Poison

The blood red sun hovered over him, the sky bleached of the blue sky from all the dust that the wind kicked into the air during a normal day. A few drops of water clung to his hair still, but soon the rest of the water would evaporate with the rest. His body was tall and lean, hardened. His black eyes hid behind a pair of dusty sunglasses.

Fraser's steps were heavy as he moved, a slow gait that showed his misery.

Jack was dead. That much he knew. Jack wouldn't have gone alive, he would've put a bullet or a knife in his own chest before that. Invincible Jack was dead.

Sol would want to know. She would be devastated, but she would want to know.

Fraser shoved the thoughts away. The sun and dust stuck to his skin like a layer of fur, heating him to the extreme. Sweat made his t-shirt stick to his body, and he squinted even through the glasses over his eyes. He thought longingly of the shores of Windor, of the cool forest that resided there. Or even of the islands beyond that, past the hell of Scythia, on to the forest region to the north: Cyrene. With cool shores and sharp winters, polar opposite to Zaire.

When Jack had shoved him, he had fallen into the rushing ice waters of an underground river. It shoved him to the forest, out into a crystal clear lake on the outskirts of a little town. He'd collapsed on the side of that lake, cursing to himself as he tried to catch his breath. Someone had betrayed them—again. It wasn't just a slip. Twice in four months is no coincidence—the protectors a tight-lipped group. So someone had betrayed them.

A betrayal that had cost them Jack, an experienced protector of over thirty years.

“Fuck,” Fraser hissed, kicking at a rock beneath his foot.

He'd been walking since the middle of the night, putting as much distance between him and that lair as possible. The rebels would be after him, no doubt. The closest base was in Triden, a little town with a small shops and a small protector base. He could go there, get supplies, report his problems, and disappear again. He had to regroup. Those bastards were getting smart. Someone had to be helping them.

Just who was it?


“Alright sunshine, let's go get some supplies.”

“Me?” Sol asked, hooking a thumb at her chest.

“Yeah, you.” Jazz hooked an arm around Sol, grinning down at her while she lifted a delicate eyebrow. He just wiggled his in response. “You need out of this hell-hole for a little while, and Raven isn't talking to me.”

“That is your own fault, but fine, I'll join. Where are we going?”

Jazz stretched upwards, his fingers reaching towards the ceiling. “Triden.”


Sol grabbed the edges of the seat, her fingers digging into the old leather. Scowling at Jazz, who gave a loud whoop! when they hit a bump. The old mobile rattled noisily and Sol was becoming increasingly aware of two distinct things.

The first being that Jazz shouldn't be allowed to drive.

The second being the Sol was very much mortal and very much afraid for her life.

“I have a feeling that Raven had the right idea with not coming with you,” Sol yelled over the sound of the noisy motor of the two seated automobile. In the back there was a little pit where stuff could be shoved in place, however, Sol didn't believe that anything would stay put with Jazz driving. “Just promise that I won't die during this trip.”

When Jazz laughed, she didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

The town loomed before them, underneath that red sun. The wind whipped past them, drawing a shiver from Sol. She held on for dear life, but peered through the protective front shield. Those buildings came under closer inspection as Jazz shifted down, slowing before they reached the edge of the town. Sliding down to a near crawl, they rolled down the street. The whole street had three-story homes built up, wandering people, and open markets on the street. However, while the town was alive, it was beaten and old. Everything in Zaire was beaten up it seemed, coated in dust.

Jazz pulled in with a neck-jerking turn into a narrow alleyway. Halting, Sol got thrown forward, catching herself with her hands against the front. Glaring at Jazz, who had already hopped out and was making his way towards the end of the alley, she followed quickly. Sidling up to his side, he grinned down at her, a wide smile that split from one cheek to the other.

“You've never been here with me, have you?” he asked, sliding past a group of chuckling men.

“No, only with Rose and Oz.” She punched him in the arm. “And don't count on me coming ever again. You shouldn't be driving that thing.”

Batting his eyelashes, he said, “I'm a great driver.”

Sol rolled her eyes skyward, feeling the imprint of the heat on her skin. Down the stone road, and buildings kind of poured up towards the sun. A few buildings looked like they were tittering—as if a strong wind could blow them over. Some people wandered the streets, a couple laughing and filthy children darting back and forth. The overall theme was the color of dust, this gray that filled ones lungs to the brim if one inhaled during a good gust of wind. A little town on the edges of Zaire—a town relatively out of the reach of both the rebels and the protectors.

“Jazz,” Sol murmured, catching his arm in her hand. He glanced back at her. “What does that sign stand for?”

On one of the walls, a symbol was sprayed against the surface of the brick building. The symbol was a broken infinity symbol, one of the ends becoming a snake and snapping through the middle of the infinity—breaking the symbol of forever. It was a sinister thought, with a drop of venom dripping from its fangs. Sol gripped her arms around her, staring at this boldly cruel symbol. It made her skin crawl.

“It's the sign of the rebels. Don't worry, they won't come after us.”

A bell jingled as Jazz shoved open the large wooden door, tugging Sol into the quiet, dark recesses of the shop. The loving smell of books encased the air, sinking into Sol. Her heart kind of trembled in her chest, and she just paused where she was, images flashing too fast in her mind to keep track. She closed her eyes, this inexpressible feeling coiling in her chest and bursting forth. Breathing in through her nose, she felt this calm settle over her.

“Sol?”

Her eyes opened, blinking rapidly as Jazz glanced at her, worried. She gave him a weak smile, letting her eyes adjust to the area. Only a portion of the shop had books, a large row of them, with different names scrawled across the binding. Sol smiled at Jazz, and pushed past him to the bookcase.

“Go, get the supplies. I'm in my happy place,” Sol said, grasping a book and falling into the cushion at her feet.


Fraser felt the weight on his arms, pulling him down. The sun had scorched his face about an hour ago, and he felt the sting he touched the bridge of his nose to push the sunglasses up. His arms coiled when he crossed them over his chest, his shoulders bunching as he stretched. The ride through the river hadn't been a pretty one, and he was feeling it. In his muscles, in his throbbing head, and most of all, in his heart. Some people stopped to stare, aware of the scars that slashed across his forearm and the mark of the protectors laced in ink across his hand. The infinity symbol was the symbol of the protectors—an everlasting loop that never ended. A dragon curled on the top of his left hand, in the symbol of forever, eating it's own tail to preserve the symbol for eternity.

Weaving his way through the streets, he found the familiar trail to the lair of protectors. Scoffing at the symbol of the rebels, Fraser put his hand on the door, shoving it open with a slight jingle. Stepping inside, he took a deep breath, the comforting smell of the shop filling him to the core. Shutting the door with the heel of his foot, he let it slam behind him. Shoving his sunglasses off of his face, he pushed them on top of his head, rubbing his eyes.

The interior was dark, his eyes unadjusted to the little light compared to the blinding red sun of outside. Blinking rapidly a few times, he glanced over, his eyes catching on a figure curled up on a old blue bean bag, legs curled underneath what appeared to be a girl. In her lap sat an open book, her fingers curled around a page as she shifted it. Glancing away, he felt a tingle in his chest.

He snapped his eyes back, feeling his whole world shift and fall to pieces. Her red hair was shoved up on top of her head, her eyes on the words that printed across. She wore simple jeans and a t-shirt. Her sunglasses were shoved up on her head, much like his own. She was crouched over the book, pouring over those words that entranced her.

He couldn't remember how many times he had found her like this back at the station. Before the mission. Before the accident. Before the betrayal. Before she had nearly died.

Forced into a role she swore she'd never play.


Sol had heard the door open and the bell jingled. Annoyed that she was being interrupted from her story, she shook her head a bit. She fell out of those words, the background faded away. Shifting slightly, she let the air settle around her again, and she felt the air shift as the door slammed. She heard a couple of footsteps, as she looked back at the words, and then nothing.

Complete silence.

She flipped the book closed, and turned slightly, lifting her eyes to trail a body of a man. A man she didn't know.

Until she saw his eyes.