Inception

Chapter 45: A Need for A/C and Lena

Soshiro's eyes narrowed. His mind pounded too loudly with the need for violence to put together a coherent thought.

Whatever the fuck this was, he didn't care.

He swiveled about like a beast, snarling.

"Soshiro! What the hell—"

His father reached out for him and he Soshiro spun around with a round house kick to his face.

His father caught it. But it wasn't his father anymore. It was something black eyed and gastly.

"You're not playing along," it said.

Something to kill! Went Soshiro's brain and he went at it with his elbows and fists. Every hand-to-hand combat move meant to break bones and rupture organs flew out of him in a blinding rage. He could here the thing cursing in frustration, reaching to claw into his face—

And then he was back on his feet, in the night, in the ruins of ocean-beaten trees, his swords in hand. Ichikawa's chunky Russian monstrosity was standing before him, wrapped about with fleshy white tendrils slapping at the metal arms as he pulled them away from Soshiro.

"Sir! Wake up! Wake up!"

Soshiro didn't need to be told. He jumped over Ichikawa, blades held high, all feral rage and killing intent.

A dark haired girl was on the otherside.

But just as she looked up at a speed too quick to be human, her face flickered, and in less than a blink a horrid monstrosity reminiscent of Kaiju No. 9, but with a hole for a face, was looking up for him.

He slashed. Tendrils went flying like spaghetti. Blood erupted.

A shriek. A flick. And the thing had vanished.

"WHERE IS IT!" he roared at Ichikawa.

"Back to the sea—they're going to—SIR!"

Soshiro hit the ground running. The blood was still ripe in his mouth.

"SIR! THERE ARE MORE! STOP YOU'LL BE KILLED!"

Soshiro hardly processed this. A bloodlust he had never known had taken over him. All he could taste was kaiju blood and all he could see was that ugly, feathered, weak kaiju warbling in a human voice—in Lena's voice.

Lena's voice.

"SOSHIRO!"

He stopped so quickly his momentum dug up tree roots. Dirt flew into his face.

He looked about, wild-eyed, heaving for breath.

There, wobbling towards him on unwieldy, mutant bird legs, shedding feathers in specks of light, was his Lena, pale as snow in the moonlight.

"Soshiro." She raised her wings to him, which shed into human arms. The disintegrating kaiju flesh showed she wore nothing but a ragged, stained white tank top and half eaten slacks.

He dropped his blades and reached back.

"D-don't—" she stumbled. Fell as her legs faded away—

And into his arms.

"Lena—" he tore off his mask. "Lena, are you alright? Lena!?"

But she wasn't moving. Her skin was so pale he could see her blue veins. Her hair was a mess of silver pouring over his arms and chest.

A squeaky pounding announced the arrival of Ichikawa.

"Oh my god, LENA!" pierced Soshiro's ear where the speaker still held.

Ichikawa's metal, trash-bin sized gauntlets fluttered over Soshiro and Lena before his helmet finally flicked back.

The kid looked like shit. He was soaked in sweat, blood trickled from a broken lip, and a bruise was developing up the side of his neck.

The Russians should have seriously considered building in AC.

"Why isn't she moving? Is she awake? Was she really the kaiju?"

In answer, Soshiro lifted her and pressed his face into her neck.

"What the—this isn't the time!" cried Ichikawa.

"I'm just taking her temperature," said Soshiro, finally able to see clearly. His rage had taken a back seat the moment she'd called his name. "She's cold. Her heartbeat isn't strong."

"Hospital—we have to get her to a—"

"Idiot," Soshiro snapped, gathering Lena into his arms and clutching her too him as tightly as he dared. "She's a kaiju now. We don't even know if Hibino's going to make it through without being executed, and that's after all he's done, what do you think they'd do to her?"

"Right, right, Kafka took days to stop transforming, they'll find out--but something is wrong! This isn't what Kafka was like at all! He was—he was up and about and--and her kaiju form is so weak..." he trailed off into a whine, his head ducking into his suit.

The boy had never sounded so much like, well, a boy, and it struck a chord in Soshiro. For the first time, he regretted bringing Ichikawa along.

"Kaiju are coming, big ones," said the kid. "We have to go—now!"

"Is there room enough for her in there?"

"THIS ISN'T A LIMOSINE!!"

"Right. Carrying it is. Follow."

And with that curt instruction, and pointedly ignoring the searing pain in his side, Soshiro set off back towards civilization, his freezing, poorly dressed, and unconscious woman held close to his chest.

At least he had her. At least she was alive.

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If I lay on the carpet here and now and take a nap, just how wrecked will my house and kids be when I wake up? Hmm...to live life on the edge or not.