Grandeur Defector

LXI

Sleepless dreams: they were the worst.
Like nearly every night before, his dreams weren't shrouded in any sympathy; what his unconscious offered was nothing more than memories.

...
The noise was horrible and they wanted it to end. That's all they wanted. Blood dripping off their hands, they let go of the mangled corpse they'd grabbed closest to their shared vessel, heart beating and bones crackling. It fell to the ground with a dull thud, no noise escaping from the mouth it once spoke from. Blood flew off of them trailed with saliva like a rabid dog long gone, daring for anything to move in the clearing or budge an inch out of their disliking.
But nothing moved anymore.
Finally.
Every single tiger soldier in the base was all dead and littered across the clearing, and the only noise emitted was the bear's own labored breathing and a croak of pain. Their head began to buzz loudly, the silence their craved taken away once more. The first thought in their mind finally appeared, stunned into silence by emotion far greater than their own body could handle.
Get... home. W-Where even is home?

Go back.
Fliqpy didn't sound quite like himself, less harsh in his tone and more pained.

Mouse is dead. Sneaky is dead. They're all dead.
They are all dead. Make the noise stop. Make it stop.

I can't. It hurts.

Fliq/py eyed their wounds, blood leaking from each. They wheezed, the action causing the tears in their eyes to overflow and drizzle down their face with no desire of stopping. For some reason, both of them were fronting— a rare event where simultaneous minds worked as one for one reason. Maybe it was the sudden need to silence the screams and gunfire, or even the loss of their friends.
It hurts.
It hurts.

The Ursidae system heard a stumble of boots not belonging to their own.
They whipped around, coming face to face with an outline of a figure they hated equally, but couldn't see through the red haze; he was blurry and distorted, face like scribbled fodder rather than cohesively humanoid. It didn't matter— they knew who it was as he tried to back away. And they hated him with every fiber in their beings, to every strand of nerves that ran on for miles, to the tears that poured like the waterfall reddened by their own blood; to their bone marrow and every fur strand and all of their beating, broken heart that only beat to exist longer than the outline breathed.
All 206 bones, 20 feet of intestines, 100 billion neurons, and not a single fuck all harbored the familiar ache of fury. There were no words in the English dictionary satisfactory, nor sound that could ever get out the feeling fully. There would never be another person to walk the earth among the billions who they loathed more. There would never be any level of therapy that could remove the hate in its entirety.
Hate.
Hate.

...
He jolted awake in a cold sweat, huffing for air that he desperately needed. Flippy sat up, adrenaline rushing from the nightmare he hazily escaped from moments prior. He peeked a look towards Truffles... and his heart sank in his chest.
Today would be difficult.
The royal remained unconscious, body unmoving and no sign of awakening. The problem started when superiors' call to keep walking rung out across the line, startling the tigers who'd slept in the grass at a distance from Animalia's forces.

"GET UP! WE KEEP MOVING!"

Really? Like, right now?
He groaned, not wanting to get up from all of the events just happening a mere 3 hours prior, arm sore from blood being drawn and mind still racing. He rolled on his side, catching a glimpse of Aspen sleeping where he'd sat that night until his eyes couldn't stay open any longer, the only time he didn't stare at the royal's body worriedly.
He rubbed his face, hands trailing over the scars littered across it, then heaved himself upwards to stand. He grabbed his uniform jacket and put it on with each sleeve's shoulder stripes blazing orange in the light of early morning; he bent down and tapped Aspen.
Aspen flinched awake, disoriented as his eyes shot open and confusingly stared at whatever they could hungrily land on, ending on Flippy's face.
"Cái gì?"