Tyrant

A thick fog settled around Cerys as she sat where they’d left her, the silence deafening as she stared listlessly at the single lamplight across the street. The darkness of what was once Central Park loomed like a menace behind it, mist billowing from the lamplight outward. It stretched further across the street than it would have without it—almost reaching her on the other side.

The lamp had occasionally flickered throughout the hours—maybe days—they’d kept her here, back facing the decrepit city. Bruises formed along her wrists and arms, marking where the Chitauri had tossed her back and forth between them days ago, trying to figure what to do. And then again and again, during the sparse moments she'd been removed from the pole and given just enough sustenance to keep her alive. Guess they’d forgotten what to do with her since then. At least they’d left her in an area where human vagrants seemed to avoid, so no one else bothered her. Though even that was frightening in its own way—the deafening quiet. Emptiness. 

Cerys was cold. Starving. Wasting away at the base of the pole, she barely worth a spare glance from the occasional sentinel that wandered by—both human and Chitauri alike. The metal was cold against the back of her head, her breaths growing weaker and weaker as she stared into the light. The occasional sounds of shuffling feet and rustling leaves had startled her in the beginning, but she paid them no mind now. If something jumped out of the shadows and killed her then and there, it would have been a favor. 

She’d taken to humming, letting the notes fall out of her lips one by one. Lamplight fell on her face as Cerys let them slip out, too tired to expend the energy on lyrics. Wind carried the sound of rustling from the bushes, but she didn’t look away from the ambient light—man or monster, Cerys didn’t care what it was. So she let her eyes close, the faint tresses of sleep beginning to edge upon her with the melody.

Until a figure stepped out from the shadows. 

Eyes lidded and heavy, Cerys barely made out the movement at all before its silhouetted form stepped onto the street, a face coming into focus—her own. Cerys’s head rolled forward, silenced as her breaths quickened by infinitesimal degrees. The song died on her lips as fear wrapped around her chest like a weight, growing as the phantom of herself drew near. It kneeled, barely making a sound at all.

"What…" Cerys breathed out, looking up and down the apparition. She was even wearing her clothes, except that they were cleaner, her face fuller and with a bit more color. "What…what's happening—"

The phantom pressed a finger to her lips and then extended it Cerys’s, stopping just shorted of them. A wicked, knowing smile pulled the corner of her mouth to the side, eyes gleaming with a sense of resolve Cerys hadn't felt in years. And just as her lips parted to respond, a third voice muttered in a commanding tone somewhere to her right, “Who are you talking to?” 

Cerys blinked, panic jolting through her with the bit of adrenaline that had managed to wake her. Tall and armored to the teeth, a lean frame emerged from the mist, striding toward her with an automatic gun to his chest. Green eyes glared down at her coldly, dark waves contrasting against pale skin, barely reaching the man’s ears. 

“Who were you talking to,” the sentinel demanded again, a menacing fixture in the darkness. Cerys looked back at the empty space in front of her, seeing the phantom of herself gone. Was she a hallucination? “Answer the question.” As he spoke, his green eyes roved across the darkness Cerys stared into. 

The last of her energy was leaving her as she stared up at the sentinel, who turned and merely stared back. Cerys must’ve looked like hell. Several long passes over the length of her had him striding to her side, no doubt looking for signs that someone was tampering with her bindings. Kneeling beside her, his expression was vastly emotionless as he observed the shackles around her wrists. Cerys didn’t have the energy to wince when he gave them a tug. 

“This hurts,” his voice was smooth and soft—and his words sounded more like a statement than a question, though Cerys nodded all the same. She leaned forward a bit, then felt her boots shuffled as her body toppled over. One arm snapped across her chest, pushing her back up against the pole. Head cocked back, he observed her face keenly, donning a distant look as he drank in her features. “You have a fever.” 

Probably, yeah. 

The sentinel had handsome face, and he trailed a cold hand over her forehead. Cerys did have the chills, and her eyes did feel a bit raw. She realized then that she struggled to take a single deep breath, though there was no congestion to speak of. When was the last time she'd eaten?“I…” Cerys minced out the word, his head tilting toward her curiously. “I…can’t…” 

“You can’t what?” 

She tried to shake her head, but Cerys felt her consciousness leaving her, barely hanging by a thread. “I don’t feel…well…” 

“You’re shivering.” 

She’d been shivering for days. 

A lengthy sigh, and then Cerys felt the sentinel move behind her, anchoring her up by the shoulders as he tended to her shackles. Metal clacked against the sidewalk as they fell, and her arms felt like noodles as Cerys drew them forward. Red rings had been rubbed into her wrists, painful to the touch. She dropped them to her lap as the sentinel appeared again, turning his weapon onto his backside as he hoisted her up. Some semblance of alarm and protest rang through her in the back of her mind, but her head fell against the crook of his neck as Cerys was lifted. 

Her eyes closed slowly, but Cerys was halfway awake against the man’s shoulder, feeling the gentle sway of his walk—like she was nothing in his arms. The characteristic ‘clicking’ of the Chitauri sounded all around them as she was carried away. And after some indiscernible amount of time, the night sky made way for the cover of some crumbling skyscraper. If Cerys didn’t know any better, she'd have thought they’d stepped into an elevator moments later, the ensuing ‘ding’ amidst the darkness proving it so.

Pawing aimlessly at the man's chest, he muttered a low 'hush' in turn before kicking some door open, striding down a crumbling hallway. Cerys began to open her eyes, looking around as twinkling lights shone through the broken glass walls that spanned what had to have been an apartment. Now ruined and somewhat open to the elements.

Cerys was set down onto her side, on top of something soft—a bed. The entirety of Old New York was laid before her, and she peered at it through a slitted gaze. 

Hands pulled back the sleeve of her jacket, checking her pulse and then returning a hand to her forehead. “Stay here,” the smooth voice spoke again. 

Right, like Cerys was going anywhere. 

The sentinel reappeared, startling her back from the edges of sleep. There were some clanging noises in a box, and then practiced hands lifted her up to begin removing her jacket, freeing the sweater underneath. A hand cradled the back of her neck as he lowered her back down, then pulled her sleeve up easily to her elbow. She nearly flinched at the small prick Cerys felt. 

Afirst aid box lay atop a pile of rubble. At the careful administration of the apparent syringe in her arm, she was kept under a steady watch by the sentinel hovering above her. The entirety of the city’s lights cast dim shadows across his features as he peered down at his work, eyes briefly rising to meet mine in the darkness. There was no compassion in them—no kindness. Cerys tried to speak, tried to form words, but his attention merely flickered down to her lips for a moment. 

“Quiet,” he muttered, returning his attention to her arm. 

“Who…” Cerys tried anyway. “Why…”  

He looked at her, the sound of clanging in the background drawing his attention.A pair of Chitauri soldiers stalked into the room from the hallway, standing at attention. One of them spoke in a guttural language to the man. But he merely glanced down at Cerys once before responding to them in kind, keeping his attention on her as he spoke. 

Fear rolled through her as Cerys felt the Chitauris’ eyes on her, her free hand creeping she felt the sentinel’s sleeve. His attention fell back to where her fingers grappled onto the harsh material of his uniform.

Why are you helping me? The question must've been in her eyes. 

The sentinel lowered his gaze to the syringe, removing it slowly as he spoke again, "Go to sleep." Cerys managed to look toward the Chitauri soldiers, her heart racing as they watched. She felt a finger at her pulse once more, pressing sternly into her skin—drawing her attention back up to the green eyes glinting as they peered down at her. "I said, sleep."

Her eyes burned, and Cerys closed them despite her better judgement telling her not to. Consciousness didn’t slip away immediately, and Cerys heard and felt the steady exhale that fell upon her face. The Chitauri spoke again in their language, and they were answered by the man—who, by the sound of his voice, hadn’t shifted in proximity to her. 

“Sleep…” his voice echoed.