Tales From Sirca Chapter 11: Icarus Tells a Story

No matter what he did, Icarus couldn't focus on his sparring partner in front of him. The brown-maned white chupa, on the other hand, had no issues as she took wide swings at him. The albino panted heavily, ducking under each swing easily. Shaking his head, he stepped in for a cross aimed for her muzzle, but he hesitated. She deflected the punch and threw a straight directly into his face. Icarus stumbled backward and dropped to hands and knees, that was all York needed to see before he began to walk over. From what Aries had told him, Icarus was fine and just needed to get back into training. Training that Icarus had been at nonstop since they had returned from Sampi, which couldn't be healthy- Unless you were Aries. York watched carefully as the one who delivered the punch removed her boxing gloves and attempted to help the red-eyed chupa.

"Don't fuckin' touch me, I'm good- I'm good," Icarus snarled at her, swatting her hands away from him. She took a step back but stayed nearby, worry written all over her face. He felt severely winded but didn't want to stop. "I just... I just need a minute."

He forced himself past a kneeling position and fell back to a knee, fighting for air.

"Alright, that's enough of that, you can go I got this," York knelt next to Icarus while the other chupa walked off putting a hand on his shoulder. "Are you doin' okay?"

"I'm fine. What do you want, York? You... You want next? I'll... I'll kick your ass... In a minute."

"I don't doubt it. But I think you need a rest, how's that sound? Just for a little."

Icarus looked up at him in a near panic, York returned it with a smile. He'd had a sneaking suspicion on what Aries had been telling the smaller chupa and it seemed his people skills were paying off; he knew Icarus and Aries were close, but he didn't figure that close. He'd figured the two had some sort of master/apprentice relationship, but apparently not.

"I can't. Aries said-"

"Let me guess," York stared off stoically and added the odd accent Aries always spoke with, "You need to get back to training, we must always be ready. We can't afford to mess around."

Icarus couldn't hide the smile that sprouted across his muzzle, "Y-yeah. Something like that. But I can't just take a break whenever I want to."

"Why not? You two are workaholics, I swear. You gotta learn to relax. Look, take a break and I'll take any heat from Aries. Just say I convinced you; he'll understand."

"I..." York looked at Icarus with big eyes, practically begging him, "Ugh. Fine. Aries isn't going to like it thou-WHOA!"

York scooped Icarus up off his feet bridal style with a big smile on his face, before taking off.

"Sammy! He said yes, let's go!"

"Slow down!"

---

Icarus huffed, head laid against the wood countertop and York watched him with a dawning realization. He didn't know how to relax, in fairness the two of them always seemed to bring danger their way. Icarus seemed just, uncomfortable. The trio had been sitting for at least five minutes now and none of them said a word, the longer they sat the more awkward it got.

"How about something to drink," He offered Icarus.

The albino looked over at him, "Aries says alcohol makes the body and mind weak. A good warrior always maintains both."

"Sounds like Aries has a stick up his ass," Sammy commented nudging Icarus who glared daggers at Sammy.

York looked over at Sammy and motioned for him to cut it out, "Well, you don't have to drink anything heavy. Have you ever had a drink before? Been in a bar?"

Icarus sat up looking at York, "In a bar? Yes. I got beat up by some asshole with prosthetic legs, agile dude. Never seen someone so pissed off over a joke. Made three-hundred bucks for it though. A drink? No. It smelled gross, so I never even gave it a second thought."

It was Sammy's turn to look at York behind Icarus' back with a smirk that said, "Seriously?"

"Maybe you were offered the wrong drinks?"

"York, I don't think my opinion on it will change just because you-"

"Trust me. I won't get you anything too strong or gross."

---

Icarus hadn't even finished his first drink, but he was leaning on the big tan chupa for support. True to his word, the drink he had gotten the smaller chupa wasn't strong in taste or effectiveness. Well, effectiveness was relative. He seemed as if he was ten drinks in from the little margarita glass worth of fruit-scented alcohol, if he was tense before he sure wasn't now. York took a small triumphant sip of his small drink, well, the third small drink at this point.

"Tell me again," Icarus started, squinting his eyes at his now teal claws, "Who- what does the blue paint do?"

Despite being drunk, he still managed to speak most clearly, and much to York's relief he lost a bit of the edge in his voice.

Sammy chuckled giving his arm a light pat, "It'll give you an edge."

Icarus shrugged, seeming to be satisfied with that answer. York stared at Icarus. There was something he wanted to know, but couldn't just ask directly. Then he had an idea.

"Hey, Icarus, why don't you tell us a story," York offered. "Something you haven't told Aries."

"Are you sure? I don't think that's a good idea."

York put his hands up in surrender with a taunting smile, "Oh it's cool. I just figured you weren't too scared-"

The word must have struck a nerve with the albino because he sat up immediately, a tipsy scowl on his face that looked more like a squint.

"I ain't scared 'a nobody, York." He poked him in the chest.

"Ooh," Sammy added tauntingly, not that Icarus really noticed. The smaller male rested his head on his hands on the countertop. "You better listen to him."

"I'll tell ya 'bout my first hit."

"Why not your first kill," Sammy rested his head on one hand.

"I killed bears and sht-uff, I use to live in Sampi... We used to go hunting all the time..."

A distant look grew on Icarus' face, but York quickly intercepted, "What do you mean hit? Like a hitman?"

"Hitman is too... Ugh," Icarus put his hands on his hips with his eyes closed, sitting up tall and almost tipping over, "I'm 'a assassin."

"Really?"

It took everything in his power for York not to burst out laughing at the fluffy short albino puffing out his chest. To imagine Icarus as an assassin was hard to do while he was in his current state.

"'S-was a while back. I was a 'lil bit dumber back then..."

Icarus turned down an alley with a large black case in hand, dipping out of the view. He didn't want to get caught now. He threw a glance over his shoulder, taking a knee before opening the case. Inside it lay his mother's recently cleaned rifle, Snowpiercer. He'd been maintaining it ever since he left home, she gave him her rifle and he was going to show her he could be responsible for it. He took the rifle from the case and abandoned the carrying case, it was temporary anyways and he really didn't need it as much as he thought he did. The white chupa shifted the bag on his back over his black light coat just enough to cover the deep claw marks raked across the back. The chupa continued further scanning the alleyway for something.

"This has gotta be the right place," He muttered, digging into his coat pocket and pulling out a business card. It was all black with white text and on the back was a large white 'X' shape. On it stated that the person who put these cards was looking for quick and effective problem solvers. He squinted and spotted a back door underneath a small light. "I guess that's my best bet."

The albino put the rifle sling on his shoulder, took a deep breath, and pushed his way inside. The strong scent of alcohol hit his nose; the place was full, for somewhere so hard to find. It looked like the average dive, give-or-take, the only difference being anything related to Omega was crossed out, which made the chupa worry for everyone's safety if some soldiers were to come in. Although he never saw a single head turn, he swore he could feel pins and needles all over his body from hidden stares. Maybe they were staring at his rifle, or maybe his torn-up coat, he couldn't tell. Icarus carefully approached the bar, sitting on a stool next to a navy blue chupa with a long tail. They threw a scowl at him with their matching blue eyes before huddling themselves over their drink, turning away from him and hiding behind the collar of their black leather jacket. He looked down and saw the SMGs on their hips, deciding to mind his own business at that point.

"Excuse me." Icarus looked at the approaching bartender, who pointed over his shoulder towards a booth table of four chupas who sat around talking to one another. "Thank you."

He got up from his seat and marched over. The closer he got, the quieter they talked, until he was standing in front of the table. The first two chupas he noticed were sitting facing him: both big and burly chupas with thin tails and spiked fur on top of their heads. One was red and one green, and the red one wore a mask with an unsettlingly wide smile with blacked-out eyes. It was red, white, and blue- striped with stars; he also wore a suit and blue plastic gloves. The purple wore a similar suit, no mask, and just a scowl on his face. The beige - almost blonde - chupa closest to Icarus looked at him with intense brown eyes. His hands were bloody and bandaged heavily. In one hand was a tape recorder-looking device, splattered in dry blood. In fact, all his clothes were speckled in blood, including his brown varsity jacket and jeans. The fourth chupa seemed a little older than the rest of the group, his blue fur filled with grey streaks. He seemed very out-of-place in the group, in his camo print hunting clothes.

Icarus opened his mouth, but the masked chupa spoke first. "What? Are you lost, kid? Go find your parents."

The albino gently placed the card on the table in a small act of defiance. "I was given one of these, by a short fella with goggles."

"Fuck's sake, Samson," the other suited chupa commented, "He doesn't even look old enough to drink. Dal, he can't be the fourth-"

"Hey, the boss trusts Samson, so we gotta trust his judgment. What's your name, sport?"

"Icarus."

"I'm Dallas, purple is Hoxton, guy covered in blood... well, he doesn't talk. We just call him Mute- Well, I call him Radio. Hox don't even start, I know it isn't a radio. Hunter's Emporium over there is Preston."

"Nice to meet you all."

Dallas chuckled, "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm assuming you all know this is an assassination. The guy needs to die; the boss wants him gone. We'd prefer a headshot to finish the job, but as long as he's dead- whoever's still alive gets paid. Work together, kill the others and claim the money all for yourself- I could care less. The guy dies either way. You're looking for this guy: former military and held the rank of Major. Goes by Miller."

Dallas fished a photo out from his pocket and placed it on the table. A canary yellow chupa with an eyepatch and a half of a tail, the photo was taken in a way that made it clear he was unaware of the photographer as he sat in a bar of some kind with a big smile on his face holding up a drink.

"Why are we killing him," Icarus asked, the group eyed him, "I mean, there's a reason- right?"

"Your reason is that you're being paid to do it. We're not here to argue about morals. If that's all, then I'll meet whoever's left back here after it's done. He'll be in town for a few days, he's a bit of a big shot so you can't miss him. Don't disappoint."

Hoxton let Dallas up and out, smiling at the masked chupa. "When have I ever disappointed you?"

"You really want me to bring up the parallel parking?"

"I told you I don't drive stick."

"Ironic."

"You perverted bastard, fuck you."

"Catch you later, Hox."

Dallas walked out the door, meanwhile, Icarus scooped up the photo and looked hard. The guy was certainly older, seemed like he had a bombastic persona, and might even dress flashy. The albino could only imagine that someone like this guy would most certainly surround themselves with loads of people, specifically women. Getting a clear shot was his main concern. He internalized the information before placing the picture down. If he put it in the mindset of hunting, it made this a whole lot easier. He just needed to study and track his quarry before aiming for his kill shot, just like how his mother taught him.

He turned to walk to the door, only stopping in his tracks when a feminine, almost robotic-sounding voice came from behind him where the Mute guy was sitting. "Wait- It's dangerous to- Go- Alone."

"Yeah kid." Hoxton tapped the table and Mute relaxed his grip on his tape recorder. "Don't you know it's dangerous to just wander off alone? Have you ever been in the city before?"

"Nope. But I'll manage."

Icarus made way for the door.

"You don't even want to hear my plan?"

Icarus stopped but his tail lashed inquisitively. He didn't know or trust these guys, but it would be much easier working as a unit.

"Whaddya have in mind?"

---

"Run me through the plan one more time."

Icarus rested his radio on the windowsill in front of him, opening the window and poking the barrel of his rifle. He pulled back the bolt and began loading five rounds in, careful not to drop a bullet or get a digit caught in the chamber. The sun glared overhead, but the opaque plastic curtain shielded him from it.

"Alright," Hoxton's voice came through clear, and Icarus turned the volume down, somewhat tightly gripping his rifle. "This Miller guy is gonna roll through the street in a bright red car - talkin' reddest red you have ever seen. Can't miss it; it's one of those top-down types. You and Preston are watching the street from opposite sides. Mute's gonna slow up traffic, and I'm tailing our target. Don't fuck this up, guys. Radio silence from this point on. Good hunting."

Icarus grabbed the radio in his free hand and smashed the device, one less thing for him to worry about being traced back to them. He was glad he scouted his position himself; it allowed a little piece of mind that the apartment he was hunkered down in was under construction. Everything was covered in protective plastic but from the street, nobody could see in the second-floor window, it was the perfect perch in his opinion. With the rifle mounted on the sill and a wide line of sight, Icarus moved to a comfortable shooting position and waited. A few minutes into waiting, he spotted a bright glint from the roof of a building adjacent to his. Icarus sighed.

"A good hunter never reveals his position to the prey, especially not when you have the sun in your eyes," He muttered to himself.

Suddenly, the flow of traffic changed. Cars moved slower on one side, but people on the sidewalk slowed virtually to a halt. Icarus tightened the grip on the rifle, if that were somehow possible, given his current death grip. On the far end of the street, he could faintly make out a bright red car. One issue made itself glaringly apparent: the car had a police escort. That was not part of Hoxton's plan. Miller's car was flanked by two armored trucks and led by a police car. Icarus pulled away from the window, not a single shot fired, and he was already going to have to deviate from the plan. Just as he was about to turn away, the glint flashed once more as the convoy approached.

"Preston, don't," Icarus willed. "Don't do anything stupid, please don't do anything stupid."

There was a crack of a rifle shot and it pelted the street.

"Cheese and- You blew it!"

Icarus bolted out into the building's hallway and made for the stairs, rushing up towards the roof with sirens blaring at street level. The higher he ascended, the heavier the growing feeling of dread got. The white chupa burst through the rooftop access door, looking around to try to get his bearings. He jogged over near the edge, feeling pins and needles in his body as he looked down to the street. The chupas were running for cover now, looking like insects. The red car and its convoy were quickly advancing up the street, and their window was closing fast. Icarus needed that money, and wasn't about to let someone else's screw-up mess with his money. The buildings on the street were mostly around the same height and lined up - he knew what he had to do.

"I don't wanna do this." He turned tail, running towards the next rooftop. As he got closer to it, the gap between became more and more apparent, but he just pushed harder. "I really- Really don't wanna- Sonuvabitch!"

Icarus took off, sailing through the air for what felt like centuries before stumbling on the landing. He regained his footing and picked up speed so he could jump the next roof. The next one was slightly higher up. The white chupa dove into the gap and rolled to his feet on the next gravel rooftop. By now he was gaining on the convoy, jumping roofs to manage to keep an eye on the target. There was another rifle crack that he could only assume was Preston trying to salvage his mistake, except the bullet struck the roof near Icarus' fast-moving feet. The albino pumped his legs harder, leaping to another roof and maintaining his stride. Now he was virtually side-by-side with the target car, but he couldn't find a shot without basically swan diving off the building. He leaped again, clearing another roof gap when a terrible idea wormed its way into his head: something dumb and dangerous, but it was one of the few viable options. The next jump was coming up, closer and closer and closer. Icarus planted his foot and jumped with his rifle raised to an eye and the target mostly in the middle of his sight picture. He squeezed the trigger and barely caught a glimpse of the yellow chupa painting the inside of his car red before he fell onto the roof, using his body to protect his rifle. Tires screeched and there was the telltale sound of a loud car accident. He peeked over the side, and the red car was flipped upside-down while the driver's body was smashed through the windshield of another car.

"Mission accomplished," he muttered to himself, glancing up only to realize he was in the sights of Preston. "Right, forgot about him."

He'd forgotten that only those who made it back got paid. They weren't a team, after all, just four random people working for a similar goal. Fortunately, the camo-wearing chupa never got the chance to pull the trigger; a figure dressed like a shadow wearing a motorcycle helmet jumped him. He was overpowered easily by his attacker with a striped tail. The attacker produced a sword and cut his throat before turning to face Icarus, who just watched in awe before it quickly shifted to horror. The white chupa bolted toward the side of the building, thankful for the fact that it had a fire escape. He rushed down fast, not wanting to come into contact with that shadowy blade-wielding chupa. As Icarus was coming near the bottom of the fire escape, slipped and fell the last fifteen feet into an alleyway, to the pavement, and onto his shoulder. He wanted to writhe on the ground, but decided to use his last bit of adrenaline to crawl behind the alley dumpster.

It was almost silent for a moment, not counting the sirens still going off.

"Never... Never again. No more roof jumping."

A hand reached around the side and tightly grasped his throat, lifting him from his sitting position until his feet dangled off the ground. Icarus was in disbelief. He knew there was no way anyone could have descended the building Preston was on that quickly and found him. A feat like that was virtually impossible, yet the culprit stood slowly suffocating him. His attacker's helmet was sleek and seemed to fit the shape of his face without revealing any details. In his opposite hand was the sword he had killed Preston with: a short, serrated sword, coated in crimson. The outfit was a black, plated, tight material. His hands were covered by fingerless gloves. Icarus couldn't see his attacker's eyes, but just stared into where he thought the eyes should be. He was going to look his death in the eyes.

There was a burst of static from the helmet, "Subject, the shooter is eliminated. RTB."

The black-tailed chupa let go of his neck, and Icarus hit the ground, hard. The blade wielder in black held his free hand against the side of the helmet.

"Sir," The voice from the chupa standing over him was distorted likely by a modulator. "I've found another-"

"Subject, we do not have time to pick up strays. RTB."

"It will be done." He let his hand fall away before throwing a last glance over his shoulder at Icarus. "Picking up strays. Scram, kid. Agents'll be all over the place."

"No way," Sammy countered looking doubtfully at the drunken albino.

"Yes'm, Aries doesn't know I did a hit back then. Was a fun day- except for the- the- I gots my money... Ton of it fer me..."

York looked at the chupa doubtfully. If there was something Aries always had, it was information. Icarus looked less smiley now and sicker from the drink. In fact, he could barely keep his eyes open.

For a moment he seemed to sober up and tremble slightly. Nobody had to look at him to tell he was reliving the moment. "But I always thought it was weird- That guy had a fluffy black tail with a brigh- a bright blue inna middle. I don't- I don't wanna bring the mood down, but I think about how's that mighta been Aries. It potentially mighta been him who almost killed me back then. I-"

"Alright, Icarus," York carefully scooped the white chupa out of the chair, and Icarus just kinda flopped over in his arms. "I think that drink was a little too much for you. Let's just get you back to Aries."

"What? York, it was literally just barely more than a shot. He could-"

"Trust me, Aries is particular about anything involving Icarus. I'd rather not cause any problems; he's already going to be pissed off that he's drunk. Unless you want to explain to a six-foot-six killing machine why his partner is passed out, shirtless, and smells like alcohol."

Red vs Blue © Rooster Teeth. Halo © 343 Industries. Concept by Myshu, assisted by The Department of Chupapology.