Title: Difficulty Engaged (8/10)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: During leave, trouble thwarts a good plan and causes Kirk and Spock to accelerate the timeline of their McCoy-centric agenda. But true to form, McCoy is already playing by a set of rules they don’t understand.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7
A/N: Finally, an update. I apologize for taking so long, but no more delays! I am committed to completing this story by the end of the month. Today’s update will be followed by two more updates on the 21st (the confrontation!) and 28th (the romance!) respectively. I hope y’all enjoy the ride. :)

In a brig cell, a man loudly stamps his feet. “I must know what is happening!” he cries with passion. When he launches himself at the force field, he’s just shy of being soundly electrocuted. “I should be with my comrades! Why must you do this to me?”

No guards glance in his direction. It’s easier that way; safer too, given their commanding officer’s strict orders to ignore any attempts at wheedling, plea-bargaining, demands for release and especially tearful remorse.

But there is one person who simply cannot ignore him.

Reclining the length of the bench jutting from the wall, his cellmate lifts his arm from across his eyes and says with a tone of remonstrance, “Huido, stop your awful whining! I’m going deaf!”

An affronted Huido rounds on him. “You don’t have ears!”

Murtee twitches his antennae. “I can still hear you, idiot.”

“I just want my pleas to be heard!”

His friend sits up to shout, “And they are—deafeningly!”

Huido raises his hands, allows them to fall briefly before finally laying them across his face. He lets an alarming sob. Crossing his arms defiantly, Murtee looks away.

That defiance is short-lived.

“Huido,” the shop owner tries again, in a less prickly manner (which visibly makes him uncomfortable). “Have some common sense. We’re in jail. There’s nothing we could possibly do to help even if we—I mean, one of us were inclined to!”

The officer drops his hands to reveal dry cheeks and a burning gaze, hissing lowly, “My point exactly. We must escape.”

Murtee rocks back as if shoved. “B-But that would make us criminals!”

“We’re going to break out,” Huido declares rather brutally. “It is no less than the Great Captain Kirk would do if his friends were in trouble.”

“He doesn’t even know you,” argues the shopkeeper as he jumps to his feet, “and you don’t have any friends but me! Boulderhead!” He sounds put-upon that Huido dares to test the limits of their friendship now.

“I can’t do this without you.” Huido clasps a hand to his companion’s shoulder. “I need you, Murtee.”

“You, you—I knew I shouldn’t have befriended a Human! You think glory is better than profits!” The rant fizzles out quickly. “Fine, then. What does this escape entail?”

Huido leans in to whisper conspiratorily, “Have you ever experienced cardiac arrest?”

“What an idiotic question!” Murtee’s gaze narrows at the eager-looking man. “For the record, I refuse to be responsible for the outcome of your terrible ideas. If you’re fired and lose your retirement package, don’t look for a job in my shop! And, Huido,” he threatens, “there had better be a shop left standing when it’s over.”

Huido pats him lightly. “I swear I will protect your income with my life.”

Murtee acknowledges the promise with a satisfied sniff. “So, who do we find first? Your pals, who can arrest us again? The Chief of Port, who will kick us out into space? No, don’t tell me! The bad guys!” His tone of voice turns derisive. “Honestly, who bothers with kidnapping these days when extortion is a perfectly serviceable means of crime?”

Huido dismisses every suggestion with an impatient hand-flap. “There is but one, Murtee.”

At his friend’s long look, Murtee mutters, “Just wonderful. Kirk it is.”

The van separates from the stream of endless vehicles of the outer ring and rolls to a stop at a suitable distance from the sector dedicated to commercial freighters. Jim is the first to jump out, striding for the connector gangway to look down the long line of occupied transit docks. His face is pinched unhappily as he reaches the guard rail. He instantly makes his concern known to the person approaching him from behind. “How do we save Bones?”

“The options are limited,” admits Spock, “although we have gained a small advantage from the vessel’s delayed departure.”

Jim turns to face him, one hand tightening on the rail, the other lifting as if to touch the Vulcan’s shoulder. But that hand hesitates and drops to Kirk’s side.

“If we storm the ship, things won’t go any better than they did at the bar.” When Spock offers nothing to the contrary, Jim studies the officer, expression turning grimmer. “There’s a saying, Mr. Spock. Fight fire with fire.”

“From one of Earth’s most beloved poets, William Shakespeare. I am aware of it.”

Jim swallows hard and looks resigned.

“I understand,” Spock goes on. “I accept.”

“Part of me doesn’t want to ask it of you. You’re not a weapon, Spock. But I—” The captain presses his mouth to a thin line. “No matter how I turn the problem, our best chance is always you.”

“Affirmative.” The Vulcan hesitates barely a fraction of a second before adding, “If it should ease your concern, know that I am willing, Jim.”

“Thank you for that but, to be frank,” Jim argues softly, “I shouldn’t be your captain if I am able to stop worrying about you so easily.”

“You would not be my friend—nor I, yours.”

The man almost smiles. “Yeah, that too.”

It’s Spock’s turn to study his companion closely. “I should hope you have not forgotten our arrangement.”

“Arrangement, Spock?” At last, Jim’s mouth tilts upward gently. “I thought it was more of a mutual agreement.”

“That was not my understanding.”

“Are we really arguing about this now?”

“I see no need for an argument, Jim, as I was merely stating a fact. We are not divided on the matter; our interests and motives are the same.”

Jim inhales quickly, clearly thinks better of what could be said just then, and settles on, “Another time, Commander. The priority is McCoy.”

“Undeniably.” Spock knows his captain well enough to make the next remark a statement rather than a question. “You have a plan.”

Jim nods. “It may not be much of one, but it will have to do.” He sighs, then. “If only I could share the risk… Well, that’s a moot point, isn’t it? You have the skill set we need to get McCoy out of there. I don’t.” He looks aside under the Vulcan’s gaze. “But I find I keep asking myself if I should allow you to take on that risk alone in your… present condition.”

“Dr. M’Benga attested—”

“That report is debatable, mister, and you know it!” Kirk snaps suddenly. “McCoy’s staff won’t block his best chance of survival. They don’t want to lose him any more than we do… any more than I want to lose you!” He seems to shrink in on himself in that moment. “And gods, if I lost you both, I—how could I—” His voice fades before the sentiment is fully realized.

Spock takes one step forward, pulling his captain’s gaze back to him, his own gaze demanding the man not look away. “To borrow a phrase from the Doctor, you are seeking trouble where it does not yet exist. I am with you now, and if you will trust me, soon Leonard will be as well.”

“I trust you.”

“Indeed. Then consider this: the inevitable is only that my ability and training make me best-suited to engage the enemy. How we use the advantage is of our own choosing.”

Kirk’s gaze sharpens. “What do you mean, our?”

Spock almost seems amused, then. “Jim, it would be most logical if you share your idea on how best to approach the situation before I venture into an explanation regarding the nuances of Vulcan telepathy.”

And so Jim does and, true to his word, Spock does too.

By the end of it all, Kirk has relented in both look and tone. He may in fact be experiencing slight nerves, quickly masked. The man remarks rather weakly to the other, “Bones will have plenty to say once he finds out.”

“That, sir,” Kirk’s Vulcan officer states primly, “is a problem for another time.”

A voice cuts across to the pair, Commander Wardyn’s, who has kindly allowed the men some privacy until then. “Captain,” he calls, “we’re ready to move.”

Kirk and Spock meet him halfway along the gangway. “Commander,” Jim says with calm decision, “earlier you asked me about a plan.” He shares eye contact with Spock just briefly. “We have one.”

The dark trembles at a distant howling, some faint, hungry pulse of ill intent. Leonard’s mind instinctively knows to shy away from it, hoping urgently, Don’t look over here. Don’t. Stay away. The desire, that voice is in his head, gradually becomes less his, its pitch higher, tone calm, yet not. The other voice has strength and somehow is still afraid—and Leonard is bound to it. Run away or hide, which course of action should he take?

Then abruptly the choice is taken from him. A demand of Doctor! drives awareness down upon him, and he surfaces reflexively, leaving behind that growing sense of danger. Numbness recedes but anxiety replaces it, and the moment before opening his eyes, Leonard is too overwhelmed. How can he be so helpless, so useless? He can’t protect his body or his mind!

Tendrils of calm breach the ugly thoughts, a familiar touch akin to fingertips against skin. The sensation presses to him, and it’s invitingly warm. It urges him to recognize what it is to him. Protection and more.

He thinks at it a bit grumpily, though mollified, Where have you been?, and as the warmth begins to shape itself into a recognizable form—

—the thing which had brought Leonard to awareness yanks him with a taloned grip completely to consciousness.

A befuddled McCoy finds himself blinking at a sudden onslaught of light, standing upright in the middle of a bridgeway. A part of him mourns for an unknown reason, vaguely recalling there had been a need, a question, and almost an answer.

“Dr. McCoy,” Ruti says severely, “you must cease to try my patience.”

A sigh shudders from his body. “What then?” he demands a moment later, raising his chin to glare defiantly at her. “You want me to agree to be your puppet?”

“That would certainly simplify matters.”

He uses a few choice words to describe her.

Unfazed, Ruti leads them from the bridgeway to a wide-open area. The command center of the ship, realizes McCoy, thinking in the layout of the deck, a smaller version of the Enterprise’s bridge though less sophisticated. That man—no, captain—from earlier is seated at its center, facing away from them. When McCoy and Ruti round his chair, he sees why. The captain is shaking slightly, gripping the chair arms with a force that implies if he let go, he believes he might be flung from his seat.

Leonard realizes then this isn’t the only odd thing on the bridge; the atmosphere itself is subdued, rank with fear. The other bridge officers don’t react at all to their intrusion, like their captain staring wide-eyed straight ahead.

“Captain, I expected better of you,” Ruti says, finally circling the chair to stand in front of the man.

His eyes roll wildly in distress, but the captain says not a word.

The moment Leonard realizes why, he explodes in horror, “Ruti! Let these people go!”

She continues her careful study of the terrified captain. “We are in need of friends, Doctor. At this very moment, Zanceas is searching the port for us through his Scavengers.” When she looks aside, it is to stare at one of the walls of the bridge as though her gaze sees past it. “Chee is also close—which means your captain cannot be far behind.”

McCoy could say any number of things to her, like how it would be in her best interest to surrender to the authorities, that she shouldn’t take more hostages unless she wants a full-out war, to demand to know how any grand plan could stave off her crazy, supposedly more powerful cousin. What’s the point of all this violence? he wants to cry out. Why didn’t you ask for help instead of simply taking it by force?

Yet his brain chooses the most menial of all his concerns. He spouts back, “Do you even know what a friend is? Or do you just…” The doctor waggles his fingers at his head. “…make them think they like you?”

That indifferent countenance finally cracks as Ruti shifts her attention from the trembling captain, and Leonard is surprised to see what lies beneath it. He had thought Ruti to be reserved in expressing herself, afraid to own any vulnerability, when it seems the truth is far less palatable. Her expression is alien, haughty, and irritated; her gaze, callous. Leonard once saw that look in the faces of the advisors of Ardana, thinking of themselves as gods in Heaven while their inferiors suffered in Hell’s mines far below the clouds.

In this instance, Leonard is the inferior one. Her disdain of him is not simply for his rudeness. He sees she balks at his audacity to believe his rudimentary knowledge of her kind qualifies him to have an opinion at all.

“Manipulation of emotions is forbidden,” she informs him with indignant disgust.

Leonard’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. He didn’t think Ruti’s race limited their powers in any way, particularly since it would be a kindness to call her morally gray. Maybe at another time, he would feel chastened but the freighter crew’s horror is almost palpable and Leonard cannot forgive her for that.

“Warping people’s thoughts and feelings, that’s where you draw the line? But I don’t see how it’s different than you lying to me so you could trap me!” he argues. “Deceit is deceit, regardless of the method. You made me come here against my will, and now look! These are innocents, and you trapped them too! So don’t tell me you know better than I do about your actions!”

“I have told you before, your concept of morality is not mine. Simply because you fail to reconcile my actions to your expectations does not mean you are correct.”

Leonard snaps back, “I’m part of a Federation of dozens of races. Some of our citizens don’t even have physical bodies, so can your bullshit argument of ‘we’re not like you’! Being of different cultures doesn’t preclude people from living by the same principles. And in this Federation, everyone agrees: to terrorize, subjugate, harm, or defraud another living being is a crime. The one in the wrong is you because you don’t have the right to come into our territory and think you’re above our philosophy and our laws.” He scoffs loudly. “And I here had hoped you knew the basic courtesy of showing respect when visiting somebody else’s home. Guess you weren’t raised on that concept either!”

For a split second, Leonard thinks she might deign to strike him physically for his outburst. Then a strangled noise issues forth from the captain, startling McCoy. The man half-rises from his seat in the next instant before dropping back to his seat, utterly boneless, gulping air. Muffled groans and whimpers rise up around the bridge from the other crewmen.

Leonard is stunned. Did he actually win an argument?

Ruti heads toward the front of the bridge, saying coldly as she goes, “I freed them of my influence, Doctor. Is your conscience satisfied?”

Leonard isn’t concerned about his conscience, not when it is hers that’s giving him fits. Still, their release from her control is a small victory.

“For the moment,” he agrees.

Ruti turns back to stare McCoy and the captain, her voice level once more. “Take care with your thoughts.”

There is a frightening truth to the warning. Leonard closes his eyes, willing himself not to think too deeply of anything. But it’s hard not to think when he aches to see Jim and Spock again and know they are safe.

He’s been so concerned over his powerlessness, he has forgotten that he does have an advantage which his captor does not. Where Ruti has friendless and has been made to act alone, relying only on herself, Leonard counts himself lucky to have many friends. Two friends in particular have always been his greatest support system. Though his way of befriending one is different than the other, it is a fact that both friendships have become equally strong and precious. Leonard only needs to trust in Jim and Spock to try their best for his sake.

He opens his eyes to find Ruti watching him with an odd expression. He doesn’t like the attention.

But she only says, “If your love is so strong, why have you kept your silence?”

Leonard can’t answer that and instead settles on thinking sourly that it took a kidnapping and someone else’s impartial observations of his thoughts to make him realize what a coward he is when it comes to love.

Why has he chosen to ignore his feelings for Jim and Spock? In hindsight, it seems like an idiotic thing to do. Jim has repeatedly teased him about their close relationship, claiming they must have been an old married couple in a previous life. Spock has made clear, concentrated efforts to know Leonard better over the past few months, which has had the positive effect of softening their interactions. And, beyond a doubt, both men have in their own way brought McCoy happiness.

Is it really so far-fetched, then, that they could think of him as more than a friend? Is sharing a love impossible? But, Leonard thinks, haven’t they proven time and time again the impossible can become possible under the right circumstances?

He is pulled out of his thoughts by his own embarrassment at feeling so pleased in time to catch the words “compensation” and “contact”.

Oh hell, the doctor realizes, he should have been listening to Ruti’s conversation with the captain instead of daydreaming about romance! Something’s afoot if the sudden eager tone of the captain is anything to go by.

“He’s rich, you say?” the captain repeats. “How much could I get?”

“A handsome sum,” Ruti assures the man, “if your efforts in our capture are confirmed.”

Leonard sputters, “C-Capture!”

Ruti doesn’t glance his way.

The captain shifts his gaze side-to-side, taking in a doubtful-looking crew. “Won’t your cousin have powers like you? How is our safety guaranteed?” Despite the questions, the greedy look in the man’s eyes implies an already made-up mind regardless of the answer.

“You have experienced merely a taste of my abilities, Captain. Meet with Prime Zanceas and encourage him to come aboard anticipating victory. Then everything he brought with him will be yours. You can have your men take it from his ship while he is occupied here. After all, what dead man has need of riches? Better that his wealth lines your pocket than his coffin.”

“Ah, ah, I see! Very good.” The captain motions to one of his men. “I sent my foreman portside not long ago. Let me make a call to him. He will bring this Prime.” He chortles, no doubt at the thought of the payment to come along with their quarry.

Ruti shakes the captain’s hand with a cool smile, and Leonard’s stomach sinks in turn. He doesn’t think this scenario can possibly end well for any of them. That captain is a fool.

Ruti addresses McCoy then, as if remembering his presence. “We must see about that Vulcan, Doctor.”

“I said to leave him out of this! Haven’t you caused enough damage!”

“There is no need to trick Mr. Spock here, Dr. McCoy. Your presence is all the enticement required. He comes, whether you will it so or not.”

Take care, McCoy thinks to Spock. Ruti is quite correct in her assertion: Spock will not consider a risk to himself sufficient reason to stay away from the dangerous telepath who has already injured him once before.

As if summoning the Vulcan himself, for the briefest moment it feels like Leonard’s mind is caressed in response to that thought. But rather than wonder if he’s gone crazy as a by-product of Ruti’s meddling or if there is the slightest possibility his dear Vulcan heard him, Leonard opts not to call attention to it. He tells his captor instead, “You won’t like it when he shows up.”

“It is a risk I must take,” she responds implacably, “or this chase shall never end.”

Leonard supposes it is futile at this point to wish she had not dragged him into it in the first place.

A confused Commander Wardyn gives in to the temptation to rub at his forehead. He had heard rumors about Kirk being quite the tactician under duress, but something tells him the rumor mill has made light of the man’s true abilities—or, more probably, not properly expressed the fact that Kirk has genuinely crazy ideas.

But this idea might just work.

“And where do you propose to find that kind of equipment?” he asks Kirk.

The captain and his Vulcan officer trade a quick glance. Then Kirk is smirking.

“Oh, I have a few things lying around,” he tells Wardyn, flipping open a communicator. “Kirk to Enterprise. Uhura, is Chekov available?”

“Yes, sir, and still pouting. Ah, he just called you a dick in Russian again.”

Instead of having a fit as anyone else might over the insult, Kirk laughs like he’s just been told a funny joke. “Transfer me, Lieutenant.”

“Keptin,” comes the not-quite surly tone Wardyn recognizes as the young officer from an earlier call that day, “are you requesting my assistance?” It goes unsaid, they all can infer, that Chekov might not readily cooperate unless the order is to his liking.

“Mr. Chekov!” Kirk responds jovially. “As a matter of fact, I do need of your assistance! Do you recall our ‘Enterprise Incident’ and the, ah, implements we used then?”

Whatever that is code for, it infuses pep into Chekov’s tone. “Yes, sir.”

“Would you be so kind as to fetch that box from my quarters and transport it to these coordinates?”

“Aye aye, Keptin! I can do zhat!”

Another officer comes across the line. “Capt’n–and I cannae believe I’m saying this!–considering what happened last time, do I need to remind you regulations state—”

Kirk looks warmly at his first officer. “Mr. Spock has already informed me of all six possible regulation violations, Mr. Scott.”

The man huffs. “In that case, good luck, sir. Let us know what else we can do.”

“You’ll be the first to know. Thanks. Kirk out.”

“An interesting crew you have there, Captain,” Wardyn comments.

Kirk smiles at him. “The very best crew, Commander. Now, about the rest of that plan.”

Wardyn’s stomach does a somersault. There’s more? But he listens closely as Kirk allows Spock to explain, a quite roundabout account of some telepathic technique the Vulcan intends to perform. Wardyn is certain he’s deliberately vague on the details, but there are some things a man doesn’t need or want to know and this is one of those things.

Wardyn decides as Kirk and Spock look at him expectantly for a reaction, the rumors don’t paint the full picture at all. Kirk’s gambles might be out-of-the-box and not fully rational in their entirety but Kirk’s officers are obviously willing to back their brash young captain’s orders without question. It begs the question: is his crew just as crazy?

And yet, Wardyn feels a spark of excitement for what’s to come. Should they manage to pull off this plan, then it will certainly be one of the wildest moments of Wardyn’s career. How can he refuse?

He turns to his lead patrolman and says, “Bring Mr. Chee.”

A satisfied Kirk nods and crosses his arms over his chest. A container shimmers into existence at his feet. “Gentlemen, let us begin.”

Zan flicks a thought at the servant he senses in the corridor beyond his cabin. His upper lip curls in distaste at the male’s nerves at being contacted so directly, though Zan has merely ordered the dreg to fetch his dinner with haste. Retreating from that pathetically weak mind, the Prime steeples his fingers and closes his eyes, adopting a lazy repose that would seem unordinary to any uninformed observer. But Zanceas’ mind is fast at work, narrowing with laser-like focus to seek out and connect with his Scavengers, already on the hunt inside the station.

The pack’s echoing keens quickly build to a raging howl of hunger until that roiling madness momentarily engulfs his thought pattern, causing his muscles to lock and sweat to form along his hairline. A lesser-trained mind than Zanceas’ would easily be snatched up by the torrent and sweep away, and the creatures would welcome the devouring. He is a feast of hands and face, skin and flesh, buoyed by a crystalline-like power that could sate their bellies for a month. It takes asserting all the formidableness of his will as a Prime to quell them to obedience. These days far too few masters dare to take on the risk of cultivating Scavengers; but his Clan still follows the ways of their ancestors, seeing fit to use the creatures as the apex predators they are instead of taming them for the house and grounds like pets. Zan has made certain to excel at it.

The pack would bay if they had voices. There’s a sickly sweet scent of illness in the air. Their desire becomes Zan’s, and his mouth waters in anticipation. Where? he thinks desperately. Where is it? He must eat. He’s so hungry.

No, that is not right. Not eat but kill. Her.

Kill her!

Zan snaps his mind back from the collective of theirs, his eyes flying open on a ragged inhale.

In the next instant, the cabin door slides back and the male servant enters with a covered tray. Zan launches from his chair at the man, who freezes in fear upon seeing the animalistic twist to the Prime’s face. Zan rips the tray out of the servant’s grasp and flings it roughly onto an oblong table, the metallic cover dropping to the floor with a startling crash.

“Out!” he screams. The servant flees.

Staggering forward, Zan lets his weight drop onto his hands, bracing himself over the dinner tray. He stares at the meal the cruiser’s kitchen had prepared for him: vegetables and the meat of some beast.

A momentary image of his wife’s flesh upon that plate leaves him shuddering. Once the Scavengers have her…

He should have stripped her mind to an empty and harmless husk when he discovered her betrayal. The elders had denied that request, too enamored with the political prowess from the marital ties of their Clan to his wife’s.

A Prime upstaged by his own family? Ridiculous! Zanceas is fully within his rights as the cuckolded to demand such payment! And if not his wife, then they could have at least punished his cousin!

His appetite gone, he pushes from the table to walk the length of his quarters. Pacing does little to relieve his agitation so he abandons his cabin for the bridge, his anger building with each step. Small portlights guide his way. On the dimly lit bridge, he finds the secondary helmsman and a janitor on duty. At the Prime’s sudden appearance, the janitor scurries for the lift, leaving behind a mop and a bucket.

“Where’s the pilot?” Zanceas demands. Though of lowly status compared to a Prime, the pilot is the highest-ranked officer among the small crew.

“W-We’re docked,” the helmsman stutters annoyingly. “He’s not needed so he went to his quarters.”

“Fools,” snarls Zan. “I have paid for your services, therefore you’ll work as I see fit! Call him to the bridge at once!”

The helmsman complies with haste after Zanceas sends the cleaning bucket tumbling over the deck with a kick. When the pilot doesn’t answer his cabin’s comm unit, the helmsman, refusing to glance up at the scowling Prime, tries again and again. In the wan illumination, the man looks ill.

Zanceas has had his fill of the rampant incompetence aboard this vessel. He says, voice cold, “Inform your commander when he deigns to make his presence known that this guest has taken leave to the port.”

“Sir, do you require a guide to—”

“No,” he cuts the man off, “nor do I have need of your lazy guards.” Those idiots had been asleep at the entrance to the private corridor leading to his room. He had briefly considered mentally slapping them out of their crude dreams.

No, in truth, the accompaniment will only slow Zanceas down. There’s a sudden urgency in him to be present when the Scavengers pinpoint the exact location of his wife and cousin, and he cannot be bothered to wait for anyone’s dithering.

“But, Prime, your safety is our primary concern!”

Of course it is. Should he never return home, someone will have to answer to the Clan for his loss. They’ll break these simpletons’ minds as penance and as a message to others. “That is your view of things,” he says more coldly than ever, “and your risk. I leave at once.”

And he turns to make good on his word just as an incoming message appears on the ship’s viewscreen. Another pathetic-looking creature, notes Zanceas, clearly nervous but asking after the ship’s inhabitants.

Asking after him.

Zan turns back. “I am Prime. Who told you of my name?” he demands, but he already suspects the answer.

“We have your… family, Prime,” the messenger says. “My captain would like to make you a deal.”

Zan bares his teeth. “Are they alive?”

The messenger gulps. “Y-Yes?”

“Very good. Continue,” he orders. There is treachery in the man’s words but at least he has no outright lied. Ruti is very much alive at this moment, that prickling presence skirting around his awareness, not acknowledging him as he in turn refuses to acknowledge her.

Let her see him in person, hear his words, feel his anger for herself as he shreds her existence to nothing. Let both him and the Scavengers have their long-awaited feast!

Related Posts:

• Difficulty Engaged (11/11) – from June 29, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (10/11) – from June 28, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (9/10) – from June 21, 2020
• Difficulty Engaged (7/10) – from November 29, 2019
• Difficulty Engaged (6/10) – from September 19, 2019