Cohost writing prompt: @spy-thief-assassin-who — Bounty hunter who spent way too much on this trap for it not to get used
Carrie stops running so suddenly she can keep her feet, sliding on her knees toward the perimeter of trip sensors and ominous half-buried box she'd spotted only barely in time, skidding to a halt precariously wavering just outside the ring of sensor-bobble stakes, nestled at the foot of trees around the clearing.
The wind had probably shifted leaves from obscuring the rest of the box, while she was running halfway across this fucking planetoid ahead of bastard motherfucking Jericho Stripe—
"Awwww," Jericho says from a way back up the path, feet noiseless on the leaves and twigs that Carrie can't help crackling and crashing through. "You spotted it."
"The fuck even is that," Carrie says, staring at it.
"Point gravity effector," Jericho says, much closer behind her now. "You fall into a temporary gravity well about a metre and a half above it."
"That can't possibly run for more than a minute off batteries," Carrie mutters.
"Yeah, no. So then — step two — it squirts you in breathable oxygenated fluid that also collects round the gravity point—"
"Fucking high-tech waterboarded," Carrie says faintly. "Great."
"Hey, it's breathable," Jericho says.
"That stops it feeling like drowning, does it?" Carrie's used oxyfluid. It's not easy to get used to. "That's a fucking torture device."
"Legally speaking, it's fine," Jericho says, a touch defensively.
"Oh. Well then."
"I know you as well as you know me," Jericho says. "I know you're certified to use the stuff. You're not going to panic—"
"I am certified, and I'm telling you I fucking would," Carrie says bluntly. "One minute I'm running through trees, next minute sploosh my head's in a bucket I can't take it out of because local gravity is all up and I've got no solid ground for leverage? Not panic? Seriously?"
"It's containment," Jericho says, though they sound much less enthusiastic now. "For high-risk bounties. You'd rather I shoot people?"
"Okay sure, you were gonna have to shoot me to take me in." Carrie cranes her neck to look back at Jericho, bitterly sarcastic, and Jericho, arms folded defensively, drums fingers on their upper arms.
"It's new," they say eventually. "I wanted to try it. I know you're oxyfluid cert, I know you can take it—"
"Oh fuck you."
"It's containment. Look, it wraps the bubble of fluid in self-amalgamating wrap, turns a violent bounty into a package you can just roll away—"
"Self-contained drowning panic cell for them to die in, choked on their own vomit, clawing their fingernails off on the inside of the membrane, asphyxiating when the fluid's deoxed—"
"There's an oxygen level alarm," Jericho mutters. "I've got a safety knife. I wouldn't leave it unattended—"
"There is no safe way to suddenly shove someone's head underwater," Carrie snaps. "And don't. Don't fucking oh it's not water at me, Jericho."
The silence stretches.
"Just fucking cuff me and let's get this over with."
"Listen," Jericho says. "Don't laugh, okay. I don't...want to cuff you while you're mad at me."
"Tough shit," Carrie says frostily, and Jericho scrubs at their own nearly-time-for-another buzzcut, shamefaced.
"Salesman sold me on it as harmless," they say finally, voice low. "And then I saw an in-depth that Manhunt Monthly ran on them, and they — pretty much agreed with you on the general safety issues, and I figure it's at best a lawsuit waiting to happen, probably get banned in the next couple of years, money down the drain. I wanted — just once, you know? And I thought you'd be okay. Because I know you've done all that diving for your. Y'know."
(Ecoterrorism, they're reluctantly avoiding saying.)
"You want to see some poor fuck panic like a jackboot's holding their head down a toilet, you jump in it," Carrie says, and resolutely glares away into the trees.
"Does it help any if I can see you're right, and this was a terrible idea, and I'm sorry?"
"Not right now." Carrie flexes her jaw. "Ask me next time you catch me," she concedes.
"Oh man." Jericho's feet audibly shuffle in the leaf litter. "You're gonna be mad at me that long? You're usually the best part of the return leg."
Carrie steels herself against the answering soft feeling in her chest, and scoffs.