, though Medkit didn't remember the names.

“They’re pretty low-maintenance,” Vinestaff explained as she refilled a food dish. “Just keep their water bowls full, clean their litter boxes, and give them attention when they want it. Easy, right?”

Medkit nodded, scratching behind the ears of a sleek black cat who had taken a liking to him. The small moment of connection was oddly soothing, a brief reprieve from the otherwise awkward day.

As the hours crept by, the café remained relatively quiet. Only a handful of customers trickled in, most of them regulars who Vinestaff greeted by name. To pass the time, she decided to give Medkit an impromptu crash course on working behind the counter. She showed him how to operate the espresso machine, prepare simple drinks, and ring up orders on the register.

“You’re picking this up quickly,” she said, impressed. “Maybe this won’t be so bad for you after all.”

Medkit offered a faint smile, though he didn’t share her optimism.

Throughout the shift, Medkit noticed the absence of the green-clad demon he had seen the day before. He considered asking about him but decided against it, figuring it wasn’t his business.

As the clock struck five P.M., the café’s soft ambient music faded into the background as Medkit made his way to the uniform room. The mirror reflected his tired expression as he stripped off the tealish-green maid uniform he had grudgingly worn all day. He hung it carefully on the rack, smoothing out the frills to avoid wrinkles, though he secretly wished he could toss it into the trash. 

Sliding back into his regular clothes, the same worn, slightly dirty outfit he’d been wearing for three days, Medkit felt a pang of embarrassment. He didn’t need a mirror to know he still looked disheveled.

After clocking out, Medkit exchanged polite goodbyes with Vinestaff and Slingshot, their cheerful attitudes a stark contrast to his own. Slingshot offered a playful salute as Medkit stepped out into the fading evening light. “See you tomorrow, Medkit!”

Medkit nodded half-heartedly, his feet dragging as he made his way back to the nearby alley that had become his temporary home. As he approached the flattened cardboard box he used as a bed, a sigh escaped his lips, his breath visible in the chilly air. He sat down heavily, pulling his knees to his chest. The alleyway was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional clatter of some stray animal rummaging through a trash bin.

Opting for an early night, Medkit curled up on his makeshift bed. The cold seeped through the cardboard, sending a shiver down his spine, but he forced his eyes shut. As his breathing slowed, a flicker of movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye. His heart skipped a beat.

The same figure from the previous night was there again, perched high on the rooftops above. Their silhouette was faintly illuminated by the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp, their single eye faintly glinting in the shadows. This time, though, there was another figure beside them, equally silent and just as unsettling. Medkit’s stomach churned with unease, but he didn’t dare look directly at them. Instead, he squeezed his eye shut, willing himself to ignore their presence.

-/+/-

The next day began much the same as the last. The café was quiet, with only a few customers trickling in throughout the morning. Vinestaff continued Medkit’s training, focusing this time on customer service. She taught him how to approach tables, take orders, and deliver food and drinks with a practiced balance of charm and professionalism.

“Remember to smile,” she reminded him, demonstrating the kind of grin that seemed almost second nature to her. “It makes people feel welcome.”

Medkit tried to mimic her, but his smile came out stiff and forced. “Like this?”

Vinestaff winced playfully. “Close enough. We’ll work on it.”

Time crawled by, the hours blending into each other as Medkit cleaned tables, tended to the cats, and endured Slingshot’s constant pep talks. By the time his shift ended, he felt as though he was losing his mind. The job made him question his life choices.

When he returned to his alleyway “home” that evening, something immediately caught his eye. A neatly folded piece of paper sat conspicuously near his cardboard bed. The paper’s pristine appearance was jarring against the grime of the alley, and Medkit hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to leave it alone.

Curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the paper and carefully unfolded it. His breath hitched as he saw the crude, hand-drawn image of an eye staring back at him. It was unmistakable—the logo of the Church of the True Eye.

For a moment, Medkit stood frozen, his pulse quickening. The drawing was simple and devoid of words, but its message was clear: they knew where he was. A knot of anxiety twisted in his chest, though he forced himself to remain calm. The note wasn’t overtly threatening, but it was enough to make him uneasy.

Placing the note back where he found it, Medkit took a cautious step back, his mind racing. He didn’t have many options, but staying in the same spot felt like inviting trouble. With a resigned sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving the alley behind.

Wandering through the city’s quieter streets, Medkit eventually stumbled upon another alleyway. This one was slightly less grim, with an old, abandoned couch tucked against a wall. The fabric was faded and frayed, but it was leagues better than a cardboard box. He claimed the couch as his new bed, sinking into its lumpy cushions with a groan.

Raking a hand through his hair, Medkit stared up at the patch of sky visible between the buildings. He tried not to think about the Church or the figures who had been watching him. Instead, he focused on the small victories, like the fact that he had a paying job, however humiliating it might be.

-/+/-

As the days passed, Medkit’s life began to find a semblance of rhythm, however strange or humiliating it felt. The anxiety of being followed or kidnapped by the Church of the True Eye seemed to wane, though the thought of them still lurked in the back of his mind. Instead, his focus shifted to surviving his new life. The most uplifting moment came when he received his first paycheck.

When Slingshot handed him the envelope, grinning ear to ear, Medkit had been skeptical at first. He retreated to the quiet alley behind the café to open it, expecting a meager amount. But as he pulled out the crisp bills and counted them, his eyes widened in surprise. For the simple (if degrading) work he was doing, the pay was shockingly decent. It was the first time in what felt like ages that he had more money in his pocket than he absolutely needed just to scrape by.

That Friday night, Medkit decided to spend the money on something he desperately needed: a clean, warm bed. He managed to book a modest, slightly run-down hotel room in Thieves’ Den. Even though the room smelled faintly of mildew, it was paradise compared to the alleyways he had been calling home.

-/+/-

The next morning, Medkit awoke to the soft hum of sunlight filtering through the thin curtains. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel the biting cold of concrete beneath him. The lumpy mattress beneath him felt luxurious, even if it creaked with every movement.

After a quick shower, which left his skin pink from scrubbing off layers of dirt, he dressed in his old, worn-out clothes and headed out. His goal for the day was simple: find some cheap, clean clothes to replace the ones he had been wearing for far too long.

Thieves’ Den was bustling that morning, the streets alive with vendors shouting out deals and demons bartering over everything. Medkit weaved through the crowds, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he scanned the windows of thrift shops.

Window shopping quickly became an exercise in frustration. Every time he spotted something remotely appealing, a well-fitted jacket, a nice pair of pants, or even just a plain shirt, it was far beyond his budget. The prices on the tags made him sigh heavily, his breath visible in the crisp morning air.

After over an hour of searching, Medkit finally stumbled across a small, dingy shop tucked between two larger, flashier stores. The clothes on display were far from fashionable, though he wouldn't complain about simple plain colored cheap clothing. After rummaging through racks of mismatched items, he found two sets of clothes that were decent enough.

With the clothes folded neatly in a bag after checking out, Medkit’s stomach reminded him it had been far too long since his last proper meal. He wandered into a convenience store nearby, its fluorescent lights flickering faintly. The aisles were cramped, and the selection wasn’t great, but he didn’t have many options.

After scouring the shelves, he settled on a cup of instant ramen noodles. It was the cheapest option that would actually fill him up. The idea of eating something so processed didn’t sit well with him, but hunger outweighed his reservations.

At the counter, the cashier barely acknowledged him as he paid. Medkit moved to the small coffee station near the back, where he filled the cup with hot water and grabbed a plastic fork. He didn’t even bother looking for chopsticks; he didn’t know how to use them anyway.

He stepped outside, finding a spot on the curb to sit and eat. The hot steam rising from the cup offered a small comfort against the chill in the air. The ramen tasted salty and artificial, but it was warm, and that was enough. As he ate, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing for his past life. Despite the chaos, it had been comfortable in ways his current existence wasn’t. But that life had come with its own set of nightmares, ones he wasn’t eager to relive.

Swords, his life was a mess…

When he finished, Medkit tossed the empty cup and fork into a nearby trash bin and made his way back to the hotel. Exhaustion hit him as soon as he entered the room. Dropping the bag of clothes on the floor, he collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in the stiff pillow that laid alone on the bed. The urge to scream into the fabric was strong, but he held it in, his body too drained to do anything but lay there.

-/+/-

The weekend blurred into nothingness, the days passing in a haze of rest and aimless wandering. By Monday morning, Medkit found himself standing behind the counter at Slingshot’s Cat Café, feeling a strange disconnect from reality.

His thoughts felt muddled, as though someone had hit a fast-forward button on his life and he was only just catching up. He couldn’t remember much of Sunday, or even how he had gotten dressed and arrived at the café that morning. It was as if he had sleepwalked through the motions of getting ready.

Leaning on the counter, Medkit sighed deeply, rubbing his face with his hands. He felt like he was losing his grip on everything.

Each shift was starting to blur together. Medkit’s life had become a repetitive cycle of tasks that left him feeling hollow: clean tables, feed the cats, endure the stares, serve coffee, and try not to crumble under the weight of his own self-loathing. The tips were good, better than he could’ve imagined, and he got to keep them, all to himself… that was nice.

The trade-off for that small financial gain was steep. The gazes that lingered a little too long, sliding down his figure, sent shivers of revulsion up his spine. The wandering hands that brushed his arm or back made him grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Some customers smirked as they gave far too generous tips, their eyes full of unspoken implications. Others leaned in too close, their voices dripping with innuendo. Every interaction left Medkit feeling stripped of his dignity.

He felt sick.

By Thursday, Medkit was so emotionally drained he could hardly process the passage of time. The days had folded into each other, leaving him disoriented and exhausted. His nights were restless, his attempts at sleep interrupted by racing thoughts or quiet tears he couldn’t hold back. Dark circles bloomed under his eyes, and though Vinestaff did her best to cover them with concealer, they felt like a permanent part of his face now.

At the counter that morning, Medkit clutched the cold edge of the stone surface, his fingers pressing into it so hard his nails ached. His mind swirled in a chaotic storm of frustration, shame, and despair. He had no energy to think or even feel; he simply stood there, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, his body on autopilot.

Then, the sharp ding of the café doorbell snapped him out of his trance.

Medkit’s head whipped toward the entrance, his bleary eyes locking onto the figures entering the café. His heart froze, and a cold wave of dread washed over him.

Standing there, framed by the light spilling in from outside, were Windforce and Banhammer.

Of all the demons, or well, swords, in this case, who could’ve walked through that door, it had to be them. Medkit’s stomach dropped so fast it felt like he might vomit. His heart pounded in his chest, a wild drumbeat of panic. 

For a fleeting moment, he considered bolting into the backroom. But before he could make his escape, Windforce’s booming voice filled the café, freezing him in place.

“Ha! A new worker? Glad to see this family business getting some help since the last time I’ve been here!”

Medkit turned back around slowly, his movements stiff and robotic. His face twitched as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression when his eyes met Windforce’s helmeted gaze.

Windforce strode up to the counter with her usual confidence, her presence as commanding as ever. Behind her, Banhammer followed, his imposing figure oddly subdued. Medkit’s eyes flicked to Banhammer’s face, noticing with some surprise that he wasn’t wearing his signature blindfold. It was jarring to see his piercing eyes so exposed, and the intensity of his gaze made Medkit’s stomach churn. Medkit was starting to wonder if he only wore his blindfold at phights due to his lack of wearing it.

For a moment, Medkit and Banhammer locked eyes. Medkit forced an awkward half-smile, a silent plea of “Please don’t arrest me.” Banhammer’s expression, however, was unreadable, his lips set in a tight line, his brow slightly furrowed. If anything, he looked… shocked? Conflicted? Medkit couldn’t tell, and the ambiguity only made him more nervous.

The staring contest ended when Windforce spoke again, her voice loud and cheery.

“Can we get one black coffee and one house blend? That’ll be all.”

Medkit quickly nodded in response to Windforce’s order, though his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he barely registered her words. As the two moved off to find a table, Medkit moved toward the coffee station, forcing himself to focus on the simple task of preparing their drinks. Yet, his hands betrayed him, trembling as he worked, the clinking of ceramic cups and spoons a clear testament to his nervous state.

He stole a glance over his shoulder, his stomach tightening as he caught Banhammer still staring at him from across the room. The warden’s piercing gaze seemed to cut through him, as if he was peeling back layers to uncover every secret Medkit wished to keep buried.

“Maybe he’s waiting,” Medkit thought bitterly. “Waiting until I’m alone. Waiting until I let my guard down so he can drag me out of here.”

The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn’t know what terrified him more: the idea of being hauled away to face punishment or the lingering specter of the church that still haunted his mind. Both outcomes were unbearable, but the quiet intensity of Banhammer’s scrutiny made the former feel far more imminent.

By the time Medkit finished preparing the drinks, his breathing was shallow. He steadied himself, balancing the tray with shaky hands, and approached their table.

“Here you go,” he said, placing the drinks down with more care than usual to avoid spilling. “One black coffee, one house blend.”

Windforce beamed behind her helmet and gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Thanks!”

Banhammer, however, didn’t say a word. His gaze was steady and unyielding, following Medkit’s every move. 

Medkit nodded curtly to the wind deity, and returned to the counter, seeking refuge behind the solid barrier of wood and stone.

For the rest of their stay, Medkit could hardly think of anything else. Every nerve in his body was on edge, his focus split between cleaning tasks and keeping tabs on the two. Windforce seemed blissfully unaware of the tension, content to sip her coffee and occasionally get up to play with the cats. Medkit watched her laugh softly as a tabby batted at what resembled whiskers coming from under her helmet.

On the other hand, the warden barely touched his drink. Instead, he alternated between staring out the window or fixating on Medkit with that same, unrelenting look. It wasn’t angry, nor was it accusing. It felt calculating. Observing. It was the kind of look that made Medkit feel like he was being dissected, like Banhammer was filing away every detail for later use.

Medkit couldn’t stop himself from glancing back, their eyes locking briefly before the warden would dart his gaze away. It happened over and over, a silent, uncomfortable dance.

The café remained quiet, the absence of other customers amplifying the tension in the air. Medkit prayed someone else would walk in to break the awkward atmosphere, but luck wasn’t on his side. The minutes stretched into hours, each one feeling longer than the last.

When the two finally got up to leave, Medkit thought his knees might buckle from relief. Windforce left a generous tip on the table, ruffling the head of a sleeping cat as she chuckled. “Great coffee as always!”

Banhammer, however, paused before following her out. For a moment, Medkit thought the warden might say something, but instead, he gave him one last lingering look before turning away.

The doorbell chimed as they left, and the silence that followed felt deafening.

Medkit exhaled shakily, slumping against the counter. His fingers brushed against his neck subconsciously, touching the spot where Banhammer had left a mark weeks ago. Though the brand had mostly faded, its memory lingered.

Medkit wondered if the warden’s inaction was due to the events of that one night, which made him sigh. He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. But as he worked through the rest of his shift, the image of Banhammer’s gaze lingered, burning itself into his mind.

Later that night, Medkit returned to his hotel room, collapsing onto the bed with a groan. He buried his face in the pillow again, muffling the frustrated scream he had been holding in all day. The stress of the encounter had drained him, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted.

He rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was hard to believe that just a few days ago, his life had been so different.

-/+/-

The next two weeks passed in an uneventful haze. Medkit fell into the routine of his work, the days blending together in a blur of coffee orders, cleaning, and avoiding uncomfortable conversations. Nothing significant happened, yet the weight of his worries never left him.

By the time Friday morning arrived, Medkit felt like a hollow shell of himself. He stood behind the counter, absently wiping down the already spotless surface as the morning rush trickled in and out.

The lull in activity was broken by the loud slam of the café door. Medkit’s head shot up, and he was met with the sight of Boombox striding in, his green outfit almost obnoxiously bright in the soft, cozy lighting of the café..

“Medkit?” Boombox’s voice rang out, his green attire a blinding contrast to the blue tones of the café.

Medkit glanced at the demon, his expression a mix of surprise and dread. “Uh… hey, Boombox.”

“Dude! What are you doing here?” Boombox asked, his wide eyes darting over Medkit’s uniform. “Wait, hold up—they got you wearing that outfit too?”

Medkit groaned inwardly, already regretting acknowledging the demon’s presence. “Yes, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

But Boombox was relentless, launching into a rapid-fire string of questions. “How did you end up here? Is Sling around? Did you lose a bet or something? I mean, come on, you of all people in a—”

“Boombox,” Medkit interrupted, raising a hand to stop the tirade. “If you’re not here to order something, I need you to leave. I’m working. Also, no, Slingshot is not here.”

The green-clad demon pouted but nodded begrudgingly. “Alright, fine. But when Sling gets back, we gotta catch up!”

“Sure,” Medkit muttered, waving him off. He watched as Boombox left, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake, making Medkit sigh at the quick encounter.

-/+/-

Hours later, Medkit’s shift was nearing its end. He glanced at the clock, counting down the minutes until he could leave. The day had been relatively uneventful after Boombox’s visit, and he was looking forward to collapsing onto his hotel bed.

Just ten minutes before closing, the bell above the entrance chimed again. Medkit turned, his shoulders stiffening as the figure stepped inside.

It was Banhammer.

The warden wasn’t wearing his usual attire, instead opting for a simple set of clothes. Despite the casual clothing, his presence was as imposing as ever, and Medkit couldn’t help but feel the same sense of unease settle in his stomach.

Banhammer scanned the room briefly before approaching the counter. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to linger on Medkit just a moment too long.

“Can I get a house blend, please?” Banhammer asked, his deep voice steady and calm.

Medkit nodded curtly, mumbling a quick “Mn” as he turned to prepare the order. His hands moved on autopilot, but his mind raced with possibilities such as, “Why is he here again? Is he scouting me out? Waiting for the right moment to arrest me?”

When the coffee was ready, Medkit carried it over to Banhammer’s table, setting the cup down without a word. The warden nodded in thanks, but Medkit quickly retreated to the counter, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

Left with nothing to do but clean, Medkit busied himself with wiping down surfaces and organizing supplies. However, he couldn’t help but glance over at Banhammer every so often. Each time, he caught the warden staring at him.

Banhammer’s gaze wasn’t hostile, but it was intense, as though he were analyzing every move Medkit made. The silence in the café only made the situation more uncomfortable, the occasional clink of a spoon or the rustle of a napkin from other quiet patrons the only sounds breaking the stillness.

When Banhammer finally finished his coffee, he approached the counter to pay. Medkit braced himself, half-expecting the warden to say something ominous or confrontational. But Banhammer simply handed over the payment, leaving a decent tip on the counter.

“Thank you,” Banhammer said, his tone neutral. Then, with a final glance at Medkit, he turned and left, the doorbell’s chime echoing in the now-empty café.

Medkit wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or even more anxious.

-/+/-

Saturday morning arrived with an unusual sense of calm. For once, Medkit awoke feeling a little less drained than he typically did, his exhaustion not as suffocating. The faint sunlight streaming through the thin curtains of his rented room warmed the space, giving him the smallest glimmer of hope for a decent day. He stretched slowly, his muscles sore from weeks of unrelenting tension, and finally forced himself out of bed.

The morning routine was mindless but comforting in its predictability. Changing into a fresh shirt and jeans, brushing his teeth in the tiny, slightly cracked bathroom mirror, and running a comb through his perpetually messy hair. None of it truly made him feel better, but it helped him feel at least somewhat normal.

Today, however, Medkit had a plan—a rare occurrence in his current disjointed existence. With a little extra cash in his pocket from his last paycheck, he decided he’d treat himself. Something small, something to occupy his mind. After a brief mental debate, he landed on the idea of buying a book.

The library he found wasn’t much, just a modest, nondescript building tucked between a pawnshop. Its exterior was worn, the paint on the sign peeling to reveal the old wood beneath. Still, Medkit wasn’t picky. Pushing open the door, a small bell chimed above him, announcing his arrival.

Inside, the scent of old paper and varnish hit him, mingling with the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Shelves of books were crammed into the small space, some leaning precariously as if their weight had become too much for them. Medkit wandered the aisles, his fingers brushing against spines of various colors and textures. He didn’t have a specific book in mind.

Eventually, he stumbled upon a bestseller section near the counter. Most of the titles were unfamiliar to him, though their covers were glossy and well-designed. His eyes landed on a thick paperback with a slightly tattered corner, the bold title and intriguing artwork catching his attention. Without much thought, he grabbed it.

The cashier, a quiet, bespectacled demon with a nose buried in her own book, rang him up without a word. Medkit winced at the total, a few hundred bux, but handed over the cash anyway.

By the time Medkit returned to his small hotel room, the air felt heavier than when he left. He fiddled with the key, the bag containing his new book swinging gently at his side. Unlocking the door, he pushed it open and stepped inside, only to freeze mid-step.

Sitting casually on his bed, legs crossed and tail flicking lazily, was Scythe. Her visible eye sparkled with mischief, and a sly smirk spread across her face. The open window beside her explained her unexpected appearance.

Medkit’s heart skipped a beat, and his grip on the bag tightened. “What… What are you doing here?” he managed, his voice sharp but laced with unease.

Scythe stood with an exaggerated stretch, brushing imaginary dust off her clothing. “Aw, c’mon, Kit. Don’t look so shocked. I figured I’d check in on ya,” she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the stained walls and the worn-down furniture. “Damn, this is where ya ended up? Really scraping the bottom of the barrel, huh?”

Medkit gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. He didn’t respond, knowing better than to take the bait.

Scythe continued, her tone turning businesslike. “Look, I’ll cut to the chase. The Church misses ya, Kit. They’d love to have ya back. Hell, they’ll even better ya your old setup again, better food, better bed, the works.” Her smirk widened. “Course, if ya don’t wanna take the offer, I could always tip off our good warden. Bet he’d be real interested in your whereabouts.”

Medkit instinctively took a step back, his mind racing. “I’m fine,” he said carefully, his voice steady despite the anxiety clawing at his chest. “Thanks, but… no thanks.”

Scythe’s smile faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, Medkit thought she might press the issue, but instead, she laughed, a sharp, chilling sound that made his skin crawl. “Suit yerself,” she said, shrugging. “But don’t get too comfy. I’ll be back. Ya know me, I hate leavin’ unfinished business.”

With that, she turned, her tail flicking behind her as she climbed out the window and disappeared into the night.

Medkit didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the still-billowing curtain. His chest felt tight, his breathing shallow. When he finally moved, it was to close the window, his hands trembling slightly as he latched it shut.

He placed the bag containing his book on the nightstand before collapsing onto the bed like he had many times before, his legs giving out beneath him. Staring up at the cracked ceiling, he sighed deeply, the weight of the encounter pressing down on him.

Maybe it’s time to find a new hotel, he thought, though the prospect of packing up and relocating again sounded tiring.

Chapter Text

Clocking in was starting to feel like a chore, a grueling obligation rather than just a job. Medkit barely got any sleep these days, and the falsely warm, welcoming atmosphere of the café did little to soothe his fraying nerves. The scent of freshly brewed coffee, the soft purring of cats lounging on the furniture, the gentle clinking of ceramic cups against saucers, none of it helped.

He never went through with switching hotels. Maybe it was laziness, maybe it was complacency. Regardless, nobody had come looking for him—yet. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Yet. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time. He imagined Scythe returning, flashing that toothy grin of hers, dragging him back to the life he had tried so desperately to escape. Or worse, he imagined Banhammer showing up with a team of enforcers, slapping cuffs on him in front of customers, humiliating him before dragging him off to whatever cell awaited him.

The paranoia gnawed at him, day in and day out, every moment spent waiting for the inevitable. He wanted an uneventful shift, a quiet day where no one would walk in and disrupt the fragile peace he had managed to cling to.

But life, as always, had a way of spitting on his wishes.

Ding!

Medkit sighed through his nose, shoulders slumping as the bell above the café door shattered his hope of a peaceful morning.

He turned his head lazily, already expecting some annoyance, but when he saw who had entered, he wasn’t even surprised anymore.

Banhammer. Again.

The warden had been showing up far too often as of late, enough that Medkit was starting to grow suspicious. If Banhammer had been planning to arrest him, he had countless opportunities to do so. He could’ve done it discreetly, efficiently—hell, he could have walked behind the counter, snapped a pair of cuffs around Medkit’s wrists, and dragged him out the front door without a single soul daring to intervene. Yet, he never did.

It didn’t add up.

Medkit barely reacted as the warden approached the counter, ordering his usual house blend, the same as always. The medic made it without question, pouring the steaming liquid into a ceramic cup before placing it onto a small tray. He grabbed the tray, swiftly carrying it over to the warden’s usual seat, but this time, sliding into the chair opposite him without hesitation.

Banhammer’s blindfold was on today, and Medkit watched as he pushed it up slightly, revealing two sharp eyes beneath. Medkit leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, voice steady but laced with curiosity.

“So… tell me,” he began, eyes locked onto Banhammer’s. “What’s up with you coming here all the time? You’re a busy man, and we offer to-go cups, yet you always sit down, doing nothing.”

Banhammer froze mid-sip, the coffee cup hovering just below his lips. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, half-surprised, half-contemplative. He said nothing, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, Medkit pressed further.

“You arrested Scythe, Broker, and whatever other higher-ups were there that day at the church, correct?” he continued, his voice unwavering. “So why are they walking free? Why are they out there, roaming around like nothing happened?”

Banhammer hesitated and Medkit narrowed his eye, waiting for a real answer.

“I… err…” Banhammer stammered, clearly caught off guard. His brow furrowed slightly as he seemed to fumble for words. Medkit tilted his head just slightly, intrigued by the uncharacteristic display of uncertainty.

“Well,” Banhammer finally muttered, clearing his throat. “Those two escaped, and freed the others. Haven’t found them since… not much more to it.”

Medkit exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but he had another question lined up, one that had been bothering him even more.

“Then let’s talk about me,” he said flatly. “Why haven’t you arrested me yet? Not that I’m complaining, but it seems odd to let a wanted fugitive live their life freely.”

Banhammer stiffened. His hand, which had been resting casually on the table, twitched slightly before moving to scratch at the back of his neck. His fingers lingered there, and for the first time, Medkit swore he saw the faintest hint of color dusting the warden’s face.

Was he… flustered?

Medkit blinked, momentarily thrown off. Maybe the café’s lighting was messing with his perception. He made a mental note to tell Slingshot to adjust the bulbs or something, but that wasn’t important right now.

Banhammer cleared his throat, abruptly pulling out his wallet and sliding some money across the table before standing up. “I have to go help with a job,” he said quickly. “Forgot about how it was at this time earlier.”

Medkit raised a brow but said nothing as the warden turned on his heel and strode out of the café. He watched him leave, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake. With a small sigh, Medkit pulled the abandoned coffee cup toward him, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow sip, so as to not throw away a practically full cup.

It was still warm.

As weeks bled into months, Banhammer’s visits didn’t slow down. If anything, they became even more frequent. Medkit grew accustomed to Banhammer’s presence, even if he had never expected to. What had once been a tense, silent standoff between two people who should have been on opposing sides had somehow morphed into a routine—one that felt dangerously close to familiarity.

Every Monday, without fail, Banhammer would appear not long after the café doors unlocked for the day. At first, Medkit had assumed it was mere coincidence, that perhaps the warden just happened to enjoy the quiet of the morning before the usual rush of customers arrived. But as the weeks passed, it became clear that Banhammer was making a habit of it. He didn’t just come for the coffee anymore—he came to talk.

It was strange.

At first, Medkit had tried to keep his original goal in mind—to pry, to figure out why Banhammer hadn’t arrested him yet, to get answers. But Banhammer had a habit of deflecting, of steering the conversation away, and Medkit found himself tiring of the effort. Eventually, he just… stopped asking.

And that’s when the conversations truly began.

They never spoke about anything that mattered. Instead, they talked about trivial things—random thoughts, books, food, whatever odd topic happened to arise in the moment. And the strangest part? Medkit began to not mind it.

He told himself it was just easier to go along with it, that humoring Banhammer was better than sitting in silence. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

It was nice.

Nice to have someone to talk to. Nice to have someone listen.

And Medkit allowed it to happen anyway, welcomed it even.

There was, however, one thing that wasn’t remotely welcomed.

Scythe.

Her visits were unpredictable, sporadic, and deeply unsettling.

Medkit had figured that it was best to pretend he was asleep when he sensed her presence. The first time she appeared in his room, he had nearly had a heart attack, waking to find her perched at the foot of his bed, watching him with an unreadable expression. Since then, it had become a twisted sort of game, her slipping in through the open window at random, and Medkit forcing himself to stay still, to slow his breathing, to act like he was unaware. It was probably better that way.

It wasn’t until days later, when Banhammer had stopped by the café as usual, that Medkit’s exhaustion was noticed again. The café was empty aside from the two of them, and Medkit found himself sitting across from Banhammer at the usual table, barely holding back a yawn. The warden studied him carefully, his usual neutral expression shifting ever so slightly into something resembling concern.

“You look exhausted.”

Medkit waved a hand, dismissing the comment. “I’m fine.”

Banhammer didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead, he simply nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Alright,” he said simply, before adding in a quieter tone, “but I’m always here if you need anything.”

Medkit blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. Before he could formulate a response, Banhammer had already pulled out money for his usual coffee order, sliding it across the table before standing up. With one last glance at Medkit, he turned and left, disappearing through the café doors.

Medkit sighed, running a hand down his face.

He wasn’t sure what was worse. Scythe’s constant appearances, or the way Banhammer seemed to care.

That night, Medkit was eager to return to his hotel room, desperate for at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. The streets were dimly lit, the orange glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows as he walked along the sidewalk, mind already drifting. But his exhaustion was abruptly cut short when a force slammed into him, shoving him violently into a nearby alleyway. His body collided with the rough brick wall, a sharp gasp leaving his lips before a firm hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him.

His pulse spiked. His body tensed.

Scythe.

She stood in front of him, an all-too-familiar smirk on her lips, her golden eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “Didn’t think I’d run into ya this soon,” she mused, pressing him harder against the wall. “But, lucky me.”

Medkit’s breathing was shallow, his heart hammering against his ribs. Her free hand moved smoothly, reaching down, before yanking his own gun from his waist. Medkit stiffened, eyes widening at the action.

“Now,” Scythe drawled, tilting her head as she pressed the barrel against the side of his skull, her smirk widening. “I’m gonna ask ya one last time, Kit.” Her fingers curled around the trigger. “Are ya sure you don’t wanna come back to the church?”

Medkit swallowed hard, his mind racing, his body frozen as her words sank in. This was it. The wrong answer would be the last thing he ever said.

His lips parted, but before he could force out a response, Scythe suddenly stiffened, her gaze snapping to the right. Her smirk faded, and her expression twisted into irritation, before, without warning, she moved.

A gunshot rang out, and pain exploded in Medkit’s shoulder. A strangled sound left his throat as his body collapsed to the ground, his hands flying up to clutch the wound, warm blood quickly soaking his shirt. Through the haze of pain, he barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching, eventually crouching down beside him. Medkit’s vision swam, his breath ragged as he forced himself to look up.

The pain flared through Medkit’s shoulder, radiating outward like fire searing through his nerves. His body instinctively curled inward, hands clamping down harsher over the wound, the warmth of blood already soaking through his fingers. His breath came in shallow, unsteady gasps, his head spinning as he tried to focus, but his vision blurred at the edges.

Someone began speaking, their voice wavered, frantic, but the words barely registered. “Medkit? Meds? Swords, are you okay?” The voice was close, filled with something raw, something almost desperate.

Medkit tried to blink away the haziness clouding his sight, tried to find the source of the voice, but his head felt heavy, his body sluggish. His gear, where was it? He must’ve dropped it. He needed to stop the bleeding. A grip was placed on his shoulder near the injury, firm but gentle, warm despite the roughness of the hands.

“Please… please say you’re okay…”

The words were clearer now, filled with something that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with the injury. Medkit opened his mouth to respond, but his throat was dry, his voice unwilling to cooperate. He was fine. It was just a bullet. One bullet wouldn’t kill him, but swords, he was so tired.

The world around him felt distant, muted. His eyelids grew heavy, the warmth of unconsciousness curling at the edges of his mind. A little rest wouldn’t hurt… right? The last thing he felt was the steady pressure of a hand against his wound and the faint sound of someone calling his name.

Then, well, nothing.

A sterile scent. Artificial lighting. The distant hum of machines. Medkit’s eyes cracked open, his vision adjusting to the dim glow of the hospital room. The ceiling above him was an unfamiliar off-white, the walls a dull blue-gray.

He was alive.

Sore, aching, but alive.

His body felt heavy, exhaustion still clinging to his limbs, but when he shifted, a dull sting in his shoulder reminded him of the events that had led him here. His gaze drifted to his arm, bandaged neatly, though the pain still throbbed beneath the layers of gauze. His head snapped to the side, breath hitching in relief when he spotted his gear on a small table beside the bed. 

Before he could think too much about it, the door opened with a quiet click. A doctor entered, and they approached with the usual professionalism expected of medical staff, clipboard in hand as they glanced over their charts.

They spoke, explaining his condition, how to care for the wound, listing off instructions, but Medkit barely listened. He only caught bits and pieces. All he really cared about was how he was told he could leave.

After a brief examination of his wound and some final words of medical advice, the doctor handed him a small container of painkillers before exiting the room, leaving him alone once more.

Medkit exhaled as he slipped the loose hospital gown from his shoulders, letting it fall onto the bed beside him. He rolled his arm experimentally, hissing through his teeth at the discomfort. Though the pain was far less than when he first woke up, it still lingered, stubborn and persistent.

He reached down, rummaging through his gear until his fingers found the smooth, familiar surface of his crystal. As he held it up to the wound, a soft, ethereal glow pulsed from the gem, warm and soothing, seeping into his skin. The pain dulled almost instantly, and a few moments later, when the glow faded, he peeled back the bandages to inspect his handiwork. The wound was no longer there, only faint, pinkish skin remained where it had once been.

With the injury taken care of, Medkit let out a small breath, barely realizing how tense he had been. He quickly changed back into his regular clothes, the fabric much more comfortable than the stiff hospital-issued gown, to which he glanced at the gown resting on the hospital bed, unsure what to do with it. In the end, he simply left it where it was.

Before heading out, he made sure to grab the small bottle of medicine that had been left for him, just in case. He wasn’t sure if he’d need it, but after everything he had been through, it was better to be prepared than not. With that, he stepped towards the door, his boots making soft sounds against the tile floor as he exited the small, sterile room.

The hospital’s lobby was dimly lit, the hour growing late. A few scattered people lingered in the waiting area, some dozing off in their chairs, others preoccupied with their own worries. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead cast a pale glow over the room, the atmosphere heavy with the scent of antiseptic and faint traces of coffee from a nearby vending machine.

Medkit approached the front desk, checking himself out quickly. The receptionist barely looked up, offering him a curt nod before stamping his discharge papers. With that out of the way, he turned toward the double doors leading outside, ready to leave and put the whole ordeal behind him.

Yet something, or rather, someone, caught his attention. The same all too familiar face that visited every week.

The warden sat in one of the waiting chairs, his blindfold removed, his head slightly bowed, eyes locked onto the floor beneath him. He looked… different. Less imposing, somehow. Gone was the strict, ever-vigilant enforcer Medkit was used to seeing. Instead, he seemed lost in thought, expression unreadable, posture oddly relaxed for someone of his reputation.

Curiosity gnawed at Medkit as he took a hesitant step forward. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but something about seeing Banhammer there, waiting, made him pause. After a brief moment of consideration, he closed the distance and sat down in the chair beside him. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words. Neither of them spoke immediately, both simply watching each other, measuring the silence.

Medkit finally broke it. “You brought me here…” His voice was quiet, more of a statement than a question. Of course, he had no clue who brought him here, but who else would it have been in the lobby?

Banhammer tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady. “I so happened to be walking past,” he replied just as softly. There was something almost hesitant in his tone, a rare shift from his usual certainty.

A hand lifted slightly, as if reaching for him, but it hovered there for only a moment before retreating. Medkit caught the flicker of hesitation in the gesture, the way Banhammer seemed to second-guess himself.

“You’re okay, right?”

Medkit glanced down, absently rubbing the spot on his shoulder where the injury had been just moments prior. The warmth of the healing crystal had long since faded, but the ghost of the pain still lingered in his mind.

“Mn.” He hummed softly before shifting in his seat, turning his gaze back to the man beside him. “You confuse me,” he admitted after a moment, his tone contemplative. “You hunted me down before, yet here we are… talking like we’re friends, I suppose.” His fingers drummed idly against his knee as he continued. “You’ve saved me, multiple times, whether you’ve realized it or not.” He sighed, shaking his head slightly.

There was another pause before Medkit finally voiced the question that had been lingering at the back of his mind. “May I ask what we are? Are we… friends?” He hesitated before adding, “Or am I mistaken, and we’re simply fugitive and warden?”

Banhammer’s lips parted slightly, as if to answer immediately, but no words came. He seemed to wrestle with something internally, his expression shifting ever so subtly. After a brief moment, he finally spoke.

“Personally, I would like to think of us as friends,” he admitted, his voice quiet but certain. He hesitated before continuing, as if measuring his words carefully. “Your actions in the past were in self-defense, at least to my understanding, so I like to believe you aren’t truly a fugitive. But…” A shadow crossed his face. “I can’t change the papers against you.”

Medkit studied him for a moment before propping his head against his hand, a small, almost amused smile creeping onto his lips. “Well then,” he mused, “I apologize for shooting you a while ago. I hope you’ll accept it.”

Banhammer blinked at him before letting out a breath, a hint of something, relief, perhaps, crossing his features. “I do,” he said simply. A pause. “And I apologize for all I’ve done to you… To which, I wish you would also accept.”

Medkit leaned forward just slightly, his small smile widening into something more genuine. “I’ll grant your wish.”

The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. Rather, it was warm, filled with something unspoken yet understood between them. Medkit felt something unfamiliar stir within him, a quiet feeling he couldn’t quite place. It was odd… but not unwelcome.

For a fleeting moment, he considered staying longer. The thought of leaving suddenly seemed less appealing, though he wasn’t sure why. Still, he knew he needed rest, real rest, in an actual bed, rather than a stiff hospital mattress. With that in mind, he finally stood, turning to face Banhammer one last time.

“Thank you,” he said simply.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and made his way toward the entrance, stepping out into the cool night air.

That night, he booked a different hotel room, one far from the chaos of his usual hideouts. To his surprise, he managed to get a decent sleep despite the circumstances. Yet what struck him as odd was not the quality of his sleep, but rather the dreams that accompanied it. He dreamed of Banhammer.

Not in the way he expected, not as an enemy, nor as a looming figure chasing him through his subconscious. Instead, the dream was… quiet. Familiar. Comforting, even.

It was strange.

But Medkit didn’t mind it.