The cold metal dug deeper into Ren's temple.
"Don't move, boy..."
The voice behind him was hoarse—strained, but steady enough to mean whoever was behind the gun wasn't bluffing.
"Alright..." Ren lifted both hands, fingers open. "Alright, I'm not moving."
"Good..." The voice rasped.
Ren's gaze slid down to the infected sprawled across the floor. Ink pooled from the exit wound. The ink plague had already been consuming the man, but the gunshot had seemed to finish what the sickness started.
"...You're not infected?" Ren asked in a quiet tone.
Metal pressed harder into his skull as if in warning.
"You tell me," The man said. "Because right now, I don't know who the hell you are."
Ren tried to keep his tone calm, adrenaline hammering through him.
"I can prove it. Just put the gun down, and I'll—"
"No, I don't trust words. Not with what's crawlin' out there."
"I understand," Ren said slowly, careful not to flinch. "But I'm not one of them."
The man laughed, but it was bitter.
"You think I haven't seen some like you? Pretendin'…while it eats them from the inside. You don't seem to know what it does to a person, do you? But I've seen it..."
Ren's hands remained raised, steady despite the cold metal pressing into his temple.
'How does he expect me to prove myself with a gun pressed to my head?' Ren thought about it. 'Wait...what if he's not human? Am I being tricked?! What type of person would do this?'
Ren angled his head a fraction, just enough to catch a corner-glimpse of the man.
He was tall—well over six feet—with deep brown skin. His hair was a mass of loose, shoulder-length coils, spilling from beneath a collapsed cowboy hat. A long leather duster hung from his frame, cracked and stained near the hem. And his eyes—only one was visible. A strip of cloth wrapped around his left eye, darkened from where ink leaked through.
His right eye was a deep, weary brown, staring at Ren with the intensity of a man who had survived far too much.
"So is this how you test someone? Blowing their head off? Checking for traces of ink?"
"...It's a cruel world, boy." The man responded, cocking his single action revolver back.
Ren's pulse thrummed in his ears.
'He's really going to shoot. I have to find an opening. But this man...he just won't budge.'
"Now tell me, where's that other one with you...I know you ain't alone, son."
Then—
CREAK
The sound of a nearby crate.
The man's head jerked up. His finger twitched, and instinctively, his aim flicked toward the source.
"Ain't no hiding..." The man commanded. "Show yourself."
From the shadows, a figure stepped out slowly. Hands raised—not threatening, but open.
Eva.
Her long black hair plastered to her shoulders, ink-filled eyes showing only worry.
The man's visible eye snapped to her, grip tightening on the revolver.
"Hands where I can see 'em!" He barked, voice hoarse.
His aim wavered as Eva came into view.
'A gun?! Aimed at her...' Ren's stomach churned. 'I can't let that happen.'
Without hesitation, Ren lunged at the man.
The man reacted the instant Ren launched, spinning on his heel to target Ren. A second revolver flashed from his side, leveled directly to the center of Ren's head.
POW
Ren dodged just in time.
Pain erupted along his forearm as the bullet tore through, burning and shattering nerve endings, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, just a minor wound in the eyes of Ren.
With a sudden, desperate shove, Ren knocked the revolver from the man's hand.
It skittered across the floor, clattering against a wooden crate.
The man stumbled back, aiming the second revolver up, aiming squarely at Ren. But now, that good eye of his—once deep brown, weary, and human—flared bright red. His fingers flexed around the grip of the gun as if possessed by something else, something inhuman.
Ren stood there and lifted his forearm, palm open. Blood leaked from the wound, dripping onto the floor, crimson against the floor.
"See this?" Ren murmured through gritted teeth, the pain blazing up his arm. "Crimson..."
The man's red eye narrowed, a flicker of hesitation—cutting through the red glow.
"You…" He muttered, voice wavering with discern. "You ain't infected?"
The man's red eye flicked toward Eva, lingering on the deep black of her eyes—the ink-filled darkness streaked across her face. His grip wavered on the polished revolver, finger tightening and releasing on the trigger in uneven spasms.
"What about her?" His voice was low, the kind that carries both authority and suspicion. "That darkness…that's the plague?"
"She rejected it..." Ren replied in plea.
Eva stepped forward, calm and deliberate, wrapped with Ren's cloak.
The man's visible eye flicked to Ren's forearm and then back to Eva. He didn't flinch, didn't waver—not like someone terrified. Instead, he studied them, calculating. His finger relaxed slightly on the trigger, but his stance remained sharp, like a coiled spring ready to explode.
"This hellhole..." The man exhaled slowly, under his breath, almost a growl. "Damn place got me pointing a gun at kids..." Slow and methodical, the man lowered his gun back to his side.
Ren stepped over the slick, blood-stained floor to the revolver he'd knocked away, nudging it with the toe of his boot and sending it skidding back to the man's feet. All of them fell silent for a moment, the only sound being the patter of rain against the corrugated metal roof.
The man kneeled down, grabbing the revolver. His red eye had dimmed now, returning to that dark, calculating brown. He holstered the second gun with the same precision.
The man straightened fully, the brim of his hat dipping low over his eye, and gave a slow, sweeping glance between them.
"It ain't safe here..." The man spoke, voice low and deliberate. He ran a finger along the rim of his hat, tilting it slightly back. "I know a place. It ain't home, but it's safer than here."
Without another word, the man walked off.
Eva and Ren exchanged glances, equally concerned about joining the man or not. Until Eva stepped forward, following in the man's tracks. There was no need for Ren to question it. Because he knew that if Eva could trust this mysterious man, so could he. Even if that man had just tried to put a bullet between his eyes, he trusted Eva would make the right decision.