Chrysalis Corporation

by T. A. Venedicktov

  “I hate that Impulse Barrier,” Damion growled as he sat at the small table. Even if their lives had been saved by it, Damion had voiced multiple times that he didn’t like his Core using himself as a battery. “Just… don’t take long.”

  “I am attempting to remove myself as an energy draw option. For that, I need to increase the actual draw port power so that it will not revert to me when it runs out.” Requiem looked up and tilted his head slightly to the side. “What is an acceptable time frame?”

  Damion had learned better than to deter Requiem when he was set on a goal. “Thirty minutes?”

  Damion sat back and continued to watch the vid he and Juni had been watching. Requiem knew he wouldn’t follow him, which was a good thing because Damion would be bored to tears and would slow him down.

  For a few seconds, Requiem merely looked at him, but then finally turned and walked toward the door. “As you wish,” he said. The door slid open, allowing him to leave the room. He didn’t know what Damion expected him to get done within those time parameters, but he had to listen. He may have time to start a diagnostics check.

  Once outside, Requiem started toward the flight bays, walking quickly. The faster he arrived there, the more time he had to work. He thought of, assessed, and disregarded or accepted many trains of thought—including, briefly, his Fighter’s strong hands. He could only hope that Damion would give him another massage in the future and maybe trust Requiem enough to return the favor. It would honestly improve Damion’s fighting if his muscles were loose and easy to move.

  Requiem’s mind was on the tests he wanted to run and the modifications he wanted to make, and he was not paying attention to his surroundings.

  He was nearly to the flight bay when he heard a noise behind him. Stopping, he turned, his gaze flicking back and forth through the empty corridor. Damion had been correct: it was fairly late and most people would be sleeping right now. But something didn’t feel right. He started slowly backing up toward a door console, his hand edging upward as he continued to search the hall, listening intently. The tips of his fingers were about to drift away from the console when someone grabbed him by the wrist. Requiem immediately dropped to the floor, hoping his weight would force his captor to release him, but the grip only tightened, grinding the bones of his wrist together as he was dragged into a dark, open doorway.

  Twisting about, Requiem saw his attacker’s face.

  Arkin.

  Chapter Seven

  Requiem

  “WHAT WERE you doing, huh?” Arkin asked with a cruel, cold smile as he shut the door with his free hand. “I don’t know why everyone is so fucking scared of you.”

  “If you do not fear me yourself, why do you attempt to terminate me?” Requiem questioned as he used Arkin’s painful grip on his wrist to raise himself to his feet. He quickly looked around and realized his stupendously grievous error. To get to the flight bay, he had used the corridor that passed right by Arkin’s quarters. Now he had to try and figure out how to escape from a situation caused by his own stupidity.

  “I won’t kill you tonight.” Arkin used his superior strength to turn Requiem toward him. Using the momentum of the pull, he raised his fist and punched Requiem hard. “I’m going to remind you what you really are: a tool. I’ll show that stuck-up bastard how to really use you.”

  Requiem’s head snapped to the side from the hit. Pain flared through his jaw and cheek and he fell to the ground. But he didn’t make a sound, he wouldn’t. He needed to get to an outlet, a panel, the pod—something so that he could call for help. Damion didn’t want Arkin dead, but Requiem wasn’t going to die tonight either. He knew he couldn’t defeat Arkin, but he might be able to outsmart him. Getting to his hands and knees, Requiem ignored the blood trickling from his mouth from where his teeth had cut into his cheek. He couldn’t open his right eye, but he did use his left to gauge distance.

  “You do not even know how to use a Core properly,” he said, trying to keep Arkin distracted from his slow movements toward the empty capsule.

  “I know exactly how to use you.” Arkin grabbed the back of Requiem’s hair, yanking him up by the strands so that he was standing once again. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Arkin kept his grip on Requiem’s hair while he let loose a flurry of punches that drove him back down to the floor. Arkin hit him in the ribs, stomach, face, and many other places that Requiem couldn’t keep track of after a while.

  Requiem attempted to curl in on himself as much as he could against the tight grip Arkin had on his hair. He knew two things. One: a capsule was the closest outlet to him and it was still two meters away, and two: in ten minutes, his thirty minutes would be up and Damion would come looking for him. Requiem was always, always right on time. He needed to live long enough for one of those two things to happen.

  In a momentary pause in Arkin’s attack, Requiem lashed out, kicking upward and out to connect with Arkin’s pride and joy, his reproductive organs.

  Arkin screamed and let go of Requiem out of shock, grabbing his groin in pain as he bent over. “You’ll pay for that, you broken bitch!”

  Requiem didn’t reply. As soon as Arkin let him go, he lifted his pain-filled body to his hands and knees and crawled quickly to the capsule. As soon as he reached it, he flipped open one of the repair panels and grabbed the wires tightly in his hand, reaching through the system. He was in too much pain to put his voice through the system—it was too distracting. Hoping that Damion was still awake, Requiem grabbed Damion’s vid screen and flashed one word on it.

  Arkin.

  Arkin recovered quickly, and once he caught his breath, he strode a few steps over to Requiem and kicked him viciously in the side, and away from the pod. He crouched down, punching him again in the same side.

  The pain dragged Requiem’s mind back to his body as his connection with the pod was torn away. Agony flared through his chest as something gave way in his ribs, and he lost his breath, falling to the side. He couldn’t open his eyes anymore, fear for his good eye keeping them tightly closed. His face and body were a mass of agony, but he still didn’t let Arkin have the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He hoped that Damion had received his message. He also hoped that he had placed his trust in the right Fighter and that he was going to live long enough to be proud that he had listened to Damion’s orders not to kill again.

  Damion

  DAMION WAS flipping through a book he had read five times already and looking at the digital readout on the wall beside his bed, wondering if Requiem would walk in at the exact second once again. Then he noticed a flash—his vid. What he saw made his stomach clench and his anger flare. He grabbed a pair of pants without worrying about zipping them, running out into the hallway at full speed and down to the bastard’s room.

  It didn’t take long to reach Arkin’s quarters. He banged on the door once, figuring Arkin would be arrogant enough to leave it unlocked. He was right.

  He walked in, and Arkin stood up with a sneer on his face. Damion had surprised him.

  Damion watched Requiem attempt to slide away along the floor, back toward the pod.

  Damion’s hands clenched tight at his sides as Arkin reached for the top of Requiem’s head and grabbed a fistful of white hair. He put one foot inside the doorway, but stopped as Arkin pulled Requiem to his feet and put Requiem in a choke hold.

  “You stupid motherfucker.” Damion was going to kill him this time if he could get away with it.

  Requiem

  REQUIEM WAS alarmed when he felt the Fighter’s forearm wrap around his neck, tight against his windpipe. Arkin was going to use him as a hostage. Great.

  “Coming to rescue your bitch?” Arkin grinned savagely toward Damion. “How sweet of you. Too bad you’ll have to sit and watch while I fuck his sweet ass.”

  “Like hell!” Damion growled, his shoulders rounded forward, but he didn’t step any farther into the room.

  Here Requiem was again, getting Damion into trouble.
He really needed to find a way to avoid this in the future. Requiem looked to his Fighter with his one good eye, still having trouble seeing him through the blood that dripped down his face from a cut on his forehead. Assessing the situation, he wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to help if he couldn’t get near anything electric to tap into the system. His whole body throbbed with pain, especially his face and chest. So he decided to do the next best thing. Taunt.

  After spitting out a collection of blood that had pooled in his mouth, he concentrated on Damion’s face. “Do not be concerned, Fighter Hawk. He will do nothing to me. I have already damaged his reproductive organs fairly severely.”

  “I wouldn’t say I am unable to satisfy a whore like you.” Arkin licked the side of Requiem’s face in a slow, wet drag, from chin to temple.

  “Don’t touch him,” Damion commanded. “What do you want, Arkin?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Out of everything, the wet feeling of Arkin’s tongue on his skin caused Requiem to wince. He lowered his gaze from Damion’s face to the floor, not wanting Damion to see the brief flash of disgust in his expression. Finding some strength, knowing it wouldn’t do him much good but needing to do something—anything—Requiem elbowed Arkin in the ribs with one arm, hard.

  Arkin let out a small grunt that sounded more of annoyance than pain. “You little bastard!” He raised his fist to strike again, but Damion’s shout stopped him.

  “Don’t! Let him go and fight me!”

  “And miss watching you in pain as well when he begs me for mercy? I think not.”

  “Is that why you torture Cores? To hear them ask you to stop?” Requiem asked quietly, unable to take deep breaths because of the flare of pain from his ribs and the grip on his throat. “Then I am not the right Core for you. I will not beg nor scream. So you achieve nothing by attacking me. Fighter Hawk will not feel any pain by seeing me hurt other than remorse that I will not be fit enough for sims for the next few days. You gain nothing.” He raised his good eye long enough to meet Damion’s gaze, hoping that Damion would see that Requiem knew his words about him were not true.

  Damion appeared hurt until he recognized the flash of silent understanding in Requiem’s gaze. “You will piss me off, but he’s right. He is replaceable.”

  “You really feel that way?” Arkin eyed Damion suspiciously.

  Damion nodded and shrugged nonchalantly as if the thought truly didn’t bother him. “Look. You know what Juni’s been saying about me, right? I know your friends have been goading him for info about 47 and me. All I want to do is keep my Zodiac and we need to resolve our shit for the squad.”

  Requiem had directed his gaze back toward the floor, momentarily fascinated by the pool of blood forming on the metal from the drops from his face. He could only hope Damion looked as convincing as he sounded. “You see, there is no satisfaction in harming me further. I will not give you the excitement you want from screaming, and Fighter Hawk will not give you the satisfaction of caring beyond the inconvenience it will cause him. You do not benefit in any way.”

  Arkin looked between the two, Fighter and Core, as if trying to gauge if either one of them was lying. “You won’t care, then, if I fuck him, as long as he comes back alive?”

  Requiem swallowed and then coughed as liquid clogged his throat and new blood trickled from his mouth. This was not an answer he could give. Arkin’s question was for Damion and Requiem could only hope that he wouldn’t let his emotions get the better of him.

  “I would only object because I haven’t been able to fuck him yet myself.” Damion waved a hand in the air. “I didn’t want him to kill me, so I held back.”

  Arkin used his free hand to squeeze the front of Requiem’s groin over his flight suit. “That is your loss, then.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” Damion stepped into the room and smiled cruelly and with complete conviction. “We could share him right now. I will hold him while you do him first, then you hold him for me.”

  Somehow Requiem managed not to move while Arkin’s hand squeezed him and ran up and down his crotch on the outside of his suit. He wanted to struggle, to push away, but it would undo what Damion had said and what he was supposed to be. “There is no need to hold me down. As my Fighter commands, I obey.”

  “You going to obey?” Arkin sneered with disbelief.

  “Core 47 will obey if that is what Fighter Hawk orders,” Requiem replied quietly, after spitting out the blood in his mouth. He let his head fall as if defeated, Arkin’s forearm tightening against his neck from the movement.

  “You’re just going to let me fuck him first?” Arkin obviously did not trust them, which only meant he might be smarter than they’d thought. But not by much.

  “As long as I get him next.” Damion spoke as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Wanting to take a deep breath but unable to, Requiem raised his head so that his good eye could focus on Damion, amazed at the uncaring expression that adorned Damion’s face. As he raised a hand to the tab of the zipper at the top of his suit and pulled it down, Requiem hoped it was all just an act. “As my Fighter commands.”

  Arkin slowly released his grip on Requiem, but his cold eyes still moved wildly, searching for any betrayal. “He might kill you.”

  “I wouldn’t allow him the chance.” Damion gave a tight smile, shrugging again.

  Requiem nearly fell to the ground as his weak legs took his weight again, but he managed to stay on his feet, slowly turning toward Arkin, with the zipper to his flight suit opened to his waist. He couldn’t move too fast while Arkin was still wary and Requiem was within grabbing range. He had to bring Arkin’s guard down.

  Arkin licked his lips and reached out to wrap both hands around Requiem’s already bruised neck. “You like to be fucked like the tool you are. Tell him I’m right.”

  “I only listen to orders from Fighter Hawk,” Requiem stated as he stared at Arkin.

  He was really starting to dislike objects around his neck. What was it with Fighters wanting to choke him anyway?

  Arkin sneered, and his hands squeezed tighter around his neck. “You still have a smart mouth on you.”

  “Let him get undressed first.” Damion walked forward again, now only a few meters away from them. “He doesn’t need to talk anyway.”

  Requiem couldn’t help gasping for breath. Dark spots appeared in front of his eyes and his lungs burned for the few moments before Arkin released him. He didn’t cough or try to take large amounts of air into his lungs, just stumbled back a step. Trying to take slow, short breaths, Requiem pulled down the top of his unzipped suit, pulling an arm out of one sleeve and then the other. His hands went to where the suit was sitting on his waist, but instead of pushing it down, he dropped bonelessly to the floor, giving Damion room to move quickly in the area above him.

  “What the fuck are you doing, you stupid—”

  Arkin didn’t get to finish his sentence before Damion tackled him to the ground and began to deal out everything Arkin had done to Requiem—and more.

  Requiem couldn’t do more than lie there, crumpled on the ground for a few minutes, listening to Damion pummel his fury out on Arkin’s flesh.

  Requiem’s body burned, his mind swirled, and it hurt to breathe. He was finally able to gingerly sit up, crawling slowly over to the pod while remaining unnoticed by either Fighter. Reaching into the pod, he pulled out one of the retractable cables as far as it could go. Once Damion rolled Arkin close enough to him, Requiem stabbed the jack into Arkin’s hand and signaled the pod to let out an electrical charge, the voltage sufficient to knock out Arkin. Then Requiem gripped the side of the pod, trying to stay upright.

  Damion let out a loud curse as he received some of the backlash shock from Arkin’s skin.

  “Requiem.” Damion stood up, nearly tripping over Arkin’s collapsed body, in his haste to help Requiem up. “We’re going to Medical. No arguments.”

  Requiem stifled a scream as Damion
pulled him to his feet, Damion’s every finger hitting a bruise. “Damion, no Medical. Please.”

  “You need to see a doctor.” Damion’s voice was stern. He moved them as quickly as he could into the hallway; his focus was on the elevator and keeping Requiem from collapsing. “You could have some dangerous injuries.”

  Requiem knew he was right, but “I dislike the immersion tanks,” he whispered softly, unable to help the small whimper that escaped as a spike of pain went through his chest.

  He hoped Damion could support him as far as it would take to get to their destination. “It can’t be helped. Not this time.” Damion stepped into the elevator and then called for it to take them to Medical before he bent down and picked Requiem up effortlessly in his arms.

  The moment the elevator’s doors opened, people in the corridor stared. Requiem was half-naked and bloody, and Damion had his own small wounds from the battle. Damion was also half-naked, since he had only had time to put on a pair of pants before bolting out of his quarters.

  “This is not wise. We are drawing too much attention,” Requiem whispered in Damion’s ear from where his head lolled against the Fighter’s shoulder. His breaths were short and gasping, blood trickled from his mouth and numerous other places, and blackness crept in on the edges of his vision.

  “Let them talk.” Damion nearly ran to the Medical Bay. One of the nurses immediately gasped in horror at the state of Requiem. “He needs help. He was attacked,” Damion said urgently.

  The tallest of the orderlies gently but quickly took Requiem from Damion, but Requiem grasped Damion’s arm before he could be taken too far away. “Do not leave me?” he begged, his voice barely audible and a deep tone of pleading in it.

  “I’ll be right here. Don’t panic. You’re safe.”

  Requiem was able to process that Damion was attempting to console him with a soft tone and smile.