The dysfunctional pair of coworkers stood shoulder to shoulder with each other, each performing their best impression of the intimidating man example in one of those outdated business training manuals from the fifties. Square shoulders pushed behind their back, puffing their sizable chests a little too far forward to be natural or even look healthy, clasped hands folded in front of their hip, and cold stone gazes staring down at the lonesome frail girl. Somehow the company development training sessions still managed to turn out moderately acceptable results, even the sorriest of slum rats could become proper corporate drones under the right tutelage.
If Kanashima didn't watch them fight and bicker for a handful of minutes already, the simple intimidation strategy may actually have had more of its intended effect. Instead, she was stuck sitting on top of the very counter she was caught on watching two acquaintances performing what could possibly be the worst cohesive actions she had ever seen from longtime friends. Even two people from opposite sides of the world that didn't speak the same language would probably have an easier time cooperating with each other than the so-called companions
"Just fucking hold still for a damn second will you? I need to pull the fucking glass shard out!"
"Oh hell no. We know how good you are at pulling out. I'm not like one of those cheap bitches you love to pipe."
Dropping her right hand over the small smile she allowed to spread across her face, Kanashima tried to divert her gunmetal grey eyes from the sorry excuse of first aid. She'd attempt to turn her entire body away too if it weren't for Marinetti's Intrinsic perk restricting major body movements. Retaining the functions of her right arm and onward was a gracious leniency he allowed her. At least this one was physical constrictions, she wasn't all too interested in having her internal systems invaded by foreign electrons again.
"Just stop being a little fucking bitch or I'm gonna make it hurt a hell of a lot more."
"Hey man, fuck you. Just do the fucking job already damnit."
"I'm fucking trying! If you stopped being a goddamn drama queen from the gates of Hell and actually sat still for even the tiniest of fractions of a second, maybe we can both get out of here before we're dead!"
Just how long are these two idiots going to keep on arguing for? The novelty of being caught coming out of her cloaking technique had long since worn off, and now it was just plain annoying. Couldn't they do this ridiculous song and dance after discussing whatever sort of consequences she was going to incur for breaking the lease? It's not like they'd be able to get much money out of her anyway, just give her another debt to tack onto her nearly empty account and fiscally screw her even more.
The longer they traded verbal blows with each other, more advantage trickled back onto Kanashima's side. Draining her entire usable portion of the power bank left an exhausted and sluggish gait to her nervous system, and thus, fatigued, almost hurting muscles. Through all of that, she could feel the storage cells slowly replenish with the same violet electrons that were surging through her systems earlier. She had no clue how long it would take for her battery to come fully back online, or how it was even receiving the minimal amounts of power, but even at her current amounts, she was confident she would be able to pull off at least one of those plasma bolts given another minute of the passive regeneration, albeit a smaller one.
The giant glass shard clattered onto the polycarbonate floor panels, dripping blood in a trail from Kory's foot. In the middle of the extraction, one of the sharp corners flickered with a small amethyst spark, catching his significantly less attractive coworker in the hand, slicing through webbing in between the thumb and index finger.
"Ah fucking shit! This is your goddamn fault, I told you to stop fucking moving around you goddamn pussy! Damnit that fucking thing is sharp."
There's that purple spark again. What does it mean, is it good? Bad? Nothing with a purple spark happened to me yet… so hopefully good.
"I fuckin told you that thing hurts like a goddamn motherfucker. Now are you going to stop writhing in pain like a little bitch or are you going to bandage up my foot?"
"Hey, ungrateful ass, I'm fucking helping you already, let me have three fucking seconds to myself. Forgive me for finding my own injuries more appealing to deal with than your sorry ass."
"Wow, didn't know you cared."
For a small moment in time, charcoal grey eyes synchronized with the cobalt eyes of Marinetti's, completing two whole revolutions around the perimeter of the eye socket itself. This whole interaction was getting dumber and dumber by the minute, and the fires in both of the stubborn, adamant men only kept on growing.
"I can't wait until we're out of here so I can kick your ass."
Somehow it only took a handful of minutes more for the duo to finish tending to their self induced injuries. It's a miracle what people could achieve when they stopped whining about whatever poor thing, taking their anger out on the closest person towards them, and actually tried to solve the problem at hand. Those two fought way more than anybody she had ever seen before, way more than when she used to see them hanging out with her brother. The corporate pair of muscles resembled an old married couple more than any other relationship, platonic or otherwise. How did they even get along with the rest of their team?
"Kana- fucking- shima, as I live and breathe. Didn't know you were still alive after, well y'know. How the hell are ya?"
The hair obsessed man finally put his phone down for the second time just to make a crude gesture of his thumb dragging across his throat. Parting his lips ever so slightly, he clicked his tongue against the top of his mouth whilst wetting it. The sound effect only served to remind her of the squirting blood out of the Nihility goon's squelching neck. Granted, that was her only point of reference. Regardless, it seemed to have its intended effect, her lips curling downward. Biting the inside of her lip, she took a deep breath, exhaling all the extraneous thoughts out of her mind.
"What do you guys want?"
"Wow, not even a hello? That's just plain fucking rude. I thought we used to be friends, Shima."
The duo finally stood side by side together once more, forgoing the normal banter between the two. If they acted like this all the time, maybe they could actually do a decent job at bullying these poor slum rats for everything they had. She was actually feeling quite irritated, but maybe it was due to the blatant lies and sarcastic comments from the old friend.
"We never really were, even you know that. Our only connection was through Morgan."
"Yeah, and it's the only fuckin reason we were ever nice to you. Big brother ain't here to protect you now, so you're going to be coming with us."
Seemingly losing interest in the conversational calm before the inevitable storm, Kory began to get back to work on his navy blue hair. Burying his face back into his phone screen as a mirror, he dressed a few strands that came loose in the few moments of diverted attention. His less attractive partner took a singular glance at his childhood friend's antics, and rolled his eyes once more.
"Figures. You guys weren't too nice with Morgan too that last year either."
"He was weak, weaker than us. We have no need to associate ourselves with those who are inferior. Seems we were right too, look which one of us didn't come back from their trial?"
The rhetorical question hung in the air, taunting Kanashima with its innate provocation. Even his tone served to activate feelings deep in her wounded mind. Feelings of despair, of loneliness. Of helplessness and directionlessness. If this was their normal procedure, talk a big game and ruin their victim's mind states, it was working exceptionally well. They were armed with intimate knowledge about her brother, only fueling the effectiveness of their third degree. Maybe the outdated training manuals and regimen were more effective and apt than she thought.
Why do I even try to be good?
Morgan was nothing but a good, kindhearted brother. One that helped out people when he could, who stopped on the side of the street to comfort a crying kid. He had always been great to these two people, and what did he get in return? Seclusion, bullied, and mocked even beyond his death four years later. All these guys did was move onto the next person they could use and bleed them dry for whatever minimal personal gain. They joined a corporation that told them to do just exactly that right in the job description.
This duo wasn't deserving of the gracious touch her brother provided them. The corporate drones weren't worthy of a random slum rat in an infinitely worse position stopping by their side and sitting with them for hours to comfort them through a few beers and a domestic disagreement. The world took their mother away from the both of them and forced him to grow up, become infinitely more wise beyond his years, and instead of falling into that pit of despair and lashing out at the world, he decided to be kind. It was in his very nature to embrace even the world that hated him back to make a change through the power of cordial blessings.
What good did that do for him? Earning him a death sentence in the face of horrors truly despicable. One that he probably tried to kill with kindness too, only he was the one left dead by the end of it. Her boss must've understood what happened to Morgan too, the last pieces of advice right before her attempt at the trial ringing in her mind. Serafin somehow understood her brother quite well, discouraging her to perform what likely did him in all those years ago.
"Nothing is real… Play your life."
As much as she tried, Kanashima was nothing like her brother. She was never kind hearted, never stopped to help the elderly citizens cross the road, never reached out to one of the several kids crying on one of the roots of the tree five meters away. Performing good deeds never came naturally, so sometime along the way, shortly after his death, she tried desperately to force them. Hopefully, if she could do a good enough job at it, people would like her more just like how they favored Morgan.
Her intentionally good actions were not in her nature, and more often than not, when push came to shove, her true colors were evident. On the street in the abandoned concrete jungle, Morgan would have, at absolute most, tried to incapacitate the large man coming after him, and most likely would've tried talking him down. What did she do to him? Those same deep pools of jet black irides pierced through her mind, locked into a staring contest with her soul.
Who am I kidding? I can't be kind, I can't be good. I'll never be anything like you, Morgan. What's a saint to a murderer?
Why does the world hate the good guys so much? In all the stories of heroes and villains, in the stories people read to their children, the good guys always won in the end. They prevailed against all sorts of evils: mass world destruction events, threats to their own freedom. Even something as simple as stealing their pet dog away, they always managed to come on top. Was this just some notion of propaganda?
At one point too, ignorant as ever, Kanashima really believed she could be that too. In this moment, there was no good intentions in her heart. As much as she wanted to believe what she wanted to, and was about to attempt to do, was all for defending Morgan's honor and ideology, she couldn't kid herself. Pissed off and armed with a plasma cannon for an arm, all she had the agency to do, and what she wanted to do was shut this arrogant corporate dog up. The one that really had the gall to call themselves friends of Morgan when they never really cared for him, just wanted to use them. It made her sick.
Outstretching her fingers, her unrestricted right arm rose to be perpendicular to the rest of her torso, pointing directly at the foul-mouthed partners in corporate.
For you, Morgan. You may have never condoned these actions, but it must be done.