Before you start a war, you better know what you're fighting for

LUCKY

Nike.

Somehow, I hadn't predicted us meeting like this. Somehow, I hadn't predicted us meeting at all. For most of our long-winded lives, we've remained apart, only ever interacting in times of extreme duress. I had already been ancient when Nike came into existence; we are not twins, we lack closeness. Nike is more a stranger to me than a friend.

And yet.

And yet I really thought that they at least respected me - what I am, what I do, what purpose I serve. I thought that our understanding was mutual, and that we kept our distance out of necessity and not choice.

But it's clear now what Nike has in mind. The warning shot answered enough of my questions that I can move on from simple conjecture.

That's for another time, though. Right now I have a more immediate problem.

"Officer Drake?" I call, earning a twitch from the blond; his eyes snap up from the dust pile and find mine. Whatever he sees sobers his already painfully serious expression. I'm never quite sure how I present myself to humans; try as I might to tone down the divine aura I seem to emanate, it crops up from time to time and has worrying effects on those that happen to witness it. "I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."
The sirens are growing closer. We have less than a minute until they arrive, I'm guessing, and by then I need to be gone. And if Drake wants to live, he'll need to be with me when that happens.

I rake a hand through my hair as I survey the area. A prickling sensation has overtaken the back of my neck, the backs of my hands; something burns inside my ribcage, not yet painful but edging closer to that point with every passing second. Nike's tracking me the same way I can pinpoint her general location - this tug between us now that we're in the same vicinity as one another. It won't be long until they comb their way through the city and find me.

"Drake--"
"I heard you the first time."
Blinking, I turn back to Drake.

Oh, joyous joy. He's brought out the gun again.

I stare down the standard-issue barrel, relatively unimpressed. Has he not learned what a futile prospect this is for him? I suppose it's natural for him to continue fighting the inevitable; I've learned over the course of my long life that humans choose not to accept impossible odds. They spit in the face of Destiny, curse their fates, and rail against whatever force blocks their way forward. Admirable, if I'm being honest. As a being bound by duty, I've had little variation in my life, and what I do has always been dictated by Fate's fickle will. It's why I deign to study humans, really; they're fascinatingly obstinate.

Chewing on my lip, I spare a glance down at myself. The wounds are as though they've never been; only the charred holes in my shirt act as any sort of reminder of my previous run through target practice. Speaking of that, Drake doesn't appear to be particularly moved to tears over having mistakenly shot me. That's a bit rude, if you ask me, but I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and attribute his lack of compassion to numbing shock.

"You're marked," I say, without ceremony. Being blunt is more likely to get me somewhere with him. I think, anyway, based on the little I've observed of him. Dancing around the subject will do nothing more than run out both our clocks.

"Marked." It's not a question, but I answer it all the same.

"Yes, marked." I rest a hand on my chest, fingers splayed. "Here. Both my aura and that dove's aura have mingled with yours."

He looks at me blankly, and I see that I'll need to provide a clearer explanation in the near future. At the moment, however, we're running short on time, and really, can't he just listen to me?

"You're going to be hunted, Drake," I continue when it becomes obvious he has no intention of verbalizing any of the million thoughts I can see zooming by behind his eyes. I spread my hands in a consolatory gesture. "I'm sorry for that. Truly. Your involvement in this mess is entirely my fault."

Sort of. He did insist on playing hero in the beginning, and I would have much preferred that he run when I was shot that first time. But there's no changing what happened.

"The fact of the matter is, though, that because you're now involved with me - willingly or not - you're going to be seen as a threat."
"To who?" It takes a substantial amount of effort for him to even get those two words out. The thoughts have stilled, but in their place is a raging wildfire of confusion, dusted with tendrils of fear and a nagging suspicion that death is close at hand. At least his common sense is finally kicking in.

"Nike," I reply. "They are a primordial being that is apparently intent on killing me off. No, really," I add in response to the incredulous face he's pulling, with more than a hint of exasperation coloring my voice.. "Come with me and I will tell you everything - everything relevant to you, in any case. Do we have an accord?"

Obviously not, as his answer mostly consists of loud, abusive swearing and menacing gestures with his insignificant gun. He's looking around, likely in search of something to end this particular bout of insanity he's suffering from, but he won't be finding any relief soon, as far as I'm concerned.

I stifle my umpteenth sigh of this fate-forsaken day and wait for him to come to the same conclusion that I have. That he has no choice in the matter; that I have no choice. Choice is a construct of human design, and has never existed so long as I've been alive. We are swept along by the tides of Fate, forever at their beck and call; it is our past, our present, our future. It is everything, and we are nothing to it but pawns in an unwinnable game.

The sooner we bow to the whims of Fate, the sooner we stop suffocating ourselves with fantasy and grand ideals.

Anyway.

"I don't want to," I say with a lackluster smile, "but I will force your hand, Drake, and you will come with me whether or not you approve of it. Come willingly and I can guarantee your safety. I won't abandon you to Nike's wrath either way, but it would be nice if you showed even the slightest inclination of trust towards me."
No reply.

I wasn't expecting one, and so my disappointment is only slight.

With a subtle roll of my eyes, I start towards Drake, hands once again spread. He fires off a warning shot, shooting up a spray of grit as the bullet digs into the ground inches away from my feet. I don't balk, and he hesitates to shoot again. This is not a man who enjoys killing. It is always a last resort for him. Luckily for him, should he decide that that last resort is ultimately necessary, he still won't have to experience the guilt of having ended a human life, because neither am I human, nor can I be killed by such a feeble weapon.

He does shoot, in the end, but it skims my temple rather than burrow into my forehead, and I walk without the slightest hint of doubt. He backs away, freeing one hand from his gun to make a grab for his radio; since I can't have that, I quicken my pace, appearing just before him to press the tips of my fingers to his furrowed brow. It relaxes instantly at the contact, and as darkness ripples between my fingers in ribbons of black silk, his face goes completely slack. An unnatural glow emanates from his gray-green eyes, and he blinks just once, mildly confused and undoubtedly exhausted, before collapsing in a messy heap of limp limbs at my feet.

It's for his own good.

"Thanks," I murmur, hands on my hips contemplatively while I stare down at the officer's prone body. This is so much more trouble than I was after when I set out this morning. "It would be absolutely lovely if you could be the one to explain that to him when tries to kill me again for kidnapping him."
He'll come to understand you and your reasoning in time.

"...who are you?"

A friend. A guardian. You have nothing to fear from me, Lucky.

I can't help but narrow my eyes. So few individuals call me that without a hiss of disdain or sarcasm slithering around the name, choking any possibility of sincerity from their voices. I should have an idea of who this voice belongs to, but I'm drawing an utter blank.

"The vagueness of your answer doesn't exactly bode well for me, but as I'm in no position to criticize anyone wishing to hide their true identity, I suppose I can let it go for now."

And that's where the communication ends. I pause for half a second, debating whether or not to risk another direct question, when the sound of the impending siren pushes me to bend down and scoop the unconscious officer into my arms. A grunt escapes me as I adjust my stance to accommodate his greater weight; this body is a great deal sturdier than the average human's, and its strength is relatively unparalleled in comparison to its size, but handling the weight of a six-foot-something, nearly two-hundred-pound man is still no easy feat.

Nike's presence grows stronger with every passing moment; they're nearly on top of us now. I swallow, fighting the urge to stay, to confront them. They'll be time for that later, once Drake is no longer on the proverbial chopping block. 

Now, personally, I'm rather averse to travelling with companions when I use this particular mode of transportation, not only because of how inconvenient it is, but also because... well, the effects on humans are rather... shall we say, unpleasant. But with the walls closing in on us, I can only hope that this officer is a bit more agreeable once he's thrown up once or twice.

With that darling thought in mind, Officer Drake and I dissolve into smoke.   

I hope you guys are liking the story so far~ Please, tell me if you all have any feedback for me, good or bad. This story might be a little (re: completely) rushed because of NaNoWriMo, but I still want to make it the best it can be despite the time constraints I was given.