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retribution ( ramosa )

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“Just move .” Someone shouted, pushing Mishima out of the way as the wall of the panopticon crashed down. He’d heard about this before, in quiet conversations as he passed through the halls. ‘Retribution.’

He’d never seen it before, he remembers someone telling him what a retribution was like once. Who was that anyway? He remembers blonde hair and a bright smile. He can’t dwell on it too long, something claws it’s way through the wall, a tiger? The roar reverberates through the hall, stunning everyone. Mishima is glued to the spot, holding his headphones over his ears desperately trying to get the ringing to stop.

This was so much worse than he could have ever imagined.

Everything happens far too fast, people are running faster than he even thought possible. They run right past him, bumping in to him and not bothering to help. He understands, he really does. No one wants to be killed by a huge flying tiger. His accessory is still next to him, bracing the oncoming flow of people. Mishima grabs his arm, pulling him closer to him. “Don’t stray!” He shouts over the sound, the screaming of people and the mechanic roar.

Mishima tries to turn and run, the crowds having already scattered to somewhere safer in the panopticon. He hardly gets two steps in before he’s noticed by Ramosa, at least he thinks that’s what someone said. It rears it’s head towards him, the deafening roar stunning him to the spot again. The ceiling came crashing down with the force of the sound, littering the floor around him and just missing him. He breathes a sigh of momentary relief, staring wide eyed at the wreckage.

Ramosa steps forwards, swiping his mechanical arm across the room to hit Mishima, throwing him against the wall. The wind is knocked out of him, and he bangs his head against the wall. He slides down to the ground, Ramosa’s ignoring him now to take on the others who have rushed in to take it down. It feels like his chest began to seize, he kept trying to breathe in but was struggling to keep his eyes open. There was shouting again, making the ringing in his ears even worse.

A jolt brought him back, he felt the soft touch on his back before the surge of electricity through his body. He choked, coughing violently as someone pulled him upright, and then picking him up. He blinked, wearily trying to figure out who it was that had grabbed him. “Mishima…. Mishima!” The voice sounded frazzled and stressed, he could barely hear him. It was almost like he were stuck in a tunnel.

Mishima was thrown over a shoulder, and he clawed desperately at the fabric of the shirt, jacket?, of the person carrying him. He sobbed, distressed as he hung on tightly to whoever it was that was carrying him. It couldn’t have been another sinner, everyone was all hands on deck to fight. It couldn’t have been someone else’s accessory either. It must have been Akira.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, letting the fabric go and bringing his hands to his face. He was sorry for being useless, he wasn’t any good in a fight unless he was far away. He was weaker than most sinners, small but fast. “I’m so sorry.” He choked on his words as he was carried out of the battle, the door slamming shut behind them. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at Akira’s face, knowing it’d just be blank. He burried his face in his jacket, trying not to cry. He felt safe in that moment, being carried by his accessory. He didn’t understand why, something about it was familiar and warm. Almost like a faded memory.

Akira put him down, gently placing him on the floor of the next sector. Mishima looked up, his eyes were red and he probably looked like hell, but Akira was still staring at him fondly. Accessories couldn’t do that though…. They couldn’t feel, they didn’t know what emotion was. A hand reached out, gently stroking his cheek and wiping away a stray tear. The motions were fluid, far too smooth for any kind of machine. It didn’t last long, Akira jerked his hand away and stood up far too straight. There it was again, the same thing happened last time as well.

“For your safety, please return to your cell.”

Mishima didn’t move, too stunned to get up from his spot. Everything about this felt so wrong, accessories never carried sinners out of battle, they only did that for citizens. He wasn’t special, he was a dime a dozen in this place.

 


“Yuuki!” strong arms pulled him out of the line of fire, the abductor stormed past them just where Mishima had been standing. “Don’t scare me like that. Watch where you are.”


 

 

He dug the palms of his hands in to his eyes, hoping that maybe if he pressed hard enough his headache would go away, that he would stop crying, that these haunting memories of a boy he barely remembers would just come back already.

“For your safety, please return to your cell.” His accessory spoke again, staring straight down at him. Mishima didn’t move, he could hardly move. Today the world could just end and he would hardly notice.

He sort of wished it would.