Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ A Stray Child ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The introduction of characters
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.24.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.8K | Visits: 439 | Status: Completed
The introduction of characters
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.24.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 5.8K | Visits: 439 | Status: Completed
AU, OOC, violence...supernatural themes, violence...slash, gore
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
This is based off of Silent Hill, of which I do not own but worship. ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I RECOMMEND if you’re into that sort of music, and both of which I do not OWN in any way.
A/N: YES! I’VE REDONE IT FOR THE FINAL TIME! XD It is NOT abandoned, just...replaced with a newer version. I’ve admitted my weakness (cannotdohappy) and I will persevere with my continued themes of darkness and madness and violence and utter profanity. (Sighs) Man...it feels good to admit that aloud...
Chapter One:
A Stray Child
The world had changed.
Evil had risen once more from limbo, taking over the world in a frightening display of strength and demonic aim. Humans were slaughtered by the creatures She had created, and by each other. Cities were broken as carnage swept with abnormal strength through the streets, terrorizing all that were desperate for safety and shelter. Human life, as they’d known it, had changed so drastically that the world became hellish and dangerous.
Change had been horrendous on the normality that they had depended on: no phones, no electricity, no space activity that had provided much comfort and security in electronic devices...Everything had been ripped away. All that was left was a ghost world full of darkness and wretched chaos.
Madelyn’s power had grown from humanity’s evil. With its continued display of wrongness and depravity upon humankind, those she had vanquished had provided her with the strength needed to take over all that man knew. Rising from the depths of limbo, she had taken over the world with frightening ease–disrupting all electronic devices, pulling satellites out of orbit, destroying communication lines throughout the planet. Causing chaos that humans contributed with their panic and horror over the situation.
Giving them no hope for a better future.
* - * - * - * - *
Virgil Hawkins stared at his reflection, his shoes dangling over the crystal clear kiddie pool. The building was entirely silent–cobwebs and various show of old gore decorated the walls. He could see various belongings on the bottom of the pool, the water a faint brown due to the lack of care. He’d needed some peace and quiet; solitude.
Which was a sad joke because solitude was something anybody could find in a city that was dead.
He was dressed in dark clothing; recently ‘new’ because his growth spurt allowed him bigger shoes, larger fits. He was actually quite proud of his height, and the way his features were starting to mature. No more baby face for him.
But then again, he had to realize just whom it was he was trying to impress. It wasn’t as if Dakota was swarming with eligible honies...
Nothing moved.
He wrapped his arms around his middle, frowning down at his reflection. Three years had passed since Madelyn had taken over and left his world a dead zone. So many different things had happened. Nothing would ever be the same anymore...
-“I can’t believe you’re doing this, pops!”-
-“Virgil...It’s for your own good. It’ll do you some good, son.”-
-“This isn’t fuckin’ fair! How could you do this to me?! I can’t believe you’d go and let me do this to me!”-
-“I have thought about this for so long, Virgil...nothing more is working.”-
-“You’re a fucking hypocrite! A HYPOCRITE!”-
-“...I’m sorry, Virgil. This is going to hurt me more than–more than you know. Son–”-
-“I ain’t your son! Fuck you! I don’t belong to you! Fuck you! Fucking liar! You fucking liar!”-
-“...I’m sorry Virgil. I’m sorry...”-
Virgil had been so angry at his father for so long that two years had passed since Madelyn’s invasion when he began to realize what his father had been trying for.
Jean Hawkins had been killed in a drive-by shooting years earlier. The woman had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Virgil had been nine–to have his mother ripped away from him in such horrible circumstances had been traumatic for him. The young boy had been so angry over the death of his beloved mother that he began acting out: starting fights in school, with his older sister, his father. He started neglecting his schoolwork; skipping school–which was around the same time he discovered he’d had fantastic powers.
After his eleventh birthday, he had it set in his mind to find his mother’s killers. School was nothing but an annoyance, and he was prone to sneaking out at nights. Questioning every ‘banger he came to, disregarding his father’s lectures, his words of ‘worry’. Virgil didn’t reveal his powers to Robert, keeping them his secret. It was important that he kept them secret; he began using them on any unfortunate soul that dared not reveal any information regarding the shooters.
Of course, he used his powers while under a disguise. Word on the streets had begun to spread of a ‘kid’ shaking down gangbangers, and it had started to get harder and harder to get what he was searching for.
Once the school began talking to Robert about Virgil’s absences, Robert began sending Virgil to counselors, psychiatrists. Anybody that could help with his mental trauma.
Virgil had decided that all this effort was hindering his own ‘investigation’, and began lying his way out of that. But the therapist had notified Robert of Virgil’s leave. Robert’s patience, once vigilant and strong, began to wear thin over his own grief over his wife’s death. Virgil had began to rebel even more, and at twelve, he was pulled into police custody for trying to kill an older teenager with a piece of sheet metal.
When the courts ordered juvenile detention, it was recommended that he was to be sent to Alva’s Juvenile Ranch; it had been highly recommended due to successful treatment of other juveniles throughout the Midwest. When Virgil had found out he was being sent away after getting so close to his mother’s killers, he’d been so angry. So furious.
He could remember every word he’d said that day. Every hateful word that he now knew had hurt Robert so much...
He remembered leaving Dakota with a bunch of other juveniles that were being split into other groups throughout the state because of their court orders, and hating his family. His life. His mother for dying in the first place. All the workers that had tried their best for him, the other juveniles with their own pressing problems and issues. It had been hell adjusting to that ranch; to following their rules and abiding by their laws.
Robert had tried with weekly phone calls, but Virgil hadn’t wanted any contact with him during that angry period. Every word spoken to him was out of anger and hurt. He rejected holiday visits, preferring to spending them with the other juveniles, kids that ‘understood’ him. Wanting to escape his father.
Then the invasion happened.
It had taken awhile, but Virgil had calmed considerably. Now, presently...with all the time to think, Virgil could look back and honestly wonder if things could have been different.
If he could have just projected his anger differently...would he still be with his father and sister?
He heaved a sigh that echoed faintly throughout the pool area. Water rippled gently under his feet, and he cast a cautious glance around him. Straining his ears to hear any noises belonging to danger, Virgil tensed. The sharp chill that he felt made goosepimples pop up all over his arms, and he clutched the sleeves of his jacket in an effort to feel warmth.
But he heard nothing, relaxing slightly. He looked back at his reflection and wondered if his family’s death had been quick, merciful–he had assumed that they’d died during the invasion. Everyone else had.
He survived because of his unnatural abilities, and he knew this. He felt guilt over it–he spent hours imagining scenarios how he would have saved his father and sister from the creatures; from others. Thinking of how they would all be surviving together. Sticking together.
He shivered and wondered if his father would have been proud of him now. Surviving by a thread.
* - * - * - * - *
Although everything had been ravaged in Madelyn’s wrath against the world, the buildings that humans created still stood. Cities remained, if not empty and broken. Even after she had totaled the world, there were still living beings that prowled the shadows, stubborn to survive.
In the silent city that was once known as Dakota, fog snaked around the dark towers of various buildings, winding its way through empty, abandoned streets. Cars, long abandoned and left in haphazard fashion due to the chaos a few years ago, were heavily dusted with age; gore still splattered the sidewalks and pavement; walls still bore marks of violence and death.
Creatures of Madelyn’s creation roamed the empty streets, prowling for prey. Through the darkness and silence, their cries rent the air. Night seemed was the time when the dangerous things came out to play.
But in a broken building near the faded billboard advertising an off-Broadway drama, activity lurked. Candles lit the large meeting room, all souls present holding weaponry close to them; all of them were drawn in features, dirty and worn. The assorted men and women were closing their meeting, wary eyes moving from one to another as the alert watchmen kept an ear out for the creatures that prowled the night.
A single photo lay in the middle of the table, frustration coating the words of the man speaking. He stood out among the bunch in his dark military camo, holding all the air of righteous superiority. There were a couple of guns strapped to his torso, a rifle slung across his back. He sat uncomfortably in a chair, his back to the wall.
“He’s just a kid,” he said with a disgusted sneer. “We’ve watched him long enough to know that he knows what he’s doing. But he won’t come near any of us! He has digital ware and electronic resources that monitors us and keeps us from getting close. I hate to resort to trapping him like an animal, but...this kid would be valuable to the underground. His work in defense systems has us amazed. We’d like to use that for everyone’s gain.”
“Is that name of your little group?” one man ventured with a sneering smile. “The ‘underground’? My, how fetching...”
Uncomfortably, people shifted.
The man dressed in dark camouflage tossed another photo onto the table. Everyone silenced when they saw the bounty awaiting them. “Found the military’s arsenal. Took awhile to break into the compound, on that the electricity won’t work for us. But when we did...we found more than enough firepower to supply a couple of guys with at least a year’s worth of ammunition and various hard metal. I mean business, folks. We need that kid.”
Observing their silence, at their power-hungry eyes on the photo, the man smirked as he leaned back in his chair. Intertwining his fingers, he rested them on his stomach, looking from one drawn face to the other.
“Anyone up for the task?”
* - * - * - * - *
“That’s a lot of weaponry for one stupid kid.”
“Think about it–with that arsenal, we can basically run this town.”
“...We don’t need no damn arsenal! I think we’re good with ourselves!”
“You think I like relying on you? Besides, you wouldn’t understand–you’ve had those powers for as long as you can remember. Me, I’m normal–I need weaponry. And that arsenal will keep me happy for–shit, years! With both of us armed, this city could be ours. We’d be in charge of all the shit that goes down. We can get people to do things for us, instead of us working our asses all day long to get food and clean water!”
The two men were walking through the shadows, eventually leaving the others to go their separate ways. After the bounty had been placed, those cutthroat enough to hunt despite the dangers presented to them had been enough to motivate everyone into moving hastily.
Weaponry was in short supply in Dakota, considering how other survivors had used tooth and claw to obtain what they could in the beginning of the invasion.
Harley Williams was a former Marine. When his battalion entered Dakota in an effort to keep control over the panicking masses, things had turned gruesome. He’d seen many of his friends and fellow soldiers die that day; not from the creatures that Madelyn had created, but from the civilians. In their panic and haste to find safety, many had overrun those with guns and vehicles, killing them for their valuables. Others had blamed him and other uniformed survivors for not ‘doing anything’ against Madelyn.
He’d been a bitter man since then; angry, withdrawn.
Francis Stone had been a former lab rat residing in one of Dakota’s science labs. Edwin Alva’s scientists had been trying to figure out why the redhead was able to manipulate, create and command fire, and hadn’t come to any answers in all his twenty-three years. He’d been grateful for Madelyn’s invasion, as that allowed him a chance to escape. Freedom had been awesome, and he’d taken what he wanted. Done what he wanted. With no one to tell him what to do, think, feel–then he’d met Harley. Three years later, the two were more than friends, unashamed and unabashed to hide their sexuality.
It was obvious that Harley was the one in control; he was the one that made their decisions. Frankly, Francis, who’d taken to calling himself Hotstreak, didn’t care one way or the other. He had accepted that Harley was more organized and goal-oriented than he was. As long as Harley didn’t treat him like shit, he was fine with whatever the former Marine wanted.
And wrecking havoc on survivors, the city, and the creatures was fun. He liked to see things burn, and liked to destroy things; he liked to see fear and terror on others’ faces, and he liked to bully them. As long as Harley didn’t hold him back...he was fine.
But Harley had began to change on him, and Hotstreak often questioned himself on why he was still hanging around the man.
“I’ve seen him a few times,” Harley was saying as they cautiously moved through the streets. Somewhere, children cried in anguish–but the pair were used to the sound. The sound quickly shifted in queer barking noises that echoed throughout the stillness. “Never paid attention to him, then. I don’t think he’s running with anybody. I’ve always seen him alone.”
“You have? Seen him?” Hotstreak hadn’t bothered with remembering anybody, save for those he’d found attractive. And those never lasted long. “When?”
“Here and there. Near the east end–by the labs,” Harley confirmed, looking at him with a curious glance. As he expected, his lover’s face scowled, and his steps became hesitant. Rolling his eyes, he said, “It’s not like anybody’s there waiting to take you back! I just said I saw him in the area! There’s a building we’re going to check out, near the labs. It’s a hotel–classy one. I’ve seen him duck in there once.”
Reluctantly acquiescing, Hotstreak shrugged off his hand from his shoulder, keeping an eye out for any creatures that were waiting to pounce on them.
The moon was barely visible above them–nearly hidden behind the thick clouds that covered a majority of the night sky. Stars flickered here and there, but they were quickly hidden upon the clouds’ movement. There was a sharp chill in the air, as if snow were to fall at any moment. The silence and stillness of the night kept anybody on edge.
The darkness of the streets were thick and unforgiving. But Harley kept his flashlight pointed low just to see the ground ahead of them. Moving through long lines of abandoned cars, he found the place he was looking for, shining the light upon the dusty outside sign.
“Marriot,” he read, scanning the overgrown and long forgotten gardens for anything that may be watching them. Hotstreak studied the building with an annoyed look, hating that the sprawl took up a significant area. He could count at least fourteen stories.
Scowling, he glared at Harley, hoping that his lover was somewhat psychic, because he really wasn’t up to searching through, possibly, thousands of rooms for some kid.
They were quiet upon entering the building, keeping their eyes open and senses alert for any incoming creatures. Everything about the building was as desolate and silent as the outside world. But the tracks on the dusty floors were indications that not all was dead and unmoving; the flashlight picked up on the set of tracks that led through the hall and up the stairway. Both of them began rummaging through the desk, going through the drawers and desktop, the former Marine picking up a set of keys from the bottom of one drawer. One of them was marked “Master’s” in permanent ink.
Harley nudged Hotstreak with his elbow, gesturing at the stairway with his chin. Silent communication passed between them, and Hotstreak finally sighed–a quiet sound that made his cheeks billow slightly. Harley grinned.
Flashing the lights over the stairway once more, both of them then had to regard the scene with some thought. There were empty metal cans littering every stair–haphazardly placed. Looking down at his boots, Harley frowned at the situation presented before him. Hotstreak regarded the lobby with some boredom, spying several questionable things–the lumps of black on doorways, the blinking of a light atop of the front desk. Turning his flashlight around, he spotted what looked to be a digital camera propped between a couple of plants, aimed at them.
Sneaking suspicion bit him, and he caught Harley’s sleeve before the former Marine could try to move up the stairway. Harley looked at him with irritation, but caught the electronic device with a thoughtful frown.
“We’re being watched?” he whispered, lifting his eyebrows. “What the hell?”
“He might already know we’re here,” Hotstreak whispered. “Let’s just go.”
“...No. We’ll just keep going. It’s just one stupid kid, man. C’mon.”
“He probably already hightailed it outta here!”
“Let’s just go. C’mon. Shit.”
Harley turned away to carefully pick his way through the cans; bending to lift and move a few so that Hotstreak could pick his way up without bumping into them. This process was tedious and slow, and Hotstreak was growing bored of the plan, swinging his flashlight from here to there to look for more traps.
He wasn’t certain what the black lumps were on the doorway, but he didn’t trust them. When Harley made his way up to the top, he stopped his partner from completely crossing the top stair. Harley gave him another irritated look, and Hotstreak pointed out the black lumps. Upon investigation, he could see that a tiny red light was blinking underneath a couple of layers of black electrical tape. Harley peered at the device, once again marveling over the precautions.
“What the hell is this?” he whispered, poking at the side of the lump with one hand. Eventually, he peeled the tape back, an oblong device falling into his hand. As he caught it, fumbling, a streak of blue shot out, hitting the banister with a sharp snap! sound that made the pair of them jump. The streak disappeared after contact, but both men were wary upon spying the blackened scorch mark on the wood. Carefully, Harley upended the device, pointing it upward and away from their faces.
He started to point it at Hotstreak, but the redhead quickly shoved his hand away. Harley chuckled very quietly as he set it aside, atop of the banister. Both of them were careful to maneuver around the assortment of metal cans that were scattered throughout the hallway, once again spying the footprints leading to a doorway nearby. There was a small sign posted outside, reading “Manager”.
There were another set of ‘lumps’, and Harley carefully peeled both off before Hotstreak carefully tried the door. As expected, it was locked. Harley straightened from setting the devices aside, holding up the master’s key. Smirking, he inserted the key, and tried to open the door once more. When the chain caught, Hotstreak smirked back at him.
Harley rolled his eyes, and moved, keeping his hand on the door to keep it from swinging away while Hotstreak maneuvered in close, touching the visible chain. Melting the metal easily, the redhead pushed the door open slowly. By now they were expecting more traps, and caught the door when it started to emit a rusty screech. Wincing, Hotstreak pushed the door much more slowly and carefully so that the pair of them could enter, the screech only a slight rent in the air.
The Manager’s room was dusty–but it was obvious someone lived here. The furniture was clean, the television set was sparkling compared to the rest of the pieces, and a DVD player blinked ecstatically with evidence of use. Movies were scattered throughout the area, as well as evidence of food wrappings, clothing and electronic parts. That made them pause; all over the floors were carcasses of computers, phones, television sets, game consoles, digitalware, laptops, and various other things that looked to belong in a Best Buy.
Harley grumbled something low underneath his breath, carefully picking his way through the mess as Hotstreak frowned at the area. There were various books laying behind them, against the far wall–along with piles upon piles of sketch books, notebooks and thick manuals. He followed after Harley, both of them picking up the audible noise of snoring.
Without wasting time, both of them followed the noise, anticipation racing through their veins. The bedroom door was equally as booby-trapped–only this time, Harley found the lumps tucked under the carpet, drawn to the faint red blink of light coming from the fibers. When they attempted to open the door, they found it dead bolted. Spying the outside hinges, Harley held onto the doorknob, gesturing at them.
“Make it quiet,” he whispered as Hotstreak began to melt those by pinpointing a focused point of heat from his fingertip. While it seemed a small effort, concentrating such a powerful line of heat left him feeling strained. But the pinpoint of heat easily sliced through the screws and frame to separate the door from the frame. Carefully, both pushed that section of the door inward, so that Hotstreak could fit himself through the thin opening. The bedroom was dark, quiet–but the snoring continued atop of the bed set against the back wall. He could see that the teen was covered in blankets, blond hair visible.
With Harley holding the door steady, Hotstreak quietly and quickly pulled the deadbolts out and unlocked the chains. Setting the door against the wall, both of them scanned the room for more booby-traps.
Once they deemed it clear, Harley began moving forward. Hotstreak started to follow when he stumbled, straightening to see that he’d stepped on the shoelaces of his shoe. He crouched to fix the problem, Harley pausing for a moment as snores ceased–both men went completely still until the regular sound of breathing once again graced the silence. As soon as they blew back up into soft snores, Hotstreak began to retie his shoe and Harley studied the bed area for more traps.
Looking up to judge their next move, Hotstreak’s eye caught onto something different–the bed was raised upon plain metal rollers, so he was able to look underneath. Staring into the darkness, he realized he was looking at another human sized lump. Squinting, he realized he was looking at the teen they were looking for. It confused him for a few moments. The teen was asleep, but it was obviously troubled.
He looked up to warn Harley, but the former Marine was already in movement–grabbing the lump on the bed with a triumphant roar that startled even Hotstreak. The snores persisted, and Harley gave a dismayed sound as he frantically thrust aside the blankets–Hotstreak looked up to see what was going on, momentarily distracted from the sleeping form underneath the bed. Harley gave a short curse of exasperation, throwing the form onto the floor, pulling out his flashlight to look it over. It was a CPR doll outfitted with clothes and a blond wig, electronically tinkered with–the snoring and breathing sounds continued from a recorder planted within the dummy. Hotstreak looked underneath the bed once more, seeing that the sleeping teen was no longer there.
He said nothing, looking up at Harley once more as the former Marine kicked the rigged dummy with another curse. Harley stomped out of the room, agonizing over the pains they’d taken for their entrance. Hotstreak took out his own flashlight, crawling over to investigate the space underneath the bed. Pulling the bed aside, the light caught the clear outlines of a crudely cut trapdoor; just large enough for the teen to slip through for a quick escape. He pushed at the door, finding a hair-trigger release, and shined the flashlight into the opening. It was a short drop into a room below. He could see the tracks the teen had made with his landing and running off.
With a frown, he replaced the door and the bed, venturing out to see Harley still cursing over their luck.
“He must’ve heard us,” Hotstreak said. He didn’t bother telling him what he’d found or seen. “Told you. C’mon, let’s go.”
“Sneaky shit. If it ain’t us, someone else is gonna get him,” Harley muttered. “We need that bounty...”
“It’s a stupid bounty, anyway!” Hotstreak snapped. “So what if the kid’s smart?”
“Don’t be stupid. Of all the times you want to be stupid,” Harley said with heavy exasperation.
“Quit callin’ me stupid!”
“Stop flapping your mouth. I’m getting stupid just listening to you!” Harley thought for a few moments, rubbing his hand over his stubble. “We’ll clear out his food supply. Stake out his room for a few days. He won’t abandon this place; too much shit in here for him to abandon it.”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes, walking ahead of him. “He ain’t coming back now that he knows we’ve been here. Shit. Give it up.”
* - * - * - * - *
The device beeped at him in protest. But Richard Foley wasn’t going to listen to the excuses made by the most precious treasure he owned, roughly ordering a diagnostic check on the computer’s system. He was quite aware that he’d let Backpack on sleep mode, but he’d programmed the device to alert him of any wrong happenings that were occurring while he was sleeping. The security system should have been working despite Backpack’s artificial snooze.
He glared at the information that streamed down over the inside of his goggles. They had once been ordinary snowboarding goggles, but he’d found some fantastic equipment in one of Alva’s labs that allowed him to interface with his creation. The receiving transmitter was something he’d spent days working on, making the device as small as an earpiece battery, popping it easily into the band surrounding the lenses. It was much easier being able to sort and store the information he’d received from Backpack onto the lenses; that way, he could work through the input as easily as one would perform on a computer screen.
Backpack had been carefully designed throughout these three years, constructed into the entity it was today through tedious study and care. With more free time and creativity, Richie had managed to connect the small super-computer’s mainbrain with his through a series of rigging devices he’d implanted into himself via Alva’s delicate machinery. The self-surgery had been scary, but he’d been satisfied with the results. His connection with Backpack was of utmost importance, considering his needs.
The almost-A.I. settled more firmly in his lap as one lone eye popped out from the metal plate on its back, scanning the shadows for danger. Richie was quite aware of all the attention he’d brought onto himself–which was why he’d started arming himself with all sorts of defensive measures. Thanks to Alva’s abandoned labs, multitudes of abandoned electronics and unlimited imagination, he’d constructed Backpack as a ‘nearly’ artificial intelligent super computer that he used for all he’d found necessary.
It was paradise for him!
No human contact...multitudes of equipment available to him...no laws to follow...no moral police to question or reject his thoughts...no schools, no badgering parents, juvenile detention, ‘concerned’ teachers... He had only himself to answer to and confide in. Which was perfectly all right with him.
Backpack protested once more with a long, languid beep that made him roll his eyes.
“Don’t backtalk to me,” he muttered, shifting the goggles atop his head and removing his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re the one that failed to notify me there were intruders in our home.”
He wrapped his arms around Backpack in a possessive hold, the lone mechanical eye continually scanning the darkness for danger. Richie felt the assuring hum of its generator, the familiar ten pound weight that had settled between his thighs. Cross-legged, he scowled at the fog that began to slowly weave in from the north, obscuring his view over the streets before him.
The silence was heavy; unnatural–while it gave him some content in that he could hear anything approaching, it was also unsettling.
Anxiously, he began biting on the nails of his left hand. He’d have to abandon the Marriot–but that was all right. He’d thought ahead–he already had ten other places throughout Dakota he could use for rest. He had more than enough supplies to keep his imagination happy, and he was well stocked with enough weaponry to topple a large crowd of survivors.
Backpack finished its scan and gave another series of clicks and beeps. Retractable limbs made a slight tapping noise as they pushed through the sidewalls of its torso, pushing out of his lap and wandering off. Richie stared after it in disgust, wondering where it was going. Sometimes, Backpack had the habit of wandering off with its own intent of investigation and failed to realize the importance of its security to its owner.
He was taking cover in the penthouse of a once ‘rich’ residential building–Plan B if the Marriot was compromised. Here, he could retain a visual of the place and still be in contact with the various devices he’d planted throughout the area. Backpack could retrieve the continuing feed of those devices and transfer it to its owner with ease. He shifted the goggles back over his eyes, mentally commanding Backpack to transfer him visuals and audio from the security cameras installed within the area. He flitted through various rooms until he found the two intruders meandering the second floor.
Frowning, Richie mentally upped the volume of the audio, catching only traces of their conversation. He caught the words ‘bounty’ and ‘arsenal’, but that was about it. The rest was bickering. Backpack was wandering too far for him to continue with clear feeds, so he finally cut both programs, shifting to the visuals on the street cameras throughout the surrounding blocks.
As usual, it was both man and creature prowling the streets. He shifted the goggles atop of his head and sighed heavily, curling up on the bed. He commanded Backpack’s return, going through the process of making sure he had his leather messenger bag on securely, his shoes tied tightly.
He was always ready to run if he had to.
He shifted his glasses just underneath the pair of goggles, watching Backpack scuttle through the open window. Limbs retracted, retreating just enough for its tiny fingers to clumsily pull itself across the sheets toward him. Richie reached for it, hugging it tightly against his torso; he felt the retractable straps he’d installed on its body curl securely around his waist and shoulders. Settled somewhat, he mumbled a command, then prepared to sleep as Backpack’s single eye lifted slightly, blinking a firm green as its systems prepared for continuous watch throughout the night.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
This is based off of Silent Hill, of which I do not own but worship. ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I RECOMMEND if you’re into that sort of music, and both of which I do not OWN in any way.
A/N: YES! I’VE REDONE IT FOR THE FINAL TIME! XD It is NOT abandoned, just...replaced with a newer version. I’ve admitted my weakness (cannotdohappy) and I will persevere with my continued themes of darkness and madness and violence and utter profanity. (Sighs) Man...it feels good to admit that aloud...
Chapter One:
A Stray Child
The world had changed.
Evil had risen once more from limbo, taking over the world in a frightening display of strength and demonic aim. Humans were slaughtered by the creatures She had created, and by each other. Cities were broken as carnage swept with abnormal strength through the streets, terrorizing all that were desperate for safety and shelter. Human life, as they’d known it, had changed so drastically that the world became hellish and dangerous.
Change had been horrendous on the normality that they had depended on: no phones, no electricity, no space activity that had provided much comfort and security in electronic devices...Everything had been ripped away. All that was left was a ghost world full of darkness and wretched chaos.
Madelyn’s power had grown from humanity’s evil. With its continued display of wrongness and depravity upon humankind, those she had vanquished had provided her with the strength needed to take over all that man knew. Rising from the depths of limbo, she had taken over the world with frightening ease–disrupting all electronic devices, pulling satellites out of orbit, destroying communication lines throughout the planet. Causing chaos that humans contributed with their panic and horror over the situation.
Giving them no hope for a better future.
* - * - * - * - *
Virgil Hawkins stared at his reflection, his shoes dangling over the crystal clear kiddie pool. The building was entirely silent–cobwebs and various show of old gore decorated the walls. He could see various belongings on the bottom of the pool, the water a faint brown due to the lack of care. He’d needed some peace and quiet; solitude.
Which was a sad joke because solitude was something anybody could find in a city that was dead.
He was dressed in dark clothing; recently ‘new’ because his growth spurt allowed him bigger shoes, larger fits. He was actually quite proud of his height, and the way his features were starting to mature. No more baby face for him.
But then again, he had to realize just whom it was he was trying to impress. It wasn’t as if Dakota was swarming with eligible honies...
Nothing moved.
He wrapped his arms around his middle, frowning down at his reflection. Three years had passed since Madelyn had taken over and left his world a dead zone. So many different things had happened. Nothing would ever be the same anymore...
-“I can’t believe you’re doing this, pops!”-
-“Virgil...It’s for your own good. It’ll do you some good, son.”-
-“This isn’t fuckin’ fair! How could you do this to me?! I can’t believe you’d go and let me do this to me!”-
-“I have thought about this for so long, Virgil...nothing more is working.”-
-“You’re a fucking hypocrite! A HYPOCRITE!”-
-“...I’m sorry, Virgil. This is going to hurt me more than–more than you know. Son–”-
-“I ain’t your son! Fuck you! I don’t belong to you! Fuck you! Fucking liar! You fucking liar!”-
-“...I’m sorry Virgil. I’m sorry...”-
Virgil had been so angry at his father for so long that two years had passed since Madelyn’s invasion when he began to realize what his father had been trying for.
Jean Hawkins had been killed in a drive-by shooting years earlier. The woman had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Virgil had been nine–to have his mother ripped away from him in such horrible circumstances had been traumatic for him. The young boy had been so angry over the death of his beloved mother that he began acting out: starting fights in school, with his older sister, his father. He started neglecting his schoolwork; skipping school–which was around the same time he discovered he’d had fantastic powers.
After his eleventh birthday, he had it set in his mind to find his mother’s killers. School was nothing but an annoyance, and he was prone to sneaking out at nights. Questioning every ‘banger he came to, disregarding his father’s lectures, his words of ‘worry’. Virgil didn’t reveal his powers to Robert, keeping them his secret. It was important that he kept them secret; he began using them on any unfortunate soul that dared not reveal any information regarding the shooters.
Of course, he used his powers while under a disguise. Word on the streets had begun to spread of a ‘kid’ shaking down gangbangers, and it had started to get harder and harder to get what he was searching for.
Once the school began talking to Robert about Virgil’s absences, Robert began sending Virgil to counselors, psychiatrists. Anybody that could help with his mental trauma.
Virgil had decided that all this effort was hindering his own ‘investigation’, and began lying his way out of that. But the therapist had notified Robert of Virgil’s leave. Robert’s patience, once vigilant and strong, began to wear thin over his own grief over his wife’s death. Virgil had began to rebel even more, and at twelve, he was pulled into police custody for trying to kill an older teenager with a piece of sheet metal.
When the courts ordered juvenile detention, it was recommended that he was to be sent to Alva’s Juvenile Ranch; it had been highly recommended due to successful treatment of other juveniles throughout the Midwest. When Virgil had found out he was being sent away after getting so close to his mother’s killers, he’d been so angry. So furious.
He could remember every word he’d said that day. Every hateful word that he now knew had hurt Robert so much...
He remembered leaving Dakota with a bunch of other juveniles that were being split into other groups throughout the state because of their court orders, and hating his family. His life. His mother for dying in the first place. All the workers that had tried their best for him, the other juveniles with their own pressing problems and issues. It had been hell adjusting to that ranch; to following their rules and abiding by their laws.
Robert had tried with weekly phone calls, but Virgil hadn’t wanted any contact with him during that angry period. Every word spoken to him was out of anger and hurt. He rejected holiday visits, preferring to spending them with the other juveniles, kids that ‘understood’ him. Wanting to escape his father.
Then the invasion happened.
It had taken awhile, but Virgil had calmed considerably. Now, presently...with all the time to think, Virgil could look back and honestly wonder if things could have been different.
If he could have just projected his anger differently...would he still be with his father and sister?
He heaved a sigh that echoed faintly throughout the pool area. Water rippled gently under his feet, and he cast a cautious glance around him. Straining his ears to hear any noises belonging to danger, Virgil tensed. The sharp chill that he felt made goosepimples pop up all over his arms, and he clutched the sleeves of his jacket in an effort to feel warmth.
But he heard nothing, relaxing slightly. He looked back at his reflection and wondered if his family’s death had been quick, merciful–he had assumed that they’d died during the invasion. Everyone else had.
He survived because of his unnatural abilities, and he knew this. He felt guilt over it–he spent hours imagining scenarios how he would have saved his father and sister from the creatures; from others. Thinking of how they would all be surviving together. Sticking together.
He shivered and wondered if his father would have been proud of him now. Surviving by a thread.
* - * - * - * - *
Although everything had been ravaged in Madelyn’s wrath against the world, the buildings that humans created still stood. Cities remained, if not empty and broken. Even after she had totaled the world, there were still living beings that prowled the shadows, stubborn to survive.
In the silent city that was once known as Dakota, fog snaked around the dark towers of various buildings, winding its way through empty, abandoned streets. Cars, long abandoned and left in haphazard fashion due to the chaos a few years ago, were heavily dusted with age; gore still splattered the sidewalks and pavement; walls still bore marks of violence and death.
Creatures of Madelyn’s creation roamed the empty streets, prowling for prey. Through the darkness and silence, their cries rent the air. Night seemed was the time when the dangerous things came out to play.
But in a broken building near the faded billboard advertising an off-Broadway drama, activity lurked. Candles lit the large meeting room, all souls present holding weaponry close to them; all of them were drawn in features, dirty and worn. The assorted men and women were closing their meeting, wary eyes moving from one to another as the alert watchmen kept an ear out for the creatures that prowled the night.
A single photo lay in the middle of the table, frustration coating the words of the man speaking. He stood out among the bunch in his dark military camo, holding all the air of righteous superiority. There were a couple of guns strapped to his torso, a rifle slung across his back. He sat uncomfortably in a chair, his back to the wall.
“He’s just a kid,” he said with a disgusted sneer. “We’ve watched him long enough to know that he knows what he’s doing. But he won’t come near any of us! He has digital ware and electronic resources that monitors us and keeps us from getting close. I hate to resort to trapping him like an animal, but...this kid would be valuable to the underground. His work in defense systems has us amazed. We’d like to use that for everyone’s gain.”
“Is that name of your little group?” one man ventured with a sneering smile. “The ‘underground’? My, how fetching...”
Uncomfortably, people shifted.
The man dressed in dark camouflage tossed another photo onto the table. Everyone silenced when they saw the bounty awaiting them. “Found the military’s arsenal. Took awhile to break into the compound, on that the electricity won’t work for us. But when we did...we found more than enough firepower to supply a couple of guys with at least a year’s worth of ammunition and various hard metal. I mean business, folks. We need that kid.”
Observing their silence, at their power-hungry eyes on the photo, the man smirked as he leaned back in his chair. Intertwining his fingers, he rested them on his stomach, looking from one drawn face to the other.
“Anyone up for the task?”
* - * - * - * - *
“That’s a lot of weaponry for one stupid kid.”
“Think about it–with that arsenal, we can basically run this town.”
“...We don’t need no damn arsenal! I think we’re good with ourselves!”
“You think I like relying on you? Besides, you wouldn’t understand–you’ve had those powers for as long as you can remember. Me, I’m normal–I need weaponry. And that arsenal will keep me happy for–shit, years! With both of us armed, this city could be ours. We’d be in charge of all the shit that goes down. We can get people to do things for us, instead of us working our asses all day long to get food and clean water!”
The two men were walking through the shadows, eventually leaving the others to go their separate ways. After the bounty had been placed, those cutthroat enough to hunt despite the dangers presented to them had been enough to motivate everyone into moving hastily.
Weaponry was in short supply in Dakota, considering how other survivors had used tooth and claw to obtain what they could in the beginning of the invasion.
Harley Williams was a former Marine. When his battalion entered Dakota in an effort to keep control over the panicking masses, things had turned gruesome. He’d seen many of his friends and fellow soldiers die that day; not from the creatures that Madelyn had created, but from the civilians. In their panic and haste to find safety, many had overrun those with guns and vehicles, killing them for their valuables. Others had blamed him and other uniformed survivors for not ‘doing anything’ against Madelyn.
He’d been a bitter man since then; angry, withdrawn.
Francis Stone had been a former lab rat residing in one of Dakota’s science labs. Edwin Alva’s scientists had been trying to figure out why the redhead was able to manipulate, create and command fire, and hadn’t come to any answers in all his twenty-three years. He’d been grateful for Madelyn’s invasion, as that allowed him a chance to escape. Freedom had been awesome, and he’d taken what he wanted. Done what he wanted. With no one to tell him what to do, think, feel–then he’d met Harley. Three years later, the two were more than friends, unashamed and unabashed to hide their sexuality.
It was obvious that Harley was the one in control; he was the one that made their decisions. Frankly, Francis, who’d taken to calling himself Hotstreak, didn’t care one way or the other. He had accepted that Harley was more organized and goal-oriented than he was. As long as Harley didn’t treat him like shit, he was fine with whatever the former Marine wanted.
And wrecking havoc on survivors, the city, and the creatures was fun. He liked to see things burn, and liked to destroy things; he liked to see fear and terror on others’ faces, and he liked to bully them. As long as Harley didn’t hold him back...he was fine.
But Harley had began to change on him, and Hotstreak often questioned himself on why he was still hanging around the man.
“I’ve seen him a few times,” Harley was saying as they cautiously moved through the streets. Somewhere, children cried in anguish–but the pair were used to the sound. The sound quickly shifted in queer barking noises that echoed throughout the stillness. “Never paid attention to him, then. I don’t think he’s running with anybody. I’ve always seen him alone.”
“You have? Seen him?” Hotstreak hadn’t bothered with remembering anybody, save for those he’d found attractive. And those never lasted long. “When?”
“Here and there. Near the east end–by the labs,” Harley confirmed, looking at him with a curious glance. As he expected, his lover’s face scowled, and his steps became hesitant. Rolling his eyes, he said, “It’s not like anybody’s there waiting to take you back! I just said I saw him in the area! There’s a building we’re going to check out, near the labs. It’s a hotel–classy one. I’ve seen him duck in there once.”
Reluctantly acquiescing, Hotstreak shrugged off his hand from his shoulder, keeping an eye out for any creatures that were waiting to pounce on them.
The moon was barely visible above them–nearly hidden behind the thick clouds that covered a majority of the night sky. Stars flickered here and there, but they were quickly hidden upon the clouds’ movement. There was a sharp chill in the air, as if snow were to fall at any moment. The silence and stillness of the night kept anybody on edge.
The darkness of the streets were thick and unforgiving. But Harley kept his flashlight pointed low just to see the ground ahead of them. Moving through long lines of abandoned cars, he found the place he was looking for, shining the light upon the dusty outside sign.
“Marriot,” he read, scanning the overgrown and long forgotten gardens for anything that may be watching them. Hotstreak studied the building with an annoyed look, hating that the sprawl took up a significant area. He could count at least fourteen stories.
Scowling, he glared at Harley, hoping that his lover was somewhat psychic, because he really wasn’t up to searching through, possibly, thousands of rooms for some kid.
They were quiet upon entering the building, keeping their eyes open and senses alert for any incoming creatures. Everything about the building was as desolate and silent as the outside world. But the tracks on the dusty floors were indications that not all was dead and unmoving; the flashlight picked up on the set of tracks that led through the hall and up the stairway. Both of them began rummaging through the desk, going through the drawers and desktop, the former Marine picking up a set of keys from the bottom of one drawer. One of them was marked “Master’s” in permanent ink.
Harley nudged Hotstreak with his elbow, gesturing at the stairway with his chin. Silent communication passed between them, and Hotstreak finally sighed–a quiet sound that made his cheeks billow slightly. Harley grinned.
Flashing the lights over the stairway once more, both of them then had to regard the scene with some thought. There were empty metal cans littering every stair–haphazardly placed. Looking down at his boots, Harley frowned at the situation presented before him. Hotstreak regarded the lobby with some boredom, spying several questionable things–the lumps of black on doorways, the blinking of a light atop of the front desk. Turning his flashlight around, he spotted what looked to be a digital camera propped between a couple of plants, aimed at them.
Sneaking suspicion bit him, and he caught Harley’s sleeve before the former Marine could try to move up the stairway. Harley looked at him with irritation, but caught the electronic device with a thoughtful frown.
“We’re being watched?” he whispered, lifting his eyebrows. “What the hell?”
“He might already know we’re here,” Hotstreak whispered. “Let’s just go.”
“...No. We’ll just keep going. It’s just one stupid kid, man. C’mon.”
“He probably already hightailed it outta here!”
“Let’s just go. C’mon. Shit.”
Harley turned away to carefully pick his way through the cans; bending to lift and move a few so that Hotstreak could pick his way up without bumping into them. This process was tedious and slow, and Hotstreak was growing bored of the plan, swinging his flashlight from here to there to look for more traps.
He wasn’t certain what the black lumps were on the doorway, but he didn’t trust them. When Harley made his way up to the top, he stopped his partner from completely crossing the top stair. Harley gave him another irritated look, and Hotstreak pointed out the black lumps. Upon investigation, he could see that a tiny red light was blinking underneath a couple of layers of black electrical tape. Harley peered at the device, once again marveling over the precautions.
“What the hell is this?” he whispered, poking at the side of the lump with one hand. Eventually, he peeled the tape back, an oblong device falling into his hand. As he caught it, fumbling, a streak of blue shot out, hitting the banister with a sharp snap! sound that made the pair of them jump. The streak disappeared after contact, but both men were wary upon spying the blackened scorch mark on the wood. Carefully, Harley upended the device, pointing it upward and away from their faces.
He started to point it at Hotstreak, but the redhead quickly shoved his hand away. Harley chuckled very quietly as he set it aside, atop of the banister. Both of them were careful to maneuver around the assortment of metal cans that were scattered throughout the hallway, once again spying the footprints leading to a doorway nearby. There was a small sign posted outside, reading “Manager”.
There were another set of ‘lumps’, and Harley carefully peeled both off before Hotstreak carefully tried the door. As expected, it was locked. Harley straightened from setting the devices aside, holding up the master’s key. Smirking, he inserted the key, and tried to open the door once more. When the chain caught, Hotstreak smirked back at him.
Harley rolled his eyes, and moved, keeping his hand on the door to keep it from swinging away while Hotstreak maneuvered in close, touching the visible chain. Melting the metal easily, the redhead pushed the door open slowly. By now they were expecting more traps, and caught the door when it started to emit a rusty screech. Wincing, Hotstreak pushed the door much more slowly and carefully so that the pair of them could enter, the screech only a slight rent in the air.
The Manager’s room was dusty–but it was obvious someone lived here. The furniture was clean, the television set was sparkling compared to the rest of the pieces, and a DVD player blinked ecstatically with evidence of use. Movies were scattered throughout the area, as well as evidence of food wrappings, clothing and electronic parts. That made them pause; all over the floors were carcasses of computers, phones, television sets, game consoles, digitalware, laptops, and various other things that looked to belong in a Best Buy.
Harley grumbled something low underneath his breath, carefully picking his way through the mess as Hotstreak frowned at the area. There were various books laying behind them, against the far wall–along with piles upon piles of sketch books, notebooks and thick manuals. He followed after Harley, both of them picking up the audible noise of snoring.
Without wasting time, both of them followed the noise, anticipation racing through their veins. The bedroom door was equally as booby-trapped–only this time, Harley found the lumps tucked under the carpet, drawn to the faint red blink of light coming from the fibers. When they attempted to open the door, they found it dead bolted. Spying the outside hinges, Harley held onto the doorknob, gesturing at them.
“Make it quiet,” he whispered as Hotstreak began to melt those by pinpointing a focused point of heat from his fingertip. While it seemed a small effort, concentrating such a powerful line of heat left him feeling strained. But the pinpoint of heat easily sliced through the screws and frame to separate the door from the frame. Carefully, both pushed that section of the door inward, so that Hotstreak could fit himself through the thin opening. The bedroom was dark, quiet–but the snoring continued atop of the bed set against the back wall. He could see that the teen was covered in blankets, blond hair visible.
With Harley holding the door steady, Hotstreak quietly and quickly pulled the deadbolts out and unlocked the chains. Setting the door against the wall, both of them scanned the room for more booby-traps.
Once they deemed it clear, Harley began moving forward. Hotstreak started to follow when he stumbled, straightening to see that he’d stepped on the shoelaces of his shoe. He crouched to fix the problem, Harley pausing for a moment as snores ceased–both men went completely still until the regular sound of breathing once again graced the silence. As soon as they blew back up into soft snores, Hotstreak began to retie his shoe and Harley studied the bed area for more traps.
Looking up to judge their next move, Hotstreak’s eye caught onto something different–the bed was raised upon plain metal rollers, so he was able to look underneath. Staring into the darkness, he realized he was looking at another human sized lump. Squinting, he realized he was looking at the teen they were looking for. It confused him for a few moments. The teen was asleep, but it was obviously troubled.
He looked up to warn Harley, but the former Marine was already in movement–grabbing the lump on the bed with a triumphant roar that startled even Hotstreak. The snores persisted, and Harley gave a dismayed sound as he frantically thrust aside the blankets–Hotstreak looked up to see what was going on, momentarily distracted from the sleeping form underneath the bed. Harley gave a short curse of exasperation, throwing the form onto the floor, pulling out his flashlight to look it over. It was a CPR doll outfitted with clothes and a blond wig, electronically tinkered with–the snoring and breathing sounds continued from a recorder planted within the dummy. Hotstreak looked underneath the bed once more, seeing that the sleeping teen was no longer there.
He said nothing, looking up at Harley once more as the former Marine kicked the rigged dummy with another curse. Harley stomped out of the room, agonizing over the pains they’d taken for their entrance. Hotstreak took out his own flashlight, crawling over to investigate the space underneath the bed. Pulling the bed aside, the light caught the clear outlines of a crudely cut trapdoor; just large enough for the teen to slip through for a quick escape. He pushed at the door, finding a hair-trigger release, and shined the flashlight into the opening. It was a short drop into a room below. He could see the tracks the teen had made with his landing and running off.
With a frown, he replaced the door and the bed, venturing out to see Harley still cursing over their luck.
“He must’ve heard us,” Hotstreak said. He didn’t bother telling him what he’d found or seen. “Told you. C’mon, let’s go.”
“Sneaky shit. If it ain’t us, someone else is gonna get him,” Harley muttered. “We need that bounty...”
“It’s a stupid bounty, anyway!” Hotstreak snapped. “So what if the kid’s smart?”
“Don’t be stupid. Of all the times you want to be stupid,” Harley said with heavy exasperation.
“Quit callin’ me stupid!”
“Stop flapping your mouth. I’m getting stupid just listening to you!” Harley thought for a few moments, rubbing his hand over his stubble. “We’ll clear out his food supply. Stake out his room for a few days. He won’t abandon this place; too much shit in here for him to abandon it.”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes, walking ahead of him. “He ain’t coming back now that he knows we’ve been here. Shit. Give it up.”
* - * - * - * - *
The device beeped at him in protest. But Richard Foley wasn’t going to listen to the excuses made by the most precious treasure he owned, roughly ordering a diagnostic check on the computer’s system. He was quite aware that he’d let Backpack on sleep mode, but he’d programmed the device to alert him of any wrong happenings that were occurring while he was sleeping. The security system should have been working despite Backpack’s artificial snooze.
He glared at the information that streamed down over the inside of his goggles. They had once been ordinary snowboarding goggles, but he’d found some fantastic equipment in one of Alva’s labs that allowed him to interface with his creation. The receiving transmitter was something he’d spent days working on, making the device as small as an earpiece battery, popping it easily into the band surrounding the lenses. It was much easier being able to sort and store the information he’d received from Backpack onto the lenses; that way, he could work through the input as easily as one would perform on a computer screen.
Backpack had been carefully designed throughout these three years, constructed into the entity it was today through tedious study and care. With more free time and creativity, Richie had managed to connect the small super-computer’s mainbrain with his through a series of rigging devices he’d implanted into himself via Alva’s delicate machinery. The self-surgery had been scary, but he’d been satisfied with the results. His connection with Backpack was of utmost importance, considering his needs.
The almost-A.I. settled more firmly in his lap as one lone eye popped out from the metal plate on its back, scanning the shadows for danger. Richie was quite aware of all the attention he’d brought onto himself–which was why he’d started arming himself with all sorts of defensive measures. Thanks to Alva’s abandoned labs, multitudes of abandoned electronics and unlimited imagination, he’d constructed Backpack as a ‘nearly’ artificial intelligent super computer that he used for all he’d found necessary.
It was paradise for him!
No human contact...multitudes of equipment available to him...no laws to follow...no moral police to question or reject his thoughts...no schools, no badgering parents, juvenile detention, ‘concerned’ teachers... He had only himself to answer to and confide in. Which was perfectly all right with him.
Backpack protested once more with a long, languid beep that made him roll his eyes.
“Don’t backtalk to me,” he muttered, shifting the goggles atop his head and removing his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose. “You’re the one that failed to notify me there were intruders in our home.”
He wrapped his arms around Backpack in a possessive hold, the lone mechanical eye continually scanning the darkness for danger. Richie felt the assuring hum of its generator, the familiar ten pound weight that had settled between his thighs. Cross-legged, he scowled at the fog that began to slowly weave in from the north, obscuring his view over the streets before him.
The silence was heavy; unnatural–while it gave him some content in that he could hear anything approaching, it was also unsettling.
Anxiously, he began biting on the nails of his left hand. He’d have to abandon the Marriot–but that was all right. He’d thought ahead–he already had ten other places throughout Dakota he could use for rest. He had more than enough supplies to keep his imagination happy, and he was well stocked with enough weaponry to topple a large crowd of survivors.
Backpack finished its scan and gave another series of clicks and beeps. Retractable limbs made a slight tapping noise as they pushed through the sidewalls of its torso, pushing out of his lap and wandering off. Richie stared after it in disgust, wondering where it was going. Sometimes, Backpack had the habit of wandering off with its own intent of investigation and failed to realize the importance of its security to its owner.
He was taking cover in the penthouse of a once ‘rich’ residential building–Plan B if the Marriot was compromised. Here, he could retain a visual of the place and still be in contact with the various devices he’d planted throughout the area. Backpack could retrieve the continuing feed of those devices and transfer it to its owner with ease. He shifted the goggles back over his eyes, mentally commanding Backpack to transfer him visuals and audio from the security cameras installed within the area. He flitted through various rooms until he found the two intruders meandering the second floor.
Frowning, Richie mentally upped the volume of the audio, catching only traces of their conversation. He caught the words ‘bounty’ and ‘arsenal’, but that was about it. The rest was bickering. Backpack was wandering too far for him to continue with clear feeds, so he finally cut both programs, shifting to the visuals on the street cameras throughout the surrounding blocks.
As usual, it was both man and creature prowling the streets. He shifted the goggles atop of his head and sighed heavily, curling up on the bed. He commanded Backpack’s return, going through the process of making sure he had his leather messenger bag on securely, his shoes tied tightly.
He was always ready to run if he had to.
He shifted his glasses just underneath the pair of goggles, watching Backpack scuttle through the open window. Limbs retracted, retreating just enough for its tiny fingers to clumsily pull itself across the sheets toward him. Richie reached for it, hugging it tightly against his torso; he felt the retractable straps he’d installed on its body curl securely around his waist and shoulders. Settled somewhat, he mumbled a command, then prepared to sleep as Backpack’s single eye lifted slightly, blinking a firm green as its systems prepared for continuous watch throughout the night.