Chapter Text
In the City of Stars, Andromeda system, the dark streets of planet 1406b are mostly empty. A lone craft hovers down the road, drifting through decrepit neighborhoods in the outer residential zones until it hits the back alleys. Inside the craft, with her restraints digging into her flesh, the human stares at the darkness where she knows the second prisoner is. Up till now, the ride has been unusually quiet, but the time for peace is at its end—When the craft reaches its destination, there won’t be time for talking.
“Songbird.” The woman’s voice is blunt as she calls across the craft. Her brown eyes narrow at the chirrup-filled reply. It takes a moment for her translation software to boot up and input the words into her neuro-circuits.
“Wondering when you’d say something.” The clicks are as chipper as they have ever been, but the dim green glow of dried blood on the other prisoner hints his experiences have been far from pleasant.
Edge looks to the side. There is a divider between the back transport the two are contained in and their captors piloting the craft in the front. “Do you know where they’re taking us?”
“No.” The sigh that follows is exaggerated and almost annoyed. The massive silhouette of Songbird’s figure shifts in place. Edge hears him try to snap his restraints, only to give up and flop into his seat with a chirp of annoyance. “Guess we messed up big, huh? They’re going through a lot of trouble for a Bad Blood and a cybernetic.”
“That Bad Blood and cybernetic are the only ones aware of Hchrouhh’s involvement in the deaths of two aspiring political figures.” Edge corrects him out of habit, her gaze narrow as she scans the back of the craft once more. It remains too dark to see much, but she imagines it empty regardless. A thought crosses her mind; she shuts her eyes, “No one else took the contract, did they? No one you know of?”
“They thought it wasn’t worth their while. Clearly missed out on this great escapade.” Songbird whistles at the end.
“We were set up.” Edge asserts. "Hchrouhh's making us take the fall for our clients' deaths."
“Mm, that sounds right. Funny how that happens when our contracts line up.”
“You shouldn’t have taken it.” The cybernetic says. Her wrists hurt from where the bands of veritanium cut into her flesh.
“Forgive me when I say that’s a load of cjit.” The Yautja across from her huffs loudly. “I don’t go out of my way to intrude on your contracts—”
“A lie.”
“And if I did—I wouldn’t pick one intentionally targeting your client—”
“Another lie.”
“When have I ever lied to ya?”
“You want the long answer or the short answer?” The woman purses her lips. She exhales softly and calms herself ignoring the Bad Blood’s response. As far as she is concerned, nothing Songbird says should ever be considered truth. He lies as much as the next and for good reason—in the two’s industry, facades and falsehoods are a must to ensure the hit is carried to completion.
Songbird trills at her. “C’mon, like you haven’t lied to me before.”
“I am a cybernetically-augmented human who kills for a living. All I do is lie. I didn’t deny that—”
“Sure sounds like you’re insinuating I’m the problem. Cetanu forbid I lie occasionally! But I swear by the Black Hunter, Edge, I’m telling the truth.” the Yautja tries to lean forward but the restraints hold him back. He growls softly and chirps a long complaint under breath before speaking up. “I enjoy seein’ you as much the next sain’ja, but I know you can only handle so much Songbird in one evening.”
“For a moment you almost made a point.” Edge is blunt as she eyes his silhouette. “Can you say anything without it being an excuse to flirt?”
“Miss a moment with you? Never.” The chittering that follows indicates his laughter, and then it grows quiet again.
The hover craft passes by a light source and a crack of light shines through long enough for her to get a good look at him. The sight isn’t pretty. Songbird fares worse than her. Her capture was quick once her ambushers discovered her body could be overwhelmed by electricity. In comparison, the Bad Blood appears to have fought to unconsciousness. His face is bloody, one eye swollen shut, and he has two mandibles ripped clear off while a third bends, clearly broken. There is a peppering of bruises, some already swollen, marring the ridge of his forehead. Chunks of flesh hint at where great hair follicles have been torn out. She has not seen him in such a state for at least ten cycles; she stares, aghast.
It has been many cycles since the two first met; Edge forgets how dangerous the two's line of work is. Being a killer-for-hire pays well, but it involves putting bodies on the line and dealing with evolving circumstances. Mistakes lead to failures and failures lead to death; there are no second chances or room for errors when handling hits. The morbid reality of her failure and subsequent capture begins to slink in. Edge averts her gaze. “We’re going to die. I am going to die on this shithole planet with you for company.”
“Hey!” Songbird chirps at her. There’s a pause before the Yautja adds in a surprisingly serious voice, “Ladies kill for my company. …Get it? Kill?”
“I’ll rip your spine from your body when my hands are free.” Edge states dryly, unimpressed.
“Like I said—Kill for my company. Can’t deny it, Edge, c’mon,” the Yuatja sounds so energetic, a complete contrast to the beating he clearly took at his capture. “You, me, a knife, we could pick up where we left off on Baltic-102t…”
A chill runs down her spine, picking at nerves she knows she should have replaced cycles ago. The feeling converges at her hips, shifting and pooling in her abdomen at the thoughts that surface, the thoughts she swore not to reflect upon, that she swore to forget, that she outright refused to acknowledge until the damn Yautja nearby brings it up. It all rushes back to her. She hears his soft trills of laughter at her reaction. Her instinct is to keep her gaze to the side and not give into the temptation to think about the nights the two spent lost in the planet’s sprawling rainforest.
“No wonder you’re a Bad Blood. No honor.” The woman remarks.
The insult does nothing to deter Songbird. Regardless of the pain he is surely in, the Yautja clicks and chirps with merriment and humor laced in each note. “Never agreed with the importance of ‘Honor.’ Why ya think I left, Edge?”
“You left because you didn’t agree with the way Ka’Torag-Na operates.” She butchers the clan name, but her answer is satisfactory enough to earn her a harmonious whistle.
“Impressive. You remembered.”
“I’d prefer if I didn’t.”
“Ya lie just as much as me.” The Yautja chortles to himself, and the transport craft falls silent between the two prisoners.
It feels heavy. Edge doesn’t want to think about what’s to come. She hopes her death will be quick, but she knows the rumors from the shadows. There are many possibilities, all as cruel and depraved as the next, when it comes to cybernetics in the dark corners of the intergalactic criminal world.
“Fuck.” Edge whispers at last, refusing to acknowledge the tears at the corners of her eyes. “What are they going to do to us?”
“Kill us, probably.” Songbird pauses.
“Kill you? Yes. But what about me?” The woman asks. “You know how valuable cybernetic parts are. How many aliens want them. They’ll bleed me dry for every last piece of technology—Put me on a table and cut me open—"
“Won’t happen. I won’t let it.” Songbird cuts her off immediately. When she looks, she barely makes out the seriousness of his dark black gaze. He is focused wholly on her; only her. After a moment, the Yautja slips back into his lighter, more playful persona, chittering softly, “Like ya would let these guys walk over you. Please, Edge. The second this craft stops, those doors open—They’re good as dead. We’ll send them off to meet the Black Hunter. Piece of cake.”
To anyone else—It would sound reassuring, a small measure of comfort.
Edge’s brown eyes dim. “I know you’re lying.”
Songbird pauses. His shoulders slump, the following chirp a soft, “I’m sorry.”
The cybernetic leans her head back and hisses softly. “Me too.”