Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Clockwork Little Happiness ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Monsters made out of human excrement...smell.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.06.2006 | Pages: 6 | Words: 10.9K | Visits: 235 | Status: Completed
Monsters made out of human excrement...smell.
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.06.2006 | Pages: 6 | Words: 10.9K | Visits: 235 | Status: Completed
AU, OOC, violence...supernatural themes, violence...slash, gore
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
This is based off 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.
Chapter Six:
Clockwork Little Happiness
When Richie woke up that next morning, he felt every bruise and protrusion he’d gotten from both the fight in the alley and Harley. He groaned softly, reaching up to touch the knot on his forehead–it made him hiss in reaction, his skin prickling with piercing pain he felt throughout his body. His head throbbed with a headache, and he checked to make sure that his loose teeth were still in place. They didn’t feel as loose as they had earlier, and was confident that they were going to heal okay.
He settled in the quiet darkness, going over what had happened in the last two days. Backpack shifted in his arms, catching his attention–but his thoughts weren’t on the little robot he was holding protectively in his arms. They were on the redhead. Virgil was snoring away next to him, but it looked to be a troubled sleep. Richie’s brow furrowed as he couldn’t pinpoint any specific thought on why he was thinking of Hotstreak at that moment–he went over their entire interaction.
The man had been shocked and dazed over what had occurred, and Richie wondered what his personality was like. His first impression yielded a no-brain follower–the man did whatever the other said or wanted. The man didn’t scream “Thinker!”–he seemed more the muscle than anything else.
But apart from all that, Richie remembered the impression of the redhead’s body against his–it was certainly much more warmer, much more thicker and sturdier than his own. There was also a smell about him that Richie could remember; a comforting salty and woodsy scent that made Richie think of sweat and heat in the summer.
When he realized he was giving too much thought over some stranger, his face darkened with a scowl. It made him uncomfortable. Shifting Backpack away, he then propped a foot on Virgil’s chest. Richie kicked him off the bed, Virgil having no time to catch himself as he flopped backwards onto the floor.
With grim satisfaction, Richie watched Virgil leap up from the floor, his face twisting darkly, sparks flying everywhere with his venomous mood.
“What the fuck was that for?!” Virgil screeched. The blond teen smiled with a mean-spirited glee, curling up comfortably in his own spot as Backpack went on high-alert over Virgil’s flailing. It was ready to do battle if its owner was harmed. “What the fuck was that for, you fucking piece of shit?! What the fuck is your fucking cracker problem?!”
“You rolled into my personal bubble,” Richie muttered, fluffing his pillow. It emitted a great cloud of dust, making him sneeze repeatedly, sitting up with a startled look.
“‘Rolled into your personal bubble’?! I’mina roll my fucking fist upside your fucking face, you fucking piece of faggot bullshit crackerjack whackjob! You skank-smelling son of a fucking whore bitch four-eyed freak!!”
“Let’s not use up our vocabulary for the rest of the day, Virgil. Shut the fuck up.”
With an enraged snarl, Virgil leapt at him, Backpack scuttling out of the way. Amidst all their shouting and fighting, the robot began scanning the outside for danger, noting with some alarm that things had changed since they’d fallen asleep. The blond stilled for a moment, receiving the notifications with some confusion. Virgil was digging his knuckles into his collarbone, holding him down to do so, so Richie turned his head and started gnawing into his forearm. Virgil screeched once more, allowing him to roll, throwing both of them off the bed. Once hitting the floor, both their bodies sent up clouds of dust, making them both cough and sneeze.
“Look! Virgil! Look at the room!” Richie demanded, rising onto his hands and knees to see that everything wasn’t as immaculate as it was when they’d come in. Everything was covered in dust and age–the wallpaper was curling off the walls, the carpet frayed by insects and rodents. The curtains were heavy with dust, tv set shattered by vandalism. Virgil took this in with surprise, rubbing painfully at the bite on his arm, stilling as he realized the state of the room. Backpack opened the door, venturing outside with caustic noises.
Blinking, Virgil looked at him in puzzlement. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Richie studied the room with bewilderment, rubbing at his collarbone. With slow movements, he found his new bag of equipment–a black messenger that held the contents his other bag had. The bag was heavy and nearly overfilled. He slid the thick strap over one shoulder, comforted by the familiar feeling of the bag against his body. “Did...was...Do you feel any different? I mean, could something have affected us while we were asleep?”
Virgil physically examined himself. He then stilled, recalling the encounter with his mother. His chest clenched inward with a violence that made him bend, breathing in deeply as a shudder moved through him. The feel of her hand on his was a strong feeling that made him clench that hand to his chest, aching to be reunited with her once more. He heard Richie call to him with worry, and struggled to compose himself, not wanting to break down in front of the other teen. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to show that vulnerable side of him, just as Richie was with him.
It took awhile before Virgil could speak. Once he was sure he could do so without having his voice catch, he stood. His legs were shaky. To help deal, he pulled on his jacket and backpack for something to do. “Something...did...happen. Last...last night. When you were...sleeping.”
“Well, what? Stop channeling Shatner and get on with it.”
Virgil recounted what had happened, leaving out the more personal parts. After he was done, Richie stared at the broken set in silence. Minutes passed before any of them said anything.
Richie joined him at the edge of the bed, Backpack relating its finds to the blond from the doorway. He looked at Virgil with some worry. “Then...then what happens? What do we do?”
Virgil focused on his words, drifting aimlessly in his thoughts before registering what he said. With a scoffing expression, he rose. “You mean, what I’m going to do? I’m going to save the world, man. That’s my thing. I don’t know what you’ll be doing in the meantime.”
Richie gave a scoffing sound of his own, annoyed at Virgil’s cockiness. Sometimes, the other teen’s head enabled him to think in an overconfident manner. He hadn’t any patience for the attitude today. “Oh, like you can do things on your own. You’re talking about a mission that can save–well, two worlds, if what you heard was correct. You think you can handle that big a responsibility? You can’t even work your way honestly through a checkers game.”
“Oh, shut up, cocksucker. Eat me. I have more than enough power to blast my way through shit to find what I need, and just because I ain’t no damn genius like you don’t mean that I can’t think on my own. Just because you passed a few tests don’t exactly make you top-notch for the job. You don’t even got power–you got fuckin’ toys that don’t even do shit.”
“Shut up, Virgil! You couldn’t even do shit when Madelyn came through the world. You failed then–you’re going to fail now without help. And I’m willing to help you, despite your stupidity and over-arrogance.”
“I was young and stupid back then! I didn’t know what I was doing! And there’s nothing wrong with arrogance when I’ve got confidence! I’m confident in myself and my abilities, and I know I can do this! She said I did it before–well, I don’t remember that, or know what she was talking about, but I know I can do it.”
“Virgil, this is a serious load of work. You need someone to help you with things, and I said I’d do it! You’ve got to stop thinking like a stupid teenager that you are. Be a man, dammit.”
“...HAH! You consider yourself a man? You still sleep with your toys!”
“Backpack isn’t a toy! And I never said I was a man–I just said that you’ve got to grow up! You are starting to see this as one of your video games! This is a big deal, and you’ve got to realize that you can get hurt or possibly killed doing this! And stop starting shit with me when I’m offering you my help!”
“I don’t need your damn help! I can do this on my own! Besides, what can YOU do that will be helpful or beneficial to me? Besides hang on me every step of the way and irritate me?”
“I can be quite beneficial to you! I’ve always given you what you needed, and I’ve always helped you! You mooch off me whenever you don’t have something!”
“Fuck you, Rich! I don’t mooch off you.”
“You do too!” Richie exclaimed, growing steadily more irritated with Virgil’s arguing. “You would never know where to get food from if you didn’t stay in contact with me! You would never–!”
“Man, I know how to do that stuff on my own. I can take care of myself–I just hang around you just so you don’t feel lonely or whatnot in this big, bad world.”
“...Shut up, Virg!”
Virgil snickered at the heavily irritated expression on Richie’s face, the way the other teenager was steadily growing angry with his every argument. Even as he argued, though, Virgil was starting to doubt himself. While he did feel every confidence in himself, and perhaps he was a little too arrogant in his abilities, he thought briefly of the military men that had trapped him in the elementary school. Of how they’d come up with ways to bypass his powers. Doubt began to grow, but he didn’t want to show any weakness to Richie. The blond would pounce on it and make Virgil feel dumber about the subject. And he absolutely hated it when the other teenager did that to him.
“Now that I know what happened, and that my theory was correct, you’re all mad that you were left out of it! You kept denying my thoughts on the matter, saying I was stupid because I don’t have proof,” Virgil mimicked, flapping his hands about. “Well, now I have proof! And I was right! And what do you have to say about it? ‘Oh, you’re too stupid to do it, Virgil, you need someone to hold your hand’. HAH! I don’t need you–you’d only slow me down.”
“Fuck you, Virgil. Just because some dead woman came back from the grave–”
“Don’t you TALK about my mother that way!”
“Your stupid whore of a mother hasn’t any idea what she was saying to you, anyway!” Richie spit at him, rising from the bed. “What does she know about this? Nothing! I think you just dreamed it all! There isn’t any proof that she was here!”
Virgil began shoving him, face twisting with fury as he spoke. “My mother was never a whore! She was awesome and great, something you’d never have! You’re just mad and jealous that my parents actually gave a shit about me! Yours didn’t, and that’s why you ended up in Omaha with that man–!”
“Shut up, Virgil! You don’t know shit about me! And I’ll never be jealous of you! You don’t have anything that I want!” Richie shrieked at him, flushing an alarming state of red.
Virgil continued shoving him, giving a taunting laugh as Richie tried to get up. “What’cha gonna do now, queer boy? You can’t do shit to me. You gonna get your stupid toy to come at me, now? You can’t settle this on your own?”
“Knock it off, Virgil! Stupid black faggot, you only say that stuff because you’re in denial! You think I haven’t heard what the other guys were saying about you? How you sucked cock just to find out who killed your mother?”
“Stop TALKING about my mom!” Virgil shouted, pushing him again. “And I never did that! I went about it the better way, by kicking ass wherever I went! Guys were afraid of ME because of what I could do! No one messed with me!”
“Like your father, who sent you away because he knew how big of a failure you are?”
They had just started to punch at each other when Backpack emitted a shrill whistle from the doorway, startling them both. The heavy tension between them seemed to stall as they looked over. They became aware of heavy footfalls coming up the hall, and both of them hurriedly crossed the room to the door that connected with the neighboring room. Virgil blasted through the door, both of them climbing through the doorway upon hearing the inane shouts of Ghouls as they neared.
“Keep going until you get to the end room, and get out from there! Don’t try to engage with them–there might be too many, and you need to get away in order to go through with what you were told to do! You have to start protecting yourself if everything’s depending on you!” Richie ordered as the Ghouls began shouting with their sadistic glee, Backpack scurrying through their abandoned room, using all its available arms to right the door Virgil had blasted. Richie turned back to retrieve his invention, Virgil hesitating. The door began shaking with heavy force, Ghouls shouting continuously in savage cheer as it began breaking inward.
Wood burst, revealing several Ghouls as they pushed at the door, spying both teenagers with profanity-laced shouts. Richie quickly picked up his robot, Backpack latching onto him as he then veered toward the room’s door. The Ghouls burst through the door, three immediately racing after him as the others spied Virgil standing nearby. Virgil lashed out with his powers, sending his group flying away from him, another batch of them racing at him. He turned, running for the next connecting door, blasting through that upon seeing the others rising despite their critical injuries.
He tore through that doorway then raced for the main door, which was wide open with earlier vandalism. He raced out onto the hall, hearing Ghouls hurry after him. A glance over his shoulder told him that they were armed with both firepower and various tools, their manic, deformed faces showing their glee in the chase. Ghouls, which tended to continue their chase despite missing limbs and lacking physical connection to pain, were impossible foes to beat. Virgil could sever limbs and heads, drop vehicles on them, electrocute them until their bodies turned black, but they’d still work their way free to continue their attack. His only chance at losing them was either hiding or taking flight.
Ghouls never stopped until their victims were dead or out of reach–or if they were distracted by other prey. He pulled his disk from his backpack, taking flight–those armed with guns began firing at him in tandem, others throwing their weapons at him with frustrated shouts. Virgil easily blocked the incoming ammunition with setting up a defensive shield, pulling what he could see from the Ghouls’ possession. He tossed the weapons atop of the motel’s roof, where the Ghouls couldn’t get them. Hearing their furious howls and profanity, he coasted through the air, searching for his friend.
It took a couple of minutes, but he found the blond teenager atop of the roof of a nearby gas station, preparing to drop a couple of his Zap Caps onto the snarling Ghouls below. Virgil grimaced, eyeing the gasoline pumps with unease. One Ghoul was reloading his shotgun, missing half of its head and a section of its torso, the others hitting the pillar with a bat and steel pipe.
“You realize you’re gonna get yourself blown up,” he commented as he hovered nearby, jerking the shotgun away from the Ghoul. “How’d you get up here, anyway?”
“Backpack. It’s capable of holding at least five hundred pounds with its working arms,” Richie answered absently, checking the colored tape on his caps. “The others extend to over seven hundred feet. I found the material at the labs. Which reminds me, I need to make another trip to the mall and to the labs to make another set of special goggles so that I could interface easier with Backpack...”
“Listen...I’m sorry about what I said,” Virgil apologized, feeling sheepish. “I...I shouldn’t’ve brought up that stuff about Omaha, but you shouldn’t talk about my mom that way. It really hurts–”
Richie ignored him, looking over the edge of the roof as he eyed the Ghouls that were struggling to climb atop of the gas pumps, others running across the street to join them. He sat back with a sigh, looking around himself. He pointed across the way. “See that dump truck over there? Bring that over here–smash the station, blow up the fuel ports. Maybe that’ll blow them to kingdom come.”
“Rich? I said I was sorry–listen to me–!”
“Hurry up before more arrive!”
Virgil hesitated, then spied the vehicle Richie was pointing at. With some effort, he captured the vehicle, feeling the pull on his concentration as the heavier weight caused him some strain. The Ghouls noticed what was happening, ceasing their snarling actions to look up at the floating vehicle with registered curiosity. Virgil looked at Richie, who was adjusting Backpack to his back, looking over at the gas station with some uncertainty.
“I’m going over there,” he said, pointing. He gave Virgil a disgusted glance. “I’m going to do my own thing for awhile. Good luck with your little mission.”
“Oh my God, don’t be gettin’ that way with me right now!” Virgil exclaimed. “I’m trying to apologize for what I said! I do need your help!”
“Whatever. If I need you, I’ll track you down. Which I won’t because I don’t need anybody.”
Virgil watched with reluctance as Backpack stretched its rebar arms out to the station, effortlessly hauling its owner atop of the rooftop. Since the Ghouls were distracted by the dump truck floating atop of them, they didn’t see the blond scurry across the roof, using his invention to move from one rooftop to the other. Virgil took to the air with a heavy sigh, grunting as he swung the dump truck high up in the air, at an angle to the gas pumps. With his other hand, he focused on ripping one of the connecting gas pipes from its underground tank, allowing the thick liquid to spill out over the pavement and the moving Ghouls. He sent a spark across the pavement, gas immediately catching flame, lighting up one of the crazed beings as the others started to scurry away.
Gaining some distance, Virgil then tossed the dump truck into those that were trying to run away from the scene. The vehicle’s metal created more sparks, sending a plume of fire into the cold air–he watched for a few minutes more before that resulting fire caught onto the other gas pump. The resulting explosion was deafening, and the heat was welcome as the shockwave plowed through the air, making him waver in place.
He waited, watching for the Ghouls to appear–he saw their burning bodies running around in aimless panic. Turning with one last glance in the direction Richie went, Virgil then sighed, wondering how he was going to start his newly given mission. His mother had told him to look for the others–but he didn’t know where to start.
Feeling lost and annoyed, Virgil shot off over the city.
* - * - * - * - *
That night, Richie was fuming silently as Backpack continued its security check. The Meadowside Mall had been heavily vandalized over the years–windows were shattered, clothes and other valuables lay in scattered mess throughout the three story sprawl. It smelled of gas and unpleasant death–there were scatters of human and animal bones throughout the area. Dust coated everything. Rodents and other small animals were the only living things in the area, and they were quick to hide or attack. Birds quickly took to flight at the sound of Backpack’s clearance, dashing through the open skylights that had been shattered years earlier.
Richie began striding through the mess, heading for the snowboarding/skateboarding shops that he’d found the goggle in. The shop was in horrendous design–but he found what he was looking for, Backpack scuttling off to do its own investigation of the area. He carefully stuffed a couple extra into his bag, frowning at the weight as he rose. He thought about the labs, wondering if there were any military hanging out in the area, wishing for the easiness of his goggle-invention and the convenience of multiple windows to perform multiple tasks. He left the shop, mind focused on redesigning the goggle.
At his silent command, he heard Backpack’s answering chirp halfway across the mall. With an irritated curse that his invention would leave him alone, Richie turned in that direction, giving the robot a stern talking-to as he moved through the mess of the mall. The silence of the place, combined with its chilly stillness made Richie uncomfortable. He glanced around himself in apprehension, hating the way the mannequins looked in the shadows. Backpack gave a reassuring series of sounds, the noise carrying in the design of the mall that made it impossible for Richie to pinpoint it.
“Get back here NOW, Backpack!” he shouted in annoyance, wincing at the volume of his voice as it carried and echoed within the silence. “I didn’t build you just so you could leave me all alone!”
Backpack answered, ‘But you gave me freedom to act as I should upon appropriate measures. I found it necessary to investigate the perimeter. Can you take care of yourself while I am away?’
Richie took it as a sassy response. For a moment, he stilled, contemplating the answer within his own thoughts. He wondered just how far he’d taken it in giving it a near personality.
“Yes, I can take care of myself,” he snapped in out loud reply. “But I’d rather YOU take care of the heavy work, like I built you to do! Damn you, I brought you into this world, I can damn well take you out of it! THEN we’ll see what happens when I dismantle your main processing core and replace it with all the functionality of a damn–microwave! Or how about a toddler’s toy? Huh? You want that?”
‘Why would you reprogram me when you input this current program on your own care and design?’ The irritation in Backpack’s reply made goosebumps rise on his skin, and he was hesitant to carry on his argument with his own invention.
“We’ll see if you enjoy being a Leapster and doing mindless counting and alphabet tables for a toddler than working on actual thinking projects with me!”
The robot appeared in his sight, scurrying across the ceiling off to his left. ‘You shouldn’t exert your frustration and anger upon me when I am merely cooperating with the data you input into my system. You are just mad and angry at yourself, and what had occurred with Virgil.’ It seemed to huff in response, making Richie stamp his foot in irritation.
“Don’t you argue with me, you mindless piece of shit lump of metal! You want to take that damn attitude with me, I’ll leave you with Virgil! Then we’ll see what happens when you try to speak and argue with that idiot!”
Backpack’s single eye flashed red repeatedly as it gave a heated response. ‘Virgil wouldn’t be able to communicate effectively with me. It would be impossible for the both of us to be compatible. He would only grow frustrated and try to destroy me to amuse himself, instead. Would you want that?’
Richie had never had an argument with his invention, before. Never a two-sided conversation. But its words flashed across his thought process in a flurry, leaving him with the distinct feeling he was hearing someone speak. Only he wasn’t hearing it–rather than processing its stream of data as one would process someone’s spoken words. His mind worked furiously, wondering what he’d done to create this fantastic breakthrough with his invention.
“I’ll go and find him right now.”
‘You won’t–you’re presently angry with him. You’d never ask him for help. And you’d never entrust him with me–I mean too much to you.’
“I can, too, give you up! Get down here, right this minute!”
Backpack lowered itself from the ceiling, landing neatly on the dirtied floor in front of its owner. Then, it seemed to bow with approval seeking manner. ‘Did that make you feel better, Richard? Did I react in an appropriate manner? How should I respond the next time you need give-and-take interaction?’
Richie reeled. He was lost for words and thoughts, registering that stream of data with a sort of dazed feeling. What? He asked himself in bewildered manner, the robot waiting for a response. It just addressed me. What is it talking about? Where is this response coming from?
He slowly lowered himself to his knees, reaching for it. Without inquiry, it allowed him to open its hull. Richie pressed the deactivation safety button within, and Backpack’s connection with his mind was severed instantly as the robot was turned off. Staring into Backpack’s insides, at the neatly packed compartments within, Richie was bewildered with what had just occurred. His mind went over every alteration and repair he’d performed on the robot over the past two days, wondering how it had gained a fragmented personality in that time.
Lost in his thoughts, he pulled out Backpack’s memory boards, squinting at them for any alterations he may have performed on them. He pulled out some tools from his bag, pulling out various wires and connections as he made his way into its main processing center. He then caught himself, realizing he was putting himself in danger with leaving himself wide open.
It felt that he’d just completed the realization when he heard a crunch of glass from his right. He whirled around, pulling Backpack protectively into his embrace, ready to run for safety. He stilled at the sight of the man looking at him with utter bewilderment, his facial expression clearly wondering if he were out of his mind.
“Who the hell are you talking to?” Hotstreak asked, at a complete and utter loss as to what the teenager was doing. While on one had he was completely surprised at seeing the kid again, he was simply thrown with confusion over the teen’s one-sided conversation that had rang throughout the halls of the abandoned mall. “There ain’t nobody here!”
Richie gaped at him for a few moments, mortified with being overheard. Slowly he rose, his eyes locked on his face. What struck him paralyzed was seeing the man’s own eyes; the dark green that was clearly visible with the faint light that came into the mall through the broken skylights. It was startling in that unexpected color–sending something of a punch in his gut at something that felt like familiarity.
In that state of shock he was experiencing, he’d tuned out everything around him, coming back to hear, “...four eyes, I’m talking to you! I know you speak English! Oh, don’t tell me you forgot who I am already! Man, I should kick your ass–after all that shit I went through! I could have been happily living in ignorant bliss with the man I’d spent these last three years with–!”
Richie was taken back by the manner of speaking. Here was a whole different change of personality from what he’d seen from that day; to hear him speak like so many others he knew was akin to crushing disappointment. His face must have reflected that, because Hotstreak stopped talking. “...What?”
“...No wonder he was so adamant that you shouldn’t speak,” Richie said with heavy disappointment, holding Backpack tightly to him. “When your mouth is shut, you’re an okay person to look at. Your relationship must’ve just been based on sexual satisfaction, wasn’t it? Because I really can’t detect any appeal in your personality, nor any traits worthy for a long lasting relationship.”
Hotstreak stared at him in silence, openly insulted by what was said. He scowled. “This is the thanks I get for stepping in to save your ass? Fuckin’ disrespect?”
Richie immediately stepped back, realizing what he’d spoken aloud. He looked around for any signs of Harley. “W-what are you doing here?”
“Now you wanna get chummy on me? Hah!” Hotstreak shot him a disgusted look, walking around him. He looked at the piece of paper in his hand, at a total loss as to why he was here at the mall. It was nothing but desolation and dangerous abandonment–to him, it looked as if it’d fall apart any minute. He didn’t like the smell of it–he kept reminding himself not to use his powers for any reason.
He sniffed himself and winced–he could swear he could still smell that Wailer’s slime all over him. “Some of the clothes stores still intact, nerdy? I need to change my clothes. Oh, wait–don’t help me. I don’t like what you’re wearing...You’re like a damn train wreck.”
Richie looked down at his collared shirt, sweater, zippered sweater coat and straight-legged jeans. His Chuck Taylors were comfortable–and maybe he overdid it with the bright green and orange scarf, but he was cold and scarves kept his neck warm–he scowled, flushing slightly. Virgil had called him a “Harry Potter” reject last night. He watched the other man walk away, complaining loudly when he stepped in something that managed a disgusting squishing sound within the stillness of the mall–Richie took in the name-brand jeans and shirt, the way that material fitted neatly and expertly to the man’s solid frame.
He looked away with an embarrassed clearing of his throat, aware that he’d been looking at areas that were accentuated by the clothing’s fit. He noticed how dark it was getting–looking up through the broken skylights, he saw that the sky was darkening. He looked after the man that was steadily making his way up the stairs to the second level; he looked down at Backpack, then around himself to make sure Harley wasn’t anywhere around. The way Hotstreak had spoken had suggested that he’d left the man; but there was still emotional involvement.
He followed in the other man’s footsteps. By the time he caught up with him, he was sorting through the musty clothing in a Abercrombie and Fitch. The sight made him curl his lip in distaste, eying the clothing with personal aversion. The man noticed him, frowning at him as he lowered a pair of jeans from his inspection. “What?”
“Are you...still with that man? You look lost without someone giving you directions. You must be used to having people boss you around,” Richie said, venturing closer. He wanted to see the green of the other man’s eyes, again. In a desperate way that made him speak anything that came to mind to do so. “It must be unpleasant to not have a mind of your own. What is it like to be considered an imbecile?”
Hotstreak considered his words, and decided that he was too tired to protest the insult. He was used to hearing Harley call him things, and he didn’t think the teen was that important to be insulted by. “He’s a whackjob. He ain’t the same person I knew.”
He tossed the pair of jeans aside, and wandered away from the store. Striding over the dirtied floor, he eyed the disaster of the mall. He heard the teen following him, and grew irritated with the shadowing–it was distracting him from his thoughts on Harley, the piece of paper and the search for suitable clothing.
He looked back at the teen, frowning as he took in the sight of his clothing, the glasses, the messy hair–the teen screamed dork. He was also quick to say things that were insulting and mean. The sort that was never happy. He was definitely not his type. But then his eyes caught the grotesque knob of swollen and broken flesh over his eyebrow, the other visible bruises.
He looked down at the thing he held close, as if it were some sort of toy. Hotstreak stopped walking, giving him a dirty look. “What?! Why are you following me? Scat! Scram! I’ve got important things to do! Manly things...men things. Things that kids should have no say or interest in.”
“What are you going to do if you’re not with him anymore?” Richie asked, starting to grow interested in the other man’s future. “What happens if you don’t have anybody guiding you? You’re going to wind up dead because you can’t think for yourself. That was apparent when I met you. You’re clearly used to having that man boss you around. It must be nice to not have to think for yourself and having someone do it for you.”
The redhead stopped and turned to face him, growing irritated. Richie paused in place, looking into narrowing green eyes. He found it amazing how they seemed lighter in the dark–why hadn’t he noticed this the other night?
“Stop looking at me like that!” Hotstreak snapped at him, growing a little uncomfortable with the direct stare he was being given. “And it’s none of your damn business! I said SCRAM!”
Richie was really starting to find himself fascinated with the man–and he inwardly knew it was a dangerous thing. But he couldn’t stop himself from remembering how it felt to be close to him; feeling his heat. Smelling his scent. Feeling his arms around him, and how the delicate skin of his neck felt against his face. He idly wondered if he’d taste as he smelled. Overactive teenage hormones brought him back to the present, immediately turning away upon mortification as the remembered sensation and feeling of skin against his made his body react.
Satisfied that the teen was going to leave him alone, Hotstreak continued on his way. But even as he heard the teen following at a small distance, he spied a Buckle. Nothing like his Dolce and Gabbana, but maybe it was time for change. He became aware of the teen lingering nearby, peeking in at him from a safe distance as he rummaged through the mess for something to wear. He found some comfortable cargo shorts, shirts and hooded sweater by various labels. There were bags still hanging from the wall, so he took one of those, carefully folding his extras and stuffing them in there.
Spying the teen lingering nearby, nervously rifling through some hoodies, Hotstreak grinned. He could sense that quiet attraction the blond had for him, and it was somewhat uplifting to know that someone else was eying him. Even if it was some kid.
That thought stopped him short, immediately thinking of the boy that had been the subject of Harley’s sick ‘curiosity’. He felt that disgust rise deep from within, and anger flared through him.
He formed a fireball, the teen tensing as he saw it. Pulling his arm back, Hotstreak watched as the teen quickly left the store. Satisfied, he let the flame die away to change. Once he was through, he searched the fitting rooms for a mirror. He preened and examined himself in one of the mirrors, grimacing at the sight of stubble. He rubbed his armpits with his fingers, feeling the hair there. He sniffed his fingers after removing them, then wiped them on his shorts. Looking at himself again, he kicked off the shoes because they didn’t go with his outfit. He scowled at his pale legs, ruffling the gold-auburn hair there. Then he straightened, grinning stupidly while he flexed his arm muscles, checking out his shape in the mirror.
Quite satisfied that he hadn’t let himself go while with Harley, he left the fitting room area. He thought he saw the teen duck back outside, and grew annoyed with the other’s stalking presence. The place was rapidly falling dark, and he didn’t particularly like the dark. That was when the creatures came out in full-force. He grabbed his backpack, aiming to look for shoes that matched his outfit. He left that store, still feeling the teen’s eyes on him from behind some hiding spot nearby. As he headed back the way he’d come, remembering the athletic store, he took out the scrap of paper he’d found in the police station and puzzled over the message once more.
“‘Lab. 44. Proceed to Meadowside Mall’,” he read aloud, truly mystified by the writing. What was he supposed to look for? He stuffed it back into his pocket, hearing the teen following him once more. He found the store, and found some suitable shoes. Still hearing the teen shadowing him, he scowled, whirling around to yell at him once more when he heard his name bellowed from across the mall. He recognized it as the very same sounds from the police station–he froze, utterly bewildered as to how the Wailer had found him. Why it wanted him in the first place was beyond him.
The teen hurried over to him. Hotstreak was distracted from the creature as the robot came back to life with a blur of noises. It examined him with seeming surprise as Richie looked at him.
“What is that? Who is that? Do you know that person?” he demanded, the robot falling from his arms to examine the source of the noise. Then his eyes widened, giving a sort of gasp. “It’s another creature...what is it? How does it know you? Why is it following you? It’s injured, but–!”
Hotstreak flailed. “SHUT UP! Take a breath! BREATHE! Damn, what is it with you and all these damn questions?! I don’t even know WHAT it is! Quit asking me stuff...”
Richie stared at him for a few moments–the green in his eyes were truly captivating. He just wasn’t sure what true green they were.
They both startled at the bellow once more, but there were the accompanying sounds of crashing and slithering. Backpack scrambled back to its owner, eye pointed away from them. It clambered upon Richie’s back.
The Wailer, upon plain sight, was a disgusting creature. Hotstreak’s first thought upon seeing its entirety was that it resembled a long coil of human excrement. His face reflected this with a twist of disgust, Richie reacting with the same sort of expression. Its long, human-like arms effortlessly swept things out of its path, leaving behind its slithering body a trail of dirtied mucus. Its deformed head was a mere lump out of its slimy body, that mouth dragging with a loose sort of deformity from that very same protrusion.
“Now that’s gross,” he muttered, amazed that the thing had even fit itself in the office within the police station. But now he understood why the hall had been destroyed–why the slime. He looked down at himself once more, disgusted with having those fluids on him. He shuddered, wiping at his hair and face, smelling himself with suspicion. When he caught Richie looking at him, he whirled on him with an embarrassed flush. “What?! Do I smell? What the fuck, don’t look at me like that!”
“Why is it after you?” Richie asked instead, returning his attention to the grotesque creature that was slowly moving their way. “Why does it know your name? Has it been chasing you? Is that why you changed? How come–?”
“Shut up!” Hotstreak exclaimed with annoyance. He looked back at the Wailer, watching as it easily swept trash and debris out of its path, reaching for the staircase. Both of them backed away, feeling the trembling of the floor as its heavy body surged around itself, seemingly ready to spring. Not wanting that thing anywhere near him, Hotstreak started to step back. Then he hesitated upon hearing the strange and strangled noise that was now taking place of the Wailer’s tortured cries.
They watched in struck expression as that mouth widened, revealing the dark cavern of its throat. Its body bulged then tensed, shooting upward into a snake-like stance. Backpack emitted a series of clicks and beeps, red eye flashing as Richie started. The blond turned, looking ready to run again.
“Something’s coming out of there!” he warned, Hotstreak tensing to run. The creature emitted a slimy belch that made slime fly, and then projectile vomiting commenced. The air was dotted with a certain blackness that made both males start, turning to run far from the flying vomit that sprayed the second floor. The stench was putrid and Hotstreak exclaimed with disgust as pebbles of what looked like excrement rolled over the dusty surface.
Both of them had enough of the grotesque creature, but it wasn’t finished–after another revolting belch, the body bulged and tensed once more. The mouth widened and flopped as it started vomiting once more, only the creatures flying from its throat were taking flight once reaching open air. Backpack squealed, and Richie turned to run.
“Faeries!” he shouted, racing away as Hotstreak recognized the creatures whose wings began fluttering madly, dispersing the slime and muck that coated their bodies.
“That is so wrong!” he declared, following after the blond as the noisy, winged demons caught sight of them with childish cries of discovery. “That is so wrong!”
The Wailer screamed again, pulling itself up the stairway as it then commenced into more projectile vomiting, more Faeries flying from its dangling mouth. Both males raced for the end of the mall, then climbed out through the broken glass doors. The fresh and chilly air outside was a great relief to them, but the creatures weren’t ready to give them up just yet.
The strong flutter of numerous wings whipped through the air as the creatures followed them outside. The continuous chatter of Faeries accompanied the sounds of snarls and growls, the toddler sized creatures pursuing the pair with a ferocious sort of determination. Teeth snapped, flashing with their broad smiles and sadistic cheer. Visible ribs heaved as they panted, tiny arms reaching for them in clumsy action. Their wings beat hard through the air as their overly large eyes clung determinedly onto the pair of males.
Hotstreak whirled at one point, hurling numerous fireballs at the things, most of which zipped easily around them. Those that were caught within the flame dive-bombed the pavement in series of tortured screams and screeches that echoed throughout the empty area, drawing attention of other creatures. Richie clumsily dug into his messenger bag for a Cap. Finding a couple that Virgil had charged, he turned and hurled those at the incoming cloud of creatures. The resulting charge ran throughout the group, most falling as electricity danced through a majority through accident touch.
As they hit the ground, Hotstreak took that chance to fire upon them with a continuous wave of fire, amping up the heat several notches to melt away skin and wings upon an instant. Once the other creatures saw what was happening to their companions, they hesitated upon the chase. They protested with their childish voices, condemning the pair as they fluttered back to avoid the same demise.
Once Richie saw that they were backing off, he hesitated with his last Zap Cap, Backpack pulling at his leg as it then turned around. Whirling, he saw Ghouls were quickly approaching the area, followed by a swarming crowd of Demons. He gave a startled cry, Hotstreak looking away from the mass of Faeries to see them being surrounded. He gaped in panicked fervor, Ghouls cackling and dirtying the air with their profanity laced threats and promises. The Faeries ventured in close, talking excitedly among each other as they spread around the pair, others dive-bombing the incoming Demons.
Richie looked around himself in panic, spotting the manhole cover nearby. While certainly panicked at the invasion of creatures, he had the bewildering thought that this entire encounter seemed orchestrated. Something was wholly wrong with the scene, and it scared him to think that something else was engineering the action. The Ghouls came in close, but they didn’t attack–the Demons held themselves back, but surrounded them in a crowd of black with their screeches and snarls. The Faeries hovered in the air, but didn’t dive-bomb them.
Hotstreak flared, causing most of the creatures to cry out with horrified display–but encouraged the hungry Ghouls with challenge. Most of them were carrying non-discharge weaponry, swinging rocks at the pair of them. While recognizing how hopeless the situation seemed, he didn’t see what Richie was seeing. He kept bemoaning the fact that Harley wasn’t here with a plan.
Backpack scurried toward the manhole cover, long arms reaching for the piece of metal. Faeries dive-bombed it quickly, Ghouls coming after it with swinging steel pipes and bats. Richie hurriedly called his invention back to him, Backpack hesitating. It pulled away from the manhole cover, retreating to its owner. Richie encouraged it onto his back, then frowned at the situation. The Ghouls called out to him, using his name as they emitted shouts of violent profanity and disgusting promises of death. The Wailer called out with torment, easing its grotesque body out from the mall doors, aiming to join the rest of the creatures.
Richie realized that the creatures were keeping their distance. It amazed him that they didn’t try to swarm them–he was curious into who was in charge of this display.. The mechanical screams of Wigglers caught everyone’s attention, and he saw the bulbous lumps of deformed muscle and flesh hurriedly pulling themselves from the streets to join in on the action. Spectres were also popping up through various surfaces, frightening faces focused on their direction.
Shadows shifted restlessly, more creatures popping up from the areas of blackness with hisses and yowls that made skin prickle. Zombies began pouring out of the streets, shuffling in uncoordinated manner toward the surrounding crowd of others that had encircled the two humans.
Hotstreak, with complete panic, whirled around with thoughts of horrifying defeat as he viewed these creatures. The heat and flame that whirled from his body kept Richie at a distance, the blond quietly ordering Backpack to document each and every set of creature that surrounded them. The Wailer paused in mid-action, propping itself along the stretch of sidewalk, mouth dangling with slimy display. Its dark brown skin glistened in the faint sunlight, tiny eyes blinking transparent shields as Faeries fluttered around it, dive-bombing its body with seemingly playful action.
Richie looked at Hotstreak, wondering why the Wailer knew his name. He had to wonder if Harley was involved in this–in some fantastic and unbelievable plot with the creatures that had taken over the world. He turned upon hearing the approach of normal human footsteps–and the creatures, as one, fell silent and still.
Hearing the same sound, Hotstreak let his flames die slightly–but his body continued to burn in preparation of an all-out fight for his life. Both males spotted the walking figure at the same time, stilling upon seeing the man in black.
“Hello!” he called out in a cheerful manner, easily walking through the surrounding crowd of creatures. All of whom let him pass without resistance. His military fatigues and weaponry were similar to those that had attacked Virgil earlier.
Hotstreak stilled upon recognizing him, an expression of bewilderment hitting his face. He looked at Richie, who looked at him in accusing manner. Each one was blaming the other for this mess.
“Richard. Francis.” The man in black paused before them in pleasant cheer, folding his arms behind him. He stood nearly seven feet tall, trim in an athletic way. Hotstreak noted that while the man had guns strapped to his powerful torso, there weren’t any clips or magazines visible. Harley, when carrying his guns, always had back-up supplies for them. “It’s about time we caught up to you. We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
“Wha–? For him?” Hotstreak sputtered, looking at Richie in accusing manner. The blond scowled at him.
“For both of you.” The man in black smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was hoping you’d someday get that damn message, Stone. It took you awhile. What is it with you and police stations? As if you’d ever been in one in your entire life.”
Hotstreak stared at him dumbly for a few moments, then pulled out the ripped piece of paper. He stared at the message, then crumbled it, burning it into ashes a moment later.
“And you, Foley. It’s been awhile. I’m glad we were able to arrange a meeting between the pair of you so quickly...but it’s sort of a given that since the pair of you have history together, the pair of you would be easier to obtain if one found...the other.”
Both males looked at each other dumbly, absolutely oblivious to what was being said.
“But I don’t know him,” Richie explained, Hotstreak ready to say the exact same thing. “I’ve never met or saw him before now.”
“Not this life.”
“What are you talking about?!” Hotstreak demanded.
The man in black stared at them in silence for a few moments, then tilted his head. “You...you don’t remember? You don’t feel...familiarity with each other?”
“...No. Should we? Like he said, I ain’t ever met or saw him before you gave us the job!”
“He’s the one that was going to give you the bounty for me?” Richie asked him before looking at the man in black.
Hotstreak gave him an annoyed roll of his eyes. “Not now. No more questions. Annoy him.”
Richie turned to the man in black. “You–?”
“Shush, now.” His eyes, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, narrowed. “...Let’s make a deal, Foley. Let us talk plainly. Let’s pretend that Virgil has already been approached by the Others. Let’s pretend that you were already given a key–let’s pretend that you have it on your person. What would you do if I asked you for it?”
Richie stared at him with a dumb expression. Backpack clutched his shoulders protectively, leveling itself to stare with its one eye at the man in black with scrutinizing expression.
The man in black slowly lowered himself so that he was sitting on one knee, as if he were addressing a child. Richie was immediately insulted, glaring at him while Backpack pulled itself over his chest, ready to move at any sign of attack.
“May I have that key, please?” the man in black asked, holding out his hand.
“What key?” Richie snapped.
The man laughed lightly. He folded his hands over his bent knee, still looking up at Richie with that playful expression. “‘What key’, he says. Good one. Now, let’s pretend that you don’t have the key. Let’s pretend that I don’t know Maria had already approached you and gave you the key–upon which Stone, here, had witnessed. Now...I am going to ask you this, Foley. And you must, under every circumstance, answer truthfully. Because if you don’t, something horrible would happen.”
Richie gave Hotstreak a sort of uncertain expression, but the redhead couldn’t help him. The cryptic words were starting to confuse him as he watched the blond.
He looked back at the man in black. “All right.”
“If you had the choice to choose between your old life and this one, which would you chose?” Before Richie could open his mouth, he held up a finger. “You’ve no memory of your last life. I understand. With that in mind, think about answering the question with a sort of pretense that it would give you something in return with your answer. If you were to have the chance to recover your last life, with all its grand and beautiful delights, and the chance to continue with this one, with no real option of change from what you do know–which would you choose?”
Richie shook his head in disgust. “That is a stupid question–”
“There is no such thing as a stupid question, Foley. Haven’t you been taught that in school?”
“I hated school.”
“I asked for an answer,” the man in black reminded him.
“But I can’t answer that question if I have no idea what you are talking about! It’s an impossible question, and it won’t give me anything!”
“It is a two choice question. You need only choose one.”
“...But what would be the reward of the answer? Regardless, it has nothing to do with what you want from me.”
“The reward of your answer would be...theoretical.”
“There is nothing in that question that accords to some theory you haven’t even named! Therefore, I can’t answer your stupid question because there is nothing beneficial to me, nor will it even attribute to any such guarantee that this is going anywhere! You’re just spouting cryptic conversation that does nothing for the situation.”
The man in black laughed again, rising. Hotstreak was lost. He wished Harley was there to explain what the pair were talking about.
“You’ve always liked to argue. I had missed that attribute of yours–”
“...Do I know you?”
“I would be hurt if you didn’t. All of our nights of late night conversation...lost to lack of memory of the past. Now...answer my question.”
“...No. It’s an impossible question. I can’t choose either if I don’t know the first choice. I’d rather not. And I don’t know you.”
The man in black laughed again, looking at Hotstreak. “Let me ask you the same thing.”
“...Hell no. If he’s disagreeing to it, I ain’t about to get myself trapped in that shit.”
The man in black gave him a dull look, disappointed. He frowned. “You’re no fun, Stone.”
“What do you want?” Richie demanded, staring at him. “What do you want from us?”
“...Unfortunately, it’s not what I want. It’s what another wants. If I could get what I want, it’d be...unpleasant.” Both males’ faces turned troubled as they puzzled that, the man in black once more facing Richie. Only this time he bent slightly at the waist, pulling his sunglasses down his nose so that they rested at the tip. Richie looked into red eyes, bewildered at the color. “Now...let me ask you again. A much easier question that doesn’t require an argument. And let me just say, that if you don’t answer truthfully, you won’t like what will happen to you if you refuse. I leave it at that. Do you have the key?”
Richie stared into those unblinking red eyes, vaguely wondering if the man was wearing contacts to appear as some ominous creature. But he felt chills up his spine as the man stared right back at him, the stillness and silence around them incredibly powerful. He started to feel an itch in the back of his mind at that point–as if something was tentatively trying to come up to surface in his conscious.
“...Yes,” he finally answered. He stared at the hand that lifted, palm up.
“May I have it, please?” the man in black asked, smiling gently at him. “I assure you, I won’t pull any tricks on you afterward. It will all be plain and simple after that. You will be left alone.”
Richie stared at that open palm, looking into a hand that held no lines. The smoothness of the palm, lacking normal human features, sent a sort of dread into him. The Wailer gave a long moan, shifting on the sidewalk as its body bulged. It projectile vomited over the street to their left, making all three men look at it in bewilderment.
The others began shifting restlessly, the Ghouls cursing in heated fashion as they paced restlessly in front of the crowd. Zombies began to groan and gurgle, the Faeries uttering small cries of uncertainty. The Demons shuffled quickly through the shadow creatures, Wigglers snapping their sideways mouths at those that came close. Spectres began popping in and out of the street in repeated fashion.
Richie looked back at the man in black. “No. You can’t have it.”
The man in black stared at him in annoyance. He lifted a hand, Backpack beeping a warning at him. Ignoring the robot, his fingers covered the knot on Richie’s forehead, the blond wincing as he moved to pull away from his touch. Hotstreak started to move, uncertain of what action to take when he was suddenly pelted by rocks from the Ghouls that cursed at him.
When the man in black pulled his hand back, the injury was gone. Richie touched his forehead with trembling fingers. The man in black bent once more, smiling a chilling smile. “Look at what I can do to you. My hands can heal you. Easy. I can touch every injury on your body, inside and out. Isn’t that a wonderful talent?”
Richie lowered his hand. The smile turned into a grim line of threat, face hardening with a dark glare. It seemed wholly different from a human’s face–shadows appearing where they shouldn’t, skin lightening a drastic pale white. “I can hurt you horrendously. I could break every bone in your body, tear your flesh from your bones, sever inside organs–and heal you each and every time to do it again. I can also take away any memory of that pain you experienced with every healing–and it would seem, to you, as if you were hurt the very first time. Every moment lived in extreme torture and agony–erased...and done over again...and again. Think of that, Richard.”
For no other fathomable reason, the teen felt his eyes heat with building tears.
The man in black gently wiped at his eyes with his fingers, the movement contradictorily soothing. Richie pulled away from him, disturbed by what had just happened. The man straightened, pushing his sunglasses back into place. The blond hesitated, then pulled his bag open.
As Hotstreak watched, the teen took out a small, silver key. He started, realizing something crucial was happening. He lifted a hand in a motion for him to stop. “No, wait–! Don’t give him nothing!”
The man in black reacted, his hand flying out to catch the redhead across the jaw. Stunningly, instead of falling to the pavement in reaction to the knockout, the man was sent flying several feet away. He hit the pavement with a bone-jarring thud, various creatures scurrying away from him as dust flew into the air after impact. Jaw dropping, watching to see if the man would rise away from that, Richie tossed the key at the man in black.
The metallic clink! caught the man’s attention, and he crouched. Picking up the small key, his lips spread into a thin smile. Richie backed away from him, glancing over to see if Hotstreak would get up.
“Thank you,” the man purred, clutching the key tightly in one hand. Richie looked back at him to see what was going to happen next, and never saw the fist that slammed into the side of his head. He dropped bonelessly to the pavement, Backpack immediately shifting position to crouch over him, arms splaying outward to encircle him protectively.
The man in black looked away, turning his attention to the key with a satisfied smile. He looked up in time to see the last of the Ghouls disappear back into the darkness of the streets. The Wailer was gone. The skies darkened, and he tossed the key from hand to hand as he waited.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
This is based off 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.
Chapter Six:
Clockwork Little Happiness
When Richie woke up that next morning, he felt every bruise and protrusion he’d gotten from both the fight in the alley and Harley. He groaned softly, reaching up to touch the knot on his forehead–it made him hiss in reaction, his skin prickling with piercing pain he felt throughout his body. His head throbbed with a headache, and he checked to make sure that his loose teeth were still in place. They didn’t feel as loose as they had earlier, and was confident that they were going to heal okay.
He settled in the quiet darkness, going over what had happened in the last two days. Backpack shifted in his arms, catching his attention–but his thoughts weren’t on the little robot he was holding protectively in his arms. They were on the redhead. Virgil was snoring away next to him, but it looked to be a troubled sleep. Richie’s brow furrowed as he couldn’t pinpoint any specific thought on why he was thinking of Hotstreak at that moment–he went over their entire interaction.
The man had been shocked and dazed over what had occurred, and Richie wondered what his personality was like. His first impression yielded a no-brain follower–the man did whatever the other said or wanted. The man didn’t scream “Thinker!”–he seemed more the muscle than anything else.
But apart from all that, Richie remembered the impression of the redhead’s body against his–it was certainly much more warmer, much more thicker and sturdier than his own. There was also a smell about him that Richie could remember; a comforting salty and woodsy scent that made Richie think of sweat and heat in the summer.
When he realized he was giving too much thought over some stranger, his face darkened with a scowl. It made him uncomfortable. Shifting Backpack away, he then propped a foot on Virgil’s chest. Richie kicked him off the bed, Virgil having no time to catch himself as he flopped backwards onto the floor.
With grim satisfaction, Richie watched Virgil leap up from the floor, his face twisting darkly, sparks flying everywhere with his venomous mood.
“What the fuck was that for?!” Virgil screeched. The blond teen smiled with a mean-spirited glee, curling up comfortably in his own spot as Backpack went on high-alert over Virgil’s flailing. It was ready to do battle if its owner was harmed. “What the fuck was that for, you fucking piece of shit?! What the fuck is your fucking cracker problem?!”
“You rolled into my personal bubble,” Richie muttered, fluffing his pillow. It emitted a great cloud of dust, making him sneeze repeatedly, sitting up with a startled look.
“‘Rolled into your personal bubble’?! I’mina roll my fucking fist upside your fucking face, you fucking piece of faggot bullshit crackerjack whackjob! You skank-smelling son of a fucking whore bitch four-eyed freak!!”
“Let’s not use up our vocabulary for the rest of the day, Virgil. Shut the fuck up.”
With an enraged snarl, Virgil leapt at him, Backpack scuttling out of the way. Amidst all their shouting and fighting, the robot began scanning the outside for danger, noting with some alarm that things had changed since they’d fallen asleep. The blond stilled for a moment, receiving the notifications with some confusion. Virgil was digging his knuckles into his collarbone, holding him down to do so, so Richie turned his head and started gnawing into his forearm. Virgil screeched once more, allowing him to roll, throwing both of them off the bed. Once hitting the floor, both their bodies sent up clouds of dust, making them both cough and sneeze.
“Look! Virgil! Look at the room!” Richie demanded, rising onto his hands and knees to see that everything wasn’t as immaculate as it was when they’d come in. Everything was covered in dust and age–the wallpaper was curling off the walls, the carpet frayed by insects and rodents. The curtains were heavy with dust, tv set shattered by vandalism. Virgil took this in with surprise, rubbing painfully at the bite on his arm, stilling as he realized the state of the room. Backpack opened the door, venturing outside with caustic noises.
Blinking, Virgil looked at him in puzzlement. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Richie studied the room with bewilderment, rubbing at his collarbone. With slow movements, he found his new bag of equipment–a black messenger that held the contents his other bag had. The bag was heavy and nearly overfilled. He slid the thick strap over one shoulder, comforted by the familiar feeling of the bag against his body. “Did...was...Do you feel any different? I mean, could something have affected us while we were asleep?”
Virgil physically examined himself. He then stilled, recalling the encounter with his mother. His chest clenched inward with a violence that made him bend, breathing in deeply as a shudder moved through him. The feel of her hand on his was a strong feeling that made him clench that hand to his chest, aching to be reunited with her once more. He heard Richie call to him with worry, and struggled to compose himself, not wanting to break down in front of the other teen. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to show that vulnerable side of him, just as Richie was with him.
It took awhile before Virgil could speak. Once he was sure he could do so without having his voice catch, he stood. His legs were shaky. To help deal, he pulled on his jacket and backpack for something to do. “Something...did...happen. Last...last night. When you were...sleeping.”
“Well, what? Stop channeling Shatner and get on with it.”
Virgil recounted what had happened, leaving out the more personal parts. After he was done, Richie stared at the broken set in silence. Minutes passed before any of them said anything.
Richie joined him at the edge of the bed, Backpack relating its finds to the blond from the doorway. He looked at Virgil with some worry. “Then...then what happens? What do we do?”
Virgil focused on his words, drifting aimlessly in his thoughts before registering what he said. With a scoffing expression, he rose. “You mean, what I’m going to do? I’m going to save the world, man. That’s my thing. I don’t know what you’ll be doing in the meantime.”
Richie gave a scoffing sound of his own, annoyed at Virgil’s cockiness. Sometimes, the other teen’s head enabled him to think in an overconfident manner. He hadn’t any patience for the attitude today. “Oh, like you can do things on your own. You’re talking about a mission that can save–well, two worlds, if what you heard was correct. You think you can handle that big a responsibility? You can’t even work your way honestly through a checkers game.”
“Oh, shut up, cocksucker. Eat me. I have more than enough power to blast my way through shit to find what I need, and just because I ain’t no damn genius like you don’t mean that I can’t think on my own. Just because you passed a few tests don’t exactly make you top-notch for the job. You don’t even got power–you got fuckin’ toys that don’t even do shit.”
“Shut up, Virgil! You couldn’t even do shit when Madelyn came through the world. You failed then–you’re going to fail now without help. And I’m willing to help you, despite your stupidity and over-arrogance.”
“I was young and stupid back then! I didn’t know what I was doing! And there’s nothing wrong with arrogance when I’ve got confidence! I’m confident in myself and my abilities, and I know I can do this! She said I did it before–well, I don’t remember that, or know what she was talking about, but I know I can do it.”
“Virgil, this is a serious load of work. You need someone to help you with things, and I said I’d do it! You’ve got to stop thinking like a stupid teenager that you are. Be a man, dammit.”
“...HAH! You consider yourself a man? You still sleep with your toys!”
“Backpack isn’t a toy! And I never said I was a man–I just said that you’ve got to grow up! You are starting to see this as one of your video games! This is a big deal, and you’ve got to realize that you can get hurt or possibly killed doing this! And stop starting shit with me when I’m offering you my help!”
“I don’t need your damn help! I can do this on my own! Besides, what can YOU do that will be helpful or beneficial to me? Besides hang on me every step of the way and irritate me?”
“I can be quite beneficial to you! I’ve always given you what you needed, and I’ve always helped you! You mooch off me whenever you don’t have something!”
“Fuck you, Rich! I don’t mooch off you.”
“You do too!” Richie exclaimed, growing steadily more irritated with Virgil’s arguing. “You would never know where to get food from if you didn’t stay in contact with me! You would never–!”
“Man, I know how to do that stuff on my own. I can take care of myself–I just hang around you just so you don’t feel lonely or whatnot in this big, bad world.”
“...Shut up, Virg!”
Virgil snickered at the heavily irritated expression on Richie’s face, the way the other teenager was steadily growing angry with his every argument. Even as he argued, though, Virgil was starting to doubt himself. While he did feel every confidence in himself, and perhaps he was a little too arrogant in his abilities, he thought briefly of the military men that had trapped him in the elementary school. Of how they’d come up with ways to bypass his powers. Doubt began to grow, but he didn’t want to show any weakness to Richie. The blond would pounce on it and make Virgil feel dumber about the subject. And he absolutely hated it when the other teenager did that to him.
“Now that I know what happened, and that my theory was correct, you’re all mad that you were left out of it! You kept denying my thoughts on the matter, saying I was stupid because I don’t have proof,” Virgil mimicked, flapping his hands about. “Well, now I have proof! And I was right! And what do you have to say about it? ‘Oh, you’re too stupid to do it, Virgil, you need someone to hold your hand’. HAH! I don’t need you–you’d only slow me down.”
“Fuck you, Virgil. Just because some dead woman came back from the grave–”
“Don’t you TALK about my mother that way!”
“Your stupid whore of a mother hasn’t any idea what she was saying to you, anyway!” Richie spit at him, rising from the bed. “What does she know about this? Nothing! I think you just dreamed it all! There isn’t any proof that she was here!”
Virgil began shoving him, face twisting with fury as he spoke. “My mother was never a whore! She was awesome and great, something you’d never have! You’re just mad and jealous that my parents actually gave a shit about me! Yours didn’t, and that’s why you ended up in Omaha with that man–!”
“Shut up, Virgil! You don’t know shit about me! And I’ll never be jealous of you! You don’t have anything that I want!” Richie shrieked at him, flushing an alarming state of red.
Virgil continued shoving him, giving a taunting laugh as Richie tried to get up. “What’cha gonna do now, queer boy? You can’t do shit to me. You gonna get your stupid toy to come at me, now? You can’t settle this on your own?”
“Knock it off, Virgil! Stupid black faggot, you only say that stuff because you’re in denial! You think I haven’t heard what the other guys were saying about you? How you sucked cock just to find out who killed your mother?”
“Stop TALKING about my mom!” Virgil shouted, pushing him again. “And I never did that! I went about it the better way, by kicking ass wherever I went! Guys were afraid of ME because of what I could do! No one messed with me!”
“Like your father, who sent you away because he knew how big of a failure you are?”
They had just started to punch at each other when Backpack emitted a shrill whistle from the doorway, startling them both. The heavy tension between them seemed to stall as they looked over. They became aware of heavy footfalls coming up the hall, and both of them hurriedly crossed the room to the door that connected with the neighboring room. Virgil blasted through the door, both of them climbing through the doorway upon hearing the inane shouts of Ghouls as they neared.
“Keep going until you get to the end room, and get out from there! Don’t try to engage with them–there might be too many, and you need to get away in order to go through with what you were told to do! You have to start protecting yourself if everything’s depending on you!” Richie ordered as the Ghouls began shouting with their sadistic glee, Backpack scurrying through their abandoned room, using all its available arms to right the door Virgil had blasted. Richie turned back to retrieve his invention, Virgil hesitating. The door began shaking with heavy force, Ghouls shouting continuously in savage cheer as it began breaking inward.
Wood burst, revealing several Ghouls as they pushed at the door, spying both teenagers with profanity-laced shouts. Richie quickly picked up his robot, Backpack latching onto him as he then veered toward the room’s door. The Ghouls burst through the door, three immediately racing after him as the others spied Virgil standing nearby. Virgil lashed out with his powers, sending his group flying away from him, another batch of them racing at him. He turned, running for the next connecting door, blasting through that upon seeing the others rising despite their critical injuries.
He tore through that doorway then raced for the main door, which was wide open with earlier vandalism. He raced out onto the hall, hearing Ghouls hurry after him. A glance over his shoulder told him that they were armed with both firepower and various tools, their manic, deformed faces showing their glee in the chase. Ghouls, which tended to continue their chase despite missing limbs and lacking physical connection to pain, were impossible foes to beat. Virgil could sever limbs and heads, drop vehicles on them, electrocute them until their bodies turned black, but they’d still work their way free to continue their attack. His only chance at losing them was either hiding or taking flight.
Ghouls never stopped until their victims were dead or out of reach–or if they were distracted by other prey. He pulled his disk from his backpack, taking flight–those armed with guns began firing at him in tandem, others throwing their weapons at him with frustrated shouts. Virgil easily blocked the incoming ammunition with setting up a defensive shield, pulling what he could see from the Ghouls’ possession. He tossed the weapons atop of the motel’s roof, where the Ghouls couldn’t get them. Hearing their furious howls and profanity, he coasted through the air, searching for his friend.
It took a couple of minutes, but he found the blond teenager atop of the roof of a nearby gas station, preparing to drop a couple of his Zap Caps onto the snarling Ghouls below. Virgil grimaced, eyeing the gasoline pumps with unease. One Ghoul was reloading his shotgun, missing half of its head and a section of its torso, the others hitting the pillar with a bat and steel pipe.
“You realize you’re gonna get yourself blown up,” he commented as he hovered nearby, jerking the shotgun away from the Ghoul. “How’d you get up here, anyway?”
“Backpack. It’s capable of holding at least five hundred pounds with its working arms,” Richie answered absently, checking the colored tape on his caps. “The others extend to over seven hundred feet. I found the material at the labs. Which reminds me, I need to make another trip to the mall and to the labs to make another set of special goggles so that I could interface easier with Backpack...”
“Listen...I’m sorry about what I said,” Virgil apologized, feeling sheepish. “I...I shouldn’t’ve brought up that stuff about Omaha, but you shouldn’t talk about my mom that way. It really hurts–”
Richie ignored him, looking over the edge of the roof as he eyed the Ghouls that were struggling to climb atop of the gas pumps, others running across the street to join them. He sat back with a sigh, looking around himself. He pointed across the way. “See that dump truck over there? Bring that over here–smash the station, blow up the fuel ports. Maybe that’ll blow them to kingdom come.”
“Rich? I said I was sorry–listen to me–!”
“Hurry up before more arrive!”
Virgil hesitated, then spied the vehicle Richie was pointing at. With some effort, he captured the vehicle, feeling the pull on his concentration as the heavier weight caused him some strain. The Ghouls noticed what was happening, ceasing their snarling actions to look up at the floating vehicle with registered curiosity. Virgil looked at Richie, who was adjusting Backpack to his back, looking over at the gas station with some uncertainty.
“I’m going over there,” he said, pointing. He gave Virgil a disgusted glance. “I’m going to do my own thing for awhile. Good luck with your little mission.”
“Oh my God, don’t be gettin’ that way with me right now!” Virgil exclaimed. “I’m trying to apologize for what I said! I do need your help!”
“Whatever. If I need you, I’ll track you down. Which I won’t because I don’t need anybody.”
Virgil watched with reluctance as Backpack stretched its rebar arms out to the station, effortlessly hauling its owner atop of the rooftop. Since the Ghouls were distracted by the dump truck floating atop of them, they didn’t see the blond scurry across the roof, using his invention to move from one rooftop to the other. Virgil took to the air with a heavy sigh, grunting as he swung the dump truck high up in the air, at an angle to the gas pumps. With his other hand, he focused on ripping one of the connecting gas pipes from its underground tank, allowing the thick liquid to spill out over the pavement and the moving Ghouls. He sent a spark across the pavement, gas immediately catching flame, lighting up one of the crazed beings as the others started to scurry away.
Gaining some distance, Virgil then tossed the dump truck into those that were trying to run away from the scene. The vehicle’s metal created more sparks, sending a plume of fire into the cold air–he watched for a few minutes more before that resulting fire caught onto the other gas pump. The resulting explosion was deafening, and the heat was welcome as the shockwave plowed through the air, making him waver in place.
He waited, watching for the Ghouls to appear–he saw their burning bodies running around in aimless panic. Turning with one last glance in the direction Richie went, Virgil then sighed, wondering how he was going to start his newly given mission. His mother had told him to look for the others–but he didn’t know where to start.
Feeling lost and annoyed, Virgil shot off over the city.
* - * - * - * - *
That night, Richie was fuming silently as Backpack continued its security check. The Meadowside Mall had been heavily vandalized over the years–windows were shattered, clothes and other valuables lay in scattered mess throughout the three story sprawl. It smelled of gas and unpleasant death–there were scatters of human and animal bones throughout the area. Dust coated everything. Rodents and other small animals were the only living things in the area, and they were quick to hide or attack. Birds quickly took to flight at the sound of Backpack’s clearance, dashing through the open skylights that had been shattered years earlier.
Richie began striding through the mess, heading for the snowboarding/skateboarding shops that he’d found the goggle in. The shop was in horrendous design–but he found what he was looking for, Backpack scuttling off to do its own investigation of the area. He carefully stuffed a couple extra into his bag, frowning at the weight as he rose. He thought about the labs, wondering if there were any military hanging out in the area, wishing for the easiness of his goggle-invention and the convenience of multiple windows to perform multiple tasks. He left the shop, mind focused on redesigning the goggle.
At his silent command, he heard Backpack’s answering chirp halfway across the mall. With an irritated curse that his invention would leave him alone, Richie turned in that direction, giving the robot a stern talking-to as he moved through the mess of the mall. The silence of the place, combined with its chilly stillness made Richie uncomfortable. He glanced around himself in apprehension, hating the way the mannequins looked in the shadows. Backpack gave a reassuring series of sounds, the noise carrying in the design of the mall that made it impossible for Richie to pinpoint it.
“Get back here NOW, Backpack!” he shouted in annoyance, wincing at the volume of his voice as it carried and echoed within the silence. “I didn’t build you just so you could leave me all alone!”
Backpack answered, ‘But you gave me freedom to act as I should upon appropriate measures. I found it necessary to investigate the perimeter. Can you take care of yourself while I am away?’
Richie took it as a sassy response. For a moment, he stilled, contemplating the answer within his own thoughts. He wondered just how far he’d taken it in giving it a near personality.
“Yes, I can take care of myself,” he snapped in out loud reply. “But I’d rather YOU take care of the heavy work, like I built you to do! Damn you, I brought you into this world, I can damn well take you out of it! THEN we’ll see what happens when I dismantle your main processing core and replace it with all the functionality of a damn–microwave! Or how about a toddler’s toy? Huh? You want that?”
‘Why would you reprogram me when you input this current program on your own care and design?’ The irritation in Backpack’s reply made goosebumps rise on his skin, and he was hesitant to carry on his argument with his own invention.
“We’ll see if you enjoy being a Leapster and doing mindless counting and alphabet tables for a toddler than working on actual thinking projects with me!”
The robot appeared in his sight, scurrying across the ceiling off to his left. ‘You shouldn’t exert your frustration and anger upon me when I am merely cooperating with the data you input into my system. You are just mad and angry at yourself, and what had occurred with Virgil.’ It seemed to huff in response, making Richie stamp his foot in irritation.
“Don’t you argue with me, you mindless piece of shit lump of metal! You want to take that damn attitude with me, I’ll leave you with Virgil! Then we’ll see what happens when you try to speak and argue with that idiot!”
Backpack’s single eye flashed red repeatedly as it gave a heated response. ‘Virgil wouldn’t be able to communicate effectively with me. It would be impossible for the both of us to be compatible. He would only grow frustrated and try to destroy me to amuse himself, instead. Would you want that?’
Richie had never had an argument with his invention, before. Never a two-sided conversation. But its words flashed across his thought process in a flurry, leaving him with the distinct feeling he was hearing someone speak. Only he wasn’t hearing it–rather than processing its stream of data as one would process someone’s spoken words. His mind worked furiously, wondering what he’d done to create this fantastic breakthrough with his invention.
“I’ll go and find him right now.”
‘You won’t–you’re presently angry with him. You’d never ask him for help. And you’d never entrust him with me–I mean too much to you.’
“I can, too, give you up! Get down here, right this minute!”
Backpack lowered itself from the ceiling, landing neatly on the dirtied floor in front of its owner. Then, it seemed to bow with approval seeking manner. ‘Did that make you feel better, Richard? Did I react in an appropriate manner? How should I respond the next time you need give-and-take interaction?’
Richie reeled. He was lost for words and thoughts, registering that stream of data with a sort of dazed feeling. What? He asked himself in bewildered manner, the robot waiting for a response. It just addressed me. What is it talking about? Where is this response coming from?
He slowly lowered himself to his knees, reaching for it. Without inquiry, it allowed him to open its hull. Richie pressed the deactivation safety button within, and Backpack’s connection with his mind was severed instantly as the robot was turned off. Staring into Backpack’s insides, at the neatly packed compartments within, Richie was bewildered with what had just occurred. His mind went over every alteration and repair he’d performed on the robot over the past two days, wondering how it had gained a fragmented personality in that time.
Lost in his thoughts, he pulled out Backpack’s memory boards, squinting at them for any alterations he may have performed on them. He pulled out some tools from his bag, pulling out various wires and connections as he made his way into its main processing center. He then caught himself, realizing he was putting himself in danger with leaving himself wide open.
It felt that he’d just completed the realization when he heard a crunch of glass from his right. He whirled around, pulling Backpack protectively into his embrace, ready to run for safety. He stilled at the sight of the man looking at him with utter bewilderment, his facial expression clearly wondering if he were out of his mind.
“Who the hell are you talking to?” Hotstreak asked, at a complete and utter loss as to what the teenager was doing. While on one had he was completely surprised at seeing the kid again, he was simply thrown with confusion over the teen’s one-sided conversation that had rang throughout the halls of the abandoned mall. “There ain’t nobody here!”
Richie gaped at him for a few moments, mortified with being overheard. Slowly he rose, his eyes locked on his face. What struck him paralyzed was seeing the man’s own eyes; the dark green that was clearly visible with the faint light that came into the mall through the broken skylights. It was startling in that unexpected color–sending something of a punch in his gut at something that felt like familiarity.
In that state of shock he was experiencing, he’d tuned out everything around him, coming back to hear, “...four eyes, I’m talking to you! I know you speak English! Oh, don’t tell me you forgot who I am already! Man, I should kick your ass–after all that shit I went through! I could have been happily living in ignorant bliss with the man I’d spent these last three years with–!”
Richie was taken back by the manner of speaking. Here was a whole different change of personality from what he’d seen from that day; to hear him speak like so many others he knew was akin to crushing disappointment. His face must have reflected that, because Hotstreak stopped talking. “...What?”
“...No wonder he was so adamant that you shouldn’t speak,” Richie said with heavy disappointment, holding Backpack tightly to him. “When your mouth is shut, you’re an okay person to look at. Your relationship must’ve just been based on sexual satisfaction, wasn’t it? Because I really can’t detect any appeal in your personality, nor any traits worthy for a long lasting relationship.”
Hotstreak stared at him in silence, openly insulted by what was said. He scowled. “This is the thanks I get for stepping in to save your ass? Fuckin’ disrespect?”
Richie immediately stepped back, realizing what he’d spoken aloud. He looked around for any signs of Harley. “W-what are you doing here?”
“Now you wanna get chummy on me? Hah!” Hotstreak shot him a disgusted look, walking around him. He looked at the piece of paper in his hand, at a total loss as to why he was here at the mall. It was nothing but desolation and dangerous abandonment–to him, it looked as if it’d fall apart any minute. He didn’t like the smell of it–he kept reminding himself not to use his powers for any reason.
He sniffed himself and winced–he could swear he could still smell that Wailer’s slime all over him. “Some of the clothes stores still intact, nerdy? I need to change my clothes. Oh, wait–don’t help me. I don’t like what you’re wearing...You’re like a damn train wreck.”
Richie looked down at his collared shirt, sweater, zippered sweater coat and straight-legged jeans. His Chuck Taylors were comfortable–and maybe he overdid it with the bright green and orange scarf, but he was cold and scarves kept his neck warm–he scowled, flushing slightly. Virgil had called him a “Harry Potter” reject last night. He watched the other man walk away, complaining loudly when he stepped in something that managed a disgusting squishing sound within the stillness of the mall–Richie took in the name-brand jeans and shirt, the way that material fitted neatly and expertly to the man’s solid frame.
He looked away with an embarrassed clearing of his throat, aware that he’d been looking at areas that were accentuated by the clothing’s fit. He noticed how dark it was getting–looking up through the broken skylights, he saw that the sky was darkening. He looked after the man that was steadily making his way up the stairs to the second level; he looked down at Backpack, then around himself to make sure Harley wasn’t anywhere around. The way Hotstreak had spoken had suggested that he’d left the man; but there was still emotional involvement.
He followed in the other man’s footsteps. By the time he caught up with him, he was sorting through the musty clothing in a Abercrombie and Fitch. The sight made him curl his lip in distaste, eying the clothing with personal aversion. The man noticed him, frowning at him as he lowered a pair of jeans from his inspection. “What?”
“Are you...still with that man? You look lost without someone giving you directions. You must be used to having people boss you around,” Richie said, venturing closer. He wanted to see the green of the other man’s eyes, again. In a desperate way that made him speak anything that came to mind to do so. “It must be unpleasant to not have a mind of your own. What is it like to be considered an imbecile?”
Hotstreak considered his words, and decided that he was too tired to protest the insult. He was used to hearing Harley call him things, and he didn’t think the teen was that important to be insulted by. “He’s a whackjob. He ain’t the same person I knew.”
He tossed the pair of jeans aside, and wandered away from the store. Striding over the dirtied floor, he eyed the disaster of the mall. He heard the teen following him, and grew irritated with the shadowing–it was distracting him from his thoughts on Harley, the piece of paper and the search for suitable clothing.
He looked back at the teen, frowning as he took in the sight of his clothing, the glasses, the messy hair–the teen screamed dork. He was also quick to say things that were insulting and mean. The sort that was never happy. He was definitely not his type. But then his eyes caught the grotesque knob of swollen and broken flesh over his eyebrow, the other visible bruises.
He looked down at the thing he held close, as if it were some sort of toy. Hotstreak stopped walking, giving him a dirty look. “What?! Why are you following me? Scat! Scram! I’ve got important things to do! Manly things...men things. Things that kids should have no say or interest in.”
“What are you going to do if you’re not with him anymore?” Richie asked, starting to grow interested in the other man’s future. “What happens if you don’t have anybody guiding you? You’re going to wind up dead because you can’t think for yourself. That was apparent when I met you. You’re clearly used to having that man boss you around. It must be nice to not have to think for yourself and having someone do it for you.”
The redhead stopped and turned to face him, growing irritated. Richie paused in place, looking into narrowing green eyes. He found it amazing how they seemed lighter in the dark–why hadn’t he noticed this the other night?
“Stop looking at me like that!” Hotstreak snapped at him, growing a little uncomfortable with the direct stare he was being given. “And it’s none of your damn business! I said SCRAM!”
Richie was really starting to find himself fascinated with the man–and he inwardly knew it was a dangerous thing. But he couldn’t stop himself from remembering how it felt to be close to him; feeling his heat. Smelling his scent. Feeling his arms around him, and how the delicate skin of his neck felt against his face. He idly wondered if he’d taste as he smelled. Overactive teenage hormones brought him back to the present, immediately turning away upon mortification as the remembered sensation and feeling of skin against his made his body react.
Satisfied that the teen was going to leave him alone, Hotstreak continued on his way. But even as he heard the teen following at a small distance, he spied a Buckle. Nothing like his Dolce and Gabbana, but maybe it was time for change. He became aware of the teen lingering nearby, peeking in at him from a safe distance as he rummaged through the mess for something to wear. He found some comfortable cargo shorts, shirts and hooded sweater by various labels. There were bags still hanging from the wall, so he took one of those, carefully folding his extras and stuffing them in there.
Spying the teen lingering nearby, nervously rifling through some hoodies, Hotstreak grinned. He could sense that quiet attraction the blond had for him, and it was somewhat uplifting to know that someone else was eying him. Even if it was some kid.
That thought stopped him short, immediately thinking of the boy that had been the subject of Harley’s sick ‘curiosity’. He felt that disgust rise deep from within, and anger flared through him.
He formed a fireball, the teen tensing as he saw it. Pulling his arm back, Hotstreak watched as the teen quickly left the store. Satisfied, he let the flame die away to change. Once he was through, he searched the fitting rooms for a mirror. He preened and examined himself in one of the mirrors, grimacing at the sight of stubble. He rubbed his armpits with his fingers, feeling the hair there. He sniffed his fingers after removing them, then wiped them on his shorts. Looking at himself again, he kicked off the shoes because they didn’t go with his outfit. He scowled at his pale legs, ruffling the gold-auburn hair there. Then he straightened, grinning stupidly while he flexed his arm muscles, checking out his shape in the mirror.
Quite satisfied that he hadn’t let himself go while with Harley, he left the fitting room area. He thought he saw the teen duck back outside, and grew annoyed with the other’s stalking presence. The place was rapidly falling dark, and he didn’t particularly like the dark. That was when the creatures came out in full-force. He grabbed his backpack, aiming to look for shoes that matched his outfit. He left that store, still feeling the teen’s eyes on him from behind some hiding spot nearby. As he headed back the way he’d come, remembering the athletic store, he took out the scrap of paper he’d found in the police station and puzzled over the message once more.
“‘Lab. 44. Proceed to Meadowside Mall’,” he read aloud, truly mystified by the writing. What was he supposed to look for? He stuffed it back into his pocket, hearing the teen following him once more. He found the store, and found some suitable shoes. Still hearing the teen shadowing him, he scowled, whirling around to yell at him once more when he heard his name bellowed from across the mall. He recognized it as the very same sounds from the police station–he froze, utterly bewildered as to how the Wailer had found him. Why it wanted him in the first place was beyond him.
The teen hurried over to him. Hotstreak was distracted from the creature as the robot came back to life with a blur of noises. It examined him with seeming surprise as Richie looked at him.
“What is that? Who is that? Do you know that person?” he demanded, the robot falling from his arms to examine the source of the noise. Then his eyes widened, giving a sort of gasp. “It’s another creature...what is it? How does it know you? Why is it following you? It’s injured, but–!”
Hotstreak flailed. “SHUT UP! Take a breath! BREATHE! Damn, what is it with you and all these damn questions?! I don’t even know WHAT it is! Quit asking me stuff...”
Richie stared at him for a few moments–the green in his eyes were truly captivating. He just wasn’t sure what true green they were.
They both startled at the bellow once more, but there were the accompanying sounds of crashing and slithering. Backpack scrambled back to its owner, eye pointed away from them. It clambered upon Richie’s back.
The Wailer, upon plain sight, was a disgusting creature. Hotstreak’s first thought upon seeing its entirety was that it resembled a long coil of human excrement. His face reflected this with a twist of disgust, Richie reacting with the same sort of expression. Its long, human-like arms effortlessly swept things out of its path, leaving behind its slithering body a trail of dirtied mucus. Its deformed head was a mere lump out of its slimy body, that mouth dragging with a loose sort of deformity from that very same protrusion.
“Now that’s gross,” he muttered, amazed that the thing had even fit itself in the office within the police station. But now he understood why the hall had been destroyed–why the slime. He looked down at himself once more, disgusted with having those fluids on him. He shuddered, wiping at his hair and face, smelling himself with suspicion. When he caught Richie looking at him, he whirled on him with an embarrassed flush. “What?! Do I smell? What the fuck, don’t look at me like that!”
“Why is it after you?” Richie asked instead, returning his attention to the grotesque creature that was slowly moving their way. “Why does it know your name? Has it been chasing you? Is that why you changed? How come–?”
“Shut up!” Hotstreak exclaimed with annoyance. He looked back at the Wailer, watching as it easily swept trash and debris out of its path, reaching for the staircase. Both of them backed away, feeling the trembling of the floor as its heavy body surged around itself, seemingly ready to spring. Not wanting that thing anywhere near him, Hotstreak started to step back. Then he hesitated upon hearing the strange and strangled noise that was now taking place of the Wailer’s tortured cries.
They watched in struck expression as that mouth widened, revealing the dark cavern of its throat. Its body bulged then tensed, shooting upward into a snake-like stance. Backpack emitted a series of clicks and beeps, red eye flashing as Richie started. The blond turned, looking ready to run again.
“Something’s coming out of there!” he warned, Hotstreak tensing to run. The creature emitted a slimy belch that made slime fly, and then projectile vomiting commenced. The air was dotted with a certain blackness that made both males start, turning to run far from the flying vomit that sprayed the second floor. The stench was putrid and Hotstreak exclaimed with disgust as pebbles of what looked like excrement rolled over the dusty surface.
Both of them had enough of the grotesque creature, but it wasn’t finished–after another revolting belch, the body bulged and tensed once more. The mouth widened and flopped as it started vomiting once more, only the creatures flying from its throat were taking flight once reaching open air. Backpack squealed, and Richie turned to run.
“Faeries!” he shouted, racing away as Hotstreak recognized the creatures whose wings began fluttering madly, dispersing the slime and muck that coated their bodies.
“That is so wrong!” he declared, following after the blond as the noisy, winged demons caught sight of them with childish cries of discovery. “That is so wrong!”
The Wailer screamed again, pulling itself up the stairway as it then commenced into more projectile vomiting, more Faeries flying from its dangling mouth. Both males raced for the end of the mall, then climbed out through the broken glass doors. The fresh and chilly air outside was a great relief to them, but the creatures weren’t ready to give them up just yet.
The strong flutter of numerous wings whipped through the air as the creatures followed them outside. The continuous chatter of Faeries accompanied the sounds of snarls and growls, the toddler sized creatures pursuing the pair with a ferocious sort of determination. Teeth snapped, flashing with their broad smiles and sadistic cheer. Visible ribs heaved as they panted, tiny arms reaching for them in clumsy action. Their wings beat hard through the air as their overly large eyes clung determinedly onto the pair of males.
Hotstreak whirled at one point, hurling numerous fireballs at the things, most of which zipped easily around them. Those that were caught within the flame dive-bombed the pavement in series of tortured screams and screeches that echoed throughout the empty area, drawing attention of other creatures. Richie clumsily dug into his messenger bag for a Cap. Finding a couple that Virgil had charged, he turned and hurled those at the incoming cloud of creatures. The resulting charge ran throughout the group, most falling as electricity danced through a majority through accident touch.
As they hit the ground, Hotstreak took that chance to fire upon them with a continuous wave of fire, amping up the heat several notches to melt away skin and wings upon an instant. Once the other creatures saw what was happening to their companions, they hesitated upon the chase. They protested with their childish voices, condemning the pair as they fluttered back to avoid the same demise.
Once Richie saw that they were backing off, he hesitated with his last Zap Cap, Backpack pulling at his leg as it then turned around. Whirling, he saw Ghouls were quickly approaching the area, followed by a swarming crowd of Demons. He gave a startled cry, Hotstreak looking away from the mass of Faeries to see them being surrounded. He gaped in panicked fervor, Ghouls cackling and dirtying the air with their profanity laced threats and promises. The Faeries ventured in close, talking excitedly among each other as they spread around the pair, others dive-bombing the incoming Demons.
Richie looked around himself in panic, spotting the manhole cover nearby. While certainly panicked at the invasion of creatures, he had the bewildering thought that this entire encounter seemed orchestrated. Something was wholly wrong with the scene, and it scared him to think that something else was engineering the action. The Ghouls came in close, but they didn’t attack–the Demons held themselves back, but surrounded them in a crowd of black with their screeches and snarls. The Faeries hovered in the air, but didn’t dive-bomb them.
Hotstreak flared, causing most of the creatures to cry out with horrified display–but encouraged the hungry Ghouls with challenge. Most of them were carrying non-discharge weaponry, swinging rocks at the pair of them. While recognizing how hopeless the situation seemed, he didn’t see what Richie was seeing. He kept bemoaning the fact that Harley wasn’t here with a plan.
Backpack scurried toward the manhole cover, long arms reaching for the piece of metal. Faeries dive-bombed it quickly, Ghouls coming after it with swinging steel pipes and bats. Richie hurriedly called his invention back to him, Backpack hesitating. It pulled away from the manhole cover, retreating to its owner. Richie encouraged it onto his back, then frowned at the situation. The Ghouls called out to him, using his name as they emitted shouts of violent profanity and disgusting promises of death. The Wailer called out with torment, easing its grotesque body out from the mall doors, aiming to join the rest of the creatures.
Richie realized that the creatures were keeping their distance. It amazed him that they didn’t try to swarm them–he was curious into who was in charge of this display.. The mechanical screams of Wigglers caught everyone’s attention, and he saw the bulbous lumps of deformed muscle and flesh hurriedly pulling themselves from the streets to join in on the action. Spectres were also popping up through various surfaces, frightening faces focused on their direction.
Shadows shifted restlessly, more creatures popping up from the areas of blackness with hisses and yowls that made skin prickle. Zombies began pouring out of the streets, shuffling in uncoordinated manner toward the surrounding crowd of others that had encircled the two humans.
Hotstreak, with complete panic, whirled around with thoughts of horrifying defeat as he viewed these creatures. The heat and flame that whirled from his body kept Richie at a distance, the blond quietly ordering Backpack to document each and every set of creature that surrounded them. The Wailer paused in mid-action, propping itself along the stretch of sidewalk, mouth dangling with slimy display. Its dark brown skin glistened in the faint sunlight, tiny eyes blinking transparent shields as Faeries fluttered around it, dive-bombing its body with seemingly playful action.
Richie looked at Hotstreak, wondering why the Wailer knew his name. He had to wonder if Harley was involved in this–in some fantastic and unbelievable plot with the creatures that had taken over the world. He turned upon hearing the approach of normal human footsteps–and the creatures, as one, fell silent and still.
Hearing the same sound, Hotstreak let his flames die slightly–but his body continued to burn in preparation of an all-out fight for his life. Both males spotted the walking figure at the same time, stilling upon seeing the man in black.
“Hello!” he called out in a cheerful manner, easily walking through the surrounding crowd of creatures. All of whom let him pass without resistance. His military fatigues and weaponry were similar to those that had attacked Virgil earlier.
Hotstreak stilled upon recognizing him, an expression of bewilderment hitting his face. He looked at Richie, who looked at him in accusing manner. Each one was blaming the other for this mess.
“Richard. Francis.” The man in black paused before them in pleasant cheer, folding his arms behind him. He stood nearly seven feet tall, trim in an athletic way. Hotstreak noted that while the man had guns strapped to his powerful torso, there weren’t any clips or magazines visible. Harley, when carrying his guns, always had back-up supplies for them. “It’s about time we caught up to you. We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
“Wha–? For him?” Hotstreak sputtered, looking at Richie in accusing manner. The blond scowled at him.
“For both of you.” The man in black smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was hoping you’d someday get that damn message, Stone. It took you awhile. What is it with you and police stations? As if you’d ever been in one in your entire life.”
Hotstreak stared at him dumbly for a few moments, then pulled out the ripped piece of paper. He stared at the message, then crumbled it, burning it into ashes a moment later.
“And you, Foley. It’s been awhile. I’m glad we were able to arrange a meeting between the pair of you so quickly...but it’s sort of a given that since the pair of you have history together, the pair of you would be easier to obtain if one found...the other.”
Both males looked at each other dumbly, absolutely oblivious to what was being said.
“But I don’t know him,” Richie explained, Hotstreak ready to say the exact same thing. “I’ve never met or saw him before now.”
“Not this life.”
“What are you talking about?!” Hotstreak demanded.
The man in black stared at them in silence for a few moments, then tilted his head. “You...you don’t remember? You don’t feel...familiarity with each other?”
“...No. Should we? Like he said, I ain’t ever met or saw him before you gave us the job!”
“He’s the one that was going to give you the bounty for me?” Richie asked him before looking at the man in black.
Hotstreak gave him an annoyed roll of his eyes. “Not now. No more questions. Annoy him.”
Richie turned to the man in black. “You–?”
“Shush, now.” His eyes, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, narrowed. “...Let’s make a deal, Foley. Let us talk plainly. Let’s pretend that Virgil has already been approached by the Others. Let’s pretend that you were already given a key–let’s pretend that you have it on your person. What would you do if I asked you for it?”
Richie stared at him with a dumb expression. Backpack clutched his shoulders protectively, leveling itself to stare with its one eye at the man in black with scrutinizing expression.
The man in black slowly lowered himself so that he was sitting on one knee, as if he were addressing a child. Richie was immediately insulted, glaring at him while Backpack pulled itself over his chest, ready to move at any sign of attack.
“May I have that key, please?” the man in black asked, holding out his hand.
“What key?” Richie snapped.
The man laughed lightly. He folded his hands over his bent knee, still looking up at Richie with that playful expression. “‘What key’, he says. Good one. Now, let’s pretend that you don’t have the key. Let’s pretend that I don’t know Maria had already approached you and gave you the key–upon which Stone, here, had witnessed. Now...I am going to ask you this, Foley. And you must, under every circumstance, answer truthfully. Because if you don’t, something horrible would happen.”
Richie gave Hotstreak a sort of uncertain expression, but the redhead couldn’t help him. The cryptic words were starting to confuse him as he watched the blond.
He looked back at the man in black. “All right.”
“If you had the choice to choose between your old life and this one, which would you chose?” Before Richie could open his mouth, he held up a finger. “You’ve no memory of your last life. I understand. With that in mind, think about answering the question with a sort of pretense that it would give you something in return with your answer. If you were to have the chance to recover your last life, with all its grand and beautiful delights, and the chance to continue with this one, with no real option of change from what you do know–which would you choose?”
Richie shook his head in disgust. “That is a stupid question–”
“There is no such thing as a stupid question, Foley. Haven’t you been taught that in school?”
“I hated school.”
“I asked for an answer,” the man in black reminded him.
“But I can’t answer that question if I have no idea what you are talking about! It’s an impossible question, and it won’t give me anything!”
“It is a two choice question. You need only choose one.”
“...But what would be the reward of the answer? Regardless, it has nothing to do with what you want from me.”
“The reward of your answer would be...theoretical.”
“There is nothing in that question that accords to some theory you haven’t even named! Therefore, I can’t answer your stupid question because there is nothing beneficial to me, nor will it even attribute to any such guarantee that this is going anywhere! You’re just spouting cryptic conversation that does nothing for the situation.”
The man in black laughed again, rising. Hotstreak was lost. He wished Harley was there to explain what the pair were talking about.
“You’ve always liked to argue. I had missed that attribute of yours–”
“...Do I know you?”
“I would be hurt if you didn’t. All of our nights of late night conversation...lost to lack of memory of the past. Now...answer my question.”
“...No. It’s an impossible question. I can’t choose either if I don’t know the first choice. I’d rather not. And I don’t know you.”
The man in black laughed again, looking at Hotstreak. “Let me ask you the same thing.”
“...Hell no. If he’s disagreeing to it, I ain’t about to get myself trapped in that shit.”
The man in black gave him a dull look, disappointed. He frowned. “You’re no fun, Stone.”
“What do you want?” Richie demanded, staring at him. “What do you want from us?”
“...Unfortunately, it’s not what I want. It’s what another wants. If I could get what I want, it’d be...unpleasant.” Both males’ faces turned troubled as they puzzled that, the man in black once more facing Richie. Only this time he bent slightly at the waist, pulling his sunglasses down his nose so that they rested at the tip. Richie looked into red eyes, bewildered at the color. “Now...let me ask you again. A much easier question that doesn’t require an argument. And let me just say, that if you don’t answer truthfully, you won’t like what will happen to you if you refuse. I leave it at that. Do you have the key?”
Richie stared into those unblinking red eyes, vaguely wondering if the man was wearing contacts to appear as some ominous creature. But he felt chills up his spine as the man stared right back at him, the stillness and silence around them incredibly powerful. He started to feel an itch in the back of his mind at that point–as if something was tentatively trying to come up to surface in his conscious.
“...Yes,” he finally answered. He stared at the hand that lifted, palm up.
“May I have it, please?” the man in black asked, smiling gently at him. “I assure you, I won’t pull any tricks on you afterward. It will all be plain and simple after that. You will be left alone.”
Richie stared at that open palm, looking into a hand that held no lines. The smoothness of the palm, lacking normal human features, sent a sort of dread into him. The Wailer gave a long moan, shifting on the sidewalk as its body bulged. It projectile vomited over the street to their left, making all three men look at it in bewilderment.
The others began shifting restlessly, the Ghouls cursing in heated fashion as they paced restlessly in front of the crowd. Zombies began to groan and gurgle, the Faeries uttering small cries of uncertainty. The Demons shuffled quickly through the shadow creatures, Wigglers snapping their sideways mouths at those that came close. Spectres began popping in and out of the street in repeated fashion.
Richie looked back at the man in black. “No. You can’t have it.”
The man in black stared at him in annoyance. He lifted a hand, Backpack beeping a warning at him. Ignoring the robot, his fingers covered the knot on Richie’s forehead, the blond wincing as he moved to pull away from his touch. Hotstreak started to move, uncertain of what action to take when he was suddenly pelted by rocks from the Ghouls that cursed at him.
When the man in black pulled his hand back, the injury was gone. Richie touched his forehead with trembling fingers. The man in black bent once more, smiling a chilling smile. “Look at what I can do to you. My hands can heal you. Easy. I can touch every injury on your body, inside and out. Isn’t that a wonderful talent?”
Richie lowered his hand. The smile turned into a grim line of threat, face hardening with a dark glare. It seemed wholly different from a human’s face–shadows appearing where they shouldn’t, skin lightening a drastic pale white. “I can hurt you horrendously. I could break every bone in your body, tear your flesh from your bones, sever inside organs–and heal you each and every time to do it again. I can also take away any memory of that pain you experienced with every healing–and it would seem, to you, as if you were hurt the very first time. Every moment lived in extreme torture and agony–erased...and done over again...and again. Think of that, Richard.”
For no other fathomable reason, the teen felt his eyes heat with building tears.
The man in black gently wiped at his eyes with his fingers, the movement contradictorily soothing. Richie pulled away from him, disturbed by what had just happened. The man straightened, pushing his sunglasses back into place. The blond hesitated, then pulled his bag open.
As Hotstreak watched, the teen took out a small, silver key. He started, realizing something crucial was happening. He lifted a hand in a motion for him to stop. “No, wait–! Don’t give him nothing!”
The man in black reacted, his hand flying out to catch the redhead across the jaw. Stunningly, instead of falling to the pavement in reaction to the knockout, the man was sent flying several feet away. He hit the pavement with a bone-jarring thud, various creatures scurrying away from him as dust flew into the air after impact. Jaw dropping, watching to see if the man would rise away from that, Richie tossed the key at the man in black.
The metallic clink! caught the man’s attention, and he crouched. Picking up the small key, his lips spread into a thin smile. Richie backed away from him, glancing over to see if Hotstreak would get up.
“Thank you,” the man purred, clutching the key tightly in one hand. Richie looked back at him to see what was going to happen next, and never saw the fist that slammed into the side of his head. He dropped bonelessly to the pavement, Backpack immediately shifting position to crouch over him, arms splaying outward to encircle him protectively.
The man in black looked away, turning his attention to the key with a satisfied smile. He looked up in time to see the last of the Ghouls disappear back into the darkness of the streets. The Wailer was gone. The skies darkened, and he tossed the key from hand to hand as he waited.