#hey im not the only one who heard that line and apparently went feral over these two bc of it

[bettersafethandicks]

hey i went digging in the landfill again and check it out its twince x reader

oh my god i did this too much i wrote too many word oh shit oh fuck im sorry

like a 75/25 split of troy : tyreen attention to the reader

a spiritual successor to my last troy/reader fic now that like, the games actually out.

contains: 0% sex

contains: CANNIBALISM yuck, nonsexual nudity on reader’s part, gender neutral reader, biting, blood stuff, drugging, kidnapping/getting a lil tied up, monster troy, getting touched n pampered like a nice spa day :), petstuff

5746 words jesus FUCK

It wasn’t the best job.  Sure, things could be worse; things could always be worse on Pandora, and one should count any second spent not prying their arm out of a skag’s mouth as a blessing.  Still, sitting up in a poorly-lit office perched over an eridium mine was so boring.

Officially, you were supposed to be here to oversee outgoing shipments and supply purchases; making sure the weight matched what was on paper …not that you knew what to do when it didn’t match.  That wasn’t your problem, though; you reported it in the daily logs and it was someone else’s corporate war after that.

“It’s time for our Flay of the Day!”

The little screen beside you cheered out in Tyreen Calypso’s energetic voice; the COV-sponsored ads had slowly begun to take over the Echonet recently.  They were always interesting, at least, certainly better than the Hyperion trash that was playing a few years ago.  Even if you didn’t tune into their dedicated channel, you didn’t mind the interruption of the background noise of Space Ghost Adventures.

You looked up from the spreadsheet to watch the short clip. Sometimes the Calypsos themselves would be on, usually if they had a recent raid or some ceremonial murders to show off.  Those were always the most entertaining, seeing the terrible, awesome power of the two of them; they were cool.  Tragically, today’s clip was user-submitted.  Bandits killing bandits- this was Pandora what else was new?

You turned back to your work, listening to the comical dubbed-in sound effects and Tyreen’s gleeful mocking.

Ear-splitting warning sirens jolted you upright.  You groaned, spinning around on your chair to the door.  Someone had pulled the stupid fucking alarm again and-

Screaming.  Yelling. Gunshots that weren’t coming from the screen.  Before you could even stand up to look out the window overlooking the mines, the door to your cramped office slammed open, and a burly, armor-covered bandit stomped toward you, gun drawn.

Your hands were in the air before you could even process it. Instead of the bullet between the eyes you were braced for, the guy was yelling at you to get the door to the safe; a second of hesitation to understand his words earned you a strike to the side of the head with the pistol.  After that you were at the safe, punching in codes and letting the tech scan your biometrics to disable the locks.  Shouting and gunfire was still audible from outside; you pressed your back to the wall of the little office as members of Pandora’s Official Welcome Committee filed in and emptied out the roomful of refined eridium and cash.  The bandit seemingly in charge kept his weapon trained on you, making sure you didn’t try to call in backup or reach for some hidden gun of your own.

It was stupid to think you’d get out of this, in hindsight.

A rather embarrassing yelp escaped you when the human wall holding you at gunpoint reached out to grab your arm.

“Take this one, too, ‘n be careful not to bang em up too much. The soft ones are great arena-bait.”  He grunted, handing you off to another bandit who yanked you effortlessly off your feet.

“Wait wait waitwaitwaitwait-“  You whined as you were dragged out of the room.  

Your begging fell on deaf ears; you looked at the mines as you were hauled off, seeing a few casualties on the ground, but not as many as you expected.  The workers had probably fled when the raid started, the lucky bastards.  Shackles were clamped onto your wrists before you were shoved roughly into the back of a technical with the rest of the loot, landing painfully on a brick of eridium.

The bumpy ride was lit by the soft purple glow of the alien mineral.  You knew you probably shouldn’t be this close to it, people got sick from this didn’t they? On second thought, eridium probably wasn’t the biggest threat to your health right now, you could worry about that later.  If you got a ‘later’.  

It was far too soon that the technical stopped, and the harsh light of the sun was blinding you again when the doors were yanked open. You were unceremoniously slung over some marauder’s shoulder and carried over to a cage and locked in without a word. The cages were stacked three high, and you were on the second ‘story’.  Not quite tall enough to stand up in, vertical bars, exposed on all sides, and generally as uncomfortable as possible; thankfully, the cages were in the shade, probably something they learned after finding some prisoners well-done in the Pandoran heat.  

“Hey!” You cried to the departing bandit “Wait!  I’m still- …” Your wrists were still bound; he was already back to unloading the technical.  With a huff, you slump against the bars.  

No one paid you much mind as they sorted through the spoils, which apparently included you.  Maybe someone nice would buy you.  Maybe one of them would have a change of heart and free you.  Maybe a rakk would fly over and start talking to you.

You had almost dozed off when the familiar sound of chaos started again.  Thugs rushed past you toward the gate of the camp, guns drawn and shouting to their fellow bandits to follow.  You stood as much as the cage would allow, craning your neck around to get a look at what was happening; you heard a psycho screaming before you saw anything-

“FOR THE GLORY OF THE TWIN GODS”

The Children of the Vault were here.

Everything slowed down.  Gunfire had started in earnest at this point; this was a real fight, unlike the sweeping takeover of the mine.  You’d never interacted with the cult in real life- you didn’t even know there was single a bandit clan on the planet still opposing them, nevermind that you’d get the shit luck to get kidnapped by one.  You weren’t really sure which side to root for- the bandit maniacs or the other bandit maniacs.

A stray bullet whistling past your ear snapped you out of it.  You sprang into action; namely collapsing to the floor of the cage and pretending the crossfire had hit true.  You played dead.  

The winning team was quickly apparent, with the COV’s terrible power quickly creeping through the camp.  A mixture of morbid curiosity and shock let you keep your eyes open, watching the carnage.  A feral cheer swelled among their ranks, but you didn’t dare sit up and look toward them to see why- not that it mattered, it was clear soon enough.

The Sirens.  

Your heart jumped.  Adrenaline rushed uselessly through your blood, catching a glimpse of the figures you had only ever seen executing heretics and raiders on screens. Tyreen was striding a path through the chaos, outstretching an arm and draining the life from those running away, and a few fools who tried to run toward her as well.  She laughed, called out taunts and praised her followers.  A cambot whirred behind her, swooping around to get the best angles of the dead and dying.  Seeing her in person, physically there only a few meters from you, leeching bandits into frozen husks in seconds; it was suddenly too real.  She was real and she was here she was devastating and she was enjoying it.

You were so transfixed by Tyreen you almost forgot to wonder; where was-

A screaming bandit slammed into the bars of your cage.

You couldn’t help but jolt- but he wasn’t facing you.  Troy Calypso was on him, huge prosthetic hand gripping the man’s head and bashing it against the bars a second time, stunning him. Troy’s face shifted.  You watched in primal fear as that arrogant smirk grew into a grin, and kept going.  Gold glinted on inhuman fangs, ever more revealed as his cheek cracked open along the lines on his face, metal clips coming undone.  His bottom lip split in the center, and all at once the rumors that Troy Calypso’s mods went further than just his arm were confirmed.

The jagged show of teeth disappeared as he jerked his head forward, sinking his fangs deep into the poor bastard’s throat.  You were frozen, lying there like a cornered rabbit, not even having the sense to shut your eyes.  Some primitive part of your brain was telling you if you didn’t move a muscle, you’d be okay, that moving would only attract the predator’s attention.  

Troy’s eyes were closed, blood pulsing out over his face; his nose wrinkled as he tightened his grip with a growl, something in the man’s throat giving way and letting those jaws slice deeper in.  He was inches from your face.  The poor bastard made a sickening gargling noise, and then was quiet.  For a few seconds, all you could hear was your own deafening heartbeat racing in your ears, the clamor of the vicious raid was so distant; unimportant.  

A wet, tearing, popping sound brought everything back as Troy pulled away, taking the mouthful of flesh with him.  His jaws flexed asymmetrically as he swallowed, letting the limp body collapse to the dirt, Troy’s face and chest coated in red.  The siren let out a pleased sigh, expression hazy as a too-long tongue lapped over the grotesque skag-like maw, doing next to nothing in his effort to clean the blood from it.

Icy blue eyes, suddenly lucid and striking and predatory snapped to yours.  

You stopped breathing.  Troy’s jaw slid together, enough that you could make out the sharp grin.  

“Ohh, playing dead, huh?”

You could barely hear the question.  

He leaned in, nose almost touching the bars, eyes searing into you.  

“Cleveeer.” He slurred; mouth still broken at the seams.

Troy winked at you, and turned to revel in the massacre with his twin.  

The rest of the fight passed by in a blur; all you could think about was Troy’s eyes, so blue against that mask of red, the blood falling from the edge of his jaw in slimy bright red strings and you could swear you could hear it patter on the ground, the way the alien tattoos flowing over his face gave off such enticing light-

Had you ever seen someone die so close before?  Sure, distantly, but it was always over there. You had dried blood on your cheek.

You hadn’t even realized the bullets had stopped flying.

“That one.”

“The dead one?”

“Yeah.  Bring it to me.”

No- nonononononono- no no Troy Calypso was not talking about you the heavy footsteps of a bandit fanatic were not getting closer he hadn’t just ordered you to be brought to him you’re dead you aren’t worth anyone’s time you’ve been dead this whole raid just leave just get out no no no please-

           You heard the lock crack under a sharp blow.

“Eww, what, you’re a scavenger now, Troy?  I thought you liked them kicking?”  Tyreen, her voice so clear when it wasn’t sent through a speaker, so close-

Your still-shackled hands were locked around the metal bars the moment the bandit took hold of your clothing, springing to life in a blind terror. You realized you were screaming, wailing for help you knew wasn’t out there; you were plucked from the cage, grip broken like it was nothing.  Tyreen and Troy got nearer with every step as you were hauled over to them, struggling and begging.  

Tears were stinging your eyes by the time the fanatic stopped in front of the sirens; you curled up in his grip, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing yourself to be leeched or shot or something.

“Heh, y’see?  Already all wrapped up and everything.”  You cracked an eye open, heart in your throat.  Troy jerked a thumb toward a massive war technical.  “Put ‘em in the carrier, we’ll get shots at camp- better lighting n’ sound.”

Tyreen caught your eye as you passed by, head tilting and siren markings glowing softly; your blood ran cold when she gave you a deadly smirk. Tyreen smiling was the same level of bad news as Tyreen frowning; maybe worse.  

Still reeling, you were shoved into an empty barrel attached to the side of the technical. A metal grate had been fitted to the front on a hinge, and just like that you were in another cage.  The barrel titled back, rolling you to the closed end and you had no choice but to sit in the cramped little container while they finished raiding the camp.  

You couldn’t see much more than the darkening sky on the drive to…wherever you were going.  It felt like they had given the wheel to the most erratic psycho in the cult, and you were battered around the metal tube like a cocktail shaker.  By the time the vehicle pulled in to some kind of garage, you were positive you were going to vomit or pass out or both.  

Heavy bootsteps approached, and the barrel was tilted 180 degrees while the door was flung open, dumping you roughly to the ground.  You curled up, letting out a strained whine of pain.  

“Aaand here’s our new project!  Wanted to get some ‘before’ shots of it.”  Troy poked you with his boot, turning you over onto your back.  A cambot flitted around you, zooming in and out. “Grabbed this treat at the last heretic cleanse, you can see highlights of that party right here- “ He pointed up and to his right, where he’d presumably be editing in a link to the massacre you had just been a part of.  

On your back, wrists bound in front of you, bashed up and terrified, the sight of Troy Calypso towering over you made you certain you were about to die.  When he reached down with that brutal mechanical to grab your wrists you couldn’t help but shriek, trying your best to scrabble away from his touch.

Troy barked out a laugh, easily catching you and pulling you upright.

“Tch, aww, lookit this sad little stray.”  His tone was mocking, amused.   His normal hand wrapped around your jaw, firmly tilting your face this was and that for the camera.  You got a quick view of your surroundings, a massive technical bay, surprisingly organized for the chaotic exterior of the cult.  Devotees were scattered around, working on vehicles and otherwise giving Troy a wide, cautious radius.

“Yeah, this’ll be nice and fixed up.  You guys won’t even recognize them by the end of this one.” He rubbed his thumb across your cheek, and you realized you had been bleeding.  “Alright, that’s the end of introductions, I wanna get this thing started.  See you in a bit!”  

The cambot gave a chirp, and its red recording light blinked off at Troy’s cue.  Troy lifted his blood-smeared thumb to his mouth, and licked it.  

“Hoo, wow.”  Troy exhaled sharply. “Yeah, ah, get them goin’ for me, make it good.“  He motioned to two robed figures standing off to the side, seemingly waiting for this invitation.  “Mmh, behave for them, hm sweetheart?”  Troy gave you a flash of sharp teeth in a crooked smile.

Cultists guided you away in a fog.  By this point you had been through way too much for the past however-many hours, and you obediently stumbled along for them.  You just wanted to lie down and wake up.  The noise and bustle of the compound began to thin the deeper into the building you were led, and your chaperons weren’t exactly talkative. This was all probably very secret and important, and maybe you’d be looking around in wonder at the magnificent décor if you could keep your eyes focused.

Heavy, ornate doors pulled open at the end of a particularly holy looking hall; a tiled room, decorated in mosaic patterns of red and blue, twisting snakes and wide starburst eyes, designs leading off along the floor into different rooms.  The sound of water running came from somewhere, echoing off the tile.  The room smelled sweet, vaguely floral but not overpoweringly so, and the air was heavy and humid.  Now you were staring around in wonder, too much to even notice the additional attendants had begun to undo the buttons and straps of your clothing.  

You tripped back, yanking your shackles from the hands of an acolyte you hadn’t seen.

“Calm yourself, Lamb.”  A priest rasped; the first time you had heard one speak.  “No harm will come to you here, you are protected under the power of the godking.”

“W-what does that mean?”  Your voice cracked now that you had finally found it, and it struck you how thirsty you were.

A cultist took your hands once again, working at the mechanism on the shackles.  “You are being readied for Troy Calypso, as He has requested.  The cleansing process is not a painful one, simply relax.”

The lock jolted, and the heavy metal fell from your wrists with a thunk.  Another fanatic carried it off, and you realized just how many figures were bustling around the room.  You tensed up, jaw tightening as an attendant resumed undoing the many straps and laces of the clothing necessary for the desert planet.  A lump formed in your throat as you fought the urge to tear yourself away.

The discomfort must’ve been radiating from you, because one of them spoke up.  “You need not be so uneasy; we have no desires of our own, only to serve the Twin Gods.  To act out from their wishes would be deserving of an unholy death.”  Nodding and soft murmurs of agreement sounded out around the room.  

Literal and figurative armor was pulled from you, the warm air now more welcoming than stifling.  A white towel was wrapped around your body, and you got the feeling it was for your own benefit.  

“Are you familiar with washing?”  You’d feel offended if you were on any other planet; here it was a reasonable question.

“Uh, yes.”  

“Very well.  Come along, Lamb.”  

The room you were led into was even more warm and misty than the antechamber, a slight fog hanging in the air from heated water.  Opulent mosaics on the wall depicted the twin gods lounging in golden robes, light rays shining out from them.  A stonework shower was built into a corner, and you were guided toward it, a washcloth and pitch-black bar of unscented soap waiting in the hands of a cultist.  You hesitantly took the objects, and handed over your towel with some reluctance.  

A glass door provided some barrier between you and your audience, who thankfully really did seem uninterested.  Being exposed was not something you were used to on Pandora- or, at all really.  Two silver knobs in front of you were self-explanatory, and you turned on the water-

Hot water.  God, how long had it been since you had a hot shower?  You let out a gasp, shoulders slumping as you turned your face up to the stream.  You opened your mouth, filling it with water and swishing it around, drinking some when you realized it tasted clean.  It felt like pounds of dust was being rinsed off your skin, and you rubbed at your face, reveling in the stark difference between this and standing under a freezing hose for a few minutes.  

The black bar of soap lathered nicely, and you set to work scrubbing off your battered and dry skin.  Wisps of red swirled down the drain as you washed all the cuts and scrapes you had accumulated, as well as some blood that probably wasn’t even yours. You washed yourself less out of submission to the COV, and more because you just wanted to feel human again.

Reluctantly, you eventually stepped out of the shower, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to keep a bunch of vicious cultists waiting too long.  Instead of handing you a towel though, the robed acolyte took you toward a large clawfoot tub on the other side of the room.  You’d only ever seen those in movies- the edges curved out gracefully, and the bath was already filled; petals of a flower you couldn’t identify floated in the purple-tinted water.  The cultist held their hand out, offering you help getting in.  

Taking the hand, you dipped one foot in.  The water was hot, on the edge of being too hot, but not quite.  You slipped into the bath, sinking into the enveloping heat; you felt like you could drift off. Fingers wove into your hair, making you jump-

“Shhhhh, relax.”  The cultist soothed.  

You obeyed, figuring it was a little late to start resisting now. Gently, they worked the tangles out of your wet hair, brought on mostly by your recent experience as a twice-over prisoner.  More cultists appeared, pouring softly-scented liquids and powders into the bath, and you become aware of a not-unpleasant tingling feeling creeping over your skin.  You let your eyes slide shut, listening to the quiet shuffle of the cult members echoing on the tile and the low, (admittedly pretty) hymns playing from somewhere.

A depression in the bath’s edge provided a perfect fit for you to rest your head, feeling the hands working through your hair hanging over the edge, massaging your scalp and working some kind of shampoo into it.  A handheld sprayer rinsed the lather from your head, and you were released to fully recline in the tub.  You let your ears dip under the water, outside sounds gone, leaving you alone with your heartbeat.  Your body bounced ever so slightly in the water as you breathed, the bath large enough for you to float without touching the bottom or sides.  You could fall asleep here.

In fact, you did.  

You had no idea how long you had been unconscious, only that someone was pulling you from the bath, hooking their hands under your arms and lifting you out.  The water had cooled significantly, but it wasn’t yet room temperature.  You mumbled softly.

“Apologies Lamb, but we cannot allow you to soak any longer.” A cultist was at your side, wrapping a fluffy, deep red towel around you the moment you were out of the bath.  “The next step in the process awaits.”

Your legs felt heavy as you were led out of the bathing room and into another gorgeous space.  When they guided you to a cushioned, slightly reclined chair, you didn’t question it. If they wanted to treat you to some weird spa day before…whatever happened, then fine.  The small room was lit dimly, mostly with candles.

The dirt was scrubbed from under your nails, hands given a light massage once clean.  

“Eat, Lamb.”  You opened your eyes to a cultist offering you some kind of food.   They held the bite out to you from a fork, but didn’t object to you taking the plate yourself.

You had forgotten how hungry you were, after being kept for however many hours in the sun and rattled around in two separate bandit vehicles.  The food was…some kind of meat, you’d seen more suspicious.  You’d seen less suspicious too, but it smelled good and wasn’t burned to charcoal; it actually seemed seasoned and prepared, imagine that.

Eating with so many eyes on you would normally have made you uncomfortable, but you were too starved to care.  Almost immediately, a priest was there with another plate, this one carrying an assortment of fruits; some you had never seen before.  Normally you had to fight off scurvy with vitamin tablets, fruit was a rare luxury here, even when it was in season.  The COV must’ve had it imported in from off-planet…

You picked out a few grapes, not yet brave enough to try one of the glowy things.  A reddish tinted drink was given to you in a wine glass; you half expected some alcoholic burn, but it was cool and sweet and made your mouth feel a little fuzzy instead. Hands rubbed at your shoulders, slowly easing the knots out of your muscles, a cultist occasionally encouraging you to try another bit of fruit.  Eventually you were taken to a cushioned table and made to lie down, the towel removed and replaced with a warm blanket laid across you.  

Years-worth of aches and soreness was slowly worked out of your back, spine cracking in a satisfying way every so often.  Oils and lotions were rubbed into your skin, your joints being stretched gently by several hands at once, all the while you felt more and more dazed.  

After a soothing lifetime of being massaged and tended to, you were pulled to your feet.  You weren’t even concerned with being exposed anymore, and they led you back out into the main lobby of the area where an especially-holy-looking acolyte stood with a drape of shimmery fabric laid across her arms.  A lower-ranked cultist stood holding a smoking container of incense, and they approached you, mumbling some prayer you couldn’t pay attention to if you tried.  You obliged them, allowing the priest to pull the white shawl over your body.

Once the priest had finished muttering the praises and blessings or whatever she was doing, a particularly large cultist came forward and simply picked you up.  You limply allowed it, now just along for whatever ride they decided to take you on. You were carried down some halls; you couldn’t really pay attention to the surroundings anymore.  Eventually, you reached your destination, and they laid you out on an altar in the center of a temple-like room.  After a few more prayers and responses from your entourage, the cultists all left you, heavy doors creaking shut and leaving you in silence.

You felt distant, lying there on the chilly gilded altar.  No doubt due to the strange drugs that had been soaked and rubbed and fed to you, but…it felt okay.  You couldn’t remember ever feeling this relaxed, this peaceful.  The now empty room was beautiful from what you could see, all stained glass and candles and regal draped fabric, the spicy scent of incense hanging in the air.  The silky robe the attendants had wrapped you in feeling so soft on your skin, yet another a luxury you’d never experienced before.

You couldn’t even find the care to pick up your head when you heard the huge doors open.  A cambot whirred into view, and you could hear Troy before you saw him.

“Leeet’s see the finished product!”  The siren came into view, towering over you, appraising his servants’ work.  “Ooh, goddamn would you look at that.” His fingertips grazed over your jaw, and you felt compelled to tilt your head to the side, letting him continue down the side of your throat.  “Aww, see? So obedient.  All that fear just-” he gestured with his mech hand, as if waving something away.  “-gone. So committed to your blessed purpose now.”

Troy leaned down, nudging his face under your chin, close enough that the tip of his nose ghosted over your skin.  You shivered a little at the touch, but had no instinct to recoil; he inhaled deeply, exhaling through parted lips.  A rumbling noise, something between a purr and a growl, buzzed ever so softly from his throat.  

 “Ah-“  He stood straight again, running a hand through his hair and visibly unfocused.  “Uh- heh, right, hang on I gotta get some shots for the unpaid version.”  

The cambot bobbed back around, and you shifted slightly, feeling almost sleepy under the gaze of this apex predator and his billions of followers.

Soon enough, it seemed Troy had gotten the shots he needed, and moved in again.  His hand, warm where the glowing siren tattoos snaked over it, slid the robe from your shoulder.  Troy nestled his head up to the exposed skin, and you gasped a little when the wet heat of his tongue slid over your collarbone.

Troy gripped your sides, and bit.

You twitched at his sharpened teeth sinking into your shoulder, but couldn’t muster more than that.  

A deep groan rumbled from the siren’s chest, his jaw tightening on you; curiously, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected.  Some pinching and a deal of pressure were there, but the drugs you were full of seemed to be keeping you nicely distant from your nervous system.  You could feel Troy’s jaw moving as he took blood, and he pulled away with a huff before licking over the wound.

“Gh, f-fuck-“  Troy’s face split open as he spit out the word.  

Troy was on the altar, hauling himself up to straddle you in one easy motion.  He looked down at you, arms caging you in on either side of your body; pupils blown huge, monstrous jaws hanging open.  All at once his head jerked downward, and he snapped his teeth into your torso with a wet cracking noise.

You body jumped a little at the impact, and you felt the crunch of bone vibrate through your chest.  Troy pulled back, jagged teeth raking through your flesh easily, and you could see broken shards of white in the gore he held between his fangs.  He snapped his jaws, getting a better grip on the meat to swallow it, barely a second passing before he was burying his face back in your ribs. Troy ripped and tore like a feral animal, panting for breath between mouthfuls of you; all the while you could do nothing but lay there, impassive; obedient.

“Weeeell look who’s having a good time!  Hope you Elpis-tier followers are enjoying my brother chowing down on this snackrifice we’ve got here today!”  Tyreen.  You tilted your head to the side, vision bouncing a little as Troy ate.  She was swaying in, speaking to the cambot that had pulled out to get a larger shot of her apparently-scripted entrance.  “Sometimes, you just want a break from the howls of agony- hard to believe, I know! But who doesn’t love options!  And really, who can argue with a sweet little offering who knows how to give their flesh so well?  I mean, just look at that!”

Tyreen strolled closer, giving you a smile; your muddled brain couldn’t tell if it was soft or mocking.  She put her hands on the altar, and Troy let out a snarl from somewhere inside your chest.

“How’re you doin, sweetie?”  She cooed, leaning over your face and ignoring her twin’s predatory growl. “Fuck you smell good.  Cut that last bit out Troy.”  

He gave an agreeing mutter in response, before pulling up, exhaling sharply.

“Ahh god Ty can you f-feel how much energy they’re gi-giving off?”  His speech was almost incomprehensibly slurred between the split jaws and the blood and muscle dripping from his mouth.  

“Mhh, yeah.  They’re from that stripped eridium mine, right?”  You could feel Tyreen probing at the deep bite in your shoulder.

You mumbled softly, unable to form words. She raised her fingertips to her mouth to lick your blood from them.

Troy’s too-long tongue slid over his left jaw, long enough to wrap around the edge.  He groaned quietly, a strange purring vibration to the sound.  “They gotta be.”  He dipped back down, unable to keep his fangs off you for too long.

Tyreen was leaning in too, eyes drifting shut.  Her lips made contact with the blood still pulsing from your shoulder in a soft kiss, before she too was running her tongue over your skin. Her fingertips met your chin, tilting your head to the side to give her some room.  Teeth, less sharpened than her brother’s but still capable of breaking skin, bit into an untouched spot with a satisfied hum.

“Hhhg, ffuckin get your own.”  Troy’s voice was muffled, barely lifting his head from your body.  

She didn’t respond, but they both seemed content to stop bickering and lose themselves in your blood.  You were drifting, detached.  It wasn’t how you thought you were going to end up dying, but all things considered, it could be a lot worse.  At least you got preened and pampered before being torn apart by some monstrous sirens.

The distinct pressure and sound of another rib crunching away brought you out of your musings.  It struck you how far up he was; how many bones he had already snapped through. You mustered enough strength to open your eyes and look down at the surreal sight of Troy, half his face buried in your cracked open chest.

His eyes, thin rings of pale blue around dilated pupils, met yours. He lifted himself, blood hanging in strings between his face and your torso.  

Troy spoke.  You couldn’t hear a word of it.  Just a muted drone of sound as your vision wavered in and out of focus.  You were so tired.  He reached to your face, running a hand over your cheek.  He was so warm. You couldn’t help but let your head flop to the side, into his touch.

Tyreen- you had just about forgotten she was there until she pulled away from you, feeling like she had always meant to be at your throat, draining the life from you so gently.  She said something.  Even so close to your ear, you couldn’t understand the deadly-sweet words.

You let your eyes close.  You let go.

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 Awake.  You were awake.  You shouldn’t be awake.

You were lying down, on a…a bed.  You shifted around, shocked to find all your limbs attached and no gaping hole in your abdomen.  

“Ha!  Bet you’re surprised to be alive!  I try to keep the healing stuff on the down-low, don’t really want the whole fam asking me for favors.”  Tyreen’s voice made you bolt upright.  Something around your neck jingled.

You reached up, grabbing at the source of the noise-

“You like it?  Troy’s idea, thought it was cute.”  A little bell was hanging from the collar around your throat.

You brought your eyes up to Tyreen, almost scared to look directly at her.  You’d heard about how she liked to toy with people, how volatile she could be, and it felt like you were being tricked right now.

“You, uh, you aren’t gonna…kill me?”  You said something to her you spoke to this godlike siren-

Tyreen grinned.  She reached out to you, tattoos flaring light, and you squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation of being drained to a crystalline husk in a second.  Instead, Tyreen Calypso booped your nose.

“You taste too way good to only have once, pet.”

[prairiesongserial]

5.6

The truck bounced and ambled its way down the dust-covered road, tossing its passengers gently from side to side like they were in a ship on a particularly stormy ocean. Cody’s stomach turned over, and he tore his gaze away from the window to look at John and Sailor, who shared the backseat with him.

“Are we sure about this?”

“No,” Sailor growled under her breath. She was hunched over in her seat, gently rubbing her leg where her knee joint met her new prosthetic. “It’s a bad plan. Not enough people, and not enough guns.”

“I thought that was kinda the point,” Nash said cheerfully, from the driver’s seat. “Y’all aren’t supposed to be attracting attention.”

“Nash, respectfully, you aren’t a part of this discussion unless you’re gonna be gettin’ out of the car to go with us,” Cody said, his voice flat.

He knew exactly what Nash’s orders were, unfortunately, and Nash wasn’t coming with him, John, and Sailor. According to what Marc had said that morning at brunch, Nash was coming along strictly as their getaway driver. If they didn’t come back to the rendezvous point within about an hour, Nash was allowed to head back to Texas Waters and leave the three of them high and dry. Cody, for one, had no doubt that he really would. Nash may have been affable enough, but at the end of the day, Marc was the one paying him for his services.

“Fair enough,” Nash said, with an easy shrug. “Your drop point’s comin’ up in a couple minutes, by the way.”

“Great,” Cody said through his teeth. John put a hand on his knee, gently, and he reached down to squeeze it. Having his own gesture returned muddled his thoughts about the whole interaction - he still wasn’t sure what he had been trying to communicate, back at breakfast. At least he could say for certain that John hadn’t minded. Cody refocused himself on the problem at hand, more agitated now than before. “I still don’t see why we have to split up.”

Their instructions were relatively straightforward, all things considered. Marc would be meeting with the heads of a local mob, in a town just across the Mexican border, under the pretense of making an alliance with them. Something about dividing up certain resources they each had access to for a mutual benefit. While the meeting was going on, John, Cody, and Sailor would be pulling off one of the double-crosses Marc was apparently notorious for - considering breakfast, that hadn’t been much of a surprise.

John, Cody, and Sailor were to steal the mob’s supply of water. The only catch was that the supply was kept in a compound located dead in the middle of a nest of muties. The mob didn’t have to spend the manpower guarding their most valuable resource if the muties kept people away for free, after all. All they had to do was guard one tunnel entrance. The mob members transported the water in barrels through a tunnel under the mesa, then raised it up on a lift. The barrels sat out in the open, the hundred-odd feral muties enough of a deterrent for any sane person.

The water heist, as Marc had devised it, was a two-pronged plan. Cody and Sailor would make their way up one side of the mesa, doing their best to go as quickly as possible while also disturbing as few muties as possible. At the same time, John would arrive at the guard station at the base of the mesa, dressed as one of the mob’s security men. While Cody and Sailor reached the compound from the top, John would take care of the guards patrolling the underground tunnel. If all went well, they’d meet as soon as Cody and Sailor took the lift down, then transport the barrels of water out through the tunnel to where Nash would be waiting in the truck.

It was a decent plan, in theory. But there were a lot of ways it could go wrong, and Cody hadn’t stopped thinking up more since they’d left Texas Waters. He was so nervous that he could practically feel the food he’d eaten at brunch rolling around in his stomach, threatening to come back up.

“You really want to fight your way back through a nest of pissed-off muties? I mean, be my guest, but…” Nash trailed off, perhaps remembering that Cody had just told him not to talk anymore. He punctuated it with another shrug.

“He’s right,” John murmured, almost as if it pained him to do so.

Cody frowned. “The last time we split up -”

“Was different,” John said, squeezing his hand back. “Not on purpose.”

“Still!”

“Cody,” John said firmly, then looked surprised when Cody’s attention snapped completely to him. He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing conspicuously in his throat, looking a little like a deer caught in headlights.

“Well?” Cody asked.

“...I’ll handle it,” John said at last, a little gruff, diverting his gaze towards the floor. Cody’s frown deepened.

“I know, but -”

“John has the easy job,” Sailor broke in, looking more than a little exasperated with the route the conversation had gone down. “All he has to do is clear the getaway path for us, and stay there to make sure no other goons show up.”

“I dunno about easy. Once he starts takin’ them down, someone’s gonna notice,” Cody said.

“Not if he’s careful,” Sailor said. “He’ll have enough time to be, with us sneakin’ our way up the whole fuckin’ mesa. I didn’t exactly think he was gonna run in guns blazing, and just start shooting people left and right.”

John snorted.

“Hey, he might have to, if his cover gets blown,” Nash pointed out.

“That’s fine,” John said, and then fell silent again, looking contemplative.

Cody watched him, thinking that, strangely, this was the most he’d heard John speak since before they’d arrived at Texas Waters that morning. He wondered how John was feeling, but he wasn’t about to ask a thing like that in front of Sailor and Nash. They’d have time to talk about it later, hopefully.

“Alright, here we are,” Nash said, pulling the truck off to the shoulder of the road. There wasn’t much there - the mesa loomed over them a couple of yards away, but for the most part, it was just scenic desert. Nothing to suggest a nest of muties nearby. “Hop on out, you two, and don’t forget your guns.”

Cody gave John’s hand a final squeeze before letting go of it, and opening the door to let himself and Sailor out of the truck. He hopped down to the ground, adjusting his poncho, and circling to the back of the truck for the rifles Marc had given to them, just in case. Cody had never fired a fancy rifle like the ones Marc’s guards used before, but he’d fired a shotgun, and he reckoned they worked about the same. He had his pistol holstered to his hip again, too, as a last resort.

“Be safe,” he told John through the window, slinging the rifle’s strap over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

John nodded. Nash revved the truck’s engine once, then peeled away onto the road, with apparently little regard for the dust the tires kicked up onto Cody and Sailor. Cody watched the truck disappear into the distance, until he couldn’t see John’s face looking for him from the window anymore.

“Ready to kill some muties?” he asked, turning to Sailor.

“I’m hoping we won’t have to,” she grumbled. She started to head for the mesa, her eyes scanning the horizon line for something. “There should be a footpath close to here that goes up to the top. It was on Marc’s map.”

“Right,” Cody said, following just a couple steps behind. He’d thought the map of the area that Marc had brought out while explaining the plan had been largely for dramatic purposes, but now he felt a little silly for not taking the time to study it seriously.

“What’s with you and Marc, anyway?” he asked. It couldn’t hurt to make conversation until they actually reached mutie territory, and he was curious, anyway. “I thought you were trying to catch him for the bounty. He acted like you come around for brunch all the time.”

“It’s complicated,” Sailor said, bluntly.

“Is it?”

“No,” she answered, after a moment of contemplation. They’d reached the beginning of the footpath, and she started up it, only pausing for a moment to make sure Cody was following her closely. “Not really. He thinks I’m hunting him because I like him.”

“And he likes you, obviously,” Cody said, filling in the gaps.

“Obviously,” Sailor said. “What was your first clue?”

Cody laughed - and then froze, the sound dying in his throat as he abruptly became aware of something moving in his peripheral vision. Sailor snapped her head up to look, and he did the same, already knowing what he’d find. His stomach twisted. There was a group of muties, at least five of them crouched on a ledge not five yards away. Their eyes were milky white with cataracts, and they were hunched over, with necks and arms that looked too long for their bodies. Some of them were chittering softly, Cody thought, unless it was the sounds of nearby animals. But he doubted that, somehow.

“They can’t see,” he murmured, barely moving his lips. If the muties were blind, maybe sneaking past them would be easier than Marc had thought.

Sailor frowned. She stooped to pick up a rock from the ground, slowly and deliberately. Cody wondered what she was doing for only a moment before she wound up and threw it, sending it sailing over the group of muties’ heads and clattering across the ground on the ledge they were on.

The muties reacted in less than a second. So abruptly it was startling, they sprang into motion, turning to lunge on the spot where the rock had landed. They were making low, guttural noises in their throats that sounded like a human imitation of a dog’s growl. Cody thought it might have been the worst noise he’d ever heard in his life.

“They can sure hear, though,” Sailor said, under her breath.

Cody bit the inside of his cheek, and nodded. Somehow, he got the feeling that this was going to be much worse than the last time he and John had split up.

5.5 || 5.7