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Niran Pruksamanee, hunted in 17 different countries, found himself quietly wandering underneath the night’s moonlight. Tired, hungry, but not willing to give up, Niran trekked on through the high grass in the black of the night. Eventually, he found a small one-storied farmhouse in the fields, barely visible in the curtain of the night. The walls were a faded, grayed out blue, and the tiles on the roof were discolored and weathered down. This, in addition to the overgrown fields littered with weeds, made it an ideal area for a quick rest: An abandoned shelter shielded by overgrown vegetation, unlikely to be visited by any Vishkar enforcement officers looking to turn him in for some sum of grand riches.
Niran sighed gratefully, finding an unlocked window and pushing it open. He pushed his travel bag in first – a bag containing only the most crucial of his biolight hardware and information – before lifting himself in with a semi-graceful thud. It was a bit dusty within the farmhouse, but nothing Niran couldn’t handle. He blinked a bit of the dust away, looking around the barren room, before his eyes fell upon the barrel of an automatic weapon – and, the man bearing it.
And oh, Niran thought, what a pretty man indeed.
The man was barely visible in the darkness, backed up against the corner of the enclosing room. His skin was a rich brown, set with near black hair, a defined face, and semi-tattered clothes. His right hand was holding the weapon, which was propped on a knee, and his left hand was clutching the side of his left thigh. There was a bloody shawl wrapped around his left thigh, and his shoulders trembled with the stress of the weight of the weapon and the open wound on his leg. His finger shook on the trigger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice if needed.
Something in Niran’s stance or expression must have struck within the man, because he sighed and went a bit lax. His finger was still set on the trigger, though he did not look ready to shoot. The man spoke: “Is this place yours?”
Niran decided that his voice was just as pretty as his face.
Niran shook his head, continuing, “it is not, and I assume it is not your property either?” The man let out a quick exhale of minor amusement, before also shaking his head. Niran sat across the room from the man, letting out a sigh as he did. It was nice to sit down in a sheltered area, after so much time spent lugging his travel bag through the fields.
He let his eyes close for a moment, relishing the peace of the night, before his eyelids fluttered open to see the man still looking in his direction, hints of distrust evident in his eyes. Niran’s eyes trailed down to the man’s thigh, blood still slowly seeping through the shawl. “Would you like help with your wound?” Niran offered, “I’ve got technology that could patch it right up, if you’d allow me.” The man’s eyebrow cocked upwards, his eyes flicking dowards at his injured leg and back at Niran. “You are not a part of Talon, are you?” The man inquired rhetorically, though Niran cocked his head and shook it.
“Well then,” Baptiste said, placing his gun to the side, “I will accommodate you here. My name is Jean-Baptiste, though just Baptiste is good.” At Baptiste’s shift to a friendly demeanor, Niran happily scooted over to his travel bag, and began to take out some of his equipment. “I am Niran. Niran Pruksamanee,” he said, using his left hand to attach some bead-sized technology to his mechanical arm. “Niran?” Baptiste clarified, to which Niran hummed in acknowledgement. “I have heard of you, ‘traitor to Vishkar, thief of unstable technology’,” Baptiste joked, to which Niran let out a soft chuckle. “Quite the title, yes? My technology may be unstable, but I can assure you it’s safe to use in small quantities,” Niran assured.
He moved over to Baptiste, a soft pink glow emanating from the palm of his mechanical arm. Baptiste watched in awe as the light took the form of a lotus-like flower, and applied itself to Baptiste’s wounds. Baptiste felt his leg tense up a bit, the muscles that had been torn stitching themselves together – though, unlike the healing technology he was used to, it felt more natural than the rushed healing of nanobiotics.
Once Niran was done, he looked up to meet Baptiste’s eyes, and Baptiste realized that he was just a touch close for comfort. He had pretty eyes, Baptiste thought, before snapping himself out of his trance once he realized Niran had started speaking to him.
“What do you think? I’ve never gotten to test my biolight on a human subject before,” he asked. “I’m the first one? Isn’t that a little dangerous?” Baptiste said, though not accusatory. “Maybe,” Niran confessed, “though you don’t seem to be in pain.” Baptiste flexed his leg, finding it to work, albeit a bit weaker than usual. “You’re lucky my middle name is ‘danger’,” Baptiste joked, and Niran laughed. “Is it really?” Niran giggled, to which Baptiste shook his head with a grin. He was cute, Baptiste thought, and had a nice smile.
Niran leaned backwards with a sigh, observing his mechanical arm. “It is good,” Baptiste suddenly stated, breaking the silence between them. Niran looked over with a questioning hum, to which Baptiste clarified, “you asked what I thought about your technology. It is good, though I feel like my leg is weaker than it was before. Certainly hurts less than the nanotech I used to use.” Niran perked up at the mention of his biolight, suddenly alert. “Ah, well, nanotech speeds up the human body’s injury response at the cost of stored energy – the sped up response often causes minor mistakes in the cell regrowth, leading to the pain and aches you feel when repairing the human body with it,” Niran explained in a quick manner, passion lacing his voice, “while biolight uses hard-light technology and weaves it in with living fibers and tissues, aiding them to bring around a quicker healing process. The artificial fibers and tissues stay within the living tissue until it has completely repaired itself. Biotechnology can aid any living organism, even reaching microscopic organisms such as bacteria.”
“Smart and handsome,” Baptiste commented with a smile, “what else is in store?” Niran let out an amused chuckle, smiling as well. “You’re quite dashing yourself,” Niran commented, then continued with his explanation, “your body feels weaker since it has not fully recovered yet, though I predict the feeling should leave sooner rather than later.” Baptiste nodded, showing his understanding. “Can it purify water?” Baptiste asked, to which Niran replied enthusiastically, “I can try!”
Three attempts later, Niran was able to fracture his biolight just right to collect all the sediment and pathogenic bacteria, and take them out of Baptiste’s water canister. As a thank you, Baptiste offered some of his travel rations to Niran, who eagerly accepted. “You cannot grow your own food using your biolight?” Baptiste had questioned at one point, and Niran answered with a solemn “biolight cannot sustain itself without an organic base.”
The two of them poked around the house for any sort of supplies, to which there were none, and Baptiste surveyed the layout of the house. The farmhouse was one story, with a bedroom, a bathroom, a combined living-kitchen room, and a supposed storage room that Baptiste and Niran had both entered into. The night was young, but the two of them both felt tired from their adventures. Baptiste offered to sleep on the floor of the living-kitchen room (“it is what I have grown accustomed to”), and Niran opted to sleep in the tattered bedroom. Niran fell asleep peacefully, with a smile – he hardly got to converse with other people for long, before he was being chased out of the next city by Vishkar enforcement officers.
Baptiste was awoken by the sound of near-silent footsteps, footsteps that would go unnoticed by the untrained ear – five pairs, all armored. Talon operatives. Shit.
On instinct, Baptiste collected his items and got up, ignoring a soft sting in his left thigh from the sudden movement. Going towards the nearest window – he had mapped out multiple escape routes in the event of this happening – Baptiste silently slid it up and had one leg hoisted over the windowsill before remembering Niran, who was sleeping peacefully in the other room.
Baptiste only hesitated for a moment’s notice before he was barreling himself back inside the house to find and awake Niran. If Talon were to find him, there’s no doubt they would take and use him and his invention for their own terroristic ways. He tried to make his footsteps light, but knew that in his urgency and quick footing, they would still be heard by the Talon operatives outside.
Baptiste was relieved to find Niran alone in the bedroom, free from any Talon operatives at his neck. He had stacked two pillows so he could lay on his side, hair carefully placed to fall apart from his body. The bed was just too short for him, and his knees were slightly bent to make his body fit. Baptiste would have taken a second longer just to admire how pretty and peaceful the man looked in bed if the situation wasn’t so urgent.
“Niran,” Baptiste called in a hushed voice, shaking him gently, “Niran, get up. You need to leave.” Niran’s eyelids fluttered open, and a soft groan escaped his lips. Again, Baptiste would think it cute if the noise wasn’t drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat. “What’s going on? Are you alright?” Niran asks, voice unsteady with drowsiness. “There are men here who want me dead. If they find you, they will kill you,” he hurriedly explained, gathering Niran’s splayed around items and shoving them into his travel bag. “Be careful with those,” Niran said as he got up, voice still tired. “Sorry,” Baptiste apologized, trying to keep his quick rhythm while being more gentle with the intricate technology.
He could hear the footsteps growing closer, and whispers between operators. The sound of the first armored footstep on the creaky hardwood floor. The sound of his blood rushing in his ears, and the final sound of the zipper on Niran’s travel bag.
“The window is open, sir.” “But there are no footsteps in the grass outside it. Search the house.”
Baptiste handed the bag to Niran, who was much more awake and alert at the clear and alert voice in the kitchen-living room. He pushed open the window, not bothering to try and silence his movements as much as he would earlier. Once Niran secured his bag on his back, Baptiste grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the window.
Baptiste slid out the window with practiced ease, landing on his feet. Just as he did, however, the bedroom door was kicked open by one of the Talon operatives. Set in the classic red, black, and white, the two operatives Baptiste could see both held heavyset weapons – loaded, without a doubt.
He watched the operator aim his gun towards the window on instinct, and in the urgency of the situation, pulled on Niran’s arm to try and get him out of the aim’s way.
The first thing Baptiste heard was a horrifying crack of bone, matched with pained yell. The second thing Baptiste heard was the quick charging of a pulse rifle, before a shot just above Niran let out a deafening boom, the blast causing him to let go of Niran’s hand.
For just a moment, Baptiste couldn’t see anything but rubble and dust. His eyes quickly adjusted with the help of his visor, focusing on Niran, who – thank the heavens – had not been hit by the pulse rifle or any large chunks of debris.
Instead, the point of a jagged bone was thrust outwards of Niran’s right ankle, his foot bloody from the wound.
Both Niran’s and Baptiste’s attention shot towards the broken wall in the farmhouse, heavy boots crunching the debris underneath them. The pulse rifle once again came into view, though this time, it was trained on Baptiste.
For the first time, Baptiste found himself thankful to be looking down the barrel of a Talon rifle.
Baptiste watched as Niran quickly tried to generate biolight from his mechanical arm – the same biolight that had healed Baptiste’s leg just a few hours prior. Time, Baptiste realized, he had to buy Niran time.
Hearing the pulse rifle start to fire, Baptiste rolled to his right to evade the shower of bullets that rained his way. He readied his own automatic weapon, shooting back at the Talon guards – one guard had quickly become five – that were firing at him. Baptiste was, in every sense of the word, at a disadvantage here – he had no cover, and had to be wary to not hit Niran, who had tried to drag himself behind cover to work on repairing his wounds with his biolight.
Despite his disadvantage, Baptiste fought back with all that he could. He knew the weaknesses in Talon armor and technique, and was able to get a few of his bullets to pierce the muscles of the operators’ legs, causing them to be temporarily disabled. Their disabled state didn’t last long, though, as they came prepared with nanobiotic technology for quick repair – technology that Baptiste did not have access to.
Baptiste shot his gun again, his gun unhappy clicking noise. “Merde,” he cursed underneath his breath, realizing his lack of ammo and supply. His head shot up at the sound of the pulse rifle charging itself, his panicked eyes meeting with Niran’s equally panicked gaze. Both of them had quickly reached the same conclusion – the shots about to be fired would cause massive explosions, setting the field aflame and killing both of them in the resulting fire.
This was it, then. He made good progress in helping to make the world a better place.
Just as he heard the rifle fire its pulse rocket, an extraordinarily bright light enveloped him – similar to some sort of flashbang, but in greater magnitude. Baptiste heard the rocket explosion, but it was muffled – safely stored away from him. He heard the crunch of human skin and bone, and muffled screams under heavy masks.
Baptiste squinted his eyes open, the light having been near-blinding in the darkness of the night. The first thing he saw was Niran: unharmed, healed, yet perfectly still – the moonlight that washed over him made him look like a work of art, a statue in a museum.
The second thing he saw was a magnificent entity – a tight weaving of thick vines that wrapped itself around the farmhouse. Its vines crushed the farmhouse within it, and stitched itself together like a beanstalk in a faraway fairytale. At the top sprouted magnificent leaves, splayed out in nearly every direction. Its growth was just as monstrous as it was beautiful: The vines twisted in ways that didn’t feel natural, and the sheer strength of the vines easily crushed the old infrastructure of the farmhouse. It titled over on itself, burdened with its own weight and strength, and its roots were visible above the surface of the earth. Baptiste would be fearful of it if he didn’t recognize the soft pink glow emanating from the biolight-created structure.
Baptiste snapped out of his trance, gaze quickly flicking back to Niran, who seemed just as petrified and awestruck as Baptiste just was. There was no telling what was happening within the growth, nor what would happen next – the agents could be dead, or they could be ready to blow their way through. Niran’s previous words suddenly replayed themselves in Baptiste’s mind: “Biolight cannot sustain itself without an organic base,” or, in other words, this growth was about to fall to reveal whatever lay within.
Running over to Niran, Baptiste grabbed ahold of his hand once again, pulling him up. Baptiste’s touch seemed to do the trick in snapping Niran out of his trance, and Niran quickly got up. “We need to go,” Baptiste said, panicked, “there’s no doubt more men are being sent.” The two ran through the high grass, Niran being led through the high grass and overgrown vegetation by Baptiste’s hand.
Baptiste led Niran through greenery, making sharp turns and occasionally backtracking to confuse anyone after them. The two ran for nearly an hour, only stopping once the adrenaline in their blood had subsided. Both Niran and Baptiste sat underneath a large tree, using the trunk as support as they focused on catching their breaths. After a few minutes, their heavy breathing had quieted down to near-nothingness, and the chirps of birds could be heard as the beginnings of sunlight began to light up the sky.
Niran and Baptiste looked at each other, sweat dotting both of their faces. After a few seconds of just staring at the other, Niran let out a short laugh. One laugh becomes two, and soon, Niran has devolved into a giggling fit. Baptiste let out a few nervous laughs as well, unsure if Niran is still on his adrenaline high, or if he suffered a concussion from the pulse rocket blast.
“I’ve never done anything like that before,” Niran stated, before breaking out into a fit of small giggles again. Baptiste couldn’t help but smile and laugh as well, uplifted by Niran’s positive mood. “Can I kiss you?” Niran asked suddenly, trace bits of laughter still eminent in his voice. The question caught Baptiste off guard, and he suddenly finds his face feeling flushed. Baptiste stutters out a “yes” before Niran is leaning forward to take Baptiste’s face in his hands.
The kiss is short, yet sweet. Niran is the one to pull back, keeping their faces close together as he takes the time to admire Baptiste’s features. He’s only given a short amount of time to admire, however, before a small droplet of water hits Niran in the nose. Niran pulls back in surprise, looking up towards the leaves of the tree, before being hit in the forehead with another droplet of water.
The small droplets grew heavier, and soon, a steady rain began showering down on them through the leaves of the tree. The shift in weather makes Niran burst into giggles again, and this time, Baptiste couldn’t help but join him in laughter. Baptiste looked at Niran, who was quickly becoming drenched in the rainwater, admiring the way his hair fell around his shoulders when wet. Niran leaned forward to kiss him again, shocking Baptiste for the second time.
“I must get going,” Niran spoke in a hushed, awestruck tone. Baptiste nodded in agreement, though found himself not wanting to leave whatever story book he found himself currently living. “Which way are you headed?” Niran said after a short moment of silence, to which Baptiste pointed in the direction he was headed. At Baptiste’s point, Niran’s posture sinks a bit in disappointment. “That’s where I’m running from,” Niran stated solemnly, and Baptiste found himself sinking down at the statement.
At Baptiste’s small show of sadness, Niran fixes his posture and smiles to reassure him. He leans in to kiss Baptiste’s cheek, then moves to plant a quick peck on his mouth. Baptiste’s eyelids fluttered in content, and found himself wanting to stay with the man once again despite only having known him for a mere few hours.
Niran slid his travel bag once again, standing up. At Niran’s movement, Baptiste also gets up, his eyes not leaving Niran once while doing so.
Niran smiled at him once again, and reassured both of them with confidence, “I have no doubts that fate will find a way to bring us together again,” to which Baptiste nods. Niran gives him one final smile, before walking past him, in the direction of his next destination. Baptiste only allows himself a short amount of time to watch him depart, before he turns and begins heading the opposite direction. Baptiste had never met someone with such a dynamic energy, and he hoped with all his heart that they would be able to meet in the future at least once more.