skeleton skies ★ k.takami

six

SPECIES DECIPIT
— "the first appearance deceives many"

AMBIANCE; the quarantine zone, Gustavo Santaolalla

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The ground underneath your boots slowly morphs from dirt into gravel the further Keigo herds you along. You try to ignore his lingering presence, even if his eyes were burning through you. You know he's watching your every move as you scan the yard. You don't try to hide it. He already knows you want out of here. The worst he could do was lock you away until you died, cause there was no way you were going to give in.

You can't trust anybody.

Not even those who used to be called "heroes".

This guy was far from it now.

Wherever the showers are, they're on the other side of the lot. Slowly but surely you're making your way towards the sea of tents. The winged man behind you walks casually with his hands in his pockets as if he's only an escort. Others walk by you with their eyes locked onto you as if you were the primary subject at a Freak Show. They part for you only due to his proximity—he's close enough to make it obvious that he's walking with you but just out of your arms reach. It's almost as if they are the Red Sea and him Moses. You notice that he'll make eye contact with the passerby but doesn't engage in conversation. You also note that none of them have said anything to him except "Good evening."

You're heading straight towards a concrete building. It looks like it used to be a utility house with generators and possibly plumbing access. The door of it is cracked open and it sounds like someone is working but you can't spot them from out here. The faint buzz coming from inside informs you they have electricity—that's how the floodlight worked. Slowly the picture is beginning to fully manifest inside your head: it's a quarantine zone. Keigo makes you turn right by veering to your left side once you're past the building. Upon doing so you find a door for a room separate from the generators.

You stop in front of it, leaving enough room for Keigo to step in front and open it. Immediately a gust of steam whooshes out and he walks in. Your clothes are sticking to your skin and you haven't even moved. You don't want to be in close quarters with him and only have one way out. The encampment was a much larger version of it, but that was a bigger fish to fry for another day. When you refuse to follow, a coy smile plays at the corner of his lips.

"How come you pick the hard way of doing things?" He begins. "If you cooperated, your life here would be much more comfortable."

Your skin burns at his words. Cooperation means giving in. Giving in means showing weakness. You roll your eyes and look away. You'd give anything to be back outside these walls. Your stomach cramps and you cover it with your hands. He notices, of course.

"The sooner you shower the sooner you can eat." He drums his fingers on the doorframe.

It's probably stupid what you do next. Your metaphorical feathers have been ruffled since he first pulled you out of that collapsing shack. Knowing that you were immune to the first bite was still something you hadn't fully digested yet. It didn't change the fact that you're still as feral as ever. Had you not been quirkless, you would have resembled more of a lion trapped in a cage rather than a sheep waiting for slaughter. 

Fate gifted this sheep with fangs, though.

You spit at him.

Your molars chomp on the inside of your cheek when he slaps you hard enough you see stars. You stumble but don't fall. The impact only worsens your bubbling concussion and you can taste blood pooling in your mouth. It takes you a moment to regain your bearings and straighten up. The second you look up through your eyelashes the handcuffs cut tightly into your wrists and you're forced to follow the pressure. Your left ear is ringing, deafening his words.