Sorrel instinctively let go of his blade when he saw the disgusting amount of bugs starting to crawl up it. Then, a fist came barreling towards his face.

He dodged well enough to not hit his face, but instead the punch landed on his shoulder and once again sent him flying. This time, though, Sorrel was ready, and while he was in excruciating pain, he braced himself as he landed on the nearest tree. His hands heated up, concentrating to his nails— for once, he was grateful for his angelic ancestry giving him a bit more claw to work with.

A hiss escaped Gamma-Burn’s mouth, foreboding, angry. He leaped and dashed towards King Stag.

His hands, superheated with radiation, struck at the gap in King Stag’s other shoulder, then racked across the beetle’s chest, leaving the smell of burning chitin to overpower that sickly-sweet pheromone scent. If he could just… if he could just disarm King Stag long enough, he’d be able to make his escape. He’d be able to treat his wounds and his chronic issues and, most importantly, live another day. He had to get to his date tomorrow, after all.

King Stag stormed towards Gamma Burn. Unfortunately, the villain had landed somewhat gracefully from that last blow. Broiling pain made King Stag’s vision blur. His flesh was scorched and his carapace was rendered useless as those brutal claws dug into the skin underneath. Stubbornness did not allow King Stag to falter. Not yet, at least. He grabbed the wrist of his attacker. The heat alone made his hand burn. That did not stop the little arthropods from scrambling down his fingers for a feast of Gamma flesh.

With his enemy unable to escape, King Stag swung his horn and drove it into Gamma Burn’s shoulder. The blood that slicked his makeshift weapon burned just as hot as Gamma Burn’s claws. King Stag wrenched his horn upwards, sending the villain flying away from him.

Gamma-Burn screamed. While he could shake off the disgusting skin beetles that tried to break into his flesh, he couldn’t exactly shake off the horn, or the giant stab wound from the horn that messed up his shoulder. It was safe to say the man could no longer use his arm at that moment— and, safer to say, Sorrel overstayed his welcome. The specter now focused on running away, as far as possible, as quickly as possible… he had to retreat, he couldn’t fight anymore.

Silver lining! That launch gave him a bit more distance between him and the lumbering beast— it threw him into the open, but the open was next to dense and thorny bushes, and Sorrel could take any cover he could get. While the man could no longer freely jump and swing around, he could still run, and he could still just get himself entirely lost within the greenery until he could crawl underground and call for help.

Elijah knew that scream would be stuck in his head for a long time. He told himself it was fine. It was worth it. That this was for the sake of self defense. To his credit, it was. It was his job to capture this bastard. Elijah turned to face Gamma Burn and…

“Shit!” He yelped, then dashed after Gamma Burn.

Elijah tried his damnedest to follow Gamma Burn but running shifted his damaged Carapace around and he was already slower. He pressed a hand to his chest. He absolutely did not want to get seen like this. Once Elijah lost sight of Gamma Burn, he spent some time looking around for Lilian, or his corpse if necessary. Luckily… or maybe unluckily? Elijah found neither. He slipped out of food forest and transformed back when he was certain nobody saw him.

Blood rapidly stained Elijah’s shirt. He rushed home to go bandage himself up. Tomorrow’s date was going to be so fucking awkward when it was going to be difficult holding a fork in either of his hands.

Sorrel made it out.

He made it out alive.

He got to talk to his doctor again. He got to see his cat again. He got to see his moths again. He got to see the bees again. He got to see his garden again. He got to go to his date tomorrow— how… would he explain his wounds to his date? Well— now that he escaped alive, he got to think that dilemma through, in his own time.

The food was already in the fridge, already prepared. His outfit was already planned. His weird cat’s meals are already covered by a friendly neighbor. He finished all his chores in the morning. It was fine- he could rest now.

Sorrel, the man dressed as the infamous Gamma-Burn, passed out on a raft in the expansive sewer systems, one of many belonging to the network of Ground Zero. He was lucky that, even though none of these people were exactly his close friends, these people cared for him as he cared for them, like any good society. It was much later when he woke up in a hospital bed, all bandaged up and with a bunch of machines monitoring him.

At least he was alive. At least he made it out alive. And, now, he could go back to his two shipping containers worth of private space, feed his slugcat friend, and go the fuck to sleep.

If nothing else, the DNCC was good for one particular thing: Insurance. With all his sort of medical experience, Elijah was able to plug his shoulder wounds. It wasn’t easy and it had burned like hell, but it worked to get Elijah to the hospital. Once there, flashing his DNCC insurance card meant he got extra privacy and all of his expenses paid. It did mean some time painfully transforming in and out of his King Stag form so they could help with the carapace damage. Not to mention the looks the doctors gave him when he confessed that he had failed in his capture.

By the time Elijah managed to drag himself home, the doctors had patched him up and told him to be gentle on his body, or it wouldn’t heal. Ha. Gentle on his body. That was a joke. Sleep had not come easily. He spent his night squirming in pain and the thoughts of the battle that day. It was going to be awkward to explain this tomorrow…

Sorrel was lucky that he managed to get out— he knew that already. He knew that since he woke up and saw Dr. Schmidt breathe a sigh of relief, rambling on about how blood loss could’ve done him in and how his immune system is already shot and this and that— Sorrel couldn’t exactly remember what Dr. Schmidt was saying, actually, now that he looked back on it. He must’ve been far too out of it, even if he woke up just a few hours later.

… oh.

Oh fuck— he was lucky that his little feline(?) friend woke him up in the early morning. He had been too drowsy to stay awake through the evening after he was allowed to go home. Frankly, he still felt drowsy— his head felt clouded, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the injury, from the stress he just faced, or from plain old chronic illness. That gnarly wound on his shoulder apparently had to be stitched up, and he didn’t exactly know what to say to his date when he came with a hand in a sling and bandages wrapped all over his shoulder just in case.

But then, how would he have cooked the meal..? He already had it cooked, prepared since the morning before— he was anxious to get it just right, did meal prep and the likes just in case, and now all he had to do was reheat it. But, wouldn’t anyone think it’s weird that for a first date he was trying so hard on a meal that he went out of his way to cook it a day before? That he spent so much time on a stupid lunch dish for a stranger he’d been texting that was super sweet with a cute smile and— Jesus Christ, why am I thinking like this? Bee luckily didn’t ask for any midnight snacks, and Sorrel felt a bit too anxious and clouded up to eat, so he just sat there. When is lunch time..? What would be a good lunch time? We just agreed to meet up on Saturday for lunch in the park, what time is lunch?? It could be anywhere near 11 am to 3 pm— what if Elijah thought it was like 12 pm and I come at 2 pm and Elijah thinks I ghosted him??

The spindly man groaned and essentially let himself faceplant on the counter of his little kitchen bar setup. And what the fuck am I going to say about this whole injury— should I just say it was a workplace accident? What if he asks about the workplace accident? What if he asks about what I do? Did I tell him what I did beforehand? I don’t remember— and that’s not good because if I lie I have to keep stories consistent or else I get caught and I might end up suspicious and I really really don’t want a big buff guy stalking me because he thought I’m suspicious—

The slugcat gently bumped into Sorrel’s leg and started weaving around his feet and the thin metal chair legs. A comforting gesture, Sorrel felt— maybe the fun little creature was trying to tell him something, like… trying to tell him to just take a breath and text the man. It didn’t matter that it was… what, midnight, or something like that?

’Hey Elijah! Sorry for texting u really late, just wanted to confirm the time we should expect each other at the park
Is 1 pm ok? Also, just so u kno, I got in an accident at work so my left arm’s in a sling so I might not be able to do things like climbing or running around n stuff if u planned that
Looking forward to seeing u!!`

That was the text Sorrel managed to conjure up while sitting around instead of sleeping. That absolute masterpiece of shittily-slapped-together sentences that made him want to reverse time by a few seconds and reread and rewrite. What the fuck was he thinking, abbreviating so many things? God, he sounded desperate in that text. He groaned, slouched in his bar seat, and pushed his phone away from himself with a single finger.

Eventually, the man managed to peel himself off the counter and go back to sleep, with a timer set at 8 am— just in case 8 am was definitely breakfast time and no living being would be okay eating lunch at 8 am, so 8 am was safe to wake up and check messages and plan accordingly... it was totally that logic, and not the fact Sorrel wanted to make sure he looked as nice as he could despite the fact he was in a sling looking half dead.

Bee curled up at the base of his feet as he drifted off to sleep, and his phone ended up laying right next to his cheek as he finally managed to close his odd eyes. Tomorrow was going to be fun— hopefully in the nice kind of way, not the sarcastic and disastrous kind of way.

Eli groaned and pushed himself out of bed. Moving his arms burned. Moving in general burned. He wished he could go right back to sleep. Instead, he looked at his phone. He had not considered turning off his alarm last night, something he was quickly regretting. Eli picked up his phone and checked his messages. A small smile crossed his face.

’1 sounds good to me! Funny. I got into a work accident too. I wouldn’t be able to run or climb or anything either, haha! See u then.’

Eli pressed the send button, then dragged himself out of bed. Normally, he would be prepping for his workout. Instead, he took a long, careful shower, hating that he had to avoid getting the wound wet. His medical skills meant he knew how to skillfully replace his bandages, which helped him feel a little more normal.

Then Eli was in his closet. There was not much inside but workout clothes, sweatshirts, and the like. Big, comfy clothes that were loose and did not touch his skin much. He fished out a nice dress shirt and shorts, regretting that they were wrinkled. Eli tossed them on and stared at himself in the mirror. The brown pants made his ass look great, which was nice, but the tight, blue shirt emphasized the underlying bandages. There was one other issue with the outfit. He’s going to know you’re not a real man. He’s going to know you’re not good enough.

Elijah scrapped the outfit. Clearly, the bandages were too clear. Besides! He did not want to dress to fancy. What if this was not a romantic thing?? Sorrel would think he was a weirdo. Instead, he grabbed the nicest, cleanest grey sweatshirt he had and tossed on some jeans that were a bit too large. He considered packing… would that be disingenuous? Probably. He felt weird. Self conscious. Eventually, he decided against it.

Eli grabbed his gym bag, tossed his laptop into it, as well as the yarn and tools needed for his knitting project. Then he headed out for a leisurely walk to the park. The doctor said to be easy on his body! What is a few miles walk if it is slow and leisurely? He was fine and NOT a workaholic, thank you very much. Off he went to the park, arriving… only a few hours early.

The alarm went off for 8 am on the dot.

Frankly, Sorrel was already awake. He couldn’t stay asleep, even after he drifted off a few times. Maybe it was the pain on his shoulder. Maybe it was the anxious fluttering of his heart. Maybe it was just his chronic illness, yet again! He felt like he could just attribute everything to his stupid specific version of Kaori Syndrome at this point— so fucking rare that that damn Dr. Schmidt joked about calling it “Sorrel’s syndrome.” He didn’t really like that joke, anyways. And, because of this chronic illness, Sorrel also felt like absolute shit as he rolled out the bed. He felt nauseous, but nothing was in his stomach— what would he will himself to have for breakfast? Just some toast? Would it be rude if I ate something before the date?

Sorrel ended up lying to himself and reasoned himself something along the lines of Yes, surely it’d be rude if I just make myself something, even if it’s like 8 in the morning… He didn’t really want to open that box of thought at the back of his head also saying he didn’t really want to throw up in the morning and pretend everything was okay at lunch. Maybe it was best if he showed up super hungry, so he’d actually eat something instead of absently pick at it despite the fact he made it himself. Maybe..l he was straight-up overthinking everything. He probably was. This was his first time, after all, going out on a date— hell, this was his first time meeting up with someone because said someone wanted to see him, not because of debate teams or studies or activism.

The outfit Sorrel ended up on was made by himself, at least the fabric parts— he was a good seamster, he knew, and he made many good garments with his specific fashion sense. It was getting pretty hot, given how the spring’s slowly transitioning to summer, and he felt it appropriate to wear a pretty light green floral lace top with a flowy poet-sleeve kind of design to it, some brown pants with large light-brown patches sown onto them, and, of course, a healthy amount of jewelry. Two pretty chains acting as a belt, a pearl necklace, a jadeite pendant, and some large golden moon earrings. He even decided to wear his dreads down and let them flow in their own pretty way, taking care to clip on some loc jewelry he seldom wore that matched the pretty gold of all the chains.

He looked in the mirror for a bit— it seemed he took… a significant amount of time trying to get ready, and procrastinating on getting ready, and doing chores, and… everything else. It was 11 am, and he finished the housework, and he fed the slugcat, and he checked on the bees and moths, and he told everyone that needed to know he’d be out for a few days at a motel, just in case. The white splotches on his neck and face still felt strange to look at— Sorrel still remembered when his eyes were a normal color and when his skin was an even tone. On the other hand, he felt absolutely beautiful at that moment— he rarely got to dress out like this! It’d be so much fun, even if he came looking a little too cute…

The large (and equally fashionable) satchel was first filled with a few changes of casual clothes, and then hidden by a checkered cotton mat. He made sure to put in all his medications, for obvious reasons. Then went in the food, the drinks, the forks, the knives, the plates, and…. A lot of silk thread, bundled up neatly and wrapped in a neat-looking bag— a little present for Elijah.

Sorrel finally put his sling on, taking care to keep the bandages hidden under his shirt, and looped his satchel over his neck so it’d rest on the opposite side of the bandages— right where he had his sling. It was awkward, maybe, but at least it didn’t feel excruciatingly painful!

And, finally, Sorrel set off, looking pretty for his first date in the downtown park by the chipotle. He pointedly ignored a very familiar pink-haired goat guy, giving him a wide berth from that chipotle… why was he cursed to run into this dude again and again? What kind of expedition was that news guy on?

It was 11:45 ish, by the time sorrel arrived. Where should he go..? Should he start wandering around by the picnic benches? Should he send a text? Should he just… start looking around for a large pock-marked cutie?

He swore he didn’t think of the last part.