Snippet #2679975

Mel could hear his own blood throbbing against his eardrum, washing out the back half of what Coleman had to say. To say that it bothered him would have been an understatement, but it was not a tragedy he had any right to claim.

His right hand crossed his body to rub at the jagged scar on the opposite palm, the only physical trace left by the bullet that had shot his gun out of reach. Comparatively speaking, it was a very, very small price to have paid, given what had befallen the rest of his comrades.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he said as he picked up a cafeteria tray, putting on the practiced smile he had learned to use in front of his case counselor. “It’s in the past, anyhow. And there’s nothing that’s going to—“

Transmission from Knight Saffir Fisher

His hand flew to his earpiece, upon hearing the computerized butchering of Saff’s name, pressing the gadget in so that he could hear the transmission clearly.

“Hey, Saff. What’s—“

His face went pale.

The plastic tray clattered from his hands to drop against the cobbles, and Mel’s boots squeaked against the floor as he turned and pounded toward the doors. A waxy pallor blanched over his skin, standing out against the ring of cold sweat seeping through his shirt collar.

“I’m coming, Saff. Hold on. Are you sheltering?” Of course she was hiding. Stupid, stupid Mel. His raced down a stairwell taking the steps two at a time. He nearly took out a pair of Knight Squires on their way to training, but he paid them no heed as their shoulders clipped against his.

“What’s your 20? I- I’m going to the station now, okay? I’m going to grab the subtrain over—“

No. If Ronin were in the West District, incoming public transit would surely be closed, or rerouted.

“I’m coming, okay? I’ll grab a lift and be over there as soon as I can. Citadel response will be there before I am. You’re gonna be okay—“ His knees were shaking as he ran through the Citadel’s front entrance and over the wide wooden bridge across into the city.

The last time he had promised Knight Fisher that she would be alright, there was a case of lockers on top of her, and her blood was pooling in a slick puddle on the ground, which his boots slipped in when he tried to push the shelf up to free her. The ground had been wet from a burst pipe in the wall, and less than five yards away the bodies of Zhao and Lowy lay still with death. There was someone else coming down the hatch to the shelter, with quick steps and laughing conversation and—

He shook his head and began holding out his hand to flag a driver. “I’m on my way, Saffir. You’re alright,”

If Coleman or anyone else had followed his frantic flight from the building, he had not paid them any heed.