Howard moves fast, but your hand moves faster.

You grab the archaeologist by the neck, tight enough to choke him, but not enough to suffocate. That might seem like a meaningless difference to him, but for you, it's a world of difference. With all the hate burning in your blood and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, it takes tremendous restraint to not crush his windpipe.

And with every second that annalise henderson and june sleigh get further away, your grip on the situation grows looser and tighter at once.

"HOWARD." You snarl, looking him in the eye with barely hidden disdain and undisguised incredulity. "SHE'S ON THE OTHER SIDE. SHE'S AN ENEMY. SHE CHOSE TO BE HERE. SHE TRIED TO FUCKING STAB ME. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!"

---

howard slayte

Shred was correct. Those two women had wounded him. Marred him. If anyone on this planet deserved the right to rage and hate and spit and snarl with pointed teeth, it was Shred Zeppelin. It had been Howard's idea. Why did Shred need to suffer for it?

"Guh...!" There was no distinction between choking and suffocation when on the receiving end. There was no way to determine what was rushing through Shred's mind. "Wounds... heal..."

What a stupid thing to say to a man who would never look the same again. What a stupid thing to say, given the warmth of sight that once cradled in his socket was now replaced with a cold, uncaring stone. Wounds healed, scars did not. Shred Zeppelin would always be scarred.

It was his reason for being.

"Grigori...." Howard's voice was a rattle as he choked. He made a promise. He could keep this. Shred would not kill him. They were friends. Allies, rejected by the world. Yet every day, the Rocket Beast was even more distant from the man he had once been. "His daughter..."

june sleigh. The words were a choked gasp.

---

Shred Zeppelin

"...What?"

Grigori's daughter? No. Surely not. How? And why? And, and, and...

Too many questions flood your mind. You can't even begin to answer one before two more hit you. You try to look for an explanation, but you just can't find it. You try and reconcile the Grigori you know with this Grigori you've been presented with. Grigori, the loyal and kind yet unassuming Rocket Grunt. Grigori, the distant and uncaring and emotionless father.

Your hand slips off Howard's neck and moves to grab your head. Thinking about it makes your brain ache. Like trying to solve a puzzle when the pieces are constantly changing. It just doesn't make any sense. How could it possibly make sense? Your eyes flick back to Howard, your previous anger dulled by newfound confusion.

"Explain."

---

howard slayte