"Enough of this." Mangé's strained voice resounded coldly in the lone vastness of the room; his undertone dripped with palpable, seething annoyance.
The printed image of that jagged skull slapped on the back of Mangé's grey coat stared right at me, its empty eye sockets greeting my grey gaze.
He stood firmly, broad shoulders quivering subtly. His left fingers dug into his palm, forming a tightly clenched fist that trembled softly. His right hand tightly clenched the steel-colored plasma blaster — the source of the light beam that tore through and completely dissolved Germaine's air sickle.
An almost deadly feeling permeated from his subtly quivering body as he stood. A strange, skin-tingling air blew against my face. The warmth of the air flushed through my insides, eventually cooling my heart.
"Germaine," Mangé uttered with a low voice. The voice was deep and rasping, almost cracked as it reverberated. "Get out."
Germaine's only working biological leg remained firmly planted on the ground. His brown eyes snapped as he heard Mangé's sparse words, and the blooming rage that painted his face vanished in the blink of an eye, and in its stead, a confused, almost saddened expression formed as his dry lips parted.
"But boss–"
"Get. Out." Mangé repeated. The gentle, friendly tone with which he spoke had half faded, smeared by the barely contained annoyance that dripped from within him. An annoyance that seemed to passively trigger the release of his Te, causing the passive energy to seep out of his soul.
As Germaine's standing ears caught on to the utterly annoyed tone behind Mangé's voice, and also the warm, slithering Te that seeped out of him, emboldening the thick silence that engulfed the atmosphere, he shut his mouth.
Germaine's jaw trembled. It felt as if he was barely keeping himself together, trying so hard to stop himself from yelling out in anger.
With the calmness of an active volcano, he lowered himself, crouching his right leg to grab onto the large chunks of damaged, blood-stained cyan cybernetics that lay on the ground, swimming in the shallow pool of his own blood.
As he successfully grabbed them, he stood upright, giving a small, respectful bow to Mangé, who still stood in front of me, watching Germaine's every movement, probably making sure that the guy didn't try to attack me anymore.
Then, with one leg and a handful of machine parts, Germaine slowly limped toward the door, leaving a faint trail of dripping red liquid on the metal floorboard. His blood.
Mangé's neck moved along with Germaine's limping figure, his intense gaze never leaving Germaine's sight until he finally reached the door.
Just before Germaine could walk out the door, I slowly moved my neck over my shoulder, shooting a deadly glare at the limping figure.
Suddenly, Germaine paused, slowly moving his own neck. And then, his wide brown gaze, which menacingly reflected the low blue light of the other room, focused on me. His gaze was murderously wide. Thin, red threads of veins stretched at the corner of his cornea.
Staring into his eyes made me feel like thick liters of blood might have dropped out of them the moment he blinked.
But I was sure he felt it, because our gazes were interlocked.
No, I was very damn certain he had felt it.
The sheer magnitude of the murderous intent that dripped from my own wide grey gaze.
My cracked lips stretched and widened, shaping a sinister ear-to-ear smirk.
Germaine's widened eyes widened more, but subtly. Then, they narrowed completely as he responded to my smirk with a faint, strangely small smile. He then turned, closing the door behind him as he continued limping away.
The moment the faint, ambient trails of Germaine's Te completely faded, Mangé let out a deep, relieved exhale as he slowly turned to face me.
His green gaze locked into mine. His gaze radiated a rapidly evolving intensity that weighed down on me. And his facial expression didn't do much to ease the intensity. His forehead was wrinkled, jaws were clenched so tight that it felt like he could shoot me at any moment.
Amid the boiling intensity, my gaze calmly peered into his, and a soft smile curled up my lips. An amused smile.
I gently tucked my now warm hands in the pocket of my coat, my head held high, gaze never straying away from Mangé's utterly displeased expression.
"What? Why are you staring at me like that?" The calm, almost playful words left my throat unexpectedly. I had planned to just.. stare at him, and maybe wait for him to say something to break the intense silence that stretched out toward the four walls of this room, "You want to attack me too?"
But it seemed like my damned mouth refused to comply with my brain. I mean, how could it? Seeing the way Mangé stared at me reminded me of the old days.
The guy was a constant victim of my practically unavoidable teasing.
But I didn't utter the words I did just to tease him, though. At least that was what I thought. Or what my tenderly beating heart thought, if I'm to be exact.
It was meant to be a sort of.. light joke to calm the atmosphere, and maybe reduce the intensity of his radiating Te. After all, fighting my friend was the last thing I wanted to do.
But, it seemed my effort to dissuade the current situation that my instinct had triggered was–
"What the hell is wrong with you, Stella?!!" Mangé's voice tore through the silence, slicing it like a sickle does to flesh. There was a subtle trace of slight trembling in his cracked voice. That small trembling made my heart freeze up, and my eyes widened.
In fact, the trembling in his voice shook my insides more than his active, angered yelling.
And I had no idea why. My brain overlooked the relays that the rest of my four senses transmitted to it. The sight of Mangé's vein bulged throat, his widened green eyes, the way he clenched his pistol like he might crush it any second, and even the way his body quivered like it always did when his emotions hit extremes.
My brain ignored all of that, and instead, chose to pay keen attention to the oscillation of his voice's pitch, the slight trembling of his voice and the cracked way it came out.
Am I running mad?
As the intruding thought streamed through my mind, I let out a soft chuckle, which was… not a good idea, seeing the situation I was in.
"You're laughing?!!" He yelled; the voice was louder. And still, all my brain paid attention to was the way his voice trembled more and more with each yell.
Mangé began to take slow, measured, but equally intimidating steps toward me. Still yelling, "Do you have any idea how much that cybi leg cost?!" As he walked.
Now, I barely held back the chuckle. The guy might have actually blasted my head off the moment I laughed in that situation.
I also took calm steps backward, inching further away from him the more he walked toward my direction.
Then, out of nowhere, while faking a tense smile and simultaneously gesturing at him with my hands for him to cool down, a thought popped into my head:
What, exactly, is Mangé's goal?
This singular thought recalibrated my entire mood, and I stopped inching backwards, and I stood firmly. Waiting for him to reach me.
"I told you! I told you that Germaine is my trusted man!" It seemed like he had noticed my slight change in posture and temperance as the volume of his voice reduced, albeit weakly.
Mangé took a deep breath, his chest puffed up as he closed his eyes. Then, he exhaled, opening his eyes as he spoke with a now normal-sounding voice whose tone carried a soft hint of resignation, "Honestly, Stel, I…"
"Mangé," I called out. And the moment I did, he paused, furrowing his brows as he looked at me with a surprised expression painted on his face.
It might've been because my voice had lost the playful and annoyingly teasing tone it carried mere moments ago. Right now, I spoke with intent.
"What…" He paused, gaze still scanning my carriage and the way I kept myself. "What is it?" He asked.
"You know me, don't you?" I asked, my voice a little lower than it was a second ago.
To my question, Mangé offered no reply. His surprised expression had morphed to that of complete and profound confusion. Not that I didn't understand why he would be so surprised.
"You've known me for a long, long time. And even though we haven't seen each other for three years. Three years isn't enough to dull the relationship that you and I have had for almost twenty years, right?"
Mangé took a step backward. The left corner of his lips slightly — just slightly — curled up. But I noticed that subtle change.
I had invaded his heart.
He turned, facing his back to me as he walked toward his chair at the counter. And he sat on it, crossing his legs as he did, while resting his chin on his balled-up left fist, with his left elbow resting on the counter.
"So what exactly are you getting at?" He asked. It was like the anger he felt mere minutes ago had dissipated as the tone of his voice had returned to that warm, friendly one. But as much as it was warm and friendly, it also had a professional edge to it.
"You've also known about my unexplainable… instinct for years, haven't you?" I asked.
"That stupid gut feeling of yours?"
"Yes, the one that had saved us countless times from pesky situations." I retorted.
"..."
"I trust that instinct. And I will always trust it. If it tugs at my system and shows a reaction so strong and so strange like that to anyone or anything, then said thing is very much of a threat to me." I let out a soft breath, easing my unconsciously puffed-up chest. "And now, I want to ask you a question, Mangé. And you should answer carefully. Because your answer will determine whether or not I'll be willing to cooperate with you." I continued.
"Go on," Mangé uttered, his gaze studying me with keen interest.
"That so-called 'trusted man' of yours. That you haven't known for more than five years…" I paused, letting my words sink in properly. "Who do you trust more? Him or me?"
Now the card is yours to play, Mangé. Your answer will determine if you can truly share your goals with me, and if, in turn, I can still trust you and share my own goals with you. It will determine whether or not I cut you off… forever.
Play your game wisely, my good friend.
My gaze calmly surveyed his expression as it swung from contemplation to confusion, to sadness. He held his beardless chin, caressing it softly as his gaze focused on the metal floorboard.
Then, he raised his head, green eyes finding mine. And his lips parted as his voice echoed.