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 nor 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 tore off some part of his muscle tissue and skin, there was a cylindrical hole on the edge of his arm and man did it sting.
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. "Damn it! Just my luck to be without what I need!."
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. Makeshift or not, one could truly save your life if used and placed correctly. Most in the city he called home never had the chance to learn about such a simple solution to bleeding, but Falco was the exception. Back when his life was blissful with both his parents, the school he'd attended taught them many ways to survive in the wilderness.
His mood began to elevate as he recalled those happy times, but that was before he remembered the people who had abandoned and betrayed him. With both of his parents out of the picture, his extended family had cut ties with him and his sister. "How could we adopt such vermin?", "Mom, his father was a zone explorer. Should we really have him in our family?". These were the kind words his family had said to him in his darkest moments.
His daydreaming had been cut short by an ear curdling scream, one that was filled with pure and unfiltered rage.
"I'll kill you! You killed them both in front of me and decide to come back to mock me and their memories! I'll piss on your grave after I'm done with you!"
With a threatening gaze, Falco then began to think as he kept looking.
"No way he believes I killed both of them". Voicing his concerns internally, he believed he'd hit the mark.
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—crucial for a proper tourniquet.
Still behind the fallen table and whilst stringing along the pieces of fabric on his arm, Falco screamed back "Do you really think I'm capable of killing two people in such a gruesome way? I got caught off guard by you and you expect me to accept whatever you say? Hell no!"
"You killed them with the knife you hold, you filthy liar! I'm sure of it! I'll kill you first and then I'll stab your skull with the same knife you killed my family with you rotten pig! You should've worn a different mask if you didn't want to be noticed! Who wouldn't remember a bandana such as yours you murderer!"
Frustrated by those stupid remarks, Falco began to think. His mask 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 it so clearly the mask he wore couldn't be the same as the one that the murderer had. And 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 mask 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 neighbourhood, he looked behind him; back at the house he had nearly died at.
Standing in the doorway stood the kid. Flames were drifting in the sky and houses were burning down. What kind of life would that kid lead in the future? Will he try to get revenge? Who knows but Falco wished him luck. 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 vigour. The alleyways he now basked in were chilly and narrow.
He made sure that each step he took had purpose and direction; his house was close, and he needed to get there as soon as possible.
Looking by his side, he looked at the numerous large graffiti and insignia sprawled around. 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 hand prints was scrawled: UNREPENTANTS.
Stopping for a few seconds while looking at the title, Falco took a step back. "Wait I know that name".
Staring at it for a while longer, Falco then shivered. "The Unrepentants!" It had taken a while for him to remember who they were but when he did, he wished he had forgotten entirely.
The Unrepentants were vicious and terrible. There was once a time, well before Falco and Mia had come, where they controlled most of the slums. If he'd remembered correctly, they forced the "protectors" to put a stop to them. They were just that powerful.
Grimacing, he looked at his left arm; he knew that he'd lose if he had to fight in this bottleneck. If he truly had to fight the "Unrepentants", then he would fall without a question. He was but a man with a dream...
Frightened at that possibility, Falco began to move.
"I better get out of here quickly" he told himself. Many of these people were the worst of the worst. Crackheads, swindlers and bottom-feeders who made desperation into an art form.
Quietly he started moving through the rugged ground. Needles, glass, waste, defecation and other vile things littered the terrain he now walked in; the stench almost knocked him out.
"These wretches! Do they even care about the filth they live in? If I didn't know better, I would have thought of this as a security measure. Can't they take care of their own territory?" He seethed internally.
Many years have passed by since he had been exiled to this sad and unforgiving place, however he still looked at this place with contempt. These people knew nothing but destruction and pollution. Junk like this—albeit not as prominent—hid itself in every nook and cranny. He felt angry at the thought; 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.
Journeying through the junk littered dirt, Falco walked mindlessly wanting to make time move quicker.
There were times when he'd find a body or two but otherwise his path was safe.
Later, Falco found himself at the end of his venture. Nearing the exit, he beamed with confidence. His house was now only a few hundred meters away and thankfully; the flames hadn't reached this side of the city yet.
"Here I come, Mia!" He enthusiastically said as he crossed the exit.
Looking around, he gasped. Bodies—stacked like timber— filled the street. The stench was unbearable, thick enough to choke the strongest of men.
The street looked like a war zone—but wars had sides. Here, only the dead remained.
He wanted nothing more than to turn back—but he couldn't. Behind him was the territory of the "Unrepentants" and the rest of the territory was littered in flames and gunfire.
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. He hoped that his sister was home, but he couldn't truly think that. Many things could have gone wrong, and he hoped that if they had, he could resolve them quickly. It was for this reason that he kept trekking the same path he had chosen—one that would bring him straight into the pile of corpses he feared.
Determined to find Mia as quickly as possible, Falco took his first step in the hot spot, his knife tightly gripped in his right hand. Not wanting to suffocate himself with the musky haze surrounding him, Falco pulled his bandanna up to his nose.
Following his momentum, he took quiet yet deliberate steps. For the time being, he was safe. Moving along the street, Falco made sure he wasn't seen as he hopped against trash and garbage. Even though he hadn't spotted anybody yet, he couldn't be too sure and played it safe.
"This really stinks" He cursed under his breath as he desperately tried to keep his bandanna to his nose".
It had been a few minutes since he had taken this road. It had been a stroke of luck for Falco to be alive in his situation but right now, his thoughts lingered on taking a longer route.
Continuing his silent contemplation. Falco then realised his mishap. Even though his frayed muscles and clogged throat screamed and pleaded he exclaimed "No!" as loudly as he could. In his mind that is.
Even though the road was hellishly disgusting and dangerous, Falco wouldn't stop for nothing; his sister was more important.
"You better be alive, Mia!" He declared repeatedly.
Nonetheless, after a few minutes of silently creeping towards his house, he heard gunfire. His whole body was tense, and 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.
But he could care less about such conditions. Even if he was wounded, beaten and half-dead, adrenaline would guide him home—to his family.
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, and each shot was used to cease the screams of the damned. Falco had no idea why so much needed to be used to end off some of these citizens, however, he didn't want to find out.
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.
"I'm almost there" he said. He recognised these houses and luckily, he hadn't found trouble along the way.
Cutting his last corner, Falco finally reached his street. His house still stood, and the line of bodies gradually stopped.
He was so close to Mia and his safe haven, but he couldn't go there guns blazing. That's why Falco crouched behind a pile of rubble and looked around first. After such a journey, Falco could wait a little bit longer to ensure both of their safety.
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 doing so 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 with most of it getting burned down. There would be little to no homes or stores standing, meaning that the commercial and housing district would be nonexistent and in disrepair for a very long time.
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 Falco thought as he searched for Mia.
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 and his teeth grinded upon each other. He wanted to beat, strangle and mock himself but he knew better. He had hoped that his sister was safe or that he could get to her in time, 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 hand prints—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-defence 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.