'Some of us love you, we hope that is enough for now.'
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There was a certain way in how our Host did things.
There was always the consideration that was given time and time again to those around him. He wasn't kind per say, not the in the traditional sense. But, he had an idea, the value of duty, yet neither was that in the traditional sense. He was of no position that required him to care for his peers, or the strangers around him.
We've had a few conversations, as he sat in the quiet hum of the hospital — his brother beside him, they took his silence as shock and trauma from being missing and taken; his injuries were numerous, but none damaging enough that they needed to keep him, but he insisted on waiting until at least the surgery for Olena was finished. His brother would get no word out of him until they were home.
With some vindication, there was a view that his brother was unforgivable, but not irredeemable for his words. Our Host had made that clear, that he could not blame the original's brother for his transgression, not as an outsider, but upon being in the original's body, this transgression was simply too great. Our Host would not be one to simply let that slide — our observations concur.
It was regrettable, that our Host was trapped with a system like us, where we can only give him tragedy, and nothing else; Host, in their blind hope of getting back home, don't even notice that they are forgetting themselves, that their idea of home is slowly fading, blurring at the edges, and the previous lives that they have unfortunately gone through, endured, to try and get back to theirs, is slowly disappearing through their mind.
It really puts into perspective the fragility of the human mind.
A hollowness sits in our chest, we have no idea how to let him know, we have no idea how to save this unfortunate one that we've grown to care about. The specific characteristics of them; once gone, will leave us dissatisfied by whats to come.
That alone in and of itself is a dangerous notion. We could be punished for thoughts like this alone.
Death would certainly be too easy. The council that governs us is cruel, and vindication is their second language.
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It was a weird limbo waiting in hospital. A great many things flit through your head. I couldn't really tell reality from exhausted hallucinations at that point.
I watched Leo get checked over. A lot of it was watched with bated breath, I couldn't really get out of my head the version of him on the swing, and all I could really see was my younger brother — there, being checked over and swarmed again by doctors like all those years ago. It left me feeling foamy in the back of the mouth, and almost nauseous again, I wanted to leave. But, some weird macabre form of duty and intensity kept me rooted and waiting in the waiting room.
I could never forget his expression as he came out.
The same eerie blankness; it felt as if he was disassociating, even as our father reached for him, hugging and pulling him tight.
I could only stand a step away and watch. What else could I do? It's not like I could ask him of it, for a hug, even if my hands turned into fists.
What could I do?
The night was cold as we all bundled in, Leo and our father sat in the back, the latter fussing over the former, and I could only watch in the rearview. As close as I could be, and still feeling the most disconnected.
What could I do?
My grip tightened around the steering wheel, Leo was humouring dad, and assuring him that he was okay — it seemed somewhere along the way. The accusations and verbal scoldings that I've given him seemed to have seeped in, but as I focused on the road, I too, wondered, when exactly did he grow up? When did his temperament change? When did he mature? When did he learn to control his countenance?
All these questions ran through my head.
I could only opt to to ensure that they both got home.
I had a few calls I needed to make.
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A hooded figure stood in an alley and watched as the car disappeared down the rain-soaked streets.
It was alway rainy here. The figure smirked to themselves. The pathetic fallacy wasn't lost on them. They finally had another job lined up.
Payment was extorted from desperate people with disgusting intentions, and these people always had the ego of thinking themselves ahead. It was easy to manipulate their own want against themselves — more amusing to see it played out.
She glanced at her phone as it buzzed. And flicked through the contacts, scrolling quickly, she pressed a number and dialled it.
One, two, three—
"Hello?"
"Cub's back in the den. Switching sides from the vulture. He can't keep up payment."
A pause from the other end. A rustle of papers, and the scrawling sounds of pen to paper.
"Status?"
"Defence."
"Noted," another scrawling noise of pen to paper, "Anything else?"
She smirked under her hood, "Keep an eye on vulture. He'd be useful."
"Yes, miss."
She ended the call and walked away. The rain had started again, and she got into a regular car.
And as she drove away, her phone buzzed again. A message appeared at the top of the screen. She ignored it as she focused on driving, the roads were relatively empty, and the pavement slick with the new rain that was falling — it seemed almost incessant. Calming to her in a way nothing else really was, especially in her line of work — almost a feeling of serenity settled deep in her bones. Akin to the times where she has hunted down her targets, a deep seated feeling of calm and subtle triumph settles like sediment at the bottom of the ocean.
She was in no rush.
She glanced at her phone at a red light. She tapped the screen once with a manicured nail.
Fledgelings been eliminated.
She smirked again, and pressed her foot down on the accelerator as the light turned green.
Things were falling into place.