Under the starry night sky of this alien world, Sharp rested his back against a rooftop railing on the roof of the factory shelter, thinking of all the battles he had been through, especially the recent one against these very monsters.
He wasn't always the sharpest; often, quite dull, but his life took a dramatic turn the day he became a real Man-at-Arms. He was then a death row fighter, incarcerated for wartime larceny.
He was made the fall guy for crimes he never committed. It was okay for him; things wouldn't have gone well for him anyway. He was given to the military as tribute, not a volunteer, unlike most proud Venuxians in the Legio Bellarium; there was never much to return to anyway.
A death shroud was stitched to his face, and a faulty blazer with a bayonet in his hand. The Justiciar carved a sun sigil on his head with a knife beforehand, just like the others in the Armored Carapace, and he was kicked down and told to charge towards the sun.
It was his first deployment, though it was supposed to be his last, but against all odds, he found his talent for the first time in his life, and he never stopped fighting ever since.
The scary part was that he never got tired while fighting. He kept getting better at it, and by the time they found him, he was in a trench full of rebels, indistinguishable from the bloodied corpses around him save for the iconic black shroud over his head.
They stood over him as he sat to rest, three figures who had been through hell just like him. However, those three were different: dignified and victorious.
"That looks broken! Sarge, can I fix it?" The female among them got closer, inspecting him.
"Quit picking up broken things." The man with the sergeant cap snapped with a stern tone.
"You keep saying that, yet you didn't really mind it when you were broken yourself, eh?" She replied.
"Orders are to execute death row inmates if one survives. We shouldn't risk it with the Justiciars breathing down our necks." He seemed hesitant.
"Oh, relax. We'll just get rid of the shroud and cauterize the sun sigil." The female Man-at-Arms lifted his shroud, pulling off the string that was driven into his flesh.
"Cauterize? Isn't that exclusive for medic blazers only?" The private on the other side of the female soldier asked, his tone heavy.
"Don't bother with it, Stone. Our boy here has sharp eyes; he can feign memory loss, can't he? Useful guys are hard to come by nowadays."
"Can you keep a secret, boy?" The Sergeant persisted, "Corporal Skarn here likes to pick up broken things."
Sharp knew he had nothing left to live for, and nothing worse could happen to him. By that logic, whatever happened next would be better than how things were at that moment.
So he nodded; he was taken back a new man, assumed to be an injured and traumatized Man-at-Arms. The medics took care of him; the Justiciars never bothered. He was given a new name, a new blazer, and reassigned as a private with the Trench Dogs—now Skarn's new toy.
A few years later, Skarn became Sergeant Skarn, retained her name, Elena, and he became her second Corporal.
Every time he closed his eyes, Sharp would see memories of these early days, the brutal training in boot camp, and the nights they fell asleep while standing in the trenches. Somehow, this monster-infested world wasn't that bad; at least these green beasts hadn't yet figured out guns just yet, which was peculiar considering their ability to drive cars.
When the day comes and those things carry guns and charge their base, Sharp knew he would have some real fun, that he would dig trenches and stalk enemies. Thoughts of the horror that was yet to come simply drew a smile on his face and made his fingers twitch.
"That doesn't look like a sane smile, mister."
A voice spoke to him, but it came as no surprise. He had already sensed her approach as she was casually walking with a bit of a limp due to her injury this morning.
Yuki emerged before Sharp, wearing a punk tank top under a fur jacket that didn't match her style, probably all salvaged together for warmth, but still gnawing at her soul, judging by the way she pushed it back.
Sharp examined the thin, petite girl, who was nearly half his age, with lazy eyes. She was far too scrawny to fight monsters, but she had strength within her, enough for her to withstand the recoil of a ballistic weapon from what he saw. He admired such strength in her.
"Ms. Yuki," he greeted before looking up at the sky once again, "You should be resting."
"I wanted to thank you." She said, getting closer. "You saved me, helped me with my leg, and even carried me for some time."
"You are a civilian. I was only doing my duty," Sharp replied, without much interest.
"The civilian came bearing gifts then." She replied, holding up something glinting in the darkness.
At first, Sharp expected cigarettes, which he was ready to appreciate, but she came carrying a metal container that looked unfamiliar to him.
"I had to barter half a pack for one of these." She said, tossing him the can, which had unfamiliar words and patterns all over it.
"What is it?" He asked.
"Beer." She said, approaching him without much emotion, but still choosing to sit beside him and stick close, which he didn't find bothersome. "Not sure if you have this where you came from."
"Not for people like me." He accepted the can with a steady hand, turned it to examine the green, glossy exterior, which felt like something really expensive.
"I see. Well, we can share a can."
"It's not all for me?" Sharp turned, asking with a playful smirk.
Still maintaining a blank face, Yuki shrugged and replied, "Hey, you only saved my life, dude."
Sharp chuckled, his head nodding back once, before he cast his focus over the beer can and figured out how to open it.
It popped, the gas within frothing with bubbles, and the smell of malt wafted between him and Yuki, as she was busy lighting a hand-rolled cigarette.
Sharp took a couple of gulps, trying to slow down the liquid as it flowed, savoring every bit of it, enduring the burn with ease, before lowering the can and closing his eyes to register the rich taste in his mind.
"Better than troopers' swill, I can say that," Sharp replied, smacking his lips and looking at the can with passion.
Beside him, Yuki watched him with smoke flowing over her like a demon yokai from Asian folklore. She blew smoke at his face, teasing him lightly, before reaching for the beer can and leaving him with the cigarette she had.
She drank, he smoked, he blew a puff at her for payback, and they exchanged.
"You're a good guy, mister." She said lazily.
"Me? For drinking and smoking?"
"Mhm." She nodded and slowly leaned against his shoulders. "I like guys who drink and smoke. Too bad everyone thinks it would kill you… even now. So boring! Like the world isn't actively trying to kill us."
"All worlds I had known failed to kill me." Sharp retrieved the can and drank a single sweet gulp from the spot where she had just drunk. "You fought well."
"Hell yeah." Yuki giggled for the first time, snuggling against Sharp even closer and turning to him. "Death has this allure, though. I see it all over you."
"She's an old friend." He sighed as he brooded over the long memories of death he had.
"You fought through wars?" Yuki asked.
"For 13 years." He replied.
"That's too much." She commented passively, looking at the stars while leaning on him. "I think I'll die to some monster one day, but I'd rather not. I miss the peace and quiet, the city buzz I always hated, and the idiots who always hit on me. It was all too boring, but when I close my eyes, I just dream of it."
Sharp didn't know what to say, but he understood. When he closed his eyes, he saw war, blood, and fights, and he was at peace with them.
Truly, he came from a different world. To her, peace was the norm; to him, it was the opposite.
"I'll fight for both of us, then. All you have to do is not die. We'll win this war too, and maybe your world will know peace again," Sharp replied with a romantic tone and a gentle smile over his scruffy face.
"You're really a good guy." Yuki smiled and looked at him. "Do you have a girlfriend, mister?"
He shook his head:
"Not since she picked a different toy to fix."
"The Sergeant lady?" Yuki asked.
"That obvious?"
"She looks the part."
Yuki shot up lazily, turning to Sharp before boldly extending her right leg over his legs and sitting with her groin against his. She took the can from him and found it finished, so she threw her cigarette inside and tossed the can away.
She then passed her right thumb over his lips, wiping the last bit of beer from them, and sucking her thumb, all while maintaining eye contact with him the whole time.
Her body was thinner than most, not many curves or much plumpness, but her charm and allure were out of the world. Her stare spoke of hunger and desire masked beneath a layer of indifference and nonchalance.
"You said she fixed you. I like that!" She said and leaned at him, mixing tobacco and bear odors as they breathed into each other, "Can you fix me too?"
Sharp didn't react to her advances until now, but faced with such allure, even the stone-cold killer felt a surge of desire, pulling her waist closer.
"You're perfect just the way you are."
✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧
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