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The Weapon does not want to hurt anyone anymore.
When she hit-hurt and the man had eyes-gone-scared and fallen-down and still-silent-quiet, something broke, like shattered metal but in her chest. She looked at her master and saw the happy-more-mine in the lines of his mouth and the curve of his shoulder and knew he would make her hit-hurt more. He would make her do it again and again.
He would make her do fallen-down-silent to more people. She does not want to do fear-empty-eyes, does not want to do fallen-down-silent.
Her master looks at her and curls his finger come-here-kneel.
She does not move. There is wet on her cheek. Salt-rust-blood scents sting her nose, thick and she does not want to smell them anymore.
Her master shifts. Unhappy-angry-come- now -mine.
The weapon takes a step back.
He claps, demanding her attention, and points at his feet here-mine-NOW. She has handled guns and she has fired them and the clap is louder than any bullet being shot.
She takes another step back. Her master steps forward, anger-anger-anger.
She runs.
Her master's voice rises in anger. She does not know the code he uses, one he shares with the men around him, but she understands the tone. She leaps, lands, rolls, runs. Away. She cannot be here anymore.
She will not be a weapon. Not if it means doing fallen-down-silent.
It's wrong.
Fallen-down-silent is wrong. She knows that man will never get up again. She knows she did that to him. She did not know that she could do that, but now she does.
Hurt too much and the other person goes down. Fear, then nothing. Nothing.
Her skin itches. She runs. She runs. She runs.
Her master’s men chase, but she is light. She is small. She is trained for this. She runs and ducks and slips away into the shadows. They run by and never see her.
She stays. She is silent. She is quiet. She will not be found. She can go hours without moving. She will wait.
She waits. Light comes. She waits. Her master and his men have not come back. She waits. She cannot earn her water now. She cannot earn her food now. She must get it somewhere else.
Light goes. She must move now, when darkness is here. She must find food. She does not need sleep.
She moves. There are many people, some look at her and she moves away, moves into shadow, and they look away again. These people are not her master’s men. These people… are.
Just, are.
There is green underfoot. It is soft. There is water.
Can she drink? Safe?
She creeps forward, watching. People around, happy-calm-relaxed. She lets them see her and concern-confusion takes over the ones looking her way. When she kneels down to the water, alarm-concern and she knows she cannot drink.
It is not hers or it is not safe. She runs.
There is no master. There is only her.
She runs. She is hungry but there is no master. No one will make her do fallen-down-empty again.
She finds what she needs. She sleeps. She drinks what she can. Sometimes she gets sick and throws up and she does not drink that water again. She runs on rooftops and does not hit-hurt anymore. When others try and hit-hurt she does not let them touch her. She hit but she does not hurt so they do not go fallen-down. They fall, but they get back up again and they try again and she hit again until they leave or let her leave.
Light, dark, light, dark. She runs. She breathes. She does not do fallen-down. When she sees master’s men, she runs more, runs and finds shadows and hides. They never find her.
When it is light, she stands on roofs and does stronger-faster-better, moving and stretching how she has been taught. She will not do fallen-down-empty, but she likes the move-quick-stretch-pull-push of what she has been taught, so she will not forget it.
Light, dark, light, dark. She is cold. She cannot find water as easily as before, nor food. She is not prepared for cold, when she slept before all she needed was somewhere hidden.
Now she needs somewhere warm.
She runs. She moves and jumps and searches. She finds places too cold, too open. She cannot find food. She struggles to do her stronger-faster-better moves when she is slowing down. She does not know the code people use and their bodies tell her wary-distrust-threat so she does not try.
She has no master. Maybe she was wrong to leave. Without her master, there is no water to earn. There is no food to earn. There is no warmth to earn. She cannot earn these things herself, she has to find or take them.
It is hard, when it is cold. Men try to hurt her, grabbing with want-cruel-anger-desire in their bodies and she hit until they do not get up again.
She remembers fear-empty-eyes-nothing. She remembers master’s happy pride at the way she did fallen-down-empty to the man she fought.
No.
She was right to run. Her master would have made her do it again. Never. She will never.
It is cold.
There is warm air that comes out on a roof. She huddles close to warm her fingers, toes. She is faint with hunger.
If she is to fallen-down-empty here, then that is okay. She has run under light, she has run in dark. She stood on roofs and did harder-faster-better because she wanted to, not because master ordered it.
There is a man.
No one has come to roofs like this before. He drops from above, not climbs up over wall. He is black, all black, like dark has come to swallow him whole. His body is hidden and though she can see his face, it is hard to read when all she can see is a sliver.
She stares. He looks at her. Is he one of master’s men?
He lowers himself down. The dark parts, flows, and she sees his body emerge. Tension in his shoulders. Wary. Tilted forward slightly. Ready.
“———————“ Tone soft. Concern.
She does not know his code. She has not been taught it.
“————“ His head tilts. Waiting.
It is meaningless noise. She watches, perfectly still.
“—————?” Questioning. The code sounds different. Is he looking to see if she knows any of them? He tries again, but she does not know that code, either.
His hands raise slowly. Not attacking. He makes a few, slow gestures. Code, unfamiliar. She has never seen this code before.
The man tilts his head. Thinking. Confused. After a moment, he carefully points at her, then brings his hands to his arms and makes a motion that looks like he’s shaking. Questioning.
She tilts her head, questioning back. She raises her hands and clumsily repeats the gestures back, trying to infer- shaking. Shiver. Like cold?
He makes the gesture again, then sweeps his hand around them. Showing something. Then points to her again, then shivers. Tilts his head.
There is no threat-alarm-danger in this man. He is danger, but he is not seeing her as danger.
She raises her hands to clasp her arms and shiver. She is cold. She points to herself, then makes the motion again, then huddles closer to the hot air.
He dips his head and reaches for- something? She watches, there is no aggression. No planned-attack. Just a thing he twists in his hand and it goes pop and he gently tosses it toward her. It lands on the ground.
She stares at it. When it does not move, she reaches for it-
Warm!
She presses it to her face, warm, her chest, warm, her hands, warm. He is giving her warm. She watches as he points at her again, then puts a hand on his stomach and tilts his head.
She touches her stomach. Food? He gave her heat, is he offering food? She dips her head in the way that he did before and relief-hope-concern is all she can read on him as he reaches into his belt again and pulls out a bar that he tosses to her. She grabs it- yes, this is food! -and rips it open, consuming it quickly in a few bites, tucking the warm against her chest as she eats.
Who is this man? She watches him carefully as he reaches for his belt again, taking out more food. He slowly lays out several bars on the ground and she watches as he raises a finger each time he puts one down, until all fingers on his hand are lifted.
He wiggles all his fingers at her, then points down at the bars, then circles his hand around them. Then he points at her, putting a finger up on a hand, then at himself with his other hand, putting a finger up on that one.
With both fingers up, he puts his hands side by side and drags them to the side, then points at the ground under his hands were, to the side of him. He points again, down at the food, and wiggles all fingers on his hand, then points back to his side and puts all fingers up, then down, then up, then down, then makes a circling motion with his hand instead of continuing to raise his fingers.
He points at her, then at the side where he was indicating before, then at the food, then to her.
He picks up one of the bars and holds it out- and then waits. Calm-patience-hope-waiting is written into every line of his body, so easy to understand.
She slowly creeps forward and, when he does not move, when his body does not change meaning, she gently takes the bar from his hand and, without moving back, unwraps it and consumes it quickly.
He smiles. Happy-hope-calm-relaxed-care. He says something, the sounds a jumbled mess, and then holds out his hand to her. Palm up, relaxed. Waiting.
She thinks she understands.
He has food and warm and probably water. Many food, and he wants her to go with him. He doesn't want to hurt her, not right now.
He's asking to be her new master.
Would that be so bad?
She reaches out and carefully presses her fingers to the palm of his hand. When he still doesn't move, she presses her hand into his a little more firmly.
Maybe. She'll go with him and see, but if he wants her to do fallen-down-empty then she will run again. She will never do fallen-down-empty again.
His hand shifts and carefully curls around her own. Her old master didn't touch her like this. He hardly ever touched her. Through her new master's glove, he feels… warm.
“—————-?” Gentle-questioning-follow.
She looks at him and relaxes herself into acceptance-obedience-following. He smiles faintly and rises up and she stands with him.
She doesn't know anything about this new master- but she knows he is kind.
When he picks her up, she does not resist because there is no want-hurt, there is only calm-pleased-protect. No one has ever made protect for her before.
She likes it.