"No Life 'Til Leather"

"The Struggle Within"

...

"... Henri, just shoot them, for Lord's sake."

Time seemed to shift a little. From the usual light jog - dropping ticks and tocks away without a care - it shifted to a slow, unsteady crawl, as if desperately pushing itself forward with the very last amounts of will it had left. Sweat accumulated in the dust-permeated air, the smell of body odor mixing and merging with the overbearing stench of death. Andy stared on, gazed into the unnamed teen's eyes, as the cold, unfeeling muzzle of what had to be some sort of pellet-rifle nudged the back of his neck.

Awoken from their momentary slumber, the voices behind him and W spoke again. One, the shaky, unsure whisper of a man battling the creeping hands of anxiety crawling up his spine - the other, a dominant, yet femme, dry hiss that hated even the slightest bits of objection.

"I can't shoot them, they're... There's Freddie under the sled. I can't."

"Oh... Oh, damn it. Freddie, come out!" Andy saw the boy shifting in fear at the mention of what could supposedly be his name. His eyes darted from him to W, from W back to him, unsure of what to do. "You two, DON'T. MOVE."

"Freddie, huh?" W purred to herself, a little less pale than before. Some color had made its way back onto her face, now that the stakes weren't entirely piled against them. "Sorry for this, bud."

"...?"

"What are you-...?" A muffled bark came from behind, but just a second too late. W had already reached forward and wrapped both an arm and her tail around the Caprinae boy's torso, then dragged him right from the hidey hole. Crying gasps of terror and fright, he wriggled in her grasp to no avail, watching as the very tip of her tail, snugly hugging the knife, rose dangerously close to his own neck. Andy shifted at the spectacle, turning around to his back to finally get a good luck at their assailants.

"LET HIM GO! LET- LET GO! DON'T TOUCH HIM, FIEND!" Came the yells of a clearly distressed Caprinae woman with nothing but pure, killing intent in her eyes. Clinging to the shoulder of a leather clad man of the same race, she corrected the aim of his rifle, pushing the barrel towards W's grinning mug. The man quickly jerked the gun away, before stepping away from her.

"Leni, don't point it at HIM! Don't point it there!"

"Shoot that devil bitch! Sh-... Henri, shoot her!"

"DEVIL BITCH? Tch..." W clicked her tongue, before bringing the boy snug onto her lap, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and neck. The knife remained pressed softly to the very edge of his skin, threatening to spill red at any given moment. "... We gotta teach you two lovebirds some manners, yeah? First off, don't call the person holding your... son? Son, I assume, yeah?"

No response came, other than the shaky rattling of this "Henri" person's gun. Andy blinked, letting his eyes get used to the current situation - and the double barrel shotgun resting in the man's arms. It was beautiful, he had to admit. Rough, disgustingly worn and used, yet absolutely beautiful. So beautiful in fact, that it spoke to him on a very deep, personal level. It had such a high and quiet voice...

"... Don't call the person holding your son at knifepoint a bitch, mm? That's a survival tip for free."

"Look..." Began Henri again, hugging the stock with his cheek. "... We don't want trouble, okay? We seriously don't... You've already killed enough people tonight, don't you think? I bet you don't want bloodshed..."

"That's highly arguable." W cut in.

"... I bet you don't want bloodshed, and we don't, either." Henri ignored her remark. Leni, dug her nails deep into his shoulders and peeked from behind.