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"Come in, Pyke, where are ya?" Rett said into his comm for the fifth time. And for the fifth time, nothing but static greeted him. "Dammit!"
Rett spun the stearing wheel of the van he was in, rented for this bounty specifically. Glancing at the side mirror purely out of second nature, he skidded out onto the road, careening down it. There was a small blip on the built in navigator, and Rett followed it like a lifeline, headed straight towards Pyke's last known location.
It took him a whole twenty minutes to get there. Twenty minutes of check-ins, hoping desperately for an answer, twenty minutes of speeding through traffic, praying to the Architect that he wouldn't be pulled over, and twenty minutes of silence, nothing coming back through his comm but radio static.
Finally, finally, he arrived at a parking lock, pulling haphazardly into two parking spaces. Rett jumped out of the van, gravgun in hand, and immediately marched fowards, looking for any sign that Pyke had been here at all — because he had to have been here.
And sure enough, in the middle of the empty field of asphalt, there was a slight smattering of blood — not where someone went down, but enough to mark a scuffle, a trail of drops leading towards a fire escape.
Without a second thought, Rett made his way to it, eyes scanning the parking lot and surrounding roads and buildings. It was evening, but this part of town was quiet, and Rett couldn't decide if that was a blessing or a curse. He quickly gave the fire escape a once over, just to make sure it was stable, before starting up it, only one thought in his mind — find Pyke.
The fire escape itself was slightly rickety, the black metal cold against Rett's hand, but it was a fire escape nonetheless, its purpose to keep people safe in the event of an emergency. Rett grimaced as an image crossed his mind — an image of Pyke, covered in blood, struggling up the stairs. Pyke, desperately trying to run from some thug who had gotten the better of him in a fight. Pyke, sprinting to the rooftop, only to be yanked back down again—
Rett shook his head. There was no way of knowing what had happened, and worrying about it wouldn't bring Pyke to safety. Rett had to do what he could, here and now, to make sure that Pyke came back to him alive.
When Rett finally stepped off of the fire escape and onto the rooftop, he looked around, squinting. There was no more blood, at least not that he could see, but a few boxes were knocked over from what clearly used to be a neat stack. Rett walked towards them, and tried the door that led inside the building. It was locked.
Rett narrowed his eyes against the golden light of the setting sun, looking past the boxes. There was always the chance that they had been knocked over by the wind, but if that was the case, he might have lost his lead.
Rett hoped that wasn't the case.
The next building was nearly fifteen feet over, but it was also five or six feet lower than the rooftop Rett was currently standing on. He turned his attention towards it — knowing Pyke, he definitely would've tried the jump.
And sure enough, right along the rooftop's edge, there were bootprints, rubber skidding so hard off of concrete that it left a mark behind. Rett judged the distance, backed up a few feet, and took a running leap across the gap.
He landed heavily, almost wobbling for a moment before he caught himself. He immediately turned around to examine the bootprints that had been left behind.
He instantly recognized one of them as Pyke's. The size and shape of the shoe and heel, the patterns across the sole and arch; Rett had seen that bootprint many times across many angered faces.
The other set, however, splayed out like a body in motion, stumped him. It wasn't huge and hulking, the kind of criminal that would usually have Pyke on the defensive. Instead, it was closer to the size of Pyke's shoe — smaller, even. Rett pondered that as he turned around, looking over the rest of the rooftop, searching for the direction that Pyke and his assailant had gone next.
Thankfully, there didn't seem to be too many places to go. There was a door down into the building itself, which was locked, and another building beside it — this one the same height, and only a couple of feet away.
Rett stepped from building to building easily, looking around for any signs of a chase. This seemed to be a small apartment building, with one long roof. Rett sighed. That meant Pyke was jumping fewer gaps, much less likely to get himself hurt or killed… from the city itself, at least.
Rett slowly walked across the concrete, gravgun gripped tightly between his hands. One finger was held against the trigger ever so gently, so that if he needed to pull it, he could.
The apartment building was long, and Rett hadn't passed access either to the street or to the inside. In fact, he passed almost nothing, only dirt and dust and metal piping.
What finally caught his interest was something that almost anyone else would have missed — the slightest speck of light, glinting off of something on the ground. When Rett leaned down to look at it, he found a tiny rock, pale-yellowish in color, and glinting in the sunlight. Rett thumbed it between his fingers for a moment, and the small pebble crumbled into pieces.
Now that he was looking for it, Rett could see more than just the one small stone, if stone was even the right word; there were a few dozens small yellow pieces of the substance scattered about, some of them ground into the concrete the way a snowball might be stepped on and forced against a sidewalk.
Wherever the fragile composites had come from, Rett wasn't sure, but it was a sign of something, and Rett wasn't about to turn away from a clue — maybe, if he was lucky, he would be led right to Pyke.
Rett soon found more than just broken and fragile pebbles, however — he also found burns. Every few dozen feet or so, black char marks were clearly visible against the off-white concrete. Rett had seen enough of them to know exactly where they cam from — Pyke's gauntlet.
The thought of Pyke sprinting as fast as he could, recklessly jumping across gaps in buildings, made Rett feel slightly sick to his stomach. Pyke, running full tilt away from someone twice his size — Pyke, glancing over his shoulder and hurridly firing a blast from his gauntlet behind him — Pyke, crumpled over onto the hard ground, blood on his face, dying alone without anyone there to help him.
Pyke, a single tear leaving his eye as he wondered where Rett was, and why no one ever came to save him.
Rett pushed the thought out of his mind. It was hard to stay focused on the task at hand, when the scorch marks kept increasing in frequency. He hopped another two buildings, the pit in his stomach growing with every step.
Eventually, he came to a drop off. There were no more buildings to run on, no fire escapes to climb down, and scorch marks everywhere. Rett felt his stomach twist in fear at the thought of what might have happened next.
Peering over the building's edges, scanning the ground, Rett felt his heart stop as his gaze landed on something.
Nearly twenty feet away from the base of the building he was standing on, Rett was looking down at a very large pool of blood. Not bright red, dripping down skin, but dark red, nearly brown, slowly drying against the hot pavement.
Rett blinked, and the sun was just a bit lower in the sky than it was a moment ago. There was no way to get to the ground that he could see, so he pointed his gravgun downwards and stepped off of the rooftop.
Landing gently on the ground, Rett was already moving. He ran forward to the darkened blood, frantically looking for a sign — any sign — of Pyke. Pyke couldn't die, not here, not in the dark alleys and slums of some city, not without Rett there to do anything, not without Rett there to help him.
He looked everywhere. Rett looked absolutely everywhere. Down alleyways, into windows, along every sidestreet he could find, and there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Pyke was nowhere, completely gone.
Rett let out a long, exhausted sigh. He let his head tilt back, sun having long since dipped below the horizon, the entire street bathed in a cool twilight.
Pyke wasn't here. Wherever he was, if he was still alive, it wasn't here. There were no tire marks left behind, no cars hidden away, no taunting laughter, and no threatening messages. Pyke had either been killed, or taken. Rett hoped it was the latter. Rett prayed it was the latter. If Pyke had been squirreled away somewhere, there had to be a reason. There was no body, so whoever he'd been fighting had a purpose they wanted Pyke for, dead or alive.
Gods, Rett hoped it was alive.
Rett found himself looking up at the stars. The faint stars that he knew Pyke held in such high regard — Alara's stars. Rett didn't know much about Pyke's faith, that had always been information that even he wasn't privy to, but he knew that Alara the Lightbringer gave Pyke the power of the gauntlet, his only weapon, and one that he weilded with pride.
But the stars didn't let off any light. They just hung there in the sky, twinkling. Dancing. Simply existing with as much grace as Pyke always did, but never letting off any light. No starlight, no sunlight, and no street lamps, just a faint glow tucked away in an alley—
Wait.
Rett whipped his head around so fast that the vision in his cybernetic eye almost went out. There, in an alleyway — a light. Without even thinking, acting completely on instinct, Rett moved towards it. His gravgun revved up slightly as his grip on it tightened; he wasn't expecting a fight, but if there was one, Rett didn't want to go in completely at a disadvantage.
The glow was coming from beside a dumpster, behind two small stacks of boxes. It wasn't bright enough to be a fire, and certainly wasn't letting off any heat, so Rett narrowed his eyes as he moved closer, trying to come up with what it could possibly be.
Slowly and gently using his foot to move one stack of empty boxes out of the way, Rett peered behind them to get a look the the light source. He nearly dropped his gravgun when he saw it.
There, leaning against the dumpster, passed out like a light, was Pyke. His hair was pointed in all directions, blood matting some of it together. He wasn't wearing his jacket properly, left arm completely out of the sleeve, its shoulder somewhere between his back and the wall. There was a dried line of blood coming out of one of his nostrils, leading all the way down to his chin, and his mouth was slightly ajar; even in sleep, Pyke was breathing heavily.
Rett almost dropped his gravgun in shock, and his mouth did fall open. He didn't move for a long moment before his set his gravgun to the side, lurching forward to place his right hand on Pyke's shoulder.
He shook it slightly, and Pyke stirred, just for a moment. Rett hesitated, and then shook Pyke again. Pyke's eyes shot open, his golden irises landing on Rett with determination as his gauntlet came up and nearly smacked Rett in the jaw. Rett caught Pyke's wrist, and in that short moment, Pyke had already relaxed, ever so slightly, just enough to tell Rett that he knew who he was — that there was no threat, at least not here, and at least not now. "Rett," he said.
"What happened?" Rett asked, offering a hand. Pyke took it and pulled himself up.
"Was talking to this guy, said I was looking for a new dealer 'cause my old one got picked up. He asked me a couple questions, I asked him a couple questions, next thing I know he's swinging at me." Pyke shrugged his jacket off completely, opting to carry it over his left arm, leaving the gauntlet out just in case. "Couldn't take the fight, I guess. Chased him pretty far, but he got away."
Rett looked Pyke up and down for a long moment. "Pyke — you look like shit. You sure he wasn't the one doin' the chasing?"
Pyke snorted. "Yeah, big guy, I'm sure. You got the van somewhere nearby?"
"Well, I don't know if I'd call it nearby — it's back in the parking lot, where the fight probably started." Pyke's shoulders visibly sagged for a moment, his face taking on a look of exhaustion, before he pulled himself together, so quick that if Rett didn't know better, he'd think it was his imagination.
"It's no use waiting around here. That jackass probably ran back to his streets after he lost me. Let's go." Without waiting for an answer, Pyke turned and walked out of the alley, glancing at the surrounding streets and rooftops ever so briefly before making his way down a side street; it was going to be a long walk back to the van.
Rett followed after him, quickly catching up. Watching Pyke out of the corner of his eye, he quickly noticed two things: one, Pyke's posture was tense and his eyes were constantly moving, as if he expected someone to jump out at them, and two, the arm carrying his jacket was quite stiff, and for some reason, Pyke wasn't putting the jacket back on.
"You wanna put that back on?" Rett said, nodding to it. "I don't want you gettin' too cold, now that the sun's down." Pyke barely spared Rett a glance.
"I'm fine," he said. "Worked up a sweat chasing that guy." Rett frowned, but didn't say anything.
They continued walking, Pyke scanning every alley they passed and every window they walked under. Tension seemed to be radiating from him, and it put Rett on edge.
"Why are you so nervous?" he finally asked. Pyke turned and looked at Rett, before going right back to scanning the surrounding area.
"That guy I was talking to, he told me some pretty convincing stuff," he said. "About how areas like this, in the poor part of town, always seem empty, but they really aren't. He said that's where a lot of the redline dealers operate." At that, Rett narrowed his eyes and started watching for movement, too.
They walked for nearly a mile — Rett only just now realizing how far Pyke had run — without anything of interest happening before a slight shuffling from a small alley caught their attention, heads whipping around. Neither Rett nor Pyke moved their gaze from the alley for a long moment, before a small doormouse skittered from one side of the alley to the other. Rett watched as Pyke's shoulders visibly relaxed.
"I guess I'm pretty on edge if even a mouse can sneak up on me," he muttered.
Rett snorted. "Well, you best be careful, I hear those city mice are pretty fiece." Pyke's mouth turned upwards into a wry smile, and he took in a breath to say something before a noise behind them broke the silence.
It was the sound of a door swinging open, and then footsteps as three men walked out of it. Rett could see Pyke visibly tense up, immediately on high alert. Rett let his gaze wash over the other party, sizing them up — he hoped there wasn't any trouble, but if a fight got started, he wanted to be ready.
"This the guy?" the first man asked, a human, his arms covered in tattoos.
"Yeah. The Solari," answered another one, a greyhound Laika, who was eyeing Pyke with a ferocity that Rett didn't like all too much.
Apparently, Pyke didn't like it either, because the next second his hand was on Rett's arm and pulling, pulling him away from the trio, down the street and around the corner.
Rett didn't even think twice, he followed Pyke without a glance back. One of the men behind them shouted something, and Rett knew that they were being chased. He revved up his gravgun, aimed it behind him, and pulled the trigger.
If Rett had to guess what happened next, he couldn't be sure, but it sounded like three redline addicts struggling to get to their feet to continute the chase. It wasn't a lot, but it had bought them some time.
Pyke fired off a couple of blasts from his gauntlet, and Rett looked around for somewhere they could either hide or defend, not wanting to take an outnumbered fight with Pyke already injured.
Coming up at the end of the street, there was a wall about six feet tall, some barbed wire attached at the top. Rett didn't know what was beyond that wall, but it was probably better than being beaten up by a trio of gangsters.
Charging forward, Rett used his momentum to get partway up the wall, pulling himself the rest of the way. The barbed wire cut into his skin, but it wasn't very painful — he'd experienced much worse.
Pyke had been watching behind them, keeping their pursuiters at bay with his gauntlet. When he turned and saw where Rett was, a flicker of doubt passed through his eyes, so quick that Rett thought he might have imagined it. Pyke tossed his jacket over the wall and made to jump over himself, right next to Rett.
It looked like Pyke was struggling to pull himself up, still hurting from his earlier encounter. Without a second thought, Rett reached forward to help pull him over. Except when Rett grabbed Pyke's arm, Pyke screamed.
It startled Rett so much that he almost let go, but he didn't, forcefully yanking Pyke up over the wall. Pyke fell through the barbed wire, and it caught on his shirt, on his collarbone, and on his face. He landed on the other side of the wall, letting out another scream of agony. Rett didn't pay it any mind — they were still being chased.
As he powered up his gravgun and pointed it back down the street, Rett was surprised to see their pursuiters no longer right on their tail, but a few dozens yards back, hooting and hollering.
"Serves you right!" the human called. "Don't come looking to take our territory again, you hear? These streets belong to the Piratic Clan! Not to anyone else, not to any other dealer! Get lost, and stay out!" All three of them turned around and started waltzing the other direction, laughing with each other.
Rett stared after them for a moment, before quickly turning and jumping down beside Pyke.
He was laying on his side against the ground, gauntlet covered in dirt, as he cradled his left arm to his chest, breathing heavily. Rett knelt down next to him. "Pyke?"
Pyke looked up at Rett, eyes filled with pain, and blinked. Rett felt his breath catch in his chest, tears in Pyke's eyes.
"Pyke, what the hell happened?" Rett asked, helping him sit up. "What did you do?"
Pyke had enough wherewithal to keep his head up, leaning back against the wall. The barbed wire had left its mark — there was a cut by his eye, that could have been bad, a couple nicks along his jaw and one on his ear, and a tear across his shirt. "Talk to me, Pyke, what went wrong?" Still, Pyke didn't answer, squeezing his eyes shut once again. Only then did Rett notice what he should have seen much earlier.
Pyke's left arm was pressed against his chest, shielded from the outside world, and Rett could now see why. In the middle of Pyke's forearm, there was a sizable bump, the skin around it red and swelling. Rett leaned forwards, his hand ghosting over it.
Even at such a light touch, Pyke jerked backwards, eyes flying open. He ended up panting, trying to catch his breath.
"Pyke, you broke your arm!" Rett said. "Why didn't ya say anything?"
"Didn't—" Pyke started, sucking in a breath as Rett rested his hand right over the break. "Didn't want to bother you, and it's not like we were expecting to get jumped, it should've been fine—" He grit his teeth when Rett closed a hand around his wrist.
"Well, it wasn't fine," Rett said, anger and frustration evident in his voice. "Gods, if I had known I could've helped you. But now here we are instead, with you absolutely covered in blood."
Pyke grinned, but it quickly turned into a grimace as Rett eased Pyke's arm away from his chest. Examining it, Rett frowned before reaching into his pack, pulling out a splint.
"I don't want to set this until we're back on the Rhapsody," he said. "I'd rather have the equipment in the medbay to make sure I do it right."
"You don't need that equipment, can't you just set it now?" Pyke asked. There was a slight waver in his voice that Rett almost missed, and a look in his eyes that he couldn't quite place.
"I could, but if I set it wrong, then it wouldn't heal properly," Rett answered. "That would be a lot worse than me just splintin' it right now."
Pyke sighed. Rett carefully placed the splint against his arm, beginning to secure it. Pyke watched, eyebrows furrowed, as Rett worked. Sometimes his hand would brush against the broken bone, and Pyke would flinch. Rett didn't pay it any mind.
Once the splint was firmly secured in place, Pyke went to stand up, but Rett pushed him back down. "Oh, no ya don't," he said. "You're not goin' anywhere until I've looked ya over completely."
"Come on, Rett, I'm fine," Pyke groaned. Rett didn't answer, and instead grabbed Pyke's jaw, turning it back and forth gently.
There was still a line of dried blood dripping from Pyke's nose, but his pupils weren't dilated, so Rett didn't think he had a concussion. He had a shallow cut between his eye and temple, but other than the positioning, Rett wasn't really worried. The only other thing Rett could see was a nick in his ear, and a couple of scratches along his jaw, but overall, Pyke looked fine.
Rett was about to give the all clear when he noticed something. Pyke's breathing was still a bit heavier than normal, even after having a good few minutes to catch his breath. His posture was tense, and he was avoiding looking Rett in the eye. If it was anyone else, he would've chalked it up to nerves, but this was Pyke, and Rett knew this man far too well.
"Did your Phoenix Rising activate?" he asked. From the way Pyke's eyes shot up to look at Rett, he knew that he was right.
"No," Pyke said, answering quickly. Rett's lips turned upwards into a smile, just a small one.
"C'mon, up ya get," Rett said, helping Pyke to his feet, taking care not to jostle his broken arm, and picked up the discarded jacket. "I don't think those guys are comin' back. I want to get you back to the van as fast as possible, so we don't get caught out here, and so you don't start seizing in the middle of the street."
Pyke glanced away, focusing on the ground, and didn't answer. Rett carefully led him along the wall until they came to an opening, and it wasn't long after that they arrived back at the parking lot. Now that it was firmly nighttime, the only light came from Pyke himself — but that light wasn't quite as bright as Rett wanted it to be.
They both got into the van, Rett on the driver's side, and slowly pulled out of the parking lot. Rett could see Pyke's eyes slowly growing heavy, the muscles in his right arm ocassionally flexing.
They didn't have long to get back to their motel — but at least for now, Pyke was safe.