Pain, anger, suffering and fury. All of these could describe what Falco was feeling while he hid behind a table. Having narrowly escaped from death and needing to attend to his bleeding wound, Falco stayed close to the wooden barrier that hid him from his pursuer.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" All he could do now was sulk at his own mistake. Why would he investigate 2 murders in a house he's never seen or heard of?
He had never felt this type of stinging pain before. It wasn't too painful but hell, it was annoying. He had been stabbed, beaten and bitten before, but never had he been shot. Luckily, the bullet only grazed him.
Bringing his bleeding arm to his chest, Falco clenched the knife in his hand and cut his sleeve into strips, tending to his cradled arm right after. Wanting the first aid to finish quickly, he then began searching his pockets for something sturdy. However, after a few seconds he cursed. "Just my luck!"
He needed something stiff—anything—to finish his tourniquet. His eyes darted vigorously while trying to find it.
"Where are you" Falco muttered under his breath. His bleeding must be stopped and to do so, he needed a tourniquet. Most didn't know how to make one, but he knew; his father taught him.
His mood began to elevate as he recalled those happy times, but that was before he remembered where he was.
A scream, as loud as it was scary, pierced the room.
"I'll kill you! You killed them both! I'll piss on your grave!"
With a threatening gaze, Falco then began to think as he kept looking.
Going down the stairs, the shooter started mocking Falco. "I know you're here, don't worry, I won't make this swift. I'll drag this out as long as I can!"
Having finally found his missing piece as he threatened him, Falco then decided to stall for time.
Still behind the fallen table, Falco screamed back "Why would you think it was me! I got caught off guard by you and you expect me to do that?"
"You killed them with the knife you hold, you filthy liar! I'm sure of it! Who would forget such a symbol as yours? Your glove says it all!"
Frustrated by those stupid remarks, Falco began to think. His glove had been custom knitted by his sister. It held a special place in his heart, an emblem that his father once wore was stitched on. Plus, his knife had no blood on it, how could he had killed anybody?
Wanting to tell him this, Falco opened up and started talking. "It's impossible that I killed them, my knife is clean, and my glove is custom made!"
Furiously the hooligan yelled "Liar!"
Exasperated, Falco sighed as he readied himself again. Besides him was a metal pot and behind him crept a crazed kid. He had to act now before it was too late. Needing a diversion, Falco opened his mouth for the last time.
"Move and I'll shoot a bullet between your eyes, you thick headed back-alley rat!"
Not knowing how to retort, the confused person stayed there. Still and unmoving, he aimed his gun at the table. He knew that the synthetic wood used wasn't thick enough to resist a gunshot.
With a smile on his face and trying his best to calm his nerves, he took a stance ready to shoot and started counting in his head. "Five, four, three, two—."
But before he could finish counting, a flying pot came straight towards his head. Not having enough time to dodge, it knocked him over.
And in that instant, Falco sprinted out of the building as the unfortunate recovered from their daze and shot blindly into the night with none hitting the unseen "killer".
Now lurking in the shady alleyways of the buildings surrounding the neighborhood, he looked behind him; back at the house he had nearly died at.
Standing in the doorway was the kid. Flames were drifting in the sky and houses were burning down.
Should I kill him?
He imagined it. His hands covered in blood after slitting his throat.
He stopped.
Even if he had been grazed by one of his shots, Falco felt nothing but pity. Pain is temporary but memories are everlasting.
Wanting to end this chapter of his life, Falco turned around and headed towards his house with resumed vigor. The alleyways he now basked in were chilly and narrow.
Looking by his side, he looked at numerous large graffiti and insignias. Most of them said the same thing with some alterations. However, the message was clear. He wasn't supposed to be there.
In jagged bold letters, framed by numerous skulls, scythes and rust-brown handprints was scrawled: UNREPENTANTS.
Stopping for a few seconds while looking at the title, Falco took a step back.
H—How...
He couldn't believe it. Was it really them? The Unrepentants?
The Unrepentants were vicious. They controlled, once upon a time, most of Rosehold. The people were oppressed and even the "protectors" couldn't do much. Much like now, hunters from other municipalities had to intervene. The city wasn't harmed, but the gang was destroyed soon after. Or so, he thought.
"I better get out of here quickly" he told himself. Many of these people were dangerous. Crackheads, swindlers and bottom-feeders who made desperation into an art form.
Quietly, he started moving through the rugged, trashed ground.
How could these people care so little about their home?
As he kept walking, Falco realised that he was alone; most of their members were either hiding or dead, meaning that he could take a stroll around their territory if time allowed it, but he was already in a rush.
At times, he would hear strange sounds from desolate corners, however, he didn't care enough to investigate. Bodies came and went as he paced towards home.
The silver embrace of the moon carried him; he neared the exit as he finally took confidence in his steps—the flames hadn't reached his side of the city.
Thorny was the grip of his knife. Falco held it as if he would die without it; anything to ensure his safety.
He crossed the threshold without hesitation.
He crouched along the wall, taking cover as he scurried along the street.
Bodies—stacked like timber— filled the street. The stench was unbearable, thick enough to choke the strongest of men.
The street looked like a warzone—but wars had sides. Here, only the dead remained.
Mia, be safe, please...
He gulped as he looked at the mountain of dead.
There were multiple other ways that Falco could've used to get home, however, the path he had already picked was by far the fastest.
Following his momentum, he took quiet yet deliberate steps. For the time being, he was safe. Even though he hadn't spotted anybody yet, he couldn't be too sure and played it safe—just like yesterday.
"This really stinks" He cursed under his breath as he desperately tried to keep his bandana to his nose".
You better be alive!
Nonetheless, after a few minutes of silently creeping towards his house, he heard gunfire. His whole body was tense. He couldn't trust his senses. His body ached and he could barely stand up; the human body was extremely fragile, and one misstep could spell out death. Falco had dodged gunfire, inhaled burning air and smoke, crawled under an enormous vehicle, got shot and then fought the shooter. Anybody else would have crumbled at the thought alone, yet he was still standing despite that.
Had he been any less lucky, he'd have died when the shooting first began.
Crouching behind a pile of corpses after the first shot, Falco feared that he had been seen but soon his worries were deemed unfound.
There was a firefight far in the distance. It was as if hell itself descended upon the land.
Lifting himself up from his grotesque protection, he then upped his pace and started to care less about hiding himself. If he were to die by being too slow, then hiding would be worthless.
Scared shitless by the hailstorm close to him, he picked himself up and started running. Would it be better to die hiding or close to your objective?
Cutting his last corner, Falco finally reached his street. His house still stood, and the line of bodies gradually stopped.
He was so close, he could even see his house number, but he couldn't enter. Just like yesterday, he waited. He had to ensure Mia's safety.
He held his guard tightly. Nothing was going to get him, not this time.
Noticing nothing, Falco rushed up to the other side of the street.
The stairs, once he got to them, seemed arduous. Panting and his legs throbbing, he made it up to the door. Quickly bringing out his key and not wanting to prolong this, he quickly initiated his knocking ritual; 3 fast knocks and 1 slower knock. Only after did he open the door. Falco didn't expect his sister to be at the entrance; however, it was still a blow for him.
His semi normal life was changing drastically. The smiles he would once get after getting home were nothing but a dream at this point. Problems would arise and both of their lives would surely change. With this incident, most of the slum would be in a state of disorder.
This clearly wouldn't be a path that any of them would long for, but if they were together, then they could pull through. At least that's what he thought.
Finding that his search was taking too long, Falco then decided to call out to his sister.
"You there Mia?" He whispered her name, barely loud enough—but surely enough to be heard.
Standing in the living room for a few seconds, Falco waited for an answer, a movement, something. But it never came.
Confused and panicked, Falco then decided to up his tone.
"Mia, it's me... You can come out now."
"..."
"..."
Falco began to truly panic after glancing around and seeing nothing. First, he surveyed the living room then he went towards the kitchen with no luck. Having found nothing, he quickly went towards the bedroom.
After knocking on the door, Falco barged in with his trusty knife ready. But once he did, he feared that he would never go back to being the same person.
The room was a mess. A broken chair, both sleeping bags tossed around, the "curtain" was cut into pieces, blood splattered on the floor and the one that crushed him the most, the wide-open window.
Falco screamed internally. He knew that the window yesterday wasn't a coincidence. His day had been tiresome, but how could he have missed such a blatant act of endangerment? His nails bit into his palm as he tried to calm down. He wanted to beat, strangle and mock himself but he knew better. He had hoped that his sister was safe, but it seems that destiny had other plans.
He wanted to hurry and find her; to kill anybody who could have hurt her, yet he had no idea of where she could have been taken to.
Was the one who had kidnapped her a gang affiliate? A terrorist who helped burn down the city or just some lunatic who couldn't keep his hands to himself? Falco didn't know but he promised that he would find his retribution; his revenge.
Calming his nerves slightly, Falco investigated the room. The blood was fresh—streaked. Someone fought back. "This isn't too bad" He thought to himself. The person who had been cut or shot didn't lose enough to die or to faint. Going to the window, he noticed bloody handprints—small ones...
Picking up the pace, he went towards the sleeping bags and crouched down. His bag was torn and scratched up and the same could be said of under it. The floorboard was slightly bent and marked. After some contemplation, Falco pried it away. Concealed under it was a handgun. Its dull sheen glinted with the night sky and the burning fires in the distance as he picked it up. "It's been a while" He muttered to himself. The grip, worn smooth by his father, fitted perfectly in his palm. Falco looked at it with contempt. It was truly a relic from the past, one that couldn't be replaced.
With one knee to the ground and with his gun in his hand, he closed his eyes, not to rest but to think and reminisce. He remembered his father who had tragically died at a local raid of one of the "zones" and the lessons he had thought him. He remembered the time when his father was next to him, happy and laughing.
Most of his lessons with him were more informative than technical. He taught him how to clean it, use it and protect it from the elements. However, he also learned the basics of self-defense and practical usage. This, reinforced with his life experiences, could be a trusty foundation for his confidence in the wilderness.
"I'll make you proud dad." he said as he slightly dusted off his gun.
Wanting to act strong, Falco picked himself up with a gloomy expression. Not wanting to waste any more time, he went straight to the open window and got ready to jump. But right before he did, he looked back at their room, house and life they had built together.
After some contemplation, trepidation be damned. He leapt. Questioning himself if he was truly ready for what's to come.