“ get up. i said get up. ”
The alley reeked of gunpowder and burnt ozone, the kind of stench that clung to your throat and wouldn’t let go. It was quiet now, save for the distant buzz of sirens and the rhythmic dripping of blood from somewhere unseen. Rain slicked the asphalt, painting everything in a sheen of silver. A shattered neon sign blinked half-heartedly above him, casting flickers of crimson over the wreckage.
Baekhyun stepped over a fallen body, his boots leaving wet imprints on the pavement. His jaw was tight, brows drawn low, movements sharp and impatient. His coat flared behind him, streaked with soot and slashed open at the hem.
And there, crumpled against the base of a brick wall like a discarded weapon, was Zero.
He was slumped over, breath shallow, blood pooling beneath his ribs where the blade had caught him just beneath the armor. His hand twitched, fingers curling in reflex, but his eyes — they were open, unfocused, staring past the elder like he didn’t recognize him.
Baekhyun knelt down, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanked hard. “You son of a bitch,” he spat. “You were supposed to cover the west flank.” He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, but his body sagged like the pain had finally cut too deep. Zero could feel the grip tighten, but it paled in comparison to the dagger lodged at his side. And when Baekhyun spoke again, his voice was cold, but there was something trembling under the steel; something that sounded a little too much like betrayal. “Don’t you dare check out on me. Not now.”
Still no response. Zero’s head lolled slightly, a faint grimace flickering across his features. Baekhyun let go of his shirt only to shove him harder, palm flat against his chest. “Get up.”
Nothing.
His voice dropped to a growl, something furious laced with a hint of desperation.
“I said get up.”
For a moment, the storm paused and the air went taut. Zero’s eyes slowly tracked to meet his; dull, bloodshot, but still alive. Still defiant. He coughed, a spray of red staining the collar of his shirt, and rasped out a humorless laugh. Baekhyun’s scowl deepened, but his hand hovered now. Not to strike, but to pull. “We’re not done here yet. So either you stand, or I drag you. Your choice.”
And like a dying flame catching wind, something flickered beneath Zero’s gaze. But resolve, but the memory of it. He moved, pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet. It wasn’t graceful, but enough. He shuts his eyes for a moment, jaw locked. Then his hand curled around the hilt embedded in his side.
Baekhyun didn’t stop him.
Zero drew in a slow, shaky breath, and yanked the blade free. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat, half snarl, half pain. Blood welled in the space the steel had left behind, but his grip tightened around the slick blade as if it tethered him to the present. His knees threatened to buckle, his body swayed, but he didn’t fall.
“You were always loud,” he rasped, voice rough like gravel, a flicker of dry humor lost beneath the weight of exhaustion. Baekhyun said nothing, watching him. Then, finally: “That’s more like it.”
The elder turned, not offering a shoulder, but his steps slowed enough, just for Zero to follow. And behind them, the alley exhaled smoke, blood, and silence, the ghosts of the dead watching them leave in the dark.
