"When I get out of here? You better start praying to Leviathan for mercy, Turk." If the sudden rasp of his voice sends those with weak nerves scuttling? Good. He's weak and restrained, but his smile is a jagged, evil thing and his eyes unblinking when they fix on Tseng, bright with promise and absolute certainty. Oh there will be h e l l to pay for this. He'll make sure of it.
Initially, Tseng thinks the voice is a figment of his imagination: a trick played by a deranged, sleep deprived mind. It wouldn’t be the first time. Oh, the stories he could tell about the tell-tale heart and the effect it has on the psyche. At the church while tending to certain flowers, he thinks he sees her too.
But this is no illusion. Reality is Chaos strapped down with metal cuffs while unnamed fluids are pumped into his veins, monitors beeping all around him in unison. Reality is that he’s conscious for once, with those glowing eyes boring straight into Tseng. Reality is the helicopter blades whirring noisily above, the seat belt cutting across his rib cage, and the weight of his deeds lying heavy on his shoulders.
For a moment Tseng closes his eyes, wishing it wasn’t.
He swallows, noting the tightening in his throat, the sensation of time slowing to a crawl, and his heart beating too loud for his ears. But before long, it’s gone. Like a rain cloud threatening a storm and then passing by.
Fear is normal. It makes him human after all. How he navigates his way around it and how he keeps his hand steady regardless, is what makes him a Turk. And a unique one at that. No one can do what he does. No one will do what he’s done. That level of bastardry is something only Tseng is capable of.
“You’re awake.”If only he had the decency to turn his face away instead of looking Chaos dead in the eye. “You shouldn’t be.” Tseng unfolds his hands and lifts an index finger to his lips. “Shhh. Go back to sleep.”
