Slooky couldn’t even bring himself to laugh at the awkward positioning of things on the paper. Not even the cliché bolded letters of the word ‘wanted’.

There was, in fact, nothing he could say.

The truth was already out.

He just stared down at the sad page, unable to meet his opponents waiting gaze.

“Nothing to say with that mouth of yours? That slick lying tongue? Eh?” They taunted, stepping closer.

When the words came to him, he looked up at the last person he wanted to fight. He’d battle every last one of the Ghosts, his own teammates… but this person? Hurting them was something far beyond horrible.

“Sometimes you lie to save someone, Bell,” he spoke quietly, not sugarcoating anything anymore. “You lie, so they don’t have to.”

They stared each other down, not saying a word. Their history seemed to take form in the silence hovering over them, as they failed to execute a much-needed conversation. But it wasn’t to be had.

Footsteps, coming closer, just around the corner, trying to catch up with the criminal who’d just launched smoke bombs and celebratory cans that were fairly unsafe for indoor use.

Anxious, Slooky glanced back before looking at Bell again.

“Move.”

“No.”

An expected response was not what he’d wanted to hear. He’d known it would be like this and yet–

“Damn it,” he swore, hesitation driving him into a motionless stance. “Move, Bell.”

“I said no.”

With a sigh, he tugged another canister out of his waist pocket, pulled the pin, and tossed it behind himself, hearing more startled shouts about the new development.

Stepping forward, he braced himself.

Of all the things they’d done together, this was not one of them. Years of experience had taken his worries about battle away. It was all scrapped now. There was nothing except fear.

Not of death.

It was of hurting someone precious.

But that person was furious, no longer thinking things through properly. Rage-filled at both Slooky and themselves. To be angry inside of not being trustworthy enough to know the truth of another, with that truth consuming their current life – a life without them in it.

Bell was upset with them both, to have it come to this.

Slooky dodged the first punch and the swipe of the blade, knocking his forearm against Bell’s to block another strike, not losing an inch, yet unable to gain ground. He tumbled out of the way of a subsequent downward strike, blade clanking against the rocks, only to instinctively throw out his leg, causing Bell to fall.

And just as he did, Slooky took a step forward, only to halt, his hands beginning to outstretch in his desire to help him back up. He froze, more uncertain than he’d ever been in his life.

A question rolled around in his mind.

Was this really worth it… to live like this?

But he didn’t get a chance to ponder it, as he bounded backwards, just out of the reach of Bell’s long arms, and the weapon held by them.

Rising to his feet, there was no hesitation. He was aiming to kill.

As Slooky's life seemed to flash before his eyes by his hesitation which only hurt him, he recalled a conversation from long ago.

“I’m older, so I have to protect you!”

“But how can you possibly do that if I’m just being clumsy?”

The blade swiped in front of his face again, the brush of wind caressing his cheeks and nose. He looked at Bell’s anger directly.

“Then I’ll protect you from yourself!”

The confidence in that young voice filled Slooky to the brim, recovering that which he’d lost just moments before. He didn’t take more than a second to consider his next actions. In an instant, he held a wrist in his hand, flipping the body attached to it over onto its back. There was no hesitation as he dropped to pin Bell down, preventing him from getting up.

Protect you from yourself… I know you, Bell. I don’t think you’d forgive yourself if you dug that blade into me.

He pushed Bell’s elbow to extend his arm across his torso. He pried the weapon from his fingers, tossing it aside before shifting his knee behind his head.

 “You’re like a brother to me, Bell,” Slooky huffed out, hearing the whistle of another signal, the one he’d given to Lott, to throw in through the doorway as they’re leaving. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bell shook his head as much as he was able to in the position they were in, Slooky’s leg swung around over his face, heels tucked tightly around Bell’s free arm. He shifted his weight back, holding one of Bell’s arms in his hands, and pulled it against his chest, leaning.

“Not my brother,” Bell groaned out. “I despise liars.”

“Then... I’m sorry,” came a reply through gritted teeth, rocks digging painfully into their back as they laid on them.

“What?” he gasped, struggling against Slooky’s hold on his arm, yet unable to break the hold. His arm strained helplessly, bending slowly in the wrong direction.

Slooky yanked hard, the feeling of something popping in Bell’s arm was unmistakable.

It wasn’t even a second later that a grieved shout of pain rang through the air, lowering into a whimper. The arm was released, dangling uselessly. Bell sat up and cradled his dislocated elbow, bone nearly popping out of his skin. Not to be deterred, he rose alongside Slooky, both of them covered in dirt, and grabbed his blade back with his other hand.

“Stop,” Slooky pleaded, to no avail.

Bell huffed out a breath and lunged forward, only to feel a second sharp pain, followed by a third as Slooky kicked his leg out from under him, throwing his balance, causing him to land atop the blade in his own hand. Blood tricked down his working arm, and he slumped down, leaning against the wall of the building.

“I won’t forgive you…”

Slooky sighed, noticing figures racing their way, clear of his earlier smoke canister. It was time to go. Now. Or two minutes ago. At least it meant Bell would get help sooner. That was the only consolation as he turned to leave behind one of the few he considered his true family.

“Sorry, Bell. I really am.” He shook his head. “But I can’t let you kill me.”

He took off, his feet carrying him as fast as they were able. And he was creating distance quicker than those following him could make up the difference. Something snagged on his ankle, causing him to stumble. He caught himself on the ground, before his head could hit the sharp edge rock in front of him. Turning to find the cause, which kept him from bringing his foot forward, he found a tight circle wrapped around his calf, seeing the one holding the other end of the device now attached to him in the distance.

They grinned, knowing they had the advantage now. They weren’t even running anymore, just walking, holding the box that strung a long line all the way over to his leg. As they stepped closer, the line retracted into the box. It was only when the box reached the last foot that it would release him. He couldn't let that happen.

Slooky’s hand slowly gripped the handle of a pocket dagger that was hidden in his uniform, along his thigh.

In the distance, he saw a cluster of people attending to Bell. At least, seeing that, it was a relief. Their eyes made contact, Bell’s widening as he saw what was attached to Slooky.

What was pain?

What was it really?

At one point, Slooky had thought he’d be forever unable to use one of his legs normally again. Forever stuck with intense pain and a limp.

What was the difference now?

With one decisive swipe, he cut the line attached to his ankle, an instant stabbing sensation as the circle left around his leg cut in. He could feel each and every spike that came out of the material, digging into his flesh, tearing right through his uniform.

Gritting his teeth, he hobbled up onto his feet and ran again, a ticklish feeling sliding down the back of his leg. He didn’t need to look to know.

With a grunt, he forced himself to properly throw one final thing down the hill, toward the triumphant follower, holding the box up, amusement filling their smile.

I wasn’t going to use that here…

But he had no choice, the circle tightening more every two seconds that passed by. Reaching near unbearable levels just before loosening the slightest bit as he left the range of the box it came from.

As he rounded over the top of the rocky hill, the follower lost their delight, their fists slamming against a nearly invisible wall with frustration.

The item he’d thrown was a five-minute shield, one that spanned 500 feet both in height and length. Of course, he could go around if they’d been on flat ground. But this was rocks, big and small. Boulders. Trekking up and around a barrier in this particular space was nearly impossible. Slooky would be long gone by the time they reached the top.

Lott, with Magnice catching a ride on her back, was waiting for him.

They continued on, Slooky pushing himself to keep up with them, letting adrenaline erase the tiniest bit of his pain. Motivation to live couldn’t minimize the hurt, but kept him going despite it.

Over the next two hills, and reaching a space high enough to look down on where they’d been while not being too visible, Magnice tapped Lott’s shoulder.

“Lott, stop. He’s got to stop.”

Slooky shook his head, waving a hand, determined not to be the weakest link.

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you slowing us all down later, Slooky.”

It was a valid argument. He sighed, flopping down onto the ground, extending his leg out, the bit of visible skin colored with blood, his uniform soaked with it.

Lott set Magnice down next to his leg, but before turning to Slooky’s wound, he handed her an item.

“Press it once. Then look through it. It’ll adjust automatically. Let me know if you see anyone else around.”

“Got it.”

Binoculars that automatically focused depending on where your eyes appeared to be looking. Though it was, at one point, a revolutionary item, it hadn’t seen much use since the world switched over to the artificial Fallacy.

Carefully, Magnice got to work on the lynch string attached to Slooky. After cutting the circle, Slooky waved his hand.

“Wait. Wait. Hold on.”

He waited, wondering what Slooky could possibly have that might help the situation, rifling through his bag, only to watch him pull out a special bottle of alcohol, mixed stronger that most.

With a reproachful look, he sighed.

I really shouldn’t be surprised…

Though he’d really mellowed out over the years, he couldn’t exactly forget the way Slooky used to act. All the time. Like a reckless cat thinking he had nine lives.

“Really?”

Bottle nearly to his lips, Slooky paused, only to see Magnice’s expression.

“What? I keep it in case I need to start fires. Or… this.”

“Do you honestly think that’s going to help?”

He watched the liquid sway, slowly disappearing for a moment. Slooky let out a breath, shoving the cork back into the top, nodding.

“Yes, I do.”

“Great. Then try to stay put.”

“Okay.”

Slooky laid back, staring up at the darkening sky, absent of clouds, with a dazed look. Doing his part well, he flinched every other part of himself except for the leg Magnice was working on, pulling the remainder of the lynch string out.

Magnice looked at the bloodied mess in half horror.

What kind of… how the hell was he even running?

Lynch string.

It was what they called it. Attached to a box that determined what would happen to the end wrapped around something. Tightening. Spikes.

Amputation.

If the spikes ever got too large, the setting would automatically go to the last option and remove everything until the circle, filled entirely with spikes, fell to the ground all on its own. And if the string would be cut, forcibly unattached from the box, it would act all on its own, doing its worst. From the looks of it, just twelve more seconds and it would’ve resorted to taking part of Slooky's leg off.

He held up the lynch string, now entirely separate from Slooky. The spikes were already nearly an inch long.

As he looked, there was only one lasting thought in his mind.

He was lucky not to lose anything.

Pulling out a rare item that looked like nothing more than an outrageously thick piece of cloth, Magnice tightly wrapped it around the wound and secured it in place, a hiss escaping Slooky’s mouth in the process.

The cloth began its work, cooling the area, stopping the bleeding, and repairing the blood vessels before making a thin layer of something similar to skin as a cover for the area until his body remedied the issue itself.

“It’ll take at least 6 hours for it to fix you up to walking properly. It’ll be tender for some time after that, but you’ll be fine.”

Slooky nodded to it.

“This what you went to buy?”

“No.”

“What did you buy?”

Magnice shoved the remainder of his things back inside his bag, tossing the lynch string and bloodied single-use items into a bag that would break them down into that which they came from.

“You’ll find out.”

Slooky opened his mouth to speak again. Lott interrupted them, gaze focused north through the binoculars.

“Someone coming.”