Survival in Akame ga kill.

{A Month Later}

[Hidden Revolutionary Base]

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The steady rhythms of boots echoed through the underground corridors of the hidden base, a symphony of disciplined movement as soldiers and officers dressed in grey military-style uniforms moved through the bustling halls. 

The air was thick with the scent of metal, paper, and the faint musk of sweat—a place that never truly slept, even in times of respite.

Amidst the sea of movement, a rugged-looking man with a stoic expression strode forward with purpose. 

As he passed, several soldiers and medics acknowledged him.

"Vice-Commander Geralt, good morning!"

Geralt gave a stiff nod. "Yeah. Morning."

"Sir, we've resupplied the eastern storage as per your orders," a young quartermaster reported as she saluted.

"Good. Make sure the inventory matches the records. I don't want another 'miscalculation' like last time."

The quartermaster flinched, nodding rapidly before scurrying off.

Further down the hall, a pair of mechanics leaned against a stack of crates, deep in conversation, before spotting him.

"Oi, Geralt! You never stop looking like you've got a stick up your ass, huh?" one of them teased with a grin.

Geralt scoffed but didn't stop walking. "And you never stop slacking, huh? Should I start sending surprise inspections again?"

The man paled. "Hey now, no need to be so cold, boss."

"Then get back to work."

Ignoring the muffled curses behind him, Geralt continued forward, his sharp blue eyes flickering briefly towards the outside light filtering through narrow vents carved into the mountain. Sunlight was rare in a place like this, but it didn't bother him much.

Finally, he arrived at the medical ward.

The sharp scent of antiseptics and medicinal herbs filled the air as Geralt stepped into the medical ward. 

Doctors and medics moved briskly, tending to the wounded, their hushed voices blending into the quiet hum of medical equipment.

At the reception desk, the head doctor, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a sharp gaze, looked up as soon as she noticed him.

"Vice-commander," she greeted, setting down her clipboard.

He didn't waste time. "Has he woken up?"

"Yes" she nodded.

The doctor exhaled, "but… there's something you should know before you go in."

Geralt's brow furrowed slightly. "Spit it out."

"The reports are out and…" The doctor hesitated for only a moment before her expression hardened into clinical professionalism. "...and he doesn't have much time left."

A brief silence settled between them.

Geralt's face remained impassive, but his fingers curled slightly at his sides. "How long?"

"A month at maximum," she answered.

His jaw tensed. "Does he know?"

The doctor nodded. "He does."

Geralt exhaled slowly through his nose, giving a single nod in response. 

Without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall, his footsteps echoing through the quiet corridor.

Whatever emotions stirred beneath his calm exterior, he buried them deep.

For now, there was only one thing left to do.

With a firm push, he opened the door.

The scent of smoke hit him instantly.

Sunlight streamed in through the large window, casting long shadows across the white-walled room. 

A figure sat near the window, wrapped head to toe in bandages, his posture relaxed yet eerily still.

And in his fingers, lazily burning between his bandaged hands, was a cigar.

Geralt's eye twitched.

"…Do they even work anymore, Leo?"

The bandaged figure, Bane, turned his gaze from the window to meet Geralt's.

"Nah," Bane replied, his voice as sweet and calm as ever. "Not anymore."

After that incident, the herbal pain-suppressing cigars had lost their effect. His nerves were too far gone. 

But the habit? The habit remained.

Geralt exhaled through his nose, stepping inside fully and closing the door behind him.

"Finally got time from your busy schedule?"

"Yeah."

He took a seat in the chair near the bed, leaning back with a sigh.

"…How's the work?" Bane asked, exhaling a slow puff of smoke.

Geralt leaned back in the chair, arms crossed as he let out a long sigh. "Work's the same as always. Morons breaking things, running out of supplies, higher-ups breathing down my neck for updates—it's a damn circus."

Bane took another slow drag from his cigar, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Sounds like you're having fun."

Geralt scoffed. "Oh yeah, a blast," he deadpanned. "Had to deal with Reiner nearly setting the whole supply depot on fire because some dumbass thought it'd be fun to test explosive rounds inside a locked room. Almost had to write a report on 'death by sheer stupidity.'"

Bane chuckled, shaking his head. "Let me guess—Reiner tried to blame someone else?"

"Obviously," Geralt grumbled. "Said it was technically Markus' fault for daring to challenge him to a shooting contest indoors." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I swear, one of these days I'm just going to let them blow themselves up and call it a training exercise."

Bane hummed. "At least your guys keep things entertaining."

"Oh sure, real entertaining."

Bane snorted. "So, what you're saying is—competence is at an all-time high."

"Through the roof."

They sat in silence for a moment before Bane exhaled another puff of smoke, a playful gleam in his eyes. "Speaking of incompetence… How's your love life, old man?"

Geralt gave him a flat look. "Oh, fuck off."

Bane grinned. "What? I just assumed a seasoned warrior like you would have legendary tales of conquest."

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Unlike your sorry ass, yeah, I've had my fair share of fun."

Bane smirked, leaning back. "Sure, sure. And I'm guessing these so-called 'fair shares' are still holding out hope you'll call 'em back one day?"

Geralt let out a bark of laughter. "Damn right they are." He smirked. 

"Not that you'd understand, virgin."

Bane raised a brow. "Oh? So we're playing that game now?"

Geralt's smirk widened. "What, you mad 'cause it's true?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I lost mine when I was twelve, kid. And you? Still holding onto that purity like it's a rare artifact."

Bane clutched his chest dramatically. "Damn, twelve? That's gotta be some kinda war crime."

Geralt shrugged. "Village life."

Bane shook his head in mock disappointment. "Are you really out here flexin' losing your virginity at an age where most kids are still figuring out how not to piss the bed?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Don't be jealous just 'cause you've never even seen a woman naked outside of torture chambers or slave hubs."

Bane took another slow drag from his cigar, his smirk widening. "Is that so? If I did get some action, I'd probably have to keep the mask on the whole time. Can't have my ravishing good looks scaring anyone off."

Geralt snorted. "Yeah, I can see it now. 'Oh, baby, don't mind the burns, just focus on the mystery under the mask.'"

Bane chuckled. "Hey, some women are into that. Adds intrigue."

Geralt shook his head. "No, that's called pity sex, and even you can do better than that."

Bane took a slow drag of his cigar, exhaling through his nose. "Jokes aside, who needs sex when you have a fucked-up chronic disease, pain, and untreated trauma?"

Geralt snorted. "Yeah, that's the saddest thing I've heard all week."

Bane grinned, his tone dry. "Give it a few days. I'm sure I'll top it."

Bane flicked the ash from his cigar, watching the embers fade before gravity pulled them away. His smirk softened, his mind drifting toward the people he had fought to protect.

"How are they?" he asked, his voice quieter than before. "Tatsumi and Sheele?"

Geralt leaned back, exhaling through his nose. His expression hardened before he finally spoke.

"The brown-haired brat was in rough shape," he admitted. "He was tortured severely, cut out his tongue, among other things. But the damage didn't get infected. The doctors managed to cauterize and seal the wound properly, but…" He hesitated. "He can't talk again."

Bane didn't respond at first, only flicking the edge of his cigar against the ashtray. Then, after a long moment, he muttered, "At least he's alive… even if that's another burden to carry for the rest of his life."

Geralt nodded, his arms crossing over his chest. "The kid's tough. He's already back to training."

A bitter chuckle left Bane's lips. "Of course he is. He has to be. He probably wants to take revenge on that bitch after all."

But his amusement didn't last long. His fingers tapped idly against his knee before he spoke again.

"Sheele?"

Geralt hesitated.

Bane noticed. He always noticed.

"She had it worse," Geralt admitted, his voice quieter this time.

Bane still didn't say anything.

Geralt exhaled, shaking his head. "Of course she had it worse. Never getting acknowledged by her family. Losing them in her late teens to some local thugs. Even her childhood friend, the one person she cared about, ended up fearing her because of her talent as an assassin. And when they finally met again years later, she had to kill her with her own hands in order to save her from her suffering."

His fingers drummed against the chair's armrest, his voice taking on an edge of frustration.

"And after all that? She gets captured. Tortured. Forced to watch her best friend and closest comrade get beheaded right in front of her."

Bane closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply through his nose before slowly exhaling through his mouth. 

He knew where this was going.

Geralt leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "It broke the girl," he said flatly. "She's done. Officially left Night Raid. After her treatment, she's still in this base, but she locks herself in an empty chamber and won't talk to anyone."

Bane didn't react immediately. He only took another slow drag of his cigar, letting the silence settle between them like thick smoke.

Then, finally, he exhaled and murmured, "I'll talk to her."

Geralt studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes unreadable. Then, after a beat, he spoke again.

"What about you? You had to pay steep price in order to save them."

Bane didn't look at him.

"You know about your condition, don't you?"