Chapter 22 - Distance Between

Consciousness returned like a rusted blade—jagged and unwelcome. Rozeree's eyes cracked open to harsh fluorescent light, each heartbeat hammering against her skull. The familiar tang of antiseptic and synthetic oil filled her nostrils, mingling with the metallic scent of her own blood. Knuckles' clinic. She'd made it.

A groan escaped her cracked lips as sensations flooded back. Her body felt wrong—disconnected, like her nervous system was firing through damaged wiring. Red warning messages flickered across her augmented vision, a cascade of system diagnostics and damage reports that blurred into meaningless static.

"Finally decided to rejoin the living?" Knuckles' gravelly voice cut through the haze. His massive frame loomed over her, blocking the harsh lamplight. "You came in looking like something the street cleaners scraped out of Blacklight."

Rozeree tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. Fresh pain lanced through her chest, drawing a hiss between clenched teeth. "How long...?"

"Three days." Knuckles moved to a diagnostic panel, his fingers dancing across the display. "Had to put you in forced shutdown just to keep your systems from completely frying you. Whatever they shot you up with at the checkpoint could've killed you."

The memory of the knights' "interrogation" surfaced, bringing with it a surge of anger that made her vitals spike on the monitors. Knuckles shot her a warning look. "Easy. Took me sixteen hours just to get your core systems stabilized, don't go wasting my time."

Rozeree's hand found her side, fingers tracing fresh surgical scars beneath the thin medical gown. Everything felt raw, like her skin had been peeled back and hastily reattached. "The cost..." she started.

A harsh laugh cut her off. "You got paid enough for most of it, we can talk about your debt next time." His expression hardened. "But you pull another stunt like this, and there won't be a next time. There won't be enough left to fix."

"I don't need your advice. Give me a bio-injector so I can get out of here. Is my car still outside?"

"What do you think?" He asked with a sly grin, handing her the glowing needle. 

Rozeree staggered out of the clinic, the bio-injector's effects dulling the pain but leaving her nerves raw and tingling. The night air stung her face, thick with smog and the faint tang of burnt oil. Her stolen car was gone, as expected.

She turned down an alley, then another, then another. The dim light of flickering street lights casting long, uneven shadows as she walked. Each step was a battle, her body protesting every movement. Her augmented vision flickered with warnings but she ignored them. She didn't need diagnostics to tell her she was running on fumes.

The streets grew quieter as she approached her building. She kept her head down, avoiding the gaze of a patrol drone that whirred overhead. When she reached the crumbling staircase leading to her floor, the effort of climbing it felt monumental. Her breaths came shallow and quick, her hand brushing against the pistol in her pocket for reassurance.

At last, she reached her apartment. Fumbling with the keycard, she slipped inside, bolting the door behind her. The clutter and stale air of the room greeted her like an old friend.

She collapsed onto the bed without removing her cloack, her fingers still resting on the pistol at her side. Tomorrow could bring more trouble. But for now, she let exhaustion take her.

There was no peace in the darkness. Only…memories…

Laughter rang through the cold air of Graybarrow, bright and unburdened. Rozeree sprinted across the open field, her breath fogging in the crisp morning light. Behind her, Daglan chased, his arms spread wide like the monstrous wings of the yokai they always pretended to fight.

"A yokai could never defeat me!" Rozeree spun on her heel, swinging a wooden sword in a sweeping arc.

Daglan ducked, grinning. "You'll feel my wrath, mighty Ascendant!" He lunged, and they tumbled together in the dirt, limbs tangled as they fought, laughing too hard to take the dual seriously.

She should have won. She was stronger, faster, should could anticipate his movements before he made them. But Daglan always fought with a strange fluidity, dodging when she expected him to strike, never taking anything seriously. 

"You cheated," she accused, once he had finally pinned her.

"Did not," Daglan shot back, pressing a fist to her chest in mock victory. "You need to learn to relax." Rozeree scowled but said nothing, shoving him off and brushing dirt from her tunic.

That night, they sat atop their roof, legs dangling over the edge. Rozeree traced the jagged peaks of Graybarrow's walls. Beyond them stretched a vast nothingness, an endless world she could barely imagine.

"We'll be out there soon," she murmured, "traveling the world, making our dreams come true."

Daglan glanced at her, his gray eyes hesitant. "What about Graybarrow, Silvas?"

She frowned. "What's the point of being strong if we never leave?"

"What's the point of leaving if we're alone?"

That moment lingered between them—Daglan's hesitation, Rozeree's growing frustration. 

As night deepened, the tension slowly subsided. Soon, Rozeree began to doze off beside Daglan. 

A distant howl split the air. The town bells rang in warning. Then came the screams.

Rozeree's eyes snapped open. Her chest heaved as if she'd been running, but her apartment walls were still and quiet around her. She stared at the faint beams of sunlight filtering through a crack in the shutters, her body tense, heart racing.

The memory clung to her like a cold fog. She could still hear the laughter, see the way Daglan's face flickered with hesitation. And she could still hear the screams. See the blood.

She lifted her hand to her chest, half-expecting to find it torn open, but there was nothing—no wound, no scar. Just her heart, hammering in her ribcage.

Rozeree sat up slowly, her fists curling into the blanket around her.

He was always like that. Always too careless, hesitant. That's why he couldn't save Dad. Why he could never be as strong as I am now.

Warning signals flickered dimly across her vision, mere echoes of yesterday's blaring alerts. Her muscles ached less, though movement still sent whispers of pain through her joints. She dragged herself to the kitchen, stomach growling loud enough to echo off the peeling wallpaper. Empty cabinets gaped back at her, their metal hinges squealing in protest. In the furthest corner of the highest shelf, behind a cobweb thick with dust, sat a single dented can of Fancy Feast.

The sight caused a sound to bubbled up from her chest. First a snort. Then a giggle. Finally erupting into full-throated laughter that bounced off the cracked plaster walls. The sound spilled through her broken window, mixing with the steady patter of rain on rusted fire escapes. Her sides ached as she doubled over, tears streaming down her face while her stomach twisted with hunger pains.

"I may be strong, but Vilrux was right. This city is merciless." She laughed, pressing her palm against her aching ribs. Tears cut clean tracks through the grime on her cheeks. Her eyes fixed on the cat food can, its faded label promising "Premium Seafood Medley." Her stomach churned at her starved thoughts. 

Before she could make that desperate decision, the door chime cut through her laughter. She pressed her eye to the peephole, its scratched lens warping the familiar silhouette beyond. Time seemed to freeze as recognition hit her. That immaculate suit, the meticulously styled hair, the way he stood with perfect posture like he owned whatever ground he walked on. Even in this decaying hallway, not a speck of dirt dared cling to him.

Vilrux placed a bag on her scratched coffee table, releasing a wave of aromas that made her mouth flood with saliva– smoky meats, dried fruits, fresh bread still warm from the oven. He settled onto her threadbare couch with casual elegance, brushing away dust motes that dared land on his pristine suit. Rozeree's hands trembled slightly as she tore into the bag, all pretense of dignity forgotten as she devoured the first food she'd seen in days.

"You've made a name for yourself." His voice carried the same smooth authority it always had, but something in his measured gaze made her pause mid-bite.

"That's good right?" She spoke around a mouthful of spiced meat, fighting the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. His eyes seemed to dissect her, measuring every change since they'd last met.

"I'm just glad it worked out for you. You've gotten a lot stronger in only a few weeks."

The dried fruit turned to ash in her mouth as the weight of his words sank in. Her fingers froze around the half-eaten strip of meat.

"Oh...thanks." The word came out barely above a rasp.

"Tell me about Corpse." The words sliced through their moment, sharp as a blade. His casual recognition of her strength suddenly felt hollow, reminding her of how he'd dismissed the attempt on her life with cold practicality.

"Dead." She tore into another strip of spiced meat, cold rage building in her chest.

Vilrux leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "The whole city knows she's dead. What I want to know is how you– alone– managed to take down someone who's terrorized the streets for almost a decade, along with two Dreadnoughts?"

A bitter laugh escaped her bloodied lips. "Some terrorists. They locked me up in a condemned building held together by rust and prayers." She met his gaze, letting him see the predator she'd become. "So I brought the whole thing down on their heads. Simple really - one building, three bodies." A shadow of something dangerous played across his face - not quite a smile, but close. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as his carefully maintained mask began to crack.

"So a job well done and a well known fixer killed. I'm already hearing whispers about a new Fixer around upper yard." The facade finally split, revealing a smile that belonged more to a yokai than a human. His perfect suit and polished manner suddenly felt like window dressing on something far more deadly. "I think it's time you see what the jobs will be like in the big leagues. It might be soon, but you seem to handle stress well."

The way he said "stress" made her skin crawl, as if he was already imagining exactly what kind of pressure he could put her under. 

His perfectly manicured hands clasped together, fingers interlocking like the teeth of a trap."I have to go quell a rebellion thats supposed to start in a few days, why dont you come with me? You'll have to stay under the radar, we cant be seen together any more than we already have. But I'll give you a good cut."

"A rebellion," Rozeree echoed, watching how the city's neon glow caught in Vilrux's eyes like fire. The remains of her meal grew cold and forgotten in her lap. Am I really ready for that?

He spoke of crushing lives with the same detachment someone might use to discuss clearing weeds from a garden. The cramped apartment seemed to shrink around his presence. Even lounging on her threadbare couch, he emanated the kind of power that made her bones ache with recognition. 

Her recent triumph over Corpse, which had felt so momentous just hours ago, now seemed like a child's first stumbling steps. Vilrux offered her not just another job, but a glimpse into depths of power she'd only dreamed of. The kind of power that could reshape cities, that could make a rebellion itself bow and break.

The distance between them felt like a great chasm. One she'd need to fill with bodies if she wanted to reach the other side. Yet even as her wounds throbbed with fresh memory, she found herself leaning forward, drawn to that casual display of strength like a moth to flame.

Of course I am. This is why I'm here. Power, fame, freedom.

All those years ago, she and Daglan had played at being heroes, fighting imaginary yokai in Graybarrow's streets. Now here she sat, breaking bread with something far more dangerous than any yokai, eager to learn his ways.

The neon lights from outside painted shifting shadows across his face, his perfectly composed features taking on an inhuman look. Rozeree felt the weight of his gaze, measuring her worth, calculating her potential. She thought of Graybarrow again—of wooden swords and innocent games, of a girl who once dreamed of being a hero.

That girl was dead now, buried beneath layers of metics and scar tissue. The pain from her recent wounds felt distant, overwhelmed by the intoxicating promise of power.

Rozeree's lips split, fresh blood beading where cracked skin pulled apart to form a smile. The metallic taste filled her mouth as she met Vilrux's gaze.

"Do you even need to ask?" The words came out as broken glass.

Outside, rain drummed against her window, drowning out the distant sirens and the dying screams of a city that had no idea what was coming. Soon, streets would run red, and Rozeree would finally prove she was strong enough to stand among monsters.