Foxtrot Nekropolis

Chapter 3

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Hours Later

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"Okay, okay, so, uh, explain it to me like I'm dumb."

"Like you're dumb?" The voice on the other side of the line parroted, a teasing lilt to it.

"Oh, f**k off, Hjæl." Wynn muttered. It was a bit hard to talk already; Wynn found himself in a really awkward situation in which he had to hold the cellphone between his shoulder and his ear. The sunpad, for all of its qualities, depended on a number of things, one of which being your not having a concussion. Which Wynn couldn't promise.

So, holding the tail end of a roll of gauze between his teeth as he wrapped up his lower torso in it with some difficulty, watching some blood seep through the makeshift bandages he'd made with cotton and stain the gauze a bit through the mirror he was sitting in front of, Wynn waited for further instructions.

"Right, right." Hjæl typed something on his keyboard. He enjoyed the feeling of the mechanical stuff. Wynn just thought it was loud. "Essentially, you gotta make sure your hands are clean first. Then you —"

"Actually, give me a sec to, mm, wrap this up." He muttered, continuing his process. As soon as he'd layered it enough for both of their tastes, Wynn drew in a thin strip of shadows — shaping it into a knife and using it to cleanly cut the gauze he'd used. Fixing it in place with the bandage soon after was easy enough. "Okay, done."

"Mhm. Good. You feelin' alright?"

"I mean, I guess. About as alright I possibly can while being able to top Hitler's art career with a selfie, what with the number and variety of bruises I'm sporting and all."

"...Who?"

"Uh. You know. The moustache guy from the second world war?"

"...Whatever, nerd. You got your first aid kit with you, right? Suture kit, needle driver, tissue forceps, needle?"

"I'm sorry, you're calling me a nerd? This coming from the same Hjæl who — wait, my what now?"

Wynn paused. Looked at his amazing kit of needle driver, sewing needle, dental floss.

"Oh! Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, sure. All here."

"...Right. So, uh, where's this wound exactly?"

His eyes wandered to the mirror, examining their own image closely.

With everything on his torso under his chest covered in gauze, most of the ugly wounds weren't really visible. Still, the skin of what could be seen of his chest was an ugly and deep red, tissue twisted and contorted and pulled at places where he'd had to, uh, cut it to split it from the shirt.

His skin was pale and a bit sickly, and bruises in yellows and purples and blues already started to blossom across it like little sick flowers. His face was mostly untouched, aside from a rather ugly burn on their right cheek — his sweaty caramel locks fell in clumps over their eyes.

He could count at least 6 cuts that probably needed to be stitched up now that he dismissed the shadows pulling the wounds closed.

Tough f*****g gig indeed, Sunburst, you f*****g pleb. After the fight, she'd headed off to get herself healed by one of them Sídhe Doctors. Meanwhile, Wynn was about to f*****g stich his wounds with mint-flavoured floss.

"You don't wanna know. So, what next, exactly?"

"You're, uh, supposed to use the tissue forceps to, mm, expose the side of the wound you'll begin the suture on. Apparently, you've gotta line up the sides as best you can."

Kind of like knitting a sweater, only you use flesh instead of yarn and it hurts like a b***h. Got it.

"Okay." He fumbled around with the first wound for a bit, pulling the skin a tad until the wound was just about lined up. Not a pro work, but it should do the trick, considering his healing. "I think I got it. What next?"

"Push…" Hjæl gulped. "Push the needle into the skin at a 90° angle. About a centimeter to the right of the wound. And don't… go under the fat."

Because Wynn could totally tell where the fat was amidst all the blood. Gods, why didn't he let EBON take care of this again?

Ah, right. Because depending on convenient AIs was 'for p*****s'. Wynn was starting to hate themselves for being so stubborn.

He bit his lip, positioning the needle — and fought back the urge to close their eyes.

Push. It pierced easily.

"—Motherfuck!"

"I. Assume you did it."

"Mmyep." He whimpered softly in pain, biting his lower lip harder to keep himself from crying out "Y-You can probably tell by the sounds of human anguish I am producing."

"Sorry, dude. It's… better than the alternative. You gotta get through it."

"I—f*****g know that, hatman. Just keep going before I lose my nerve."

"Hah. Okay. So, after that, you're going to —"

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Later

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hat dumbass: u sure u don't want me 2 come over

not fuhsaz: if you force me to interact with a human being while I'm feeling like my bones are proclaiming coup on me, I will probably kill you

hat dumbass: tbh going by those pictures thats pretty fair

hat dumbass: just take care ig

not fuhsaz: I'm getting plenty of bedrest if that counts.

hat dumbass: this being u, I take what I can get

not fuhsaz: wise decision

not fuhsaz: how the f**k would you even come here anyway

not fuhsaz: aren't u still

not fuhsaz: u know

hat dumbass: that has literally never stopped me

hat dumbass: on an completely unrelated note, as I'm sure you've realized, I happened to be nearby when the gate opened up

not fuhsaz; because that's where the b***h facility is

hat dumbass: lmao yeah

hat dumbass: anyway, my

hat dumbass: housemates

hat dumbass: got pretty f*****g concerned over it

hat dumbass: t'was a mess

hat dumbass: so ~

not fuhsaz: holy shit

not fuhsaz: did you finally swipe a key

hat dumbass: for legal reasons I can't answer that.

hat dumbass: anyway I kinda gtg so ill leave u to ur pain

hat dumbass: enjoy :)

Hjæl and Wynn were really good friends. No, really. Trust me on that. The two of them had a lot to bond over, what with their mutual nerdiness, their mutual disliking of the government, their penchant for the dramatic and whatnot.

They just happened to also share a love for this kinda talk. Informal and sadistic was the way to go. Any teasing Hjæl got was more than deserved; the guy could be a prick of astronomical proportions. Sure, he'd yet to reach Wynn's own prick-o-meter levels of prickness, but that was alright. Hjæl was a fast learner; he'd get there somewhere.

Unless he got himself f*****g killed before that happened.

With a half-frustrated sigh, Wynn closed Hjæl's chat with the knowledge that he wouldn't really hear from him for a hot minute. That was just how Hjæl was when he got obsessed over something. Not that Wynn could complain, but when he ghosted people, it was usually because of trauma.

On that note… His eyes wandered to the sunpad's clock, fixating on the beautiful 4:43PM TT that was projected right back.

Wynn groaned softly. It was getting late, and though he was currently spread out across his already bloodstained couch, arms hanging off loosely and wearing absolutely nothing but a very, very large T-Shirt, the fact of the matter was that he most likely had to call Mack sooner rather than later.

So the question ended up being, Do I do this today, or tomorrow? It was like choosing when to pull a tooth.

In the end, Wynn decided to rip the bandage.

Click-click-click, call.

Silence for a few moments.

"Y'ello?" The gruff voice answered, the same cheerful tone to it that he always had.

Wynn sighed internally.

"S'up, Mack. Missed me?"

"Foxy!" And, god f*****g damnit, he could hear the guy's smile. "And here I was thinking you'd decided to ghost little old me. You wouldn't do that to your only friend, would ya, kiddo?"

Mack was also the only one on Aether-1, aside from Hjæl, who knew his identity. That was a very deliberate choice on Wynn's part — he had to disclose it to some higher-up if they were to be hired, and, for all of his corruption and general asshattery, Mack did right by the money and services he was paid.

Wynn didn't have to trust that he'd keep his mouth shut — he could pay the man and be sure of it. And, no, he weren't really worried about Hjæl. Hjæl's case was… special.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed. "I'll make the transfer as soon as I get the cash from today's gate. You know how it goes."

"Yep. Don't worry, I ain't no b***h of a loanshark or anything. I know you'll pay me when you get the cash."

A pause. Wynn took in a breath.

"Listen, dude, I need you to do me a favour."

He could hear Mackenzie freeze on the other side of the line.

"Oh?" And there was Mack's keen sense, down to the honeyed sweetness dripping from his words. "What can I do for you, kiddo?"

Jackass. But Wynn still needed him.

"Get me a few of the robot hulls from today's gate. There were a ton of them, and I know they're not all accounted for. Just name your price."

Mackenzie hummed on the other side of the line. Tapped a few keys.

"Yeah, should be easy enough. I'll drop them by your house myself, even — the compression tech makes it a breeze to carry s**t around, so I won't even ask for much. How's 2 grand sound?"

"Expensive as s**t. One grand. I'm already paying you two and a half for your silence, dude."

Mack chuckled. It was a dry, dry sound.

"Fine, fine. One grand it is, but I want it now, instead of whenever your gate cash comes in. Have a project coming up tomorrow, I may need it."

With a groan, Wynn did as he was told — opening the code console on his smartphone to bypass the security of their bank account, as he always did. It was easy enough, considering the bank in question was essentially made for money laundering. Transferring the funds after that was a simple matter.

"Done," he said, after a few moments. "Get your guys to wipe this off of the bank's registers, though, or our deals are done. I really, really can't have this come back to bite me in the ass."

"Relax. I'm a professional, and one grand isn't really all that much in our line of work, so no one should take too much note of it. It'll be gone in an hour tops."

Wynn hummed his dissatisfaction, but didn't say anything. Unfortunately, Mackenzie noticed it — with another chuckle, the man decided to question him on it.

"What's up, kiddo? Feeling grumpy today? Ah, the hardships of puberty…"

Wynn really, really, really wanted to punch him.

"I almost got impaled through the f*****g kidney, Mack. My shirt fused with my skin. My entire body feels like it was run over by a monster truck. What do you think?"

"Yikes," Mack said, with a wince that was probably genuine. "Yeah, the gate was rough, huh? You play coy and skilled so f*****g hard out there that I sometimes forget you're, well, you. Wish you brought that sense of humour to our conversations; would certainly be a lot more entertaining."

Fair enough, h supposed — but it'd be f*****g exhausting to keep up that level of dissociation for too long. Even still, the bruised and battered brunette huffed in faint amusement.

"Maybe someday." Wynn conceded. "I usually speak to you after getting my ass handed to me, though, so the point is moot. No way I'm keeping that s**t up right now."

"No, yeah, I get it, fair 'nuff."

The silence, this time, was awkward.

"...So. Uh. The robots?"

"Should be there in about an hour."

"Okay. Uh. Bye."

Click!

Silence, for a moment or two.

Wynn reflected on their agreement — a portion of every paycheck to make sure Mack stayed silent plus two and a half thousand grand every month. On the flip side, he ensured Mack would stay quiet even when offered large quantities of money, and got the eventual favour from the man.

Still.

"Motherfucking asshole." He finally muttered.