Climbing the Ladder - Deimos falls
In the darkness of the once familiar clinic, a lone Phuzo sat in the back operating room in a pool of his own blood. His thoughts were muddy as he brought a lit cigarette to his mouth, slowly with shaking agonized paws. Despite the blood filling his lungs, he took a slow drag, sending the chemical deep into his bubbling lungs. As he exhaled laboriously, his torn body shook in a wet coughing fit, sending blood splattering across his already ruined form.
After a few minutes of wheezing, Deimos leaned his head back against the cabinet doors he was leaning on. his legs spread out uselessly before him, his white fur soaked a crimson to match his plated scales. It wasn't the first time he'd seen his own blood coat him, but he was confident this would be his last. For who would come here, in these final abysmal hours? The city was lost, and anyone not hacked had either fled or been killed, like he nearly had been. Closing his tired eyes, flashes of teeth immediately fill his consciousness. The glaring of eyes not their own, of a group of Phuzo tearing into him with tears running down their cheeks. The way some sobbed and chanted their apologies as they bit at him echoed through his mind, causing a wet sting to his own eyes. He was so tired, he didn't even feel the pain anymore, probably for the better anyways seeing as his gut was currently resembling synth ground. He just wanted it to be over, let them come and tear him up, he'd take as many as he could and then they could all finally find peace.
Deimos hadn't known how many days he'd been hacked...weeks? months? years? It was all a blur, flashes of him screaming in rage through his minds eye, a silent voice containing volumes louder than any concert. He begged, he threatened, he swore and cursed, he threw himself at the walls of the cyber cage he had been put into. How Dare that freak take over his body!? No one told Deimos what to do, especially not some wild eyed fuck hidden away behind a screen. Deimos saw red, but not the red Rhecka projected into his head and upon every surface of Praque. He wanted Rhecka's blood, he hated him and had wanted nothing to DO with these 'Truthseekers' to begin with! He could smell a bad deal from the start and sought to stay far away from that action but...no one could have foreseen how dangerous the whole situation would become, in the burning crescendo of their so called investigation. Deimos never stopped fighting to regain control of himself, losing all track of time and space as he hyper focused on pushing back, pounding on the walls, clawing, screaming, waiting. He remembered watching his body corner a group of kids, huddled in the alley as he made his way closer, snarling and drooling like an animal. He watched helplessly as he grabbed each of them and dragged them into the streets, biting and clawing until the familiar hum reached their minds as well and they fell into the fold. He watched as he attacked Phuzo after Phuzo, countless lives forever traumatized by the oppressive force that was Rhecka's tech.
It was an absolute fluke, the day Deimos finally got free. He had been waiting quietly for some time now, and for a moment he felt the hack's strength flicker. In that time, he welled up his strength and threw his mind at the walls of the construct until he felt it finally give, shattering like glass around his soul. He was free! He stumbled to the ground as he gasped and coughed, breathing like he'd been held underwater and finally reached the surface. Unfortunately though, these were shark infested waters, and Deimos was very aware how much danger he was in as several nearby heads swiveled to look directly at him. 'Fuck' He thought, jumping to action as the first bodies began to rush him, claws glancing off his plated arms as teeth bit and tore at his hood and cloak, blood splattering their muzzles as the thin flesh easily ripped away. He fought back with all his might but he was not a large Phuzo and even cage matches were so imbalanced. He pushed and clawed and did his best to escape, even as they tore at his stomach and back, as they ripped his ears and face. He was left bloody and beaten by the time the last Phuzo dropped unconscious by his hand, barely able to stand himself as he stumbled down an alley out of sight and began to make his way to the only sanctuary he could think of.
Deimos wasn't aware of how long it took him to cross several city blocks, he only knew that if he got to Methuselahs clinic, he could hole himself up there and die on his own terms, with some dignity left intact. His legs gave out about 200 feet from the clinic, forcing Deimos to resign himself to dragging his rapidly corpsifying carcass the rest of the way, through the open side door before pushing his way up onto the front counters. He sat himself in Mattie's chair and wheeled over to the cabinets that held pain killers and antibiotics, shaking hands slipping and smearing sanguine pawprints across the doors as he fumbled them open, snatching the first bottles he could read and downing half their contents each. Crunching the bitter pills, he rooted around for a hidden weapon, remembering he once stashed a gun in the wall at a time his friend wasn't looking. His weary arms quietly pushed against the tiles until he found his paydirt, moving the loose tile aside to retrieve his backup pistol before rolling into the back room, where so many times he'd sat on the operating table getting stitches after a particularly rough fight. Now, one of the lights hung loosely from its socket, flickering solemn light dejectedly across shattered windows. Old bloody pawprints had made their way through, though little was actually ransacked. Hacked, it seemed, looking for their next victim. Good. that meant they'd most likely wander back eventually, and he could have his last stand. Here, in this forgotten corner of the slums, he would await destiny.
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Drifting back to the present, Deimos stared up at the ceiling, half lost in a foggy reverie of bygone days. All the times he'd come in to the clinic to pester Mattie, dancing around the reception area, flirting uselessly, laughing, oh...so much laughter. These thin halls were full of it whenever he'd come to visit. Happy memories filled with the smell of antiseptic and gauze, of taunting and smiles, of the warm smell of Mattie's fur and the gentle yet firm way he administered medicine to this reckless drifter. Happy bygone days filled with joy and life, through these once bustling halls.
A short while later, the sound of movement at the front of the clinic awoke Deimos from his feverish dozing. He hadn't realized he did doze off, thought lately time seemed to pass in strange pockets as he lay here dying, drifting in and out of consciousness in a pool of his own blood. Perhaps now was the final hour, the crescendo of his own timeline. They had finally come for him, and here he would part this world on his own terms, in a blaze of glory. With shaking paws and laborious breath, he lifted his gun and aimed it haphazardly towards the doorway.
What he wasn't expecting, was a small cream furred paw grasping the doorway, and a familiar voice mutter to itself as a short statured Phuzo walked into the back area confidently, as he had numerous times in the past. This was his clinic after all.
Methuselah walked through the room with intent, looking for the supplies they had come back to the city for, he and his little crew courtesy of Miyuki, or the Phoenix as some still called her. He was pawing through a cabinet across the room, and as Deimos sat there watching him, the small pit fighter was convinced this was his personal reaper come to carry him off to the next life. The absurdity of the situation caused Deimos to laugh, an alien sound that was full of burbling blood and gore, as a trickle of said viscera leaked from the corner of his muzzle. He let his gun clatter out of his grasp, an audible sound that caused Mattie to freeze and whip his head toward Deimos in the dark corner, looking much like a corpse already.
"B......bout time you.....s...showed up. Y.........You're.......late, D.....Doc..."
"....Deimos? Is that you? Y-You're alive? You're alive! Rhett, Cooper, get the crash kit from the front! We got a live one!"