Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

One
Chapter Four:



The light coming from his broken door alerted Hotstreak to unwelcome visitors when he came home that night. Scowling, he shoved the door open, side stepping the usual mess that made up his studio apartment. It was a hole in the wall, basically–in a community complex of apartments and studios for low income residents.

Basically considered ‘ghetto’ in terms of activity from the residents and their visitors, wanted or not. There wasn’t a night that went by when some ambulance was parked outside, or the police were racing through the area after a suspect.

It was the only place he could afford, and he really didn’t mind it. It was a place where he could come home and sleep off some drunken binge, or relax whenever he wasn’t out in the world, terrorizing others.

It was outfitted with a lumpy couch that had seen much abuse from a pissed off owner, and various other things that were lifted from thrift shops or second hand gifts from friends. The walls were littered with various holes and some graffiti–he had a lot of enemies that often slipped through the door that was never locked. The kitchen, single bathroom and bedroom were behind a wall that was basically sheetrock over wooden beams.

Immediately, girlish giggles ceased, and he sniffed the air suspiciously. Then broke into a slow grin. One had to hand it to Latinas–they sure loved cooking.

He dumped his school books and notebook on the floor, and walked into the kitchen. A warm tortilla slapped his face upon entrance.

“What’s up, friend?” Maria asked, toying with a plate full of Spanish rice and the remnants of a chimichanga.

“You late, homeboy,” Talon said, her wide eyes narrowing suspiciously. “We already ate everything up.”

This Colombian beauty had mutated from a redheaded teen to a rather shocking human bird–her pale skin had shifted from white to a muted orange, covered with the soft down common with birds. Her arms had extended slightly, and from the backs emerged wings tipped with an impressive array of feathers. Her feet had extended as well, toes forming into bird-like claws, curling at the tips, rendering her unable to wear shoes. Her frame, which was always thin and stickly had turned birdlike with light bones and thin characteristics. She was skinnier than the average human, but the down that coated her body made up for the lack of bulk. Her bright orangish-red hair had remained, but in an odd patch at the top of her head–she kept it pulled into a ponytail to keep from looking like some punkish delinquent. Her face had always been slightly roundish, but had turned downright thin with her change. She didn’t have any eyebrows, and her eyes were very wide and circular, giving her a non-human appearance. Her nose was narrow and downright stickly, and her lips were thin–but free from the down that coated her. She applied lipstick for some amount of color, and wore her trademark hoops in both ears.

She’d hated the change, resenting it completely–and transferred her fury with the Big Bang into her exploits around the city. She was a vengeful bird-goddess with a scream that was literally deadly–she’d been part of his past before, and was just as much of his present as Aqua Maria.

Unfortunately, she was just as mouthy and commanding as Maria was–even more so, especially considering her role with Ebon’s Meta Breed. That had made her cocky, and even pushier.

“Like you need all that,” he muttered, patting her hip.

She squawked and slapped him as Maria laughed.

“Just kidding. Don’t wanna make you cry,” Maria said, holding out a plate. She then gave him a slap upside the head. “Don’t you eat? You don’t have nothin’ here!”

“Am I here all the time? NO!...Thanks.”

“We should be charging you for that,” Talon, whose real name was Theresa, hissed. But there was no real malice in her tone as she leaned against the sink. “So, what’cha been doing, Francis? Heard you been working...”

Hotstreak glared at her, stuffing his mouth full of zesty Spanish rice and shredded beef enchiladas. How the two had managed to do so with what resources they had, he had no idea–women were able to produce such things with pure magic...not that he was complaining if they were feeding him.

“Yeah.”

“What’s this all about? What’s your sentence?” Theresa asked curiously, flicking her bright red hair from her face.

“Two years probation...one year with an anklet...basic home detention. But I got my excuses. Gotta get my GED an’ take fuckin’ Anger Management classes.”

“That shit don’t work on you!” Talon said in disgust, shaking her head. “You don’t listen to shit. You just ain’t that way, man!”

“That’s what she said...”

“Cuz we right all the time,” Maria said, finishing off her meal. It was funny–one would think she wouldn’t be able to eat, or one would think that they could see straight through her, like glass. But her body was obviously solid enough for her to intake and out take human nourishment. “We women don’t lie, neither are we wrong.”

“Oh, we’ve been wrong, girl,” Theresa said, giving her friend a serious look. “Did you find out the scoop?”

“He ain’t. We talked. Right, Francis?”

“STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

“Fuck you, Francis! We call you whatever we want,” Maria snapped. “We cooked for you. Least you could do is appreciate our goodness.”

“...whatever...”

“You ain’t fag, huh? Ain’t no way. You like girls too much!” Theresa said, frowning. “Them bastards at the hideout are bettin’ on ya, you know.”

“About what?”

“‘Bout that kid. They still think you’re all loved up on him. Still pickin’ on him, I see.”

“Told you. One of my favorite punching bags. Makes interesting squeaks when I hit him.”

Both girls shrieked with laughter.

“I’ll bet he squeaks when you hit it!” Maria shouted as Hotstreak fought for control over the direction he’d stumbled across. He wanted to hit himself for tripping into that one. He had no one to blame but himself.

“Issat what you bitches wanted to talk about?”

“We’re just curious,” Theresa huffed, crossing her arms awkwardly. “But we actually came here for more serious things...me an’ the boys are going to help Ebon out. Break him out before they transfer him to the pen. Think you can handle?”

“I’m on probation...”

“So? Don’t mean shit...”

“They record shit with this shit they have on my shit!”

“So? It ain’t shit! Take that shit off!”

“I can’t take the shit off, cuz then they’ll fuckin’ mess with my shit, an’ I’ll be in more shit!”

“Like you’re afraid of shit!”

“An’ on THAT note, I ain’t doing shit for that fuckin’ monkey! Fuck that ho!”

“Stop saying ‘shit’, you guys!” Maria demanded, reaching up to flick what passed as her hair. “There’s a lady present. Respect.”

“Fuck you, ho,” Theresa laughed, glaring at her. “You ain’t no lady.”

“I can’t do it,” Hotstreak continued before more words were exchanged. “I gotta have this thing on for a year...then after that, it’s–”

“Like you fuckin’ give a shit!” Talon exclaimed, staring at him. “What the fuck for? Ain’t like you followed shit before! Since when did you start listenin’ to the man, motherfucker?”

“Just gotta do it. That’s all. Someone once told me I need ta get my GED. So I’m going to get my GED.”

“To do what?” Theresa shrieked in clear disbelief as Maria pushed away from the counter.

“You gettin’ soft, man! What the fuck you think you’re going to do with a fuckin’ G-E-D?” she asked, both of them immediately in his face. “Think they gonna let you out straight? That they gonna take your shit? They fuckin’ know you, sucker! They know you be the one destroying all their fuckin’ precious shit down town, and fuckin’ up locals...what makes you think they gonna accept you as one of them?”

“I–”

“Who’s got you whipped, Francis?” Talon demanded, her bird like movements growing frenzied with her mood. Hotstreak had to sigh–both women were pushy, bossy, and hell if anything got in their way with their combined efforts. “Who’s the bitch?”

“That girl, Cassie, prolly,” Maria spat in disgust. “That one that was tryin’ to trap him.”

“That little blond bitch?”

“No, the redhead.”

“...Ain’t her name Freida?”

“No, Cassie!”

“Marcie,” Hotstreak muttered, but it didn’t matter.

Having finished the immensely satisfying meal, he set his plate aside and tried to get up–only Theresa pushed him back into his chair, and Maria had her powers working–the sink began to fill with water, of which she was threatening to drench him with if he didn’t sit there.

“An’ no, it ain’t shit. I’m just doin’ it–I don’t want to go to prison.”

“You suffer the shit you do, man. Don’t fuckin’ cake out on it,” Theresa said, ducking the torrent of water that Maria was directing over Hotstreak’s head. “You bigger than alla them. You got your powers. Fuckin’ use ‘em, instead of pussying out like those other losers. Where’s the hotshot we both know and enjoy to torture?”

“I still–!”

“Fuck you, Francis!” Maria spat. “Don’t be comin’ up with some stupid shit! I know you’re going to lie and make up something stupid! Don’t be an idiot. Don’t get all soft. Once you do, they gonna take you down an’ you’re going to look back at this shit and regret it.”

“Damn it, I–!”

“You ain’t scared of Ebon, are you?” Theresa asked suspiciously, frowning at him.

“Ain’t now way I’m scared of that fucking ni–!”

“Then what’s your problem?” both shouted in unison.

He sighed again. Females.

“If you stupid BITCHES would just shut the fuck up–!”

“Oh, hell no, he better not be callin’ us ‘bitches’!” Maria snarled, looking at Theresa.

“He called us that, girl. You better teach him a lesson,” Theresa snapped, giving Hotstreak a furious expression.

The water was cold, expected and unexpected at the same time, and as it drenched him completely, steam rose up into the air. He cursed fluidly as he leapt from the chair, soaked clear through from the attack.

“Next time, you better respect us,” Maria snarled, walking out from the kitchen, allowing her control to drop the torrent of water she’d gathered. It covered the tiled floor with a loud splash, coating everything and anything that was vulnerable to it.

“We don’t want to hear no shit about us, disrespecting us. We got your back, Francis. It might be, one day, that we be your only friends in the world. ‘Specially when you go soft,” Theresa sneered, following after her friend. The front door slammed uselessly behind them as they left the studio. It creaked open moments later.

Hotstreak cursed the two women fluidly as he shut off the sink water, and surveyed the mess on his kitchen floor. Ah, well. It wasn’t like he had a mop to clean it up, anyway. They’ll be back. And they’d get irritated enough to clean it up for him. That’s just how females were.

He shook his arms, flinging water everywhere as he left the kitchen. At least they made him dinner. From the obvious visit, they were bored and looking for something to do. They bothered him from time to time, but he really had no say in it–if they were in the mood, he had to weather it out. He wasn’t a match for Aquamaria’s control over water, and Talon knew how to shriek. While embarrassing that two women had the match over him, he had to save face somehow by sticking tough and strong with his attitude.

He headed to his bedroom, which was nothing more than a fifteen foot by thirty foot section of space that held his bed, a single dresser, and a milk crate with various junk thrust on top. His clothes were stuffed in the closet–neatly folded and hung, the dresser kept in the same condition–and his window was covered with vertical blinds that had some broken strands in it.

He could see the night outside, overlooking the complex, and heard the jaunty Hispanic music that danced from somewhere within the area. He stripped out of his wet clothes and changed into a pair of clean boxers. Turning off his lights, he hit the bed.

This was seriously getting on his nerves, this making good with the law, bit. Not that he was doing it quietly and with a smile–but he made sure people knew how he felt about things. His hand hurt–he flicked it about, grumbling about hand cramps as he relaxed his fingers. Burying his face into his coverless pillow, he propped his elbows onto the mattress, and began cracking his knuckles and pulling his fingers to overcome the tightness within both.

Today had been almost the same as yesterday–he’d taken notes, paid what attention he could afford to, and turned in homework that he’d thought was flawless.

Until his History teacher handed him back the report Foley had done the night before, stating that he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. When Hotstreak had realized that one paragraph had been written over and over again, he’d grown furious. How dare that freak fuck around with him that way? Did he know who was in control?

Hotstreak held the cards in that guy’s deck–and he still fucked around with him! Challenging him, most likely, testing the waters. But Foley had always been that way–while intimidated, he still had the balls to mouth off to whoever it was that was in his face. He must have learned that from Virgil, whose mouth never seemed to say closed.

Listening to what silence he could find, he stared sightlessly through the darkness.

It had pissed him off–Ebon’s stupid dream. About...about having sex with him. With Gear. It had made his gut twist and his rage to flare, but only deep inside. Because he knew personally what it was like to be inside of that boy, to know what he tasted like and what he felt like. He, Francis, knew what it was like to have that boy panting in the throes of sex, to feel his body clenching on him tightly when he came. It felt awkward, thinking of that now.

Sure, he’d given it flippant thought here and there, but he didn’t dwell on it. He always grew embarrassed by what he remembered.

But it pissed him off that Ebon talked about him that way. His sexual designs on the teen were sick and twisted–he wanted only for the animalistic pleasure, because Ebon took without appreciating. He just wanted what he knew he could have. It was sick and demented, and Hotstreak wanted none of that. It just made him sick to hear that spiel coming from his mouth, knowing exactly what it was Ebon was looking for in Gear.

He wondered if he were jealous. If he were taking things entirely too seriously. He didn’t have feelings for the guy that way...sure, he’d found Richie as a sort of equal–he really saw the boy as no threat, really. Just...someone convenient to fuck around with. Like the others.

But then again...Richie knew how to make him feel like a human. Like he had feelings. Like he wasn’t some dense, villainous creature that didn’t think, feel, or breathe. Of course, words were exchanged, but when they were alone...Richie talked to him like he was a person.

Hotstreak liked being looked at as an untouchable person–someone hard, relentless, cold and cool. He liked to know that people wouldn’t mess with him because his reputation prevented it, and that his very image had people squirming uncomfortably. But there were times when his guard was let down, and he just wanted to be treated normally. To be respected.

His own father had beat him around a few times–to teach him a lesson. Which was where he learned that violence brought a person respect and power. He was belittled, made a fool of, and labeled as a typecast. Trailer trash that wasn’t going to amount to nothing. He found power in a gang–the comradery, the trust and loyal rules that bound them together–it was more of a family than he had with his father. When he grew solid with the gang, he began doing what they did–stealing, hustling, fighting, making a general rep for himself. When he got his powers, he’d gained more than he’d ever dreamed. He’d been big stuff before, but there were people that could snuff him easily if they chanced it. Now, with powers, people barely bothered with him, unless their names were Static, Gear, the Man, or Ebon. People looked at him and respected him, for the power he had.

But there were times when he didn’t want that. He felt soft for feeling so, but it was the dream he knew many others had. To have that one person look at them and treat them as an equal. To respect and love them in ways they hadn’t had before. Many wouldn’t admit this–but he saw it all the time with hardened criminals and killers. They all had that one special person they relied on for comfort and strength–women that stood behind them with their children, with their love; things that were sparse on the street. He’d wanted that.

He couldn’t say this aloud, of course. Not with these accusations flying around. It wasn’t as if he were actively looking for it–no, love had to drop unexpectedly on a person. Hit them when they weren’t looking. That’s just how it works.

But...with Richie...what had that been? It had hit him right between the eyes. He’d never ever given a slip of thought of being with a male, before. It had been disgusting, vile, incredibly and violently revolting. When he heard of other males hitting it with other males–for gang initiations or fun behind bars–he’d scoffed at their desperation. Women couldn’t be replaced.

He wouldn’t compare Richie to a woman–no, he was male, and he was disgustingly so. He may have a thing for other males, but he did not come off as a woman. And Richie was different from everybody–he lived in a home that would break anyone, and an unwanted status at school. But he was cheerful all the time–optimistic. Smart...had an odd sense of humor. And he had a goofy way of grinning and talking that made him amusing to look at it. Easily excitable sometimes, and annoyingly thoughtful.

He was a geek, though–a bottom feeder according to high school hierarchy. A four eyed, scrawny geek that hid his bruises underneath baggy sweaters. In a way, he respected Richie, whom he felt knew first hand what it was like to grow up in a home with abusive fathers. Richie could take that shit from his father and act as if nothing happened to him, drawing no attention to himself or crying over things he couldn’t control. He just...faced it. Like a man. He wasn’t helpless; he wasn’t weak.

And Hotstreak admired that in him.

This, of course, made him uncomfortable with admitting it.

And, lastly, Richie respected his power and status–but seemed to understand why Hotstreak worked as he did.

That night...in his room...Hotstreak had found himself loose lipped. Talking about everything and anything that came to mind. He couldn’t stop himself. His guard had been broken down, and he spilled whatever came to mind as he listened to Richie nap quietly. The boy had shut his eyes and drifted slightly into slumberland a few times, but he heard every word that left Hotstreak’s lips. When he’d thought that Richie had finally fell to sleep, the teen would quietly ask a question, or give an encouraging remark that wasn’t sarcastic or filled with lies. And he’d find himself talking all over again.

That night had been comparable to a dream. It wasn’t his first that he’d stayed up, talking and sexing with someone. But he’d never revealed his depths, before.

Especially with another male. That was entirely different. He told Richie things that he’d never told anyone else–like the time he’d considered sleeping with Talon just to see if she were bird all over–and the boy did not judge him, or make fun of him–he’d even asked what he’d do if he found out Talon was ‘bird’ all over–and Hotstreak had relaxed completely with him. This kind of person was hard to find–out there in the streets, everyone was looking out for themselves. They would stab a person in the back if they were given enough to forget some ten year friendship.

But when Richie had given himself completely to Hotstreak, trusting him and encouraging him, he knew he’d stumbled upon something rare and valuable.

As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was curious enough–he wanted to know if he could somehow regain that night’s dream-like quality...to know for sure just how much Richie was willing to take...and give.

OooooooooooO

Static stared sullenly at the array of colors that were spreading along the bellies of overhead clouds. He was sitting at the roof’s edge on the local bank, and had been there for over an hour. His mind was drifting, going over the scenes with Richie from the previous day, and wondering what he’d done wrong to instill such lack of confidence or faith in his best friend. He was willing to admit that they’d spent less and less time together since he’d gotten with Daisy–Richie spent more of his time either on his own or with their other friends. But that was part of life! Things changed...sure they were still best of friends, but Richie had to understand that Daisy was now part of his life, as well. He really liked the girl–he had since he’d first met her.

Richie had been jealous, and openly displayed it with hostile glances in the girl’s direction and snide remarks, but he eventually learned that Daisy wasn’t that easy to run off. He took a step back from his customary position at Virgil’s side, allowing Daisy to take that spot. Virgil had been pained at the thought of his best friend and his girlfriend never getting along together, considering that they were two of the most important people of his world...but things had eventually worked out on their own.

But along this route...it wasn’t until yesterday when he realized that he didn’t know Richie as well as he thought he had. Richie had secrets that he was keeping from Virgil; he didn’t trust Virgil with them; which made Virgil a very sad guy, indeed. He felt torn, really; wanting to be there for his best friend and gain his confidence back, but he also wanted Daisy.

It felt as if both were yanking at his arms and wanting him to go their direction. He loved them both, but he just couldn’t do that. He had to vary his time with both–but what if things changed so drastically with his new relationship that his best friend gradually slipped away? He furrowed his brow with thought, glaring down at the streets below him.

When he heard the sound of wheels on tile, he turned around to see Gear skating over to him, looking nonchalant and cheerful.

“Morning, Static,” he greeted, braking at the roof’s edge. “It’s been slow, tonight...”

“Yeah. Nothin’ really. What took you so long?”

“I, ah, slept through my alarm. Course, it didn’t help that I played European Assault until twelve.”

Static waited for Gear to sit down beside him, sighing as he took in the beautiful array of colors that he’d been watching for the past hour. The silence grew heavy until both were aware that the other hadn’t spoken since they greeted each other. This awkwardness grew with uneasy shifts and heavy exhalations, each one waiting for the other to talk.

Finally, Static let his hands flop heavily to his lap. “What’s goin’ on, Rich? Why are things changing?”

“...What do you mean? Nothing’s changing.”

“How can you say that? It’s like, we’re total strangers, now! I don’t even know what’s goin’ on with you, nowadays!”

“It’s the same old shit, V! There’s really nothing going on!”

“Well, if that’s true–then why do you feel you can’t talk to me?”

“Virgil, I–I...don’t know. All right? But you get things so out of context and you take things the wrong way...there are just some things that I find myself hesitating to talk to you about.”

Static scoffed, hunching his shoulders as he frowned down at the streets. “Never did that before...”

“Yes I have, V,” Gear argued gently. “Like that thing with my father.”

“That was awkward for both of us. I understand that.”

“And how did you react to that situation, V?”

“I...” Static trailed off, frowning again as he recalled himself storming away from the house, hearing Richie’s protests and desperation behind him. Well, who wouldn’t have ran away? Sean Foley was a bigot, and he didn’t want to stick around a house where he was disliked simply for the color of his skin! “But in the end, we got through it, Rich. I just...”

“I’m afraid that if I reveal anything else to you, V, that I might lose you. Permanently,” Gear said softly, staring down at his gloved hands. “Because of either your reaction, or...my own reaction to your reaction.”

“What’s that s’pposed to mean? What you got up your sleeve that’s so...fucked up?”

“It’s not a ‘fucked up’ situation, Virgil. It’s just...a matter of perspective...”

“Does this concern a certain redhaired cock sucking asshole that everyone just loves to hate?”

He didn’t miss the protesting open mouth that snapped shut, and the accompanying swallow.

“Some...I guess. V, I know what you’re thinking. I know that...you thought I...revealed stuff that I shouldn’t–!”

“Damn straight! All this business with him bein’ in your room, an’ knowing shit that no one else knows!”

“But you have to realize, Static, that things happened because of...well...certain circumstances.”

Inwardly, Static heard the switch from ‘Virgil’ to ‘Static’–and knew his best friend was keeping him at arm’s length once more. He grew fairly hurt and angry about it.

“‘Circumstances’ that I don’t even know about! You won’t even talk to me about them!” he spat angrily.

“I’m sorry, Static! I just...see, what happened was...well, you know what happened. I got caught up in that battle between his gang and Ebon’s, and...I don’t know. He just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t talking about it. But...along that route, we just started talking. He really isn’t that bad sometimes...”

Static rose from his position, brushing off his coat. “Well...I can’t understand how you could warm up to a person like that...someone that’s fuckin’ bigoted, crude, fuckin’ violent and fucked up. I can’t see that and I can’t see how you can be friends with that. I can’t see how you can trust him with your lil’ secrets when you can’t even trust a guy that’s known everything about you since grade school. It’s fucked up, Rich. Really fucked up.”

“Static, wait...”

“No. I’m going home. I’m goin’ to try to think things over. Try to make sense of things.”

“Virgil, will you stop acting like some stupid little girl!” Gear snapped, turning around to face him. Static stiffened, then turned to spear him with a glare. “Try to understand that I feel weird about this, too. You ain’t the only one that’s confused and mixed-up about things! I’m still trying to understand how this all changed, too! And your fucking reaction to what I’m trying to say is really discouraging!”

“It’s easier to talk shit to your best friend than to an enemy, huh?”

“...I’m not talking shit, I just...Virgil, I’m just trying to make you understand!”

“Well, I can’t! All right? I just can’t! I wanted to kill this guy, Richie! I had a gun on him that night of the Big Bang! I was going to splatter his brains out on those docks! That’s how much I hated him! That’s how much he drove me to react!”

“...I understand...”

“You don’t understand! You’re the one making friends with him!”

“...I’m sorry, Virgil. For all of that’s happening. But sometimes you can’t change things.”

“Yeah...I s’ppose. Just thought that it’d never happen like this. You bein’ all friends with the enemy. What’s going to happen when he’s on his little rampages? Gonna make excuses for him, then?”

Gear exhaled heavily and turned away from him, staring out at the sliver of sun that was starting to rise. Static slapped his sides uselessly, then shook his head.

“Whatever. See ya at school.”

Gear didn’t bother responding as he stared forlornly at the blinding light that began touching the contents of Dakota, warming everything it touched.

Seeing that there wasn’t going to be a response, Static walked away without another word.