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The dust had not yet settled when they mounted the runners. Bloodwing’s cry still rang in the air.
The moment replayed without mercy—slag pulsing through her veins, Mordecai shouting, the sick, swollen beat of Hyperion tech grafted into living flesh. Then the explosion. A wet detonation. Red blood misted against sterile metal. Pandora had swallowed the sound too quickly.
Krieg’s boots hit the stirrup wrong the first time. The second, he swung himself onto the vehicle with a violence that made the suspension groan. Zer0 mounted with liquid precision, movements economical, blade secured in his sheath, rifle slung back like an afterthought.
The Wastelands stretched endless and indifferent. Heat shimmered. Rock formations carved long shadows across bone-dry earth. Sanctuary flickered on the horizon like a distant promise.
Zer0 drove fast. Not recklessly. Precisely fast. The runner skimmed terrain in controlled arcs, every turn cut clean, every rise anticipated. His goal was to make it to sanctuary before the guilt could catch up with him.
For a long time, he said nothing. That silence vibrated. Then-
“I CAN STILL HEAR IT!” The scream ripped out of him, raw and volcanic. “THE FEATHERS POPPED LIKE MEAT BALLOONS! WHO PUT GUNPOWDER IN THE BIRD?!”
His forehead pressed between the handles of the turret. “WE WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE THE SKY CLAWS! THAT WAS THE MISSION! NOT TURN HER INTO PARTY DECORATIONS!”
Zer0 did not slow. The engine’s growl steadied beneath them. He spoke into the wind. “Wings cut by Jack’s ‘cure’, / false mercy, hidden malice, / he won't win this war.”
Krieg made a broken sound that might have been laughter. “THE SKY DOESN’T DESERVE HER!” His arms flexed unconsciously around the bars, knuckles whitening. “IT JUST WATCHED! BIG EMPTY EYE STARING WHILE HER HEAD TURNED INTO CONFETTI!”
A shudder ran through him. “I HATE CONFETTI.”
The runner vaulted a ridge. Zer0 absorbed the impact smoothly, adjusting balance without conscious thought.
Hyperion had chosen spectacle. A demonstration. A warning wrapped in gore.
He had seen that strategy before.
Utility over personhood.
His voice cut through the wind again. “Jack pulls gilded strings, / calls slaughter innovation, / fears what he can’t cage.”
Krieg’s head snapped up. “I’LL RIP HIS STRINGS OUT WITH MY TEETH!” His voice cracked into manic fervor. “I’LL EAT HIS SHINY NOODLES! SPAGHETTI OF TYRANTS!”
Krieg’s grip shifted, not loosening, but anchoring. “The LITTLE BIRD FOUGHT,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “TALONS MADE OF SKY AND SCREAMS.”
A beat.
“I DIDN’T SAY SORRY.”
Wind roared around them. Zer0’s response came softer, though the engine still thundered. “Hunter’s debt unpaid / Grief burns hotter than slag veins / We answer in kind.”
The runner tore across the last stretch of scrub and fractured highway until Sanctuary’s fast travel station rose ahead in a shimmer of blue light and humming circuitry.
Zer0 cut the engine with a precise flick of his wrist.
Silence dropped heavily.
Krieg slid off first this time, boots hitting dirt hard enough to kick up dust. His broad shoulders rolled as if preparing for another charge. Pale skin, crisscrossed with old violence and surgical seams, flexed under the sun. His breathing had steadied, but only on the surface.
Zer0 dismounted without a sound. The fast travel console pulsed patiently. Pandora did not.
Krieg jabbed a finger at the glowing ring. “MAGIC DOOR TO THE FLOATING MEAT ISLAND!” He leaned closer to Zer0, voice dropping into a harsh rasp. “DO YOU THINK THE BIRD CAN FIND US UP THERE?”
The quieter voice inside him whispered that she’s not around anymore, but it was simply background noise.
Zer0’s visor reflected the blue light, unreadable. Beneath it, bright eyes narrowed slightly. He keyed the console.
“Sky took her from us / City waits with baited breath / Grief travels faster.”
The light swallowed them whole.
Sanctuary reassembled around them in a wash of static and ozone.
The floating city groaned softly overhead, metal plates creaking against their supports. Makeshift structures leaned into one another like exhausted survivors. The usual racket, vendors shouting, loaders clanking, Scooter arguing with a citizen, felt muted.
Word had already spread.
Axton was the first to spot them near the platform, rifle slung low, jaw tight. “Tell me you stopped him,” he said, though his eyes said he already knew.
Maya stood a few paces back, hands folded at her waist, Siren tattoos faintly aglow in agitation. Gaige’s usual manic grin was gone; even Deathtrap’s eye flickered dimmer.
Krieg answered first, which was a mistake. “THE BIRD TURNED INTO FIREWORKS!” His arms shot wide, miming the explosion in grotesque detail. “HEAD POPPED LIKE A BLOOD-FILLED PIÑATA! THE COWBOY COULDN’T CATCH THE CANDY!”
Axton closed his eyes briefly.
“...Geezus dude-”
Zer0’s voice was low. “Mordecai?”
Gaige swallowed. “He bolted. Didn’t say anything.”
Axton nodded toward the lower Underbelly. “He’s at Moxxi’s. Has been since we got back on comms.”
The sentence landed like a spent casing on steel.
Zer0 stepped forward slightly.
“Hunter lost his wings / Silence heavier than lead / He drinks with ghosts now.”
Maya’s gaze lingered on him. She inclined her head once, acknowledgment, not comfort.
Krieg’s hands clenched into fists. “THE BARTENDER BETTER NOT WATER DOWN HIS SADNESS!” His voice wavered, manic energy flickering at the edges. “IF THE COWBOY DROWNS, I’LL PUNCH THE OCEAN!”
Gaige shifted awkwardly. “We were gonna... give him space.”
Axton nodded. “Figured he wouldn’t want a crowd.”
Zer0’s visor tilted toward the direction of Moxxi’s bar. The neon sign flickered faintly even from here, garish and stubbornly alive.
He adjusted the strap of his rifle.
“Grief should not be faced / at the bottom of glasses, / I will go to him.”
He did not wait for agreement. Krieg took a half-step after him. “I’LL COME—”
Zer0 paused, turning just enough that the edge of his visor caught Krieg in profile. “Stay, save your flame, friend / Too much fire will choke him. / Plus, you do not drink.”
The instruction was gentle, but firm. Krieg stilled. The quieter part of him understood. “...I CAN STAND WATCH,” he muttered, almost coherent. “MAKE SURE THE SKY DOESN’T FALL AGAIN.”
Zer0 inclined his head once. Then he descended the stairs toward Moxxi’s.
The lower Underbelly smelled of oil, cheap alcohol, and ozone from faulty wiring. Neon lights buzzed overhead in lurid pinks and blues.
Inside the bar, laughter tried to exist.
It failed.
Moxxi stood behind the counter, polishing a glass she’d already polished. Her painted smile had softened at the edges.
Mordecai sat hunched over the bar. Bandana wrapped around his wrist. Bottle nearly empty. A second already waiting.
He didn’t look up when the door slid open.
Zer0 approached without a sound, boots quiet against metal plating. He took the stool beside him. For a moment, neither spoke.
The jukebox hummed a warped melody in the corner.
Finally, Zer0 broke the silence.
“Feathers in the wind / No cage could ever hold her / She died fighting free.”
Mordecai’s grip tightened around the bottle. “...Don’t,” he muttered, voice scraped raw from screaming. “Don’t make it poetic.”
A long pause. “I trained her since she fit in my damn hand, amiga.” The words trembled.
Zer0 did not look at him. “Hunter and his hawk / Bond forged beyond profit’s reach / That cannot be slagged.”
Mordecai let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh. “Jack said it was mercy.” The bottle tipped again.
Zer0’s visor dimmed slightly.
“Mercy does not brag / Nor wire bombs into heads, / Jack knows nothing more.”
Silence settled between them.
Heavy.
Moxxi slid a glass to Zer0, a long bendy blue straw stuck out of it; He inclined his head in thanks, but made no verbal noise of gratitude.
He clinked his drink against Mordecai’s empty one and then stuck the straw underneath his visor and drank.
The liquor burned bright and chemical. Zer0 did not flinch.
Reptilian physiology had its advantages; toxins processed differently, slower to cloud, slower to dull. He felt the warmth settle, but not the fog.
Mordecai watched him from beneath his goggles. “...You even taste that?”
Zer0 set the glass down with surgical neatness. “cold in shallow cup / Mild within Pandora / I have known worse burns.”
Mordecai snorted despite himself. “Show-off.”
He reached for another bottle. Moxxi replaced it wordlessly. The neon lights above them hummed, casting them both in pink and violet shadows.
For a while, they drank in rhythm.
Not racing. Not competing. Just occupying the same silence.
Then Mordecai cleared his throat. “You remember that skag in Three Horns? The one kept trying to steal her kills?”
Zer0’s visor tilted slightly. “The loud red brute one?”
“Yeah,” Mordecai muttered, mouth twitching. “She hated that thing. Wouldn’t even let it sniff her feathers.”
A faint shift of amusement flickered across Zer0’s voice. “Territory war / Hawk versus overgrown mutt / Outcome predicted.”
Mordecai huffed. “Damn right predictable. She dive-bombed him so hard he forgot how legs worked.” He took another swig. “Smart bird. Smarter than most people I’ve met.”
“Intelligence sharp / Talons guided by instinct / Better judge than men.”
Mordecai barked a short laugh. “Now that I’ll drink to.”
They clinked again.
This time the sound wasn’t hollow.
Several drinks later, Mordecai was no longer pacing his words; he was spilling them. One elbow had missed the bar entirely and slid halfway off before he corrected it with exaggerated seriousness. The bottle in front of him was not the first. Definitely not the sixth.
Zer0, by contrast, sat straighter than physics required; but there was a looseness to him now. His shoulders had dropped. The tilt of his visor lingered a second longer than usual when he focused. The glass in his hand was possibly his third.
Mordecai leaned back too far on his stool. “You know wha’ she used to do?” he slurred, pointing in the vague direction of the mechanic shop up the road. “Scooter. Fries. Just—whoosh.” He made a lazy circling motion with his finger that turned into a wobble. “Gone. Man’d be lookin’ down like, ‘Huh, musta been wind.’ Wind don’t got talons.”
Zer0 tilted his head to one side, a lazy LED :) on his visor. “High-speed larceny / Wings make flawless getaway / No fingerprints left.” There was the faintest drag on the last syllable.
Mordecai squinted at him. “You’re smilin’ under there. I can hear it.”
Zer0 tipped his glass in acknowledgment and nearly misjudged the distance to the bar when setting it down. The correction was subtle, but real. “She wanted little, / Only wind and open sky / Best cost-benefit.”
Mordecai barked a laugh that turned into a cough. “Cost-benefit? You sound like Hyperion HR.”
The jukebox crackled into a louder tune, something upbeat and out of place. A few patrons at the far end tried to laugh louder than they felt.
“Used to call her ‘Mija,’” he said, suddenly earnest and far too loud. “Like—like she was my kid. Which she wasn’t. ‘Cause she was a bird.” He blinked hard. “You know. Feathers.”
Zer0 nodded gravely. “Clarification noted.”
Mordecai stared at him. “...You’re drunk.”
Zer0 considered that for a long, overextended beat. “Peripheral warmth / Motor control at eighty... / Eighty-seven percent.”
Mordecai wheezed. “God! You’re such a nerd, amigo.” He dragged a hand down his face and missed his chin entirely.
Mordecai’s eyes went distant for a second. “She bit Brick once,” he added, grin coming back crooked.
Zer0’s visor tilted, just slightly off-center. “Provoked?”
Mordecai pointed triumphantly, overshooting and nearly poking Zer0’s helmet. “Brick was huggin’ me.”
A beat.
Zer0 processed that. Slowly. “Your protection was her priority.” He lifted his glass and this time definitely overshot the clink by half an inch before correcting.
Mordecai leaned closer, breath heavy with alcohol. “She didn’ like people touchin’ what was hers. Territorial bird stuff, y’know?”
Zer0’s voice softened a fraction too much for pure composure. “Your safety ranked high.”
Mordecai’s expression faltered. “Yeah,” he muttered, then brightened abruptly. “She also stole Roland’s cigar once.”
Zer0 blinked.
“...Impressive.”
Mordecai squinted. “You been talkin’ real normal this whole time. No poetry.”
Zer0 straightened slightly, as if offended. “One moment.” He cleared his throat. “Cigar theft confirmed / Commander Roland lost to / a tiny sky.. uhm.. theft.”
Mordecai slapped the bar and nearly slid off the stool laughing. “You can’t do drunken haiku!” He leaned sideways, nearly tipping over entirely before Zer0 reached out, just a touch too slow, just steady enough, to catch the back of his vest and keep him upright.
Contact lingered a second longer than necessary. Zer0 withdrew his hand with exaggerated composure. “Balance restored.”
Mordecai squinted at him again. “...You’re a good friend, y’know that?” The words were unfiltered. Heavy.
Zer0 paused. The alcohol made the silence stretch. Then, softer, “Shared hunts forge our bonds / Even flightless men can soar / You are not alone... friend.”
Mordecai stared at him for several seconds. “...Damn. That one hit, amiga.” He blinked rapidly and grabbed his bottle again like it might escape.
From the doorway, Axton muttered quietly to Maya, “Okay, so one’s plastered and the other’s philosophically toasted.”
Behind them, Krieg loomed, watching Mordecai laugh too loudly at nothing. “...THE COWBOY IS LEAKING FROM HIS EYES,” Krieg observed gravely.
Zer0, visor faintly askew, raised his glass in Krieg’s direction. “Controlled release valve.”
Mordecai leaned into Zer0’s shoulder with absolutely no spatial awareness. “You’re my compa now,” he declared with deep, drunken authority.
Zer0 went very still. “...Accepted.”
The night did not quiet. It swelled.
By the time Lilith arrived, coat half-buttoned and eyes still sharp, the bar had shifted from wake to defiance. Roland followed close behind, posture straight out of habit, though the glass in his hand betrayed him.
Brick claimed a table and declared himself “emotionally ripped.” Axton had rolled his sleeves up. Gaige was standing on a chair explaining “aerodynamic murder geometry.” Maya watched it all with quiet, approving detachment.
Krieg sat at the edge of it all, massive and watchful, a glass of mango juice in his hands. Mango juice. He guarded it like a sacred relic. “THE TROPICAL BLOOD OF PEACE,” he announced solemnly before taking a careful sip.
Zer0, several drinks in now, leaned slightly toward him.
Visor tilted. LED blinking a soft, contented :). “Wise selection made / Neural integrity stays... / Admirably in...tact. Damn it.” There was a drag on the final syllable.
Krieg turned slowly to look at him. “...YOU ARE WOBBLING.”
“I am not wobbling.” He attempted to sit straighter. He overshot, swayed faintly, and corrected with exaggerated dignity. “..Minimal drift only.”
Lilith laughed openly. “Wow. The assassin’s toasted.”
Zer0 lifted one finger as if objecting on principle. “Peripheral warmth / Strategically loosening / Control remains... most..ly.”
Mordecai wheezed into his bottle. “Strategically loosening? Compa you just wanna get drunk!”
Krieg stared at Zer0 like he’d just announced he was made of marshmallows. The quieter voice inside Krieg perked up, startled and hopeful.
Zer0 turned toward him fully now. The alcohol had sanded down his edges. Without thinking he reached out and rested his gloved hand against Krieg’s forearm. His voice is rough, but soft when he speaks. “Seeing Bloodwing pass / must have been hard for you, it... / it was hard for.. me.”
Admitting something like that had always been hard for Zer0, the little man doesn’t want to lose this moment. Tell him you understand, tell him it’s not his fault.
“THE SHADOW IS THOUCHING THE MEAT.” He shouted instead, much to the quiet voices dismay.
Mordecai choked on his drink. Brick howled. Axton nearly dropped his glass. Lilith covered her mouth, shoulders shaking.
Zer0 blinked down at Krieg, visor glowing a soft ..., hand very much still resting against the Psycho’s forearm. “...Yes,” he said, entirely serious. “Correct.” The LED flickered.
Krieg’s shoulders locked in place. Pale, scar-laced muscle went rigid beneath Zer0’s gloved hand. The loud voice had already committed to the bit. “THE SHADOW HAS CLAIMED A SLAB OF BEEF!” he continued triumphantly. “THE KNIFE HAS CHOSEN ITS CUT!”
The little voice inside him groaned. Tell him it wasn’t his fault. Tell him you’re here for him. Tell him you hated it.
Instead, Krieg very carefully, very deliberately, lowered his voice a fraction. “THE SKY BLEEDS SOMETIMES,” he muttered, eyes not quite meeting Zer0’s. “IT IS NOT THE FAULT OF THE MEAT THAT THE SKY EXPLODES.” It was the closest he could get.
Zer0 went still. The alcohol made the silence softer, less guarded. He tilted his helmet to the side, studying Krieg with unusual openness. He squeezed, just lightly, against Krieg’s forearm. “Not our design flaw / Jack wired bombs into hearts / Blame belongs to him.”
Krieg swallowed. “YES,” he barked suddenly, volume spiking again to compensate. “WE PUNCH THE MAN WHO MAKES BIRDS INTO FIREWORKS!”
“Please do,” Mordecai muttered, knocking back the rest of his drink.
The bar roared approval at something Brick shouted about punching the moon. The jukebox skipped. Someone dropped a glass. Sanctuary groaned overhead like an old ship in rough air.
Zer0 swayed. Not dramatically. Just enough. Krieg noticed immediately. “...THE KNIFE IS LEANING AT A DANGEROUS ANGLE.”
“I am vertical,” Zer0 replied, affronted. He was not entirely vertical. His hand was still resting against Krieg’s arm. His balance had quietly transferred half its responsibility.
Krieg stood abruptly. The stool scraped harshly against metal. “THE SHADOW HAS REACHED MAXIMUM MARINATION.”
Lilith glanced over. “You taking him home?”
Krieg nodded once. “THE MEAT ESCORTS THE KNIFE TO ITS SHEATH.”
Axton raised his glass. “Good call, big guy.”
Mordecai squinted up at them. “Don’t drop him, amigo.”
Zer0 turned toward Mordecai, visor LED blinking sleepily. “Ground transport preferred tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mordecai waved lazily. “Go be domestic.”
Krieg carefully guided Zer0 upright. The assassin did not resist. In fact—he leaned. Deliberately. His gloved hand slid from Krieg’s forearm to his chest, fingers curling slightly into fabric. “Sstructural.. ssstability.” Zer0 murmured, words dipping and slurring into one another.
Krieg froze for half a second. The loud voice tried to leap in. “THE SHADOW PRESSES-”
The little voice yanked it back. Be steady. He’s drunk.
Krieg swallowed hard and instead adjusted his grip, large hand hovering near Zer0’s waist without pulling. “WE WALK,” he declared.
The night air outside Moxxi’s was cooler.
Sanctuary’s lower levels hummed softly, lights flickering across patched concrete walls. Distant laughter spilled from the bar behind them, fading as the door slid shut.
Zer0 took two steps, then drifted sideways.
Krieg caught him instantly, one massive arm bracing around his back. The contact was firm but controlled.
Zer0 exhaled softly. “...Good reflexes.”
“You ARE WOBBLING.”
“Minimal drift.” He did not attempt to stand independently again, instead, he leaned into Krieg fully now; head dipping briefly toward Krieg’s shoulder.
Krieg’s breath hitched. His hands were careful, very careful. He repositioned Zer0’s arm across his own shoulders. “THE MEAT IS A GUARDRAIL.”
Zer0’s fingers slid absently across Krieg’s chest, tracing the line of old scar tissue. “...You are warm,” Zer0 observed quietly.
Krieg’s jaw tightened. “MEAT FURNACE.”
Zer0 hummed. “It’s nice..”
They walked slowly down the gravel road, crimson raiders doing their nightly patrols passed by without glancing, Krieg felt slightly paranoid about the eyes anyway.
Halfway to Zer0’s apartment, the assassin stopped and turned toward him. Too close. His visor tilted upward, LED dimmed to a soft glow. “You were loud,” Zer0 said softly.
Krieg stiffened. “I AM ALWAYS LOUD.”
“No.” Zer0 reached up, unsteady but intentional, and touched the edge of Krieg’s jaw. Thumb grazing along rough skin. “It was a lot to.. Deal with.” The words were not poetic, not stylized, just honest.
Krieg’s breath grew heavier. Desire flared, sharp, instinctive, immediate. He could feel the heat of Zer0’s body pressed near his own, the subtle shift of weight, the invitation that drunken confidence sometimes created.
The loud voice roared in temptation.
The little voice pushed back harder. He’s not sober, don’t do anything stupid.
Zer0’s gloved fingers drifted down, tracing the line of Krieg’s abdomen without quite realizing it. Testing the planes of muscle, the roughness of old surgical scars, squeezing slightly at the swell of Krieg’s hip.
Krieg went rigid, every nerve flared, the loud voice wanted to pin him against the nearest alleyway wall and take him now.
The little voice took control. He gently caught Zer0’s wandering wrist, not harsh, just firm. “You’re intoxicated, Zer0.”
Zer0 stilled abruptly, the voice he heard was not Krieg’s usual scream; it was rough and hoarse, and kind. “That’s not... right.. voice..”
Krieg gently pushed Zer0 away, creating a safe distance between both of them. “We can’t do anything when you’re drunk.”
There was a beat. Zer0 processed that. Then, very faintly, a soft huff of laughter. “You are ethical,” he murmured.
The gentleness abruptly fleets back into Krieg’s usual coiled demeanor. “THE MEAT HAS RULES.” The little voice added silently: You deserve better than a drunken one night stand.
Zer0 leaned his helmet briefly against Krieg’s chest instead. A compromise. “Then escort me,” he said, quieter now. “Home.”
Krieg nodded once. “THE MEAT DELIVERS THE SHADOW TO SAFE STORAGE.” He shifted his arm more securely around Zer0’s waist and began walking slowly.
Zer0 stayed close the entire way, occasionally brushing fingers along Krieg’s side, absently affectionate. Each time, Krieg guided the touch upward, to safer places.
By the time they reached Zer0’s quarters, the assassin’s steps had grown heavier. Krieg eased the door open after Zer0 fumbled with his keys for a good 5 minutes.
The lighting was low and warm, recessed strips set into the ceiling rather than hanging fixtures. Shoes aligned near the entrance. Weapons disassembled and cleaned on a long, narrow workbench along one wall, each tool placed parallel, equidistant.
A narrow shelf along the far wall held a handful of objects: a whetstone, a small potted plant with careful pruning, a folded cloth dyed in muted indigo. No clutter, but the several gymnastic trophies Krieg can vaguely remember Zer0 bragging to Mordecai about.
Krieg stepped inside cautiously, hyper-aware of the neatness. “THE SHADOW NEST IS... nice.”
Zer0 split from Krieg and muttered something under his breath while Krieg went to look at the shelf. “Put shoes by the door / Do not track blood in my home / I try to keep that... out. Damn it.” The last word came out mumbled.
Behind Krieg, there was the soft, careless sound of armor fastenings being disengaged in the wrong order. Metal pieces set down slightly off their usual alignment. Zer0 exhaled heavily. Krieg stilled instantly, keeping his gaze on the suddenly interesting trophies in front of him.
Krieg resisted the instinct to turn. “THE MEAT IS FACING THE GOLD ROD.”
A pause.
“The ROD IS VERY... SHINY.”
Ohmygodisheundressing-
Behind him, fabric slid, not dramatic, just practical. Zer0 was too drunk to remember modesty protocols. He peeled the upper half of his suit down with mechanical impatience.
Krieg closed his eyes. The loud voice screamed to look. The little voice held him steady. Respect him.
Zer0 stepped out of the rest of the suit without ceremony, leaving it in a heap disturbingly unlike the rest of the room’s precision. “Damn suit is so annoying to take off...” he muttered, already halfway toward the bed.
He did not seem to register that he was not alone. Krieg cleared his throat awkwardly, still facing the wall. “THE SHADOW IS… DISASSEMBLING.”
“Yeah, yeah, just one moment..” He muttered frustratedly as he tugged at a loose sleep shirt from a drawer, then proceeded to miss closing it by a whole inch before slamming it back in place with his body. When he tried to pull the shirt over his head he missed the arm whole twice with growing irritation. “...Ambushed.”
Krieg turned just enough to see if assistance was required, eyes deliberately lifted to the ceiling. “IS THE CARCASS FIGHTING BACK?”
Zer0 finally forced his arm through and exhaled in triumph. “Victory.”
The man can kill 8 men with one bullet but can’t put on a shirt.
Zer0 didn’t bother putting on any kind of pants, the minute the shirt was on he was crawling into the bed. “You may remain,” he said vaguely. “Or not.” He didn’t seem concerned either way.
He collapsed backward onto the bed without ceremony, legs still half off the edge.
Krieg rumbled under his breath, losing the battle to not look at Zer0. “THE MEAT WILL LEAVE ONCE THE SHADOW GOES UNDER.”
Zer0 hummed faintly in response, already drifting. “Keep noise minimal,” he murmured.
Krieg nodded, though Zer0’s eyes were closing. He walked back to the entrance and quietly aligned the discarded suit pieces into something closer to order. Not perfect—but respectful. He dimmed the lighting one level lower.
Then he returned to the bedside and lowered himself to sit against the bedframe, broad shoulders angled away, eyes fixed forward.
On the bed, Zer0 shifted once more, dragging the blanket half over himself with minimal coordination. “…Shoes,” he mumbled faintly.
“THE MEAT COMPLIED.”
“…Good.” a hand blindly reached out from beneath the blanket and patted Krieg’s head heavily.
Krieg did his best to ignore the fact he could feel small scales protruding from the hand.
Silence settled. Sanctuary creaked outside. Inside, everything returned to stillness. Krieg did not look at him. Not once.