Calm; Decay Volume 1: Who Killed Cock Robin?

6 - Crossing the Rubicon - 6

There was little else to be done. Ashra pulled away from the corpse he wore draped across his shoulder, letting the hero fall facedown into the clammy muck. There was no grace to an emptied husk, all of the bravado that spun the gears of the charismatic man had escaped through the two holes in his chest. Even his hair had gone limp, the long red locks becoming weighed down by their collected sludge.

Both of Ashra's ears rang with a high, whining note. The blue was retreating from his vision, but Ashra's heart would not stop painfully chugging blood to his wounds and numb limbs.

It's so cold.

Some way off, Ashra could see the bodies of his father, his seedy killer, and the boy with the blackened palms. The boy did not move—Ashra presumed he had passed out sometime during the fight.

That's probably for the best. Between the grief and panic bidding for Ashra's attention, he was not ready for remorse to stake its claim as well.

"My, my, my." The voice was a chirp in the dwindling twilight. Ashra caught a flash of light as a figure dropped to the ground from the embankment, a metallic mystery in its hands.

Dove had finally decided to make her entrance. The unhelpful observer had watched as her partner died just moments ago, his body still being leeched of its warmth. She sauntered, unfazed, to where Ashra stood—the sole survivor.

He had called her 'honey,' thought Ashra, full of spite. How cold are these people?

"I don't know why you're so sour, half-breed," said Dove, the brim of her clean white hat obscuring both eyes. "That's the problem with commoners—they spend so long on their knees they forget how to stand."

Ashra stared at her, the kindled fear undecided in his stomach. He did not have another fight in him. Lightheadedness was fighting to take root in his head despite his halted bleeding, all while whirling grief threatened to drown him at any moment. She did not seem prepared for a fight either, though. Dove drew no weapon, except for the small metallic box she kept nestled in both hands.

"Right here, now!"
Dove raised her box. Ashra cringed, his arms raising to protect himself, but was met only by a second flash. The pieces connected as the bulb dimmed, leaving the two untouched in the lonely darkness.

"A camera?" he asked. He could not be sure, never having seen one up close. He had witnessed the intermittent flashes when members of the royal family visited the city—but always from a distance. After all, the only detail about cameras that Ashra understood was that they imprinted pictures of people onto paper. For the vast number of poor, photos were only taken at special occasions, a commodity that Ashra's life had possessed precious few.

"Of course, silly," crooned Dove. She placed the camera inside her purse, withdrawing a pad of paper and pencil. "Now, your name was Ashra Swallow, that's correct?"

Ashra did not respond.

"Very good, and you just killed, all by yourself—bravo to you—your first hunter. That is quite something, isn't it?" Dove winked at the stooped boy.

"You aren't going to kill me," wheezed Ashra. His skin stung as it detached from the thawing blood. The cold was leaking from his body, leaving a shivering heat in its wake as ache replaced adrenaline.

"Heavens, no," said the female hunter, laughing. She meandered towards Robin's lifeless body, kicking its shoulder with the toe of her white boot. "He had it coming—getting soft these past years. Success became easy, and that left his mind to wander."