Sick Bird

Him or Me

grian pov:

“To be honest,” I began, breaking the silence with a voice that carried an eerie calmness, “I don’t really know much about the Heroes Association or why they prefer to go by the anagram ‘HA.’” I let the faintest hint of a smirk play at the corners of my mouth, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I actually found it quite funny.”

I paused, letting the tension in the room settle as I glanced around at the three who still seemed unnerved by the events they had just witnessed. “I could have left right when I woke up, to be honest,” I continued, my tone as unbothered as ever. “But I was curious. I wanted to know what was going on.”

I shifted slightly on the bed, the restraints holding me down with a sense of finality. “And, frankly, I’d rather have me be sacrificed than Scar, Mumbo, or even Jelly. I didn’t want any of them to go through this very poorly planned interrogation, might I point out.”

I let the words hang in the air, my eyes fixed on the ceiling, my expression indifferent. The room was still, the weight of my words pressing down on them as they absorbed what I had said. I had made my point clear, and now, in my silence, I left them to grapple with the realization that they had been outplayed from the very beginning.

Ren’s embrace was warm, his relief palpable as he wrapped his arms around me. His tail tucked slightly as he spoke, “Thank God you talked, even though you’re being a condescending ass.” His voice was tinged with a mix of frustration and genuine concern. “You should eat, though. It’s been a week.”

I shook my head slowly, maintaining my calm, detached demeanor. “No,” I replied, my voice steady. “I’ve had my fun, but I’m still curious. I want to see where this goes and why they’re so desperate to find Scar.”

Ren’s voice was strained, a mix of worry and resignation. "Alright," he murmured, pulling away from me fully, though the concern in his eyes was clear. “But just… don’t freak out, please.”

As Ren stepped back, Cub hesitated, clearly nervous as he approached the bed. His eyes flickered between the cuts on his face and my hands, wary of another attack. He attempted to mask his fear, but it was evident in his posture as he lingered behind Doc.

"Look, Poultry Man," Cub started, trying to sound authoritative but faltering slightly. "You’ll get the information you want if you eat and drink something." His voice wavered as he spoke, my glare piercing through his weak attempt at negotiation.

I didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch out, making them squirm. My gaze bore into Cub, unblinking and unwavering, making it clear that I wasn’t one to be manipulated or coerced. Cub’s discomfort was almost palpable as he tried to hold my gaze but quickly averted his eyes, glancing nervously at Doc as if seeking reassurance.

Doc, noticing the tension, stepped forward slightly, trying to diffuse the situation. "We’re not here to hurt you, or keep you here longer than necessary," he said, his tone calm but firm. "But we can’t help you if you refuse to take care of yourself."

I finally shifted my gaze from Cub to Doc, considering his words. The room was tense, everyone waiting for my next move, but I remained motionless, my expression inscrutable.

“You think feeding me and offering crumbs of information will make me trust you?” I asked, my voice cold. "You don’t understand anything, do you? This isn’t about food or trust. It’s about control."

Cub opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off with a sharp look. “I’ll eat when I choose to, not because you’re trying to bait me with promises. If you want to make a deal, you’d better come up with something better than scraps.”