Psylocke Vol 2 Ch 31: Naomi’s Doubts!

(Naomi)

I stood high above the broken city, my gaze scanning the devastation below like a hawk searching for a dying mouse. The night air was still, and the moonlight painted everything in a silvery glow. I narrowed my eyes, focusing in... and there he was. That little speck.

Tristan.

Gods, he looked so small. Pathetic, really. Just a dot trying to stand tall in a crumbled mess of concrete and steel. At first, I didn't think much of him—just another recruit with too much talk and not enough grit. But now, after watching him die—what, maybe twenty times?—I was starting to feel... something. Pity? Guilt?

Ugh.

I took a slow breath, then knelt down, my knees slamming into the city ruins with a sickening crunch. I could feel buildings give way beneath me, the structures reduced to rubble with ease. The vibration of it rippled through my legs, into the soles of my boots. Still, I stayed there, eye-level with the ground, staring at him. He was gasping, still standing, probably too tired to scream.

How long can one mind hold out before it cracks? I could see it in him. The fraying edges. The vacant stares when he thought no one was looking. The way he flinched at even the smallest shadows.

I remembered Darcy's voice then, calm but hard-edged, back when we'd last spoken about him.

***

(Flashback)

Darcy sat behind her desk, perfectly composed, a mug of black coffee steaming in her hand. Papers were scattered across her workspace, glowing screens flickering with lines of data. Naomi stood across from her, arms crossed, expression tight.

"He failed again," Naomi said flatly. "He's getting slower. Sloppier. I don't think he's sleeping anymore."

Darcy leaned back slightly, her gaze unreadable. "And his mind?"

Naomi hesitated. "Cracking. If it hasn't already. I think I've... killed him around twenty times now."

The words hung in the air. Darcy took a sip of her coffee.

"The UM wants him pushed to his absolute limits," she said, eyes narrowing. "They want to see what he becomes when he's broken."

Naomi's brow furrowed. "Why? Why him? He's not the only one with potential."

Darcy shook her head. "No one really knows. But someone high up thinks that boy is special. A true psychic, they said. Whatever that's supposed to mean."

Naomi's jaw clenched. "And if he dies for real?"

"Then he dies," Darcy said. "But..."

She leaned forward now, the professional tone melting slightly into something more personal.

"He's part of our team. I don't give a damn what the UM says—we protect our own. If you see signs he's slipping too far, I trust you to ease up."

Naomi blinked in surprise.

"I'm trusting you, Naomi. Don't let them break him for nothing."

"Yes, ma'am."

***

(Flashback End)

I blinked, the memory still fresh, still clear. Darcy never said anything she didn't mean. And she meant every word of that.

Tristan was still moving. His tiny form staggered forward in the debris like some glitchy video game character refusing to die. He was still trying.

Maybe he didn't even know why anymore.

"Stupid kid," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. "Still trying to win a game with no rules."

But I couldn't help it. As much as I didn't like him... I didn't want to see him lose like this. Not after how far he'd come. Not when he was this close to something.

I stayed kneeling, watching him like I was watching a campfire about to go out. Every flicker of movement felt like it might be the last. Every twitch a warning sign.

It's almost time.

Darcy's words echoed again. "Don't let them break him for nothing."

I sighed, then lowered one hand beside him. Just close enough to cast a long, quiet shadow.

***

(Tristan)

The ground beneath me swayed like a drunken wave, and my legs gave out for what had to be the tenth time today. My vision blurred around the edges, turning everything into smears of rubble and shadow. I was barely holding on—physically, mentally, spiritually, whatever. My chest burned, my head felt like it was floating three feet above my neck, and I could barely tell what was real anymore.

But even in all that noise... I felt something. A presence.

Faint, but steady.

It was east of me, tucked somewhere between the broken buildings and scattered dust. A soft glow, like a flickering ember just beyond my reach. I focused on it, honed in like a dying moth chasing the last light before darkness.

And that's when the darkness deepened.

It crept in, like a storm cloud swallowing the moon—except it wasn't the sky. It was moving. Fast. Coming down.

I looked up.

My heart stopped.

A hand. No—a ceiling. A massive, fleshy ceiling blotting out everything. Her fingers curled inward like the legs of some enormous creature descending from the heavens. Naomi.

"She's coming," I whispered, my voice cracking like old paper. My knees buckled again. "She's actually doing it."

I closed my eyes, clenched my teeth, and waited for the end. Maybe this time she'd squish me for good. Maybe I wouldn't wake up again, and I could finally be done with this endless death march they called training.

But the crushing never came.

Instead, there was a sudden roar of wind—rushing all around me, tearing through the hollow city like a cannon blast. And then—

Gone.

The ground vanished beneath me.

My eyes snapped open. I was soaring. Up, up, up—weightless, spinning, helpless. I wasn't flying. I was falling up.

What the hell?

Below me, the ruins shrank into a blur. And in their place, massive and still, was a hand. Her hand. Naomi's. I was above it, and rapidly descending.

Shit—

I hit it with a dull thud that knocked the breath from my lungs.

The back of her hand—her hand—was firm but had this weird softness too, like landing on dense rubber. My legs screamed in protest, and I collapsed onto my side, sucking air through my teeth. Not broken, but definitely not happy.

I just lay there, panting, body aching, staring at the crisscrossing lines of her skin like it was a damn landscape.

What the hell just happened?

Slowly, I sat up and looked toward her face—or where I thought it was. She was towering above even now, her features hard to make out in the dim light. But I felt it. Her gaze. Heavy, watchful.

"W-What did you do?" Her booming voice echoing all around me.

I didn't answer at first. Just kept staring at my hands.

And honestly, I wasn't sure on what to say.

Because for the first time in days, I wasn't dead.

And for the first time in this entire nightmare... I was somehow still alive, on the hand of the woman who'd crushed me over and over.