Fan Fiction ❯ A Shifting of Fates ❯ Roaring Lightning ( Chapter 2 )

Chapter Two: Roaring Lightning

The teenager called Makoto Haruki stared for a few moments, and then burst into gales of laughter, seeming to forget all about the remains of his Ramen noodles as he doubled over the table, roaring with mirth at the Brit's words.

Quincy watched him, freckled face devoid of any expression. He had gotten good at hiding emotions over the past two years. It was easier to hide his opinion of the other person's thoughts that way, and it had helped when the scientists had…. The sixteen-year-old shuddered, a single convulsion that made Makoto stop laughing and instead blink at him.

"Are you okay?" Why did the Oriental-looking teenager sound so concerned when he asked Quincy that? He shouldn't sound concerned; after all, Makoto didn't know him at all, so it wasn't as if anything happening to Quincy would affect him….

"I'm…f-fine. B-but…" How Quincy hated the way he stuttered. The scientists had hated the stutter, often punishing him for it, but he always stuttered when he became nervous. "I'm s-s-serious. I'm a t-t-telepath."

Makoto snorted and looked as if he was struggling to hide another grin. "I don't believe you."

Quincy bit back a sigh and instead lowered his gaze into the bowl of…what was the name…oh yes, Ramen noodles. He stared into the bowl for a long moment, worrying his lower lip. He didn't want to use his powers. He really didn't want to…. "D-do I h-have to p-p-prove it?" Even to his own ears, his words sounded miserable. He glanced up at Makoto just in time to see the older teen nod, looking defiant.

"Yes." This time Quincy actually did sigh. He hated his powers, hated using them to steal into people's brains and strip them of personal information. The Brit closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, slumping in his chair and plucking the invisible thread within himself that would stir his gift. Instantly a reddish-brown color invaded the blackness of his eyes, and he knew without thinking that the reddish-brown was Makoto's essence. Rather unwillingly, he stretched a mental finger towards the essence of the Japanese youth. Instantly his mind was flooded with images, memories, haunting voices of the past. Quincy's physical body shuddered in place as his mental one paused to pick the least personal comment, at least to the Brit, to prove his point, blocking most of the other memories and images. At last, Quincy let go of the thread, the reddish-color fading and leaving him in darkness before he opened his eyes. After a moment, his fuzzy vision cleared, and he was aware that he was shaking and sweating. Normally he didn't block most of the memories, and doing so this time had been straining.

"Your mother used to call you Koto-koi." His voice was a mere whisper, sounding fatigued as it drifted to Makoto's ears. For a moment, the teen didn't react, and then his face lost all color.

"Koto-koi…." The pet name was whispered back, incredulousness in the word. Makoto gazed towards the Brit, but he was staring through him, not really at him. Silence reigned for a few seconds, and then for a few minutes. After the long pause, Makoto slowly shook himself, and life flared in his dark eyes. Something else flared in those dark depths too…fear. Quincy could sense fear a mile away, and his fellow teen's emotion was no exception. Unable to help it, the Brit flinched away, ignoring the beads of sweat that trickled down his forehead. Now Makoto would fear him, and fear lead to hatred, always, and hatred lead to anger, and anger lead to pain caused by the angry ones, and pain would be all Quincy's….

He barely noticed that the fear had gone out of Makoto's eyes, replaced by anguish as the Japanese youth relived nearly-forgotten memories. He was too busy scrambling from his chair, backing away from the table, shaking his head from side to side. He had to retreat, had to flee from the danger, and had to get away from Makoto Haruki. Quincy stumbled backwards in the direction of the family room and the front door of the house, seeking an escape route.

"Hey…wait!" Quincy ignored Makoto's words, and instead turned and bolted for the front door, shaking uncontrollably due to all the energy he had used up. The exhaustion was in his very bones, and he tripped as he moved out onto the porch, falling down the stairs with enough force to knock the wind from him. He lay there, momentarily stunned, a very familiar wheezing filling his ears. No, no, no, not again. He couldn't be caught again, even if it was another Mystical who would catch him instead of the bad men from two years before. Quincy finally managed to catch his breath, and moved to scramble to his feet. A hand touched his shoulder, and the Brit automatically screamed, a loud, terrified sound, before he realized the touch was gentle. The hand was quickly gone, followed by a startled curse. Quincy surged to his feet and staggered, blood running from his head and making him dizzy. Instantly a hand was there to steady him, but this time the Mystical didn't scream, only whimpered a low, frightened sound. Not again, not again….

"Shit, shit, Hamilton, don't weird out on me like this!" It took a moment for Quincy to understand the words, and even longer to recognize the voice. It was Makoto. "Look, I'm sorry! I believe you, okay? Jesus, no one could've known that…. I believe you, just stop acting creepy!"

It was only then that Quincy realized he was still whimpering like an injured animal, shuddering in Makoto's grasp as if ready to bolt. "I n-need…to s-sit…d-down; using m-my powers d-drains m-me…."

"Then let's sit down on the steps," the other teen urged, his hand still on the Brit's shoulder, the touch just as gentle as before. Without protest, Quincy sank down onto the stone steps, shoulders slumping as he attempted to regain the strength he had lost. "Are you okay?"

"…I'll be…f-fine…." He was being truthful. Though he could kill himself by overusing his power, he hadn't done anything near that, and even now he could feel his vitality returning, bit by bit.

Makoto was relieved to note that color was coming back into Quincy's previously stark white face and that the other teenager had stopped trembling, even as the orphan sat down beside him. "I'm sorry for not believing you." He was momentarily pleased to note that the Brit managed a ghost of a smile at that. "I do believe you now, I really do." He paused, not certain how to word this. "Why are the scientists after me?" The smile disappeared from Quincy's face.

"Because they want to exploit your power, whatever that may be." It took a moment for Makoto to remember that exploit meant to take advantage of something. "They'll experiment and use your power as a Mystical-that's what they call us-to their own compensation."

"Did they experiment on you?" The haunted look that flitted across the Brit's face was the only answer he needed to give, and Makoto's stomach formed a somersault in his belly. "Shit, they must be bastards." Tears filled those viridian eyes once more.

"They're…horrible," was agreed, quality of sound so very, very submissive. Makoto's imaginations formed lots of horrendous things the scientists might have done to this meek Brit, and he felt his stomach begin to put on a tumbling act for its spectators.

"Really, horrible seems like such a harsh word to use in light of the circumstances. We were only doing it in the name of science, you know." The cool statement came from the end of the driveway, where a man in white stood, a cold smirk on his rather handsome features. Beside him, Makoto could feel Quincy stiffen and hear the Brit bite back another whimper. The Japanese youth glared venomously at the stranger, hatred welling up from deep within him. He didn't notice as the skies began to darken

"Get off my cousin's property! You're trespassing, you damn bastard! I'll call the cops, don't think I won't!" To his fury, the blond stranger threw back his head and laughed as loudly as Makoto had when Quincy had informed him the Brit was a telepath, and laughed with as much mirth.

"Come off it, boy, I'll shoot you before you can enter the house," the stranger drawled, sounding quite sure of himself. It was only then Makoto noticed the revolver in his hand, and the black van parked right next door, waiting.

"You won't shoot me. If I'm a Mystical, you'd be ruining your chances of getting my powers," Makoto shot back confidently, earning another amused look from the gunman.

"Don't be stupid, kid, just because I won't kill you doesn't mean I can't shoot you in the leg, or shoot both of them, for that matter." Makoto's confidence faltered and he resorted to glaring at the man, who laughed in return. "Whoever said Mysticals were smart? C'mon, get up." He issued a wave of the gun to include the frozen Brit. "That means you too, brat. Thought you could run away from us, did you?" A nasty edge came into the gunman's tone. "Well, you'll pay for that." At the blonde's words, a whimper escaped Quincy, heard only by Makoto even as they both stood, Quincy leaning on Makoto's shoulder a little. No one noticed the run-down Toyota until it parked a few feet from the gunman.

"What the hell?" All three heads turned to see Andrew surge from the car, the teacher's eyes wide as they locked onto the gun. "Drop the gun and leave Makoto alone!" The gunman rolled his eyes, looking annoyed for a brief moment.

"I didn't want to kill anyone on this mission. Why do witnesses always have to pop up at the worst possible moments?" The complaint was muttered, seemingly to himself, as the blonde pointed his weapon at Andrew, who paled in fright but held his ground.

"D-drop the gun, I'm placing you under citizen's arrest for threatening Makoto and his friend and trespassing! I b-bet you don't even have a license for that thing!"

"You're right, I don't," the gunman informed him with a smirk, just before he pulled the trigger.

"NO!" The scream was ripped from Makoto's throat just as the sound of thunder cracked through the air, followed in the next split second by a flash of lightning, which blinded everyone for a few seconds. When his eyes finally cleared, Makoto saw Andrew standing there, blinking and patting himself over for wounds, his face as white as a sheet and his stormy gray eyes wide. The gunman looked puzzled, and then shrugged.

"Missed, but I never miss twice," he commented with a casual sneer, aiming the gun once more at the teacher, who responded by freezing in place. "Say a prayer to whatever god you believe in…."

"Stop it." The words, dangerous and ice-cold, came from Makoto's lips. "You're not shooting the man my cousin loves, you bastard."

"I hardly doubt you can stop me." Arrogance oozed from the words that fell from the gunman's mouth. Makoto's eyes narrowed and he felt an odd surge of adrenaline rush through his frame.

"Watch me," he snarled through gritted teeth, and the thunder roared as lightning flashed once more, this time coming down to earth even as it blinded the watchers. Pain filled his senses as he heard a choked scream, and then silence. Blinking away the spots in his vision, Makoto found himself gazing in a mixture of horror and disbelief at the charred body that had once been the blond gunman. He saw Andrew looking ill and terrified out of the corner of his eyes, but now he was too busy turning towards the black van, from which three men carrying rifles were spilling out from the driver's seat and the back of the van. "Say your own prayers, bastards…." With an odd, victorious smile forming on his lips, the Japanese teen closed his eyes before he could be blinded by the odd occurrence of three lightning bolts following the last two. Opening his eyes after the screams, he didn't bother glancing at the burnt remains, instead turning towards Quincy, who was gazing at him, viridian eyes round and filled with an unknown emotion. As soon as he turned, however, Makoto felt lightheaded, and sank back down onto the steps, meaning to only close his eyes and steady himself. Instead, he lost consciousness, falling backwards onto the porch and cracking his head with a loud, painful sound.

Quincy fought back the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm him as he frantically shook Makoto's shoulder and whispered the teen's name aloud, over and over. He was so busy trying to control himself that he wasn't aware of the dart that had pierced his flesh until he felt the drug take affect, and slumped unconscious on top of Makoto.

"Leave them alone!" Andrew started forward towards the two men who had leapt from the van after their companions had been killed, blind-courage replacing his fear. However, the two men barely spared him a glance as they grabbed the unconscious teens and hauled them towards the van, flinging them inside and leaping into the driver's and passenger seat before Andrew had even taken a few steps forward. They didn't have time for him, for police sirens that suddenly shattered the skies assured them that a neighbor had heard the gunshot and dialed 9-1-1. "Stop where you are right now you kidnappers!" The teacher bolted forward, but was stopped by a hasty bullet as the black van sped off, leaving Andrew all alone with four dead bodies, even as he fell to the ground, dark blood pooling onto the black road while the teacher lost consciousness.

~*~

When Makoto awoke, the first thing he became aware of was that he was lying on a very uncomfortable and small cot that barely held his five-six body. There was a thin blanket covering him, but that still didn't keep him from shivering in the chilly room. The next thing he became aware of was that someone else was in the room besides him, and that that person's teeth were chattering from the cold. After that, the back of his head began to ache.

"Shit…" The moan escaped his lips even as he attempted to open his eyes, his vision clearing after only a moment in the dim room. He found himself staring at a filthy wall. "What hit me?"

"You fell down." With that winded murmur, all the memories of what had happened came flooding back and Makoto cursed once more, attempting to sit up. "I think…you cracked…your head…on the porch." The Japanese teen ignored the waves of nausea and dizziness that hit him, closing his eyes for a moment to stabilize.

"Quincy?" Makoto inquired, even though the Brit's accent was unmistakable. "Where the hell are we?" He opened his eyes and turned his head towards Quincy, who was trembling, the sound of his teeth chattering unmistakable. Even in the dim lighting of the tiny room, Makoto could see the terror in those viridian eyes of Quincy's as he replied.

"We're with the scientists." Makoto swore once more, moving to put his feet on the floor, yelping quietly as his bare feet met the cold cement floor. After a moment, his feet adjusted, and he padded over to crouch beside the Brit, noticing something amiss. The light blue shirt Quincy was wearing looked ripped and seemed to have dark stains; dark stains that looked like….

"Are you okay, Quincy?" he found himself asking, reaching out a hand in a gesture meant to soothe. Instead, the Brit flinched away from the hand, trembling all the more violently. "Look, it'll be okay-"

"Okay? Okay?" Quincy's voice held an emotion that Makoto hadn't heard the Brit use before: scorn. "It's NOT okay, Makoto. They're angry at me for escaping and trying to warn you, and they're just as angry at you for killing their workers!" Makoto went cold. Killing their workers?

"I…killed them?" Of course he had, those smoking remains had been no joke, but that fact hadn't sunk in until it had been spoken out loud.

"All four of them are dead." Now Quincy's voice was quiet and emotionless. "As dead as dead can be. And the scientists are very, very mad."

"Well, screw them," Makoto stated fiercely, trying to quell the emotions that were stabbing at him from the murders he had committed. "Do you hear me? Screw them!" Quincy lowered his gaze to the floor, his quaking increasing. "What can they do to me, since they're oh-so-mad?" Derision was in the American's tone now. Quincy just sort of slumped in reply, keeping his eyes towards the floor, and this time didn't notice Makoto's hand until the teen's fingers tightened on his shoulder.

In an instant, Quincy was squirming like a mad thing, hissing out, "Don't touch me!" but it was too late. Dampness had already been felt by the teen, and when Makoto yanked his hand away and stared at it, he could see even in the dim light that a dark liquid stained his palm.

"Shit, you're bleeding. They beat you?" Quincy didn't respond, only curled up in a fetal ball on the floor. Makoto bit his lower lip, worrying it for a moment before acting on impulse. Ignoring the squeak of surprise the Brit issued, Makoto scooped Quincy into his arms and then lowered him gently onto the bed. "You should lie down. Shivering on the floor is definitely not going to help those wounds heal any faster." With that, he draped the blanket over the still-shivering form, surprised at his own actions. The high school student sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at the shaking figure, wondering what had gotten into him. "How badly are you hurt?"

There was a long, long silence, and then Quincy spoke once more. "I'll live." His voice was strained as he attempted and failed to hide the pain from his cell companion.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Makoto urged in a soothing tone.

"All right…" Even as Quincy's voice trailed off, the shivering Brit relaxed quickly into the realms of dreams. Makoto listened as the Brit's breathing evened out and suggested he was in a deep sleep. Still, Quincy shivered. Ignoring his own shivering, Makoto carefully removed the blanket from around the younger teen, and then peeled off his own, sleeveless shirt. Any extra bit of clothing would do the Brit good. Going very slow to make sure he didn't wake Quincy (luckily he seemed to sleep like a brick), he carefully clothed the Brit in the sleeveless shirt, and tucked Quincy back into the blanket, lowering him onto the bed so that his head was resting on the thin pillow. Shivering as the coldness of the room caused goosebumps on his flesh; he wrapped his arms across his chest and began to jog in place, trying to keep warm and attempting to ignore the pounding headache.

~*~

The door to the small room swung open just as Makoto slid to the floor, completely winded. He was, for a moment, blinded by the light, and moved on instinct to shield his eyes from the brightness. On the bed, Quincy didn't stir. Blinking rapidly, his eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the light as strong, unyielding hands grasped at his arms and yanked him to his feet. He opened his mouth to give an outraged cry, but already he was being dragged from the room and out into the hallway. His eyes finally adjusting, he found himself in a long corridor that reminded him of a hospital hallway.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded in a breathless sort of way, glaring at his captors. They ignored him. "Don't you fucking ignore me! I want an answer to a simple question! Where the hell are you taking me?" One of the tall men glanced down at him, and there was the faintest hint of pity in his eyes when he replied.

"We're taking you to the scientists, kid."

"No talking to him, John! You know the orders!" snapped the other man, and Makoto glared at him.

"What's stuck up your ass?" The one called John half-smirked, but didn't reply as the other man glared right back and tightened his grasp on Makoto's arm, much harder than necessary. John frowned as Makoto yelped in pain.

"Quit it, Julian. You know the bosses don't like anyone beating up on the specimens. You don't want them pissed at you." Julian rolled his eyes, his New Jersey accent evident in his next words.

"You're such a softy for the new ones, aren't you?"

"I'm just trying to keep you from getting yourself in trouble, Julian." There was a pained note in the thick British brogue as John shook his head at the other man. Makoto just kept his mouth shut, his eyes flickering between the two arguing men.

"I'm not going to get in trouble, John! The scientists are idiots. They haven't even figured out that we're-"

"Julian!" Makoto arched an eyebrow at Julian, wondering what that had been about and why this John's cry had sounded so horrified.

"Really Julian, you should think before you speak," he drawled out. "Would save you a lot of trouble." Ice-blue eyes were lit with pale blue flames of fury as Julian glowered at Makoto. Then the man began to smirk, a cold, smug sneer.

"You won't be so cocky soon, boy. Just wait until the scientists get a hold of you." Those cold blue eyes raked his form, and Makoto was abruptly quite aware of his lack of a shirt. "Just you wait…"

"Julian, please, can we all just be quiet?" A panicky note had entered John's voice, and the teen saw Julian's eyes soften for the slightest bit before he grunted an affirmative and fell silent. Makoto was still dragged along, but with more fact of knowledge in his head.

Even if Makoto didn't know who Julian and John were, one thing was certain: they were lovers.

~*~

"Here he is, sirs," John stated, in a tone of complete politeness. Five out of six of the men who stood there with their infamous white coats didn't even spare the brown-haired man a glance, but one did, smirking in a way that didn't suggest nice thoughts.

"Giving him the sympathetic looks all the way down the hallways, eh?" he sneered, making the Brit pale. "Pay more attention to Parker, Alexander. When we give rules such as not talking to the Mysticals, we expect them to be obeyed." Seeing the fear in John Alexander's eyes and the uneasy look on Julian Parker's, Makoto couldn't help but speak up.

"Good Gods, you all are idiots," he drawled, still trapped between Alexander and Parker. "We expect rules to be obeyed. Can someone say assholes?" All of the scientists turned their glares upon him, and he smirked, feeling the two men beside him release his arms and make a quick retreat to exit the room.

"You are to speak only when you are spoken to, boy," stated the one who had spoken before, in a tone that booked no argument. Of course, Makoto easily ignored that tone.

"I'll speak whenever the hell I want. I'm American, freedom of speech," he shot back, and couldn't help the yelp that left his lips as the spokesman of the scientists forcefully backhanded him. "Shit, this is illegal! Kidnapping, abusing, and violating my rights! You all are in such deep shit!"

Most of the scientists laughed as the same scientist clouted him once more, their mirth having a nasty edge to it. The spokesman slapped him a third time, this time hard enough to split Makoto's lower lip.

"He should have gotten the point by now, Jameson," remarked one of the others, earning him a dirty look by the spokesman. Makoto winced and could taste the blood that had trickled into his mouth. Why did split lips have to hurt so much? "Come on, let's begin the testing."

"Oh, hell no," Makoto muttered, taking a step backwards, away from these obviously insane men. "Let's not…." He cursed yet again as the six scientists moved to cut off from the only exit.

~*~

Meanwhile, Quincy had woken, his wounds aching but already healing. Yet another characteristic of a Mystical, healing minor wounds quickly. Even serious ones such as a broken bone healed in about three weeks. None of the scientists had tested their precious Mysticals on whether or not fatal injuries stayed fatal.

It took a few seconds for the Brit to realize that he was alone in the cell, and immediately he began to tremble, knowing what the scientists were doing to him. First, they would do a physical, checking out his health and testing his bleed for any illness. That wouldn't be too bad….

~*~

All right, so far this hadn't been as bad as his imagination had led him to believe. He had gone through the same sort of examination he'd gone through when he'd tried out for track during freshman year. He'd jogged in place, had his height and weight measured, his vision checked, all that. But then he remembered the final part of the inspection and froze. They had to test his blood.

All color in Makoto's face vanished instantly at the side of the needle. "You're not sticking me with that. I don't have AIDS or anything." All he got in reply was Jameson swabbing the inside of his elbow with a cotton ball that smelled like rubbing alcohol. The teen attempted to thrash in his bonds, growling, but it was no use, and all he could do was let lose a string of profanities as he watched his own blood was drained from him.

~*~

Quincy closed his eyes. Next would be the testing on whether or not he fit the healing characteristic. They would cut him and test how long it took the cuts to heal, varying the deepness of the slashes.

~*~

"Hey, do NOT come near me with that," Makoto growled, glaring at Jameson, who held a knife and looked very pleased. He bit his lower lip, and was surprised to find his split lip had already healed. His arm, the same that had had blood drawn from it, was lifted so that his palm was facing upwards.

"Note, as of one minute, three seconds, the puncture wound from the blood drawing has healed," one of the other scientists reported in a matter-of-fact tone as another typed that into a computer. Makoto looked down and realized it was true. Then he yelped as Jameson pressed the knife to his wrist, gently pressing down. A slight amount of pain, barely noticeable as his wrist was pricked, but Makoto didn't appreciate even a tiny prick.

A few seconds later, Jameson reported, "One percent pressure cut has healed in three-point-two seconds." Makoto gazed in astonishment at his wrist, which was now no longer giving him any hint of pain and no evidence of a cut. This time, the scientist pressed down harder. "Three percent pressure cut has healed in five-point-four seconds."

~*~

Then would be the first bone broken, Quincy knew, shivering under the blanket. They'd break only one the first day of experiments. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of Makoto in pain.

~*~

"One hundred percent pressure cut has healed in five minutes and thirty-three-point-three seconds," Jameson reported as Makoto gave an audible sigh of relief, sweating dripping down his face. He felt dizzy, and that had definitely been too much blood to lose in one sitting. "All information logged?"

"Correct. Proceed with the next test." All of a sudden Jameson grabbed Makoto's wrist in a firm grip, and pulled a strange looking device from his pocket. The teen stared at it, blinking. It was long and black, in the shape of a finger…and Jameson was sliding it onto his pointing finger.

"What's that- Ow!" Makoto yelped as the weird finger-tool began to vibrate. All of a sudden his finger was hurting, and hurting, and- the crack was audible, and the Japanese youth bit back a shriek of agony.

"Finger snaps at 35.7 percent pressure," Jameson reported with a smirk on his face, a smirk that Makoto desperately wanted to punch off even as dark spots swam in his vision. The scientist slid the black finger-breaker off the broken finger and disappeared with it, vanishing from the teen's line of vision. Another scientist deftly splinted and bandaged the broken finger.

"Ow…. Shit, that hurts…." Makoto muttered, giving all the scientists a dirty look. Then he blinked. When had Alexander and Parker come back? The two men, silent, unfastened him from his bonds and dragged him upright, gripping his shoulders tightly as he felt dizzy from the lack of blood.

"Take him back to the cell," Jameson ordered, returning to smirk at Makoto. "And go get Lolonyo. He's due for his experiments."

"Yes sir," Parker and Alexander mumbled together, and proceeded to drag the dizzy youth back to the cell, staying silent the entire way there. And Makoto was glad of the silence. He didn't want Parker to see how weak he was from the loss of blood.

~*~

"Makoto!" There was relief in the Brit's voice as the door closed behind the Japanese teen. "Are you all right?"

"My finger hurts like hell, but otherwise I'm just a little dizzy." Makoto lurched over to sit at the end of the bed, trying to get the room to stop spinning around him. "That was way too much blood to lose in one day. Shouldn't they feed me an apple or something to make sure I don't pass out or something?"

"Why would they care if you pass out?" The matter-of-fact reply made Makoto blink and then smile ruefully.

"Good point. That Jameson's an asshole." Quincy stiffened, his eyes widening in horror.

"You got Jameson angry at you?" There was pure terror in the British accent, and Makoto felt a twinge of unease. "But…but…"

"I'll be fine. The other scientists won't let him beat me up too badly." He managed a cocky grin to try and ease Quincy's fright.

"You don't understand…." With that plaintive reply, Quincy curled up in a fetal ball and refused to speak, no matter how hard Makoto tried to get him to.

(To be continued…)