Fire ➳ TDC, Thomas [3] ✓

chapter {11}

There were no sounds audible to my ears that could stop me. No shooting, no explosion that I cared for in that moment. No danger I wasn't willing to face as I ran through the hallways of WICKED's compound, completely oblivious to anything happening around me.

Sheer chaos. That was what followed me— doctors running aimlessly around, below the weight of collapsing building, guards uselessly trying to prepare for one last match against the armies of resistance that they did not even care to notice me slip by them. Whole building was on a verge of collpse, leadless, without a command to follow or a lead figure to listen to.

And truth to be told, that went to my benefit as I carefully slipped past the guards and doctors, physicists and chemists onto the street shaken up by massive explosions left and right, the air of ashy constitution full of tingling sparks of red and orange a heavy one to breath. I, nevertheless didn't think of stopping, neither when my eyes met the dust in the air nor even when running became an awfully tiring job to maintain through the city where watching every step needed to be done to prevent possible death by being hit.

Street after street, my legs carried me forward, on my left buildings in a burning pile collecting dust and ash, sending it up into the darkened sky and on my right inevitable shooting, bullet after bullet and scream after scream echoing in the void the city now became, devoid of life, devoid of will to continue— just war, ruin and suffering. Two sides shooting at each other.

A heavy, deafening explosion rippled through the night air, far, only one unstable building away from me yet so close it affected me as it threw me off my legs, off balance painfully crashing to the ground. I let my eyes involuntary shut, remained on the ground heaving breath after breath after which my breathing became something of a laboured inhaling before I heaved myself up quickly, forgetting about pain, forgetting about myself and running again with tears in my eyes, hoping. Hoping one thing— hoping it wasn't too late.

I swallowed harshly, aimlessly running to the take-off of our meeting, ducking and hiding with each stronger blow of a new weapon, each new wave of bullets ringing whatever I went— running through a literal mine field of shooting, through pain rippling across my skin and only believing there could be a single opportunity for him to make it.

I refused to let the same thing happen as it did with Nico, as it did with my best friend.

Sharp turn left and one right, I stumbled onto a small clearing of cement, gulping in big portions of air and covering meters in sheer painful motions as I left the space of shooting and killing, entering one seemingly calm one before the whole world seemed to collapse into itself.

It was too late. I was too late. There amongst the ash and sparks, lay the only person who I needed to save, who deserved Safe Heaven more than anyone else— Newt, he lay unmoving.

Without a single warning my hands began shaking, the vial of blue liquid slipped out of my grasp and shattered onto the ground just like my heart did in that moment. In thousand pieces like a glass after it would hit the bottom, like it had been mended so many times this last one wasn't supposed to fix anything at all. And it wouldn't. Nothing would ever fix it.

Through tears I stumbled forward, through pain tearing apart my whole being in two incomplete pieces which never would be one again, through heart audibly shattering in my ears did I take one last step forward before collapsing to my knees. And crying. Unfixable was the pain erupting in my chest, unstoppable the tears spilling down my cheeks and nothing, nobody would heal the gap punctured in my soul now.

"No, no! It wasn't supposed to end like this!" A scream, mended into a cry of utter misery forced me to succumb to my knees further, my hand grabbing on the hot cement beneath so shakily I feared they would bring me down in that moment. But I didn't care, I didn't care that we needed to leave. I didn't care that we needed to save ourselves when we still could— I didn't care for anything, not even myself.