After going down that Combat Medic rabbit hole, allow me to put heavy emphasis on the one-person drag. Specifically, the Neck Drag pictured at the bottom right of this image.
Yes, we see the support carry, arm drag, and pack-strap carry very frequently in fiction. I would really, really like to see the Neck Drag used more frequently (please do hmu if you have written or read something with this drag being used <3).
The neck drag is when the injured party clasps their hands together behind the medic's neck, or the medic ties their hands together if they're unconscious. The medic then bear crawls forward until cover or safety is reached, where they can change to an easier carry or drag position, address immediate medical needs, or get carrying assistance from another medic. If the injured party is heavy, the medic would have to crawl forward in short bursts (almost like a scooting motion).
This makes for a very uncomfortable but effective way of extraction for the injured party. Now, if you like romantic tension when writing, this is a great form of forced proximity because the characters are practically on top of one another for the entire duration of this carry - not to mention the medic has to straddle the injured party at the start. Obviously they would have more pressing matters in mind, but us writers are all the same and you know it <3
So, take this idea and run with it! I already mentioned this resource in a previous post, but I'll share it again if you want to see more details. It's very helpful for writing research! Plus there are video demonstrations on how to apply different types of tourniquets, and of course the different carries and drags like the ones mentioned above.
Ran out of brain juice, so I'll stop here. I'm serious about recs with the neck drag though!
The things that hit him first were the suffocating darkness and the awful chill in the air.
Erebus knew he didn’t belong here. All around him, strange rock formations jutted out every which way, no sign of life among them. There didn’t seem to be any source of light, and yet everything was clearly visible, casting hardly any shadow. The silence was nearly absolute, pressing in on his ears. The only thing he could hear was the freakishly loud sound of his own heartbeat, amplified by the collar around his neck.
Wait, the collar-he reached up for it, fingers closing around the awful strip of leather that he’d been forced to wear since the start of his captivity. He had a sword, he had claws, and N...no one would make him wear another one if he broke it. So he should take it off, right? He should destroy it. He’d always hated it, the way it meant he was owned, how it let-let people put leashes on him and lead him around like a dog. She...she’d said it herself, that he had to wear it so he wouldn’t forget that he belonged to her, but now they were...not together. So it shouldn’t matter.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about when she’d taken it off for the procedure with the envy demon, about how utterly, embarrassingly exposed he’d felt without that stupid collar. Maybe the feeling would pass, and he would just have to get used to being without it. He hadn’t worn one for the vast majority of his life, so it should be easy to adjust back, right? Besides, it was more than just a collar, it was a way for her to know if someone other than her was touching him, and that was violating, it was...it was a way for her to know he was alive. Assuming it worked, assuming whatever signal it was could be sent to another world.
Erebus lowered his hands, still chained together, as he blinked away tears. He-he was really here, in this other world with only a slim chance of ever going back. He’d take every tie to his old life he could get, no matter how painful. And if the spell on the collar worked, then…he owed it to her to let her know he was still alive. He could wear the collar for a little while longer. The muzzle, on the other hand...he didn’t mind tearing that off and throwing it away in the slightest.
Shakily, he stood, grabbing the sheathed sword in front of him. Being expected to fight was…strange. But, looking at himself now, he was practically designed for this, almost every modification giving him some sort of advantage. It made his blood run cold to think about how this had been the plan from the start, how obvious it seemed now. He wanted to lay down and sob and process what had happened, but everything was so different and strange that he didn’t feel safe enough to let his guard down like that. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he buckled the sword belt around his waist and began looking around.
Behind where he’d appeared, there was a bag lying on the ground. Inside was a cloak with holes for his wings, a knife, and a bedroll. Well, better than nothing, but he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do about food and water or lighting a fire. Maybe that demon tongue would be coming in handy, after all. He put on the cloak, grateful to have something to help him keep warm in this place, along with the shoes he still had on from their trip to the desert.
Nothing else here, he began carefully making his way along one of the stone cliffs, leaning on it since there had never been a chance to fully heal the gash in his leg. Progress was slow, and maybe it would have been a good time to think things through, but he couldn’t stop tears from forming in his eyes at the mere thought of what had happened, so instead he just focused on the pain in his leg, flaring up brighter with every step.
Time felt impossible to grasp, as if this place was outside of it entirely, but at some point Erebus reached the end of the maze of stone. He was greeted with what looked like a vast ocean, but the water was unnaturally calm, not a single ripple on the glass-like surface. Had there been stars above, it would have been beautiful, but under the canopy of uniform blackness, it just looked like a cold, empty void.
Erebus hesitated to step out in the open, no walls to protect him, but the silence was so absolute that he couldn’t imagine there was another living thing anywhere near him. His leg didn’t hurt quite as much anymore despite how much he’d been walking, so he was able to hobble to the water’s edge and investigate, setting the pack down to make moving around a little easier. The sword, however, still hung at his side, just in case.
The water was clear, and as far as he could tell, there was no sign of life in it whatsoever. It was jarringly different from the seaside at home, where you could hardly take a step without spotting a shellfish or aquatic plant. Here, it was just pebbles, no broken shells or bits of dead coral among them. He crouched and dipped a finger in, finding the water both cold and salty. The ripples created by his finger traveled far, seeming to get bigger as they traveled along. Suddenly, even bigger ripples rushed to meet them from farther out, and Erebus’s stomach knotted in terror as he bolted upright, pulling out the sword, having to hold it with both hands since they were still chained.
He strained his eyes in the darkness, looking for whatever had caused the disturbance. Was that...there was something in the water out there, he was sure of it. He took a few steps back, sword still held in front of him, watching the strange shape grow larger and larger as it approached. The moment the tip of its nose emerged, the surface of the water erupted, spraying Erebus with cold mist and shooting tendrils out into the open air that coalesced into a large sort of web. Arches of water now crisscrossed all throughout the space, severely limiting how much he could fly around, especially since he never had a chance to practice it much. In the middle of the watery network was a large bubble, and when he saw what was inside it, Erebus’s jaw dropped.
The creature was enormous, big enough to swallow him whole in one bite. Its pale gray body was long, with two pairs of flippers that were almost as big as Erebus and a webbed, spiny ridge going down its back. A cruel, curved hook jutted out from the end of its tail, almost as sharp-looking as its conical teeth. As Erebus looked at it in horror, it turned its gaze to him, its blank white eyes staring into his own identical pair. So this…this must be a sloth demon. He was supposed to fight that?
He could leave, just run and hide, this thing couldn’t follow him through those rocky canyons, he could stop and take a moment to think, but this was an enemy right in front of him, and no matter how terrifying, it had revealed itself, no more surprises. Erebus tightened his grip. If he could-could beat this thing then he could really rest. It would be safe here. He would be that much closer to going h…somewhere that wasn’t here. He could do this. He had to.
Despite how much he was shaking, Erebus took flight and approached, finding it difficult to do so while he was holding the sword, but not enough for him to fall out of the air. The demon just watched as he flew past the jets of water, and Erebus hated those blank white eyes boring into him, which just made him loathe his own all that much more. How…how exactly was he supposed to attack it? It was so huge and he couldn’t see any kind of obvious weakness, not to mention that it was surrounded by a sphere of water. While he knew his eyes worked underwater, he could only imagine his wings would be a hindrance, not to mention the heavy sword.
Maybe…maybe he should just retreat for now. Come up with a plan and come back. This was just…it was too much. Reassuring himself that the demon couldn’t follow him, he cautiously turned around and started to weave his way through the tendrils of-there was a sharp jerk on his wing, and suddenly Erebus was being dragged through the air, crashing into pillars of water as he went, barely registering the splash of his sword hitting the sea below as he scrambled to get his wing free of-of-it was that hook it was pierced through the top of Erebus’s wing he couldn’t get it out his fingers were slippery and freezing and useless he had to do something kick his legs flap his wings anything-
Just as those awful teeth came into view, Erebus managed to swing himself back, but the chain on his wrists was caught, wrapped around a tooth, his fall jerked to a halt, he was hanging by his wrists, the hook was gone but his wing wouldn’t work, he had to do something, that eye was so big and so close, watching him struggle, the beast’s throat humming with an ancient growl, hungry, he couldn’t just let this happen, he grabbed the tooth with his left hand and the chain with his right, he could do this, pull himself up enough to-
The great jaws snapped shut, and Erebus tumbled into the water below.
Cold shocked his system, despite the fact that his left arm felt like it was on fire.
He couldn’t stay down here. He had to get to the surface.
But, down there, a faint glint. Metal. His sword. His only hope of winning.
He swam towards it, progress slow and painful and-
His left hand was gone.
There wasn’t time to mourn it.
His remaining hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword. It was heavy, too heavy for him to swim up with.
He was running out of air. He had to try. This couldn’t be the end. Not here. Not so soon after-
The hook pierced through his wing again, and it was all he could do to hold onto his sword this time around.
The sloth demon pulled him up and out of the water with its tail, tossing him high into the air as it opened its great jaws to swallow him whole. His wings torn and useless, all Erebus could do was flap them desperately and hope it would be enough, hope he could at least-his foot landed on one of those teeth, holding him for just a moment before he slipped, but it was enough to aim his sword hold it steady launch himself down drive that point right down into the demon’s eye paint that awful soulless white with red hear the roar of agony so loud he could feel it in his bones and now the water was collapsing falling back down the great corpse falling with it he had to get away wrench the sword out jump back splash into the water struggle to the surface to the shore drag himself out of the water collapse on the shore and breathe.
He-he’d won, but just barely, and the losses were-Erebus bit back tears, looking away from the ragged stump at the end of his left arm. There was no way he could survive six more fights like that.
This horrible, hostile place was going to destroy him, and there would be nothing left of him to go back home.
CW: self destructive attitude, exhaustion, more dehumanization, paranoid whumpee gets a molecule of trust
The training room was off in a part of the asylum Rayla had never seen. Instead of damp, blood splattered walls and stale air that threatened to suffocate all who entered, the room was peacefully empty. The glowing stones suspended in the ceiling cast a warm glow over the padded floor and the rock lined with weapons on the far wall.
Just as an opera singer took to the stage, Katara strutted across the room, ignoring Jvar and Rayla alike. Rayla watched as she took a moment to scan her eyes over weapons of all kinds, from blades to staves to axes, much in the same way Jvar looked over her before he began. It didn't make sense, a weapon was a weapon. If it could kill then it could kill, simple as that.
Katara examined them all under her fingers as if she were a sculptor and they were the clay. It was those small movements of admiration, the attention to detail that stood out. Katara was a warrior who knew her craft.
A knot formed in Rayla’s stomach as she realized she was standing in between two very dangerous people. Maybe Katara wouldn't hurt her but she didn't know how to deal with jvar. She would cause problems.
Then again, the guards in the mines would have thought her dangerous as she leapt feral in the dark.
Jvar snarled after he retreated behind an impenetrable wall of guards. “Hurry up. This is not a leisure activity. I am not giving you all day!”
Internally, Rayla winced. It was no fun to be the proverbial punching bag for that man’s anger. Silently, she wished Katara would hurry up with whatever she was doing and stay safe.
Katara grabbed a blade off the rack. It was a long, study knife built around a brass knuckle grip. “Cave knife,” she twirled it around in her fingers, ignoring Jvar entirely. “Steel blade, single edge. Six inches. Dull.”
Rayla waited for Jvar to call everything off, grab Katara, and show her how skilled he was at bringing pain. He only scoffed.
Katara set the blade down gently and looked him square in the eye. “You can’t rush perfection.” This was Katara’s domain. Her ground.
Keeping her eyes to the floor, Rayla smiled.
One of the guards reached forward, and Rayla jerked herself away on instinct, baring teeth. They were not going to touch her.
It was only the stabbing look from Jvar and the key in his hand that made her cede, offering out her hands. Rayla could only stand in awe as every single chain was unlocked and tossed aside. Chains that had been on so long Rayla had forgotten what it was like to move without them.
To have no muzzle. No handcuffs. No shackles binding her ankles and nothing keeping her tail at bay.
It was only the collar hewed from dark stone around her neck, the one that kept the swirling power in her veins at bay, that remained.
Rayla held her hands out in front of her, turning her palms over a few times, marveling at how light she felt with nothing to weigh her down.
Even as her hands shook to do just stat, Rayla only moved to rub at the raw, scarred skin on her wrists. Jvar had her brother. She could not risk anything.
Do it. Now. Show them what tore everyone into pieces in the mines. Give the Hel!
Besides, ambushing novice guards in sheer darkness was one thing. Facing hardened, armed soldiers in broad daylight as they stood prepared was another.
So she turned her back to Jvar and stepped towards Katara, a grin already spreading across her face. She had grown tired of Jvar’s game, and this was new. Fresh.
Katara waved a hand, effectively dismissing Jvar in his own prison. “Are you going to stand there and watch like a hawk, or are you going to let me do my damn job?”
With a scowl that told Rayla someone would pay for that remark later, Jvar stalked out. He took his guards with him, leaving Rayla and Katara to themselves. For some reason, Katara had no shackles to remove, but she was not the mass murderer the guards had reason to fear.
Rayla was proud to take that title.
“So, what style were you trained in before?” Katara pulled two long, wooden staffs off the rack and tossed Rayla one. She fumbled awkwardly, but caught it.
“Style?” She shook her head. “I’ve been in here for fourteen years. Nobody taught me anything. I killed those guards because the daemon in me knows how to be feral. Because when there’s someone prowling in the dark taking bites out of your companions, it seems like soldiers forget their training.”
Katara tilted her head. “Interesting. I am both a master and student of all. Any new form I find, I integrate it in. So I suppose I’ll teach you mine. The staff is easy to start with anyways. I wouldn’t underestimate it either. A solid oak staff keeps swords out of reach and breaks bones.”
Following Katara’s lead, Rayla took her place facing Katara, several feet apart.
Just as she watched so much else, Rayla took a moment to size Katra up as an opponent. Sure, Rayla was terrifying because she let no boundary of acceptable combat hold her back from brutality. But she was barely medium height and all skin and bones.
Katara on the other hand? Rayla could see how someone would doubt themselves in the face of someone breaking past six feet tall and built of muscle, standing tall and square with the confidence of a warrior and an easy smile.
It was a new kind of pain. No matter how much Rayla tried to match the forms Katara showed her, or how much power she called upon to feed strength into her bones and fuel her inhuman endurance, she was hopelessly outclassed.
Rayla struck, slamming and blocked as she stepped around, light and agile on her feet. That was something else she got from the daemons she’d been fused with. Some of their inhuman strength. Their speed. Their endurance. Their reflexes.
Katara swirled around, spinning and thrusting the rod as if it were her dance partner. Even as sweat dripped off Rayla’s brow and bruises dotted her skin, Katara still laughed and joked and quipped with her strikes. This was easy for her.
“Spread your legs wider!’ Rayla managed to block a swipe as she adjusted her stance. “Switch your grip, it will make thrusts easier!’ With a daemon growl, she slammed the rod right at an opening on Katara’s stomach, only to be batted away. “Harder!”
Rayla hit high, slamming her staff down with all the frustration she could muster. Just as before, Katara blocked as if it were nothing.
The impact shuddered through Rayla’s arms. She’d regret that later when her muscles were sore and aching.
Her strength forced the staff down inches from Katara’s forehead, cracking it nearly in two. A snarl escaped from her lips.
Smooth as silk, Katara dodged the next strike and spun around, jabbing Rayla in the back. Hard.
Rayla toppled over and slammed into the ground, bouncing like a ragdoll. The staff flung from her hands. Once again, Katara had knocked her down. Wiped the floor with her. Kicked her ass.
Even as her muscles groaned and her body ached, she rolled over and stumbled to her feet. Katara sprouted a warm laugh and offered out a hand. “Gods, was that one big innuendo or what? I should watch my mouth.”
Rayla laced her thin fingers into Katara’s and let herself be pulled to her feet. It had to have been four or five hours by now. Four straight hours of Katara serving her ass on a silver platter.
Rayla’s head pounded. A glance at the floor length mirror lining the back wall showed her pale skin speckled with bruises. Not an unusual sight, but this time felt different.
With Jvar, she was restrained. Held back. The pain would come no matter how she took it. It had burned her down into a creature full of nothingness, nothing but the tiny sliver of pride that her refusal to utter a word to Jvar had bought her, the one she clung to in the dark.
But this? This was the heaven and Hel she craved. There was something about the pain being in her hands, every bruise a lesson learned, knowing that no matter how much she got knocked down it was within her, up to her to stand up. No one else. Not even Jvar.
You really don’t get outside much.
Rayla may have lost, but this was her power. A second scrap of life she could control.
She reached for her dropped weapon, but Katara grabbed her shoulder. “You need a break. Ramming your head through a brick wall doesn’t make you stronger, it just kills you.”
If only Katara knew what that expression meant. What was the old expression?
That which does not kill me makes me strong.
Rayla could not die. No matter how low she was buried, she’d always come back stronger. That was her hope, that if she survived Jvar and got free, she would be strong enough to save her brother and return to whatever was left of her home for some peace.
“Another round,” Rayla growled out, even as her stomach started to twist into knots. How long had it been since she ate or slept or drank? Too long. “I swear I’m up for it.”
Just as the words fell from her mouth, her knees gave out and she slipped to the floor. Her stomach heaved, except it was food that she vomited up. Blood, black as onyx, gushed from her throat. It dripped from her mouth, leaving a dark puddle that sizzled a bit, staining her tunic and the floor alike.
Katara raised a dark brow. “You’re fine? And I’m Mor’s fucking daughter. You’re taking a break and I don’t really care what you have to say, little reaper.”
Sure, she did not need food or water or sleep to live, but the parts that were still human needed them to function well.
Rayla wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, which only succeeded in staining more of her skin. “I said I want to go another round.” Her voice was low and raw, bordering on a daemon’s growl.
“No.” Katara would not budge. She just set her broken weapon down and crossed her arms. “People don’t just throw up...that.”
Rayla had taken Jvar’s torture without a word of complaint. She was not a porcelain doll that would shatter if dropped. She could handle a rough sparring session. How else would she get better? More lethal. She needed to be a better weapon, faster, stronger, tougher.
She stepped over the puddle of her own blood and picked up the staff, curling her bruised knuckles around the strong oak. Her chest heaved with every breath, the human bit of her desperately grasping for anything to keep her standing. “I’m not made of fucking glass. Another. Roud.”
Rayla paused for a moment, waiting to see if Katara would listen. The little bit of freedom she got here was worth however much it hurt to get good at causing pain. Good enough to be something dangerous. Something Jvar would not follow when she got free.
Leisurely tossing a braid over her shoulder, Katara studied her nails. “Fine. Come at me,” She cracked a smile. “This’ll be fun.”
Rayla lunged, forcing herself to jab and hack with the staff even though her body begged to collapse.
“You’re getting sloppy,” Katara taunted as she slid out of the way yet again. “You’re tired. You’re swinging too much, every move you make is obvious.”
Logically, Rayla understood this was a lesson. A lesson she needed to learn.
But that didn’t mean that it didn’t piss her off that no matter how fast she moved or what she did, Katara somehow still knew where she’d hit before she struck.
Rayla let another ragged breath fall from her lips. Leaving this room meant going into the hands of Jvar and his truthwitch to be picked apart.
She slammed her staff at Katara yet again, and just as she had done so many times before, Katara sidestepped it with ease. But Rayla moved with her momentum, spun with her weapon, and swept her tail at Katara’s legs.
She hit. Hard. The impact shuddered through her, a new sensation. She’d stabbed before, but never had she slammed the limb made of muscle bone and scales into someone as if it were a baton.
Katara gasped and shoved her hand forward. This time, Rayla braced herself, locking her muscles as she took the punch, just as she had taken so many from different hands.
Pain was a game Rayla knew how to play. She did not fall. Her tail coiled around Katara’s ankle and pulled up, sending her crashing to the floor.
Bruised and triumphant, Rayla pointed her staff down at her fallen teacher, satisfaction plastering a smile on her face. It had taken nearly five hours but gods be damned, Rayla had won a single small victory.
“I got you.” Her chest heaved as Rayla saw stars. She let her weapon fall away.
Katara burst out laughing as she sat up. “You did,” Unlike Rayla, being knocked on her ass did not take the smile off Katara’s face. Strange. “In all fairness, I can’t say anyone has ever pulled my leg out from under me with a tail. Nice work. Now for the love of Gods would you sit down?”
Exhausted, Rayla obliged, plopping down across from Katara. The two sat in silence for a moment, nursing their scrapes. Katara rubbed at what was sure to be a nasty bruise on her leg while Rayla ignored how her head was pounding.
It was good she had ended that so quickly. Otherwise she might have vomited blood all over Katara.
“This might be a weird question, but can I take a closer look at your tail? It’s just...I’ve never fought against someone who pulled...that. Who would think Jvar’s…” Katara cut herself off. “Sorry. It’s just been awhile since someone showed me something I haven’t already seen.”
Rayla lifted her tail up and let it swish back in forth in the air. She couldn’t help but smile at the way Katara’s eyes lit up. She supposed what she was capable of could be fascinating to some, but in the end, it was just murder. Her body was just a body.
At least Katara had cut herself off in the middle of that dreaded nickname.
“You called me little reaper earlier. Why?” If there was something else she could be called that didn’t brand her as Jvar’s property, she was all ears. One insult could be better than another, especially one that helped her figure out what Katara wanted and how she thought.
Katara reached out to brush the flat side of the arrowhead point on Rayla’s tail. Rayla knew what it felt like to have the sharp end soaked with blood, to tear it into someone, or to scrape at bone. But not what it was like to have someone just...gently run a fingertip over it.
On reflex, she recoiled, jerking herself back. Jvar only reached his callous hands out to hurt. Why would it be any different?
“Well, Halival means reaper, and from my point of view, you’re kind of short.” Rayla was so blindsided she let her tail drop back into Katara’s reach. “What? Don’t look at me like that. It almost makes me want to cheer you on to become the most dangerous person Itreyan has ever seen, just so I can say I can rest my elbow on the head of the world’s most feared assassin.”
Of course. Another reminder. When she got out under Jvar’s wing, she would have to kill for him until she found her brother. Destroy for him. Fine.
It made her stomach twist into knots just thinking about it, but she would do it.
Rayla scoffed. “I have to get there first.”
“In time,” Katara leaned back on her elbows, her eyes fixed on Rayla’s. She paused just long enough to hear Rayla’s ragged breath. “Are you afraid of Jvar? ”
Every muscle in Rayla’s body went stiff. “I’m not afraid of pain.” The response was instinct, like a reflex. She almost admired Katara for being able to lounge casually, talk about a nightmare as if everything was fine. Jvar was a man to be spoken of in fearful whispers or not at all. Rayla almost hoped Katara would get lucky, and Jvar wouldn't fixate on her.
But there was a fine line between brave and stupid, and there was something about Katara that made it hard for Rayla to place her. A spark. Something lively enough to be the light Rayla had lacked.
A friend, if she dared to think it.
Katara shook her head. “That isn’t what I asked. You took a hit to the face just to get close enough to use your tail. Clearly you aren’t scared of pain.”
Rayla could nod along with that. If Jvar had taught her anything, it was that the pain would come whether she was ready or not. That’s what made the frustration, exhaustion, and pain of training better. She controlled how much she would take.
She knew what she should do- fold back into the stone castle inside herself. Bite back at Katara, teach someone new that some things were not meant to be asked. Questions Rayla did not want to answer.
Rayla waded against the screaming tide of her instincts. She casted her eyes to the floor. “Yes..but not like how you think.” Somehow, this took more air than fighting did. “It isn’t about the torture. Pain is pain is pain. It’s...he’s capable of anything. He holds all the cards and he will play them as he pleases.”
He’s a monster
So was she. At least Jvar wore human skin. He bled red. She did not know whether that was better or worse. At least he was not truly alien, but then again, people were taught to fear the dark, not what happens in the light.
Katara nodded along, as if she understood. “I’m trying to brace myself. Rasaj, everyone, they all say that he will destroy me. I don’t want that. When you’re on a battlefield, in a duel, that’s an enemy you can fight. Chin up, shoulders square, show no fear.” She buried her face in her hands. “How do I fight him?”
Rayla remembered the little lessons she had taught herself the tiny tidbits that had kept her sane. That pain was just pain. The more she screamed, the more he would take. Hold on to something, find something he will never be able to destroy. Never beg. Let every scar be another letter on his death sentence.
Helping Katara was a risk, she knew that. Getting close was a risk. Every person she gave a shit about would betray her or be used against her. And she was doomed to watch them all die one day.
Katara looked like she was, at most, a few years older. She had a swagger to her, but she did not have the cold hardness Rayla saw every time she looked in the mirror.
“Before you go in, make a promise to yourself. Find something he can’t fuck with. Something he can’t take. And whatever you do, do not let that bastard have it, or he will break you.”
The day Jvar heard Rayla speak was the day Jvar died. She had swore on Rhyan’s life, on Evali’s grave.
Rayla reached out to lace her hand with Katara’s. “It will never be easy”
Only the wicked survive.
The loud knock on the door behind her did not startle her. Rayla knew what waited on the other side. She stood still as stone as Katara wiped away a tear and opened the door. She stood still, and let herself be chained and muzzled.
Jvar stood on the other side with his usual escort of guards. Akal the truth witch stood behind him. Rayla had a good guess as to whose hands she’d be passed into next.
Everything had a price. If she wanted to soar with vultures, she’d have to swallow bone.
Just like Katara had told her, Rayla lifted her face. Did not let her lip tremble. She made her face the mask she had always worn, and she kept her shoulders square and solid.
She would not break. She would not cry. She would not speak.
Akal leveled his dark eyes on her in a piercing gaze that would see into her soul, if she had one. She could already feel something scraping against the walls of her mind.
Rayla Asarova was a weapon. And weapons did not weep.
Was researching for my current WIP and found this wealth of knowledge! Link leads to an online resource about tactical combat casualty care. Helpful videos and diagrams are included. I'm only midway through it but boy have I learned some things
@voltober Day 3: The Industrial Revolution (And How It Ruined My Life)
Machinery | Conform Or Suffer | Strike Breakers
Content: Police violence, gas fumes. This one isn’t as violent lmao, mostly an exercise in worldbuilding. Selene’s illegal electronics manufacturer is discovered by the cops. A sabotage ensues. A molotov cocktail is involved.
Words: 769 (nice)
“We are going to do this.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get the hell off the line, Selene, call off your boys and we’ll call off ours.”
“You swear when you lie.” A shot pinged off the wall. She ducked behind it, wincing as she tensed.
“Oh, do I, now? Get over yourself.”
Selene’s knuckles were white around her gun. She had no plans to get off the line; Casey had worked very hard to tap her into it. It wasn’t very well encrypted, nor was it hosted on a private server. Its first and only line of defense was that it knew who you were, where you were located, and what device you were accessing it from. She was lucky that she had removed the microchip her parents had gifted her by the time she’d hit twenty.
The creaking sound of the assembly line’s cogs jamming drew her attention, and she peered out from the doorway. They cops had already killed one of the workers, and their body lay strewn out on the pristine white linoleum, beneath a conveyer. Two more- her people, she noted, crouched behind the large metal casing of the overheating plastic sealant machine. She reached up to touch her earpiece, switching lines and whispering through it, “Don’t touch that machine. I can hear it arcing.”
“Got it.” One of them looked up to her, boyish face serious, but concerned, “What are we doing with it? Are you alright? You sound strained.”
“I’m fine, it’ll sabotage itself,” Without waiting for an answer, she ducked back into her hallway, making her way into the next room and following the conveyor belt upstream. Another shot fired off somewhere ahead of her. She folded her wings in close as she padded through the cramped, ozone-stifled work space.
The fabric-lined work benches were strewn with circuit connectors and unfinished boards, all shiny and wet with.. her steel toed boot bumped into something with a clink. A soda bottle. This brand specifically was corrosive to copper. With a swift motion, she holstered her plasma gun at her side and snatched it up, testing its weight in her hands while eyeing the half-empty squirt bottle of rubbing alcohol laying forlornly on its side, with a small black rag bunched up near it. Then she looked up at the security camera in the corner, barely visible where the bright fluorescent panels missed it. Not just the lens, but the whole corner had been spray painted black. Good. She already felt dizzy.
Molotov cocktail now in hand, her clunky boots fumblingly removed, she inched her way ever so slowly down the next hallway towards the sound of sparse whispers and a drawn out firefight further up the assembly line. The buzzing of the panel lights above her made her feel too exposed, despite how she kept herself tucked in tight to the wall nearest to her enemies. Her body wrung out the last of its adrenaline.
Slowly, she came upon the exit, and peered out to get a quick glance of what was happening before retreating back into the hallway again. A few people in riot gear stood around a side door, their only exit left. Most of the workers had been escorted out on her orders, but a few still remained; those she’d need to pass off to Kita later. She only had one shot at this, injured and unsteady as she was. The air weighed down hotter and thicker with smoke and the acrid smell of burning plastic.
The lighter sprung to life in her hand. The team’s muttering picked up as she set the cloth alight, and then quickly morphed into a shouts of surprise as she threw it. The bottle spun in an arc over the conveyer, landing squarely at the feet of the riot squad.
She clicked on her earpiece again, slamming another charge into her plasma gun. “Get out the door! Now!”
Her team, loyal as always, listened. For once. In her entire career. Before she could stop herself, she leaned back against the wall and let her knees give out, sliding down it with a shaky sigh. Had she reloaded her gun already? The top hatch clicked open at the press of a button. She had. Was she really that tired?
“Boss! We’re out, what do we do?”
Selene rubbed her face with her hand and then touched her side with two fingers, grimacing when she felt it come away wet, then wiped the blood off on her trousers. An open window loomed high on the cinderblock wall in front of her. “Get them to Kita. I’ll follow you.”
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DAY THREE DONE, the next one is going to be some art!
