1 ━ d r e a m
They give him the uniform and an ID badge.
The badge has his picture in it-the one they had to take at least six times, because he wouldn't stop throwing the camera the finger or just plan refused to look goddamn professional-and it's laminated nice. It's all official as hell.
They don't know that he'll throw the tie away as soon as he gets home. They don't know that he's probably never ironed a shirt in his life and he's not going to start just because they're handing him one with a collar. They don't know he'll never tuck his shirt in because it cramps his style.
They do know black is a good color to hide stains.
Congratulations, their leader says formally, shaking his hand. Welcome to the-
The air rushes by so fast he can't even breathe, can't even think to breathe, and just falls.
The poor motherfucker smells like piss and sweat. Up in the guy's face, baring his teeth in a feral smile, he can smell it, sharp and clear. It's too easy, it's going to be too easy. Sometimes they're stubborn-he's seen ones more stubborn that this-but this one gave up and looked like he wanted to crap secrets as soon as his right ear and top lip had been cut off.
Too easy.
File says you've got a nice little family, he says, wanting this guy to break. Wanting him to really break, because even though the paperwork will be a pain in the fucking ass like it is every time, then there's no way this guy would be able to lie. He'd be telling the-
He's falling through the atmosphere, tumbling through layers of sky, and burning up, a plummeting star.
He can't stop throwing up.
Even when there's nothing left, his stomach clenches unbearably, and he retches, hunched over the toilet like a man in prayer. He thinks this is it, he's finally had more than he can fucking handle, he's going to die, going to fucking die, and it's not even going to be a good death, because he's on the goddamn bathroom floor.
He shakes uncontrollably and sweats, denying that the struggling gasps and breaths are his, stubborn until the world spins once and-
The ground comes fast, too fast to even fear it.
When he wakes up, his eyes are the color of chemical poison.
The company pays him ten times that of any grunt; he earns a hundred times in one monthly check what any other slum rat would see in a lifetime. So, maybe its not a big deal to give up his humanity for his job.
Maybe it's not-
His is a nest in the dirt and ash, the remnants of a crashing fire. Above, the sky is a startling blue. He breathes a last breath.
He's far away enough now that he can't hear the screaming anymore, the panicked shrieks of people realizing their homes, their lives, and their children are about to go up in literal flames. Never mind that sector had always been the fucking slums, the trash of society, a blemish on a modern city-this was life, familiar places and faces, turning to ash. He could taste it in his mouth.
He remembers not hesitating when he took out the support pillar. Not the faintest flutter of an eyelash. His heartbeat was steady. His hands didn't shake.
He had followed orders.
He has this tragic grin on his face when he turns to the looming shadow beside him, his fingers tightly wound in violently red hair.
Is it still burning? He asks. Is it still-
He stands up, shaking off the soot and dust. The sky beckons. He spreads his wings again.