07-24-2019, 05:56 PM
Of course. An atharim. Gigantic sense.
He struggled to find the right words. His hand hurts.
“So, what is this shit?” asked Lih, crossing the room to the man Ivan’d just killed. “Legit CCD experiment gone wrong, or something on the side? Can it be both atharim and CCD?” he shrugged in a “let’s see” manner “Is it a coincidence he was left in the same place where Dorian shot Alistair?”
And already, Lih felt certain Nox knew all that, a gut instinct. He absorbed all the details instantly: the look of the man, his behavior, his name, the fact he was atharim, the IA man Dorian brought down with him; the moment of confusion sparked by finding this monster in a place had had expected to be empty.
He didn’t want to see Nox’s atharim tattoo; Lih didn’t want to know. They could see his reluctance, like the tattoo was radioactive. And he was growing increasingly less interested in whatever it was Dorian Vega was looking for.
But this was Nox, and he sounded upset with Lih, and he had some fucked up notion he owed him. It was immediately clear to Lih that there was going to be no mileage in trying to explain his behavior. The atharim wasn’t in the mood to play games. Nox hadn’t even bothered to hide the way he looked at Lih’s scrawny white ass when he’d shown the atharim tattoo. Or the tone of his voice when Nox had listed his deficiencies to Ivan and Lih: a cop had to know these things. He had to know them so he didn’t do something so stupid it ends their lives.
“Sorry,” Lih said.
This is a moment, he thought as he studied Nox’s colorful tattoo, this is one of those moments of self realization that you get, that changes your view, and shows you that you’re not the person you used to be, and proves that you never can be again, and leaves you broken in a ditch by an abandoned road. He was a long way past the calm guy who could take it in stride, and find his way around any seriously charged situation. The idea that he was still running and using excuses, making himself look like a total asshole, made him feel nauseous.
He was on his feet, looking ill, looking like he was holding it in and working extra hard. There was a sallow cast of pain in his face.
Lih suddenly became aware that Ivan was standing over him. Ivan had the face of an angel and the physique of a bodybuilder. As he faced Lih, the cop seemed to become alarmingly, extravagantly big.
He realized this calming gesture was souring his mood the most. What would abide with him would not be a memory of the other’s steadying touch, but rather the look in his eyes. Contempt he could have handled. Distain too. It had been pity.
“Sorry,” he repeated, secretly hoping Ivan’d let him go soon but not waiting to pull away. “That was stupid. I don’t mean to run. I’ve had a few setbacks. A few punches to my confidence—failing to protect somebody really messed me up.”
He swallowed hard.
“But life sucks; it’s just a matter of adjustment. I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
Ivan released him and smiled down at him before turning back to Nox. It took Lih a second to notice and understand Ivan’s question.
Lih froze, waiting. The pulse in Lih’s temple ticked out the drag of time. After eternity and some additional time, the smell became worse. Overpoweringly worse.
Nox and Ivan’s power was being used in some insane effort to counteract the smell of the burning, like mutually annihilating collision of shit and anti-shit. They were doing quite a good job burning the corpse.
Despite their efforts, the smell was appalling. Cremated bone, melted meat, the body stench that no one who smelt it ever forgot.
There was a pervasive stink of innards that made him gag, a smell of burst meat and fat and organs exposed to the flames, of cooked flesh. He was fairly sure he was going to hurl.
Lih wondered how well Costa would have done it. Would he have seen those things, made those calls? How much were they missing Dorian Vega right now? How much better off, or more alive, would any of them be if Dorian had been running things, and not some rookie who couldn’t keep with it? Dorian chose Lih. He chose wrong.
All he knew for sure was where they were, in deepest shit. For sure, the gunshot had not gone unnoticed.
And if he panicked again, that fan would spray that shit a long way.
With shuddering, superhuman effort, Lih managed not to throw up his jelly donuts after all.
He struggled to find the right words. His hand hurts.
“So, what is this shit?” asked Lih, crossing the room to the man Ivan’d just killed. “Legit CCD experiment gone wrong, or something on the side? Can it be both atharim and CCD?” he shrugged in a “let’s see” manner “Is it a coincidence he was left in the same place where Dorian shot Alistair?”
And already, Lih felt certain Nox knew all that, a gut instinct. He absorbed all the details instantly: the look of the man, his behavior, his name, the fact he was atharim, the IA man Dorian brought down with him; the moment of confusion sparked by finding this monster in a place had had expected to be empty.
He didn’t want to see Nox’s atharim tattoo; Lih didn’t want to know. They could see his reluctance, like the tattoo was radioactive. And he was growing increasingly less interested in whatever it was Dorian Vega was looking for.
But this was Nox, and he sounded upset with Lih, and he had some fucked up notion he owed him. It was immediately clear to Lih that there was going to be no mileage in trying to explain his behavior. The atharim wasn’t in the mood to play games. Nox hadn’t even bothered to hide the way he looked at Lih’s scrawny white ass when he’d shown the atharim tattoo. Or the tone of his voice when Nox had listed his deficiencies to Ivan and Lih: a cop had to know these things. He had to know them so he didn’t do something so stupid it ends their lives.
“Sorry,” Lih said.
This is a moment, he thought as he studied Nox’s colorful tattoo, this is one of those moments of self realization that you get, that changes your view, and shows you that you’re not the person you used to be, and proves that you never can be again, and leaves you broken in a ditch by an abandoned road. He was a long way past the calm guy who could take it in stride, and find his way around any seriously charged situation. The idea that he was still running and using excuses, making himself look like a total asshole, made him feel nauseous.
He was on his feet, looking ill, looking like he was holding it in and working extra hard. There was a sallow cast of pain in his face.
Lih suddenly became aware that Ivan was standing over him. Ivan had the face of an angel and the physique of a bodybuilder. As he faced Lih, the cop seemed to become alarmingly, extravagantly big.
He realized this calming gesture was souring his mood the most. What would abide with him would not be a memory of the other’s steadying touch, but rather the look in his eyes. Contempt he could have handled. Distain too. It had been pity.
“Sorry,” he repeated, secretly hoping Ivan’d let him go soon but not waiting to pull away. “That was stupid. I don’t mean to run. I’ve had a few setbacks. A few punches to my confidence—failing to protect somebody really messed me up.”
He swallowed hard.
“But life sucks; it’s just a matter of adjustment. I’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
Ivan released him and smiled down at him before turning back to Nox. It took Lih a second to notice and understand Ivan’s question.
Lih froze, waiting. The pulse in Lih’s temple ticked out the drag of time. After eternity and some additional time, the smell became worse. Overpoweringly worse.
Nox and Ivan’s power was being used in some insane effort to counteract the smell of the burning, like mutually annihilating collision of shit and anti-shit. They were doing quite a good job burning the corpse.
Despite their efforts, the smell was appalling. Cremated bone, melted meat, the body stench that no one who smelt it ever forgot.
There was a pervasive stink of innards that made him gag, a smell of burst meat and fat and organs exposed to the flames, of cooked flesh. He was fairly sure he was going to hurl.
Lih wondered how well Costa would have done it. Would he have seen those things, made those calls? How much were they missing Dorian Vega right now? How much better off, or more alive, would any of them be if Dorian had been running things, and not some rookie who couldn’t keep with it? Dorian chose Lih. He chose wrong.
All he knew for sure was where they were, in deepest shit. For sure, the gunshot had not gone unnoticed.
And if he panicked again, that fan would spray that shit a long way.
With shuddering, superhuman effort, Lih managed not to throw up his jelly donuts after all.