you can't reverse the bullet from a gun. part 4
four
I would take a bullet for you. I would cross any line, swim across the sea. (Mat Kearney - Bullet)
New York, New York
5:37AM
Kris woke at dawn, his room bathed in the kind of darkness only morning light could permeate. A sliver of light sliced across the floor, and Kris climbed into its path, closing his eyes to soak in the heat on his face.
He had lost hours of his life, perhaps even days, judging from how taut and rigid his legs felt when he tried to move them. His mouth was sandpapery, a funny taste lingering whenever he swallowed. His shoulder ached, right on the cap where the dark warrior drugged him. The dark warrior... Pieces of his missing memory began to flood his vision, slip back into their rightful place.
Kris knew, more from hearsay than experience, that the dark warrior had injected him with a tranquilizer, one strong enough to put down a 300-pound rhino. Then, after the tranquilizer set in (3.6 seconds, give or take), he had been placed in a van with tinted windows and a missing license plate to be handed off to the next group of Committee drones at a nearby airport. The jet that would bring Kris to his dark cell would be a unregistered private liner, and a simple "donation" to the air control operators at the hangar would take care of any unnecessary questions. Once they landed in New York, Kris would be stuffed unceremoniously into a suitcase and thrown into the trunk of a town car, again with tinted windows and a missing license plate. Wait. That meant...
If Kris was in Headquarters, he had less to fear: he knew his way around and where all the exits were. Most importantly, he knew where all the cells were that the Committee used to hold prisoners. Yixing, Kris breathed aloud. I have to find Yixing.
The door opened with a loud bang, and Kris jumped backwards, wincing at the physical strain it put on his already sensitive muscles. Your presence has been requested, a Committee drone mumbled at Kris before lifting him up from the floor and leading him to a room. The drone gave Kris a rough push, and he fell to the floor, his legs a jumbled mess of pins and needles underneath him. The room was dark but the light in front of Kris blinded his eyes for a minute, just long enough for someone to deal a sharp and painful blow to his jaw.
Kris crashed onto the floor, his head spinning and his mouth aching. The funny taste had disappeared, replaced by the unmistakable flavor of blood. He struggled to prop himself up, his forearms shaking violently on the floor, but his miniscule progress was immediately erased with a swift kick to his groin. He flipped backwards onto his back, convulsing from the pain.
湖 was standing over him, and he reached out a hand to pull Kris to his feet. His eyes were hard as stone, his jaw set in a definite grimace. But his touch was gentle as he placed Kris into a chair and motioned for the drones to clean up his face. He took a seat opposite Kris and pushed his fingers together into a church steeple as he stared at his former protégé. Kris, you've disappointed me. You've embarrassed me.
Kris opened his mouth to reply, but 湖 was still talking. You not only made contact with the target, you helped him escape. You were supposed to take him out in 48 hours but you let him live. What do you have to say for yourself? What could you possibly say?
Again, Kris opened his mouth to reply, but 湖 was motioning at a drone now, who moved closer to hear a whispered order. Then the door behind Kris was opening, and the sounds of defiant struggle were all Kris could hear. His neck ached too much to turn around, so he waited patiently, his eyes trained on 湖, who was impassive and inscrutable.
Kris, a voice called out, and then a drone was dragging Yixing into the room. Kris let out an involuntary gasp. Yixing's skin was yellow and sallow, except right above his eye, where a dark purple bruise marred his perfect features. His lip was cracked and bleeding, and his nose looked bruised if not broken. His hair was a disheveled, dusty mess, and his body was covered in cuts and cigarette burns.
Kris yearned to reach out and take Yixing in his arms, but he realized how impossible it would be, how fruitless everything he had done had been. This was his fault, he knew; it was his fault that Yixing had been hurt so badly, and it was his fault that they would both die here, Yixing far from his family and from everything he knew, because he trusted Kris. Because Kris had let him down, and because Kris had cared too much. Now they would both pay the price of Kris's mistakes, of Kris's screw-ups, and there was not a single fucking thing Kris could do to stop it. His throat closed up, a sob threatening to choke its way out.
I'll give you a choice. 湖 was looking at Kris now, his face slightly contorted. He almost looked sad, but then he looked at Yixing, and his face was impassive once more. He reached into his pocket, placing a small pistol on the table in front of Kris. You can kill him. Or I can kill both of you. He stood up, his eyes steely as they locked with Kris's. You have until midnight. Then 湖 stood up and left the room, his drones following quietly in a single file line.
As soon as the door slammed shut, Yixing launched himself at Kris, clinging to him and holding him, and it sickened Kris. It sickened Kris that Yixing still trusted him, still believed in him, when Kris had lied. Kris had betrayed Yixing, and there was nothing Kris could do to fix things. God, how he wished he could have gone back in time, refused the mission, asked for another one, because he wouldn't be here holding Yixing in his arms and feeling so utterly wretched, and knowing that in a minute, everything would fall apart, and maybe in another minute, he'd be too dead to deal with the aftermath. What's going on, Kris? Who is that?
Too little, too late, Kris told Yixing everything.
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New York, New York
8:12AM
Get the fuck away from me. Yixing was standing up, backing himself into a corner, and as if the cuts and the bruises and the burns on Yixing's body and face hadn't seared Kris enough, this tore right into his heart like a well-directed missile. Don't you dare, Yixing warned when Kris made a feeble motion to get up. Don't you dare.
Kris had expected as much, had expected the possibility that he wouldn't be forgiven and that Yixing would recoil with anger. Maybe he had expected, but he hadn't imagined just how devastating it would be to see the hurt in Yixing's eyes, the way he curled up in himself and feared Kris's touch. There was something raw and broken in the air between them, and Kris could never have imagined this.
He made a motion to move forward again, and this time Yixing moved closer. A flicker of hope lit up inside Kris, and his face broke into an uneven smile as he tried to think of the right words to say to bring Yixing back to him, to make things right. And then it was all going horribly wrong, because Yixing's hands were clasped around the barrel of the pistol and he was shaking, rather trembling, from head to toe as he pointed the gun unsteadily toward Kris.
I'm not going to die, he said, his voice cracking with every other syllable. I'm not fucking going to die. And he fired.
part five