Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Hometown ( Chapter 9 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Junior finally makes an appearance
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.23.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.5K | Visits: 208 | Status: Completed
Junior finally makes an appearance
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.23.2006 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.5K | Visits: 208 | 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.
Sad Plea For Attention: Guh, I don't wanna sound whiny, but I can't help but notice that there are people reading this...and leaving no feedback. I would really REALLY appreciate any sort of feedback on this fic---I am currently unsure of how ya'll are taking it. PLEASE let me know what you think of this fic---if you are intimidated by the reviewing process on this site, go ahead and drop me a line at lavenderdaisies@hotmail.com. I would VERY MUCH APPRECIATE your thoughts and feelings and criticism that you feel for this. Thanksies! ^_^
Chapter Nine:
Hometown
They caught up to Virgil nearly two blocks later. The teen let loose his frustration in that they’d lost contact.
“You ditched me!” he accused them, dropping out of the sky. Hotstreak noticed that he was behaving in a different manner–as if he were struggling to function. Before Virgil could say anything else, Richie’s head snapped up.
“Did you find the shooter?” he asked wearily, and Hotstreak noted just how cute he looked, sleepy and still flushed. He had to wince once he saw red marks on his neck, Virgil taking note of them at the same time.
“No. Heeeeey...what’s that–?”
“Carry me,” Richie then demanded, already pulling off his messenger bag as both males reacted with a start upon hearing the order. “I’m really bushed. Or can’t your skinny little body handle my weight?”
Virgil started to reply a negative to the demand when the challenge was issued. He huffed, hands on his hips and noticeably fatigued in that instant. But he slung off his backpack, flinging it in Hotstreak’s direction as Richie hopped onto his back. “Well...I guess he is good for something. Hey, why don’t he carry you, princess? He’s bigger and taller than me!”
“Because you can fly, Virgil,” Richie muttered against his neck, moving for sleep as Hotstreak responded with indignance to having to carry their things.
“Hey! I’m not some freakin’ donkey!” Hotstreak exclaimed, refusing to pick up their bags as he looked affronted. “I ain’t carrying that shit! I’ve got my own shit to watch over!”
“Well, I guess I can carry all that, PLUS Backpack and Richie, because I’m obviously stronger than you all put together,” Virgil decided as he began picking up their bags. Richie’s arms tightened slightly around his neck, but he pretty much went deadweight as he started to fall asleep.
Insulted that Virgil was going to show him up with his show of muscle, Hotstreak snatched the bags from him with a mutter. He gave Backpack a wary look as the robot eyed him with an almost expectant air. Virgil gave a grunt as he latched his arms over Richie’s legs, noticeably straining as he took to the air. He didn’t lift very far and his face was a grimace of concentration, but he was determined to show Hotstreak with what he could handle. Hotstreak muttered again as he arranged the messenger bag over his shoulders, and slipped his arms through Virgil’s backpack so that he carried it against his chest. When Backpack climbed onto his back, wiggling underneath his own backpack, Hotstreak gave a start at the weight of the robot and its balancing movements.
“Where are we going?” he grumbled as Virgil started to float down the road.
“Someplace to crash. I’m running on fumes,” Virgil confessed, grimacing at the weight on his back. What a better way to bulk up than to carry his friend when he needed it. Virgil tried to think positively that way, but his head was pounding insistently and he felt incredibly sick.
“I know a place,” Hotstreak muttered. “It’s right ahead. I don’t think anybody’s using it–it was abandoned last time we–I was there.”
Virgil struggled with his own physical issues, trying to focus on what he was doing. His power wavered, his disk almost scraping the pavement. “So...you were with that guy? How long you guys hanging out?”
“We’d been fucking for three years.”
“Wha–?!” Virgil cried. “You’re gay?!”
“Yeah? SO?”
“Oh, no problem or anything...just...you don’t look the type,” Virgil confessed quickly, frowning as he realized he’d missed an opportunity to really rile things up. But he was just too tired. “And he didn’t either. I didn’t think military guys, like, allowed that.”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes, but he thought of how Harley had kept his orientation so secret that he’d bypassed all needs and comforts of acceptance with filling his life with ‘hetero’ normalness. It had been a great relief for Harley to finally express such needs and finding what he was looking for in him. It made him start to feel bad for the man once again–needing to be reassured that Harley was actually okay on his own.
He swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe his face and catching Richie’s scent on his fingers. It abruptly reminded him of his own hypocritical actions and thoughts, feeling worse for himself. But it also reminded him of sex so frantic and rushed that it brought a contradictory good feeling to his gut. He grimaced, unsure of how to sort through such things.
The place he led them to was a veteran’s clinic. It had things in there that he and Harley often used, and it was also a place to crash peacefully, as no one seemed to bother with it. Even as he set foot in the door, listening for anybody that might be using the building, he was wondering if there were still tubes of lubrication somewhere within the medical section of the place. Even as he felt guilty and shamed of what he’d done, he still found himself looking forward for more play between himself and the teen. It felt so different to be with a new partner–there were still so many possibilities that begged to be discovered.
Backpack emitted a series of sounds, but neither knew what it was trying to say. The building was dark, and the floors were incredibly dusty. Harley had boarded the windows two years earlier, and had set locks upon various sections of the place so that halls were closed off and certain areas used only. He lit his fist, his flame significantly lower than his usual, and led the way down the main hall toward the temporary rooms. They were small, holding two beds each with a minimal amount of furniture. The blankets had been stripped from the mattresses, but Hotstreak knew where some were, and would only give them up if he were asked.
He saw that everything was still in. He lit the candles, then watched as Virgil unceremoniously dumped his friend on the nearest bed. Richie curled up where he’d landed and went back to sleep, Backpack jumping onto the bed with him and nestling into his arms.
Virgil flopped backwards onto the bed next to his, and stared up at the ceiling with vertigo. Hotstreak dumped all their bags in a corner of the room, and left without saying a word to explore. Everything was still in their place–lightly dusted. It appeared that someone had come by to raid the medical supplies, but had left with very little–Harley had taken a great majority of these supplies and had taken them to a safer place, but had locked up a few valuables within a small space in the wall. He accessed that by shifting aside a metal cabinet. He found what he was looking for–picking up the tube of jelly and feeling heavy as he did so. By the time he’d come back, Virgil had fallen asleep. Seeing that Backpack was on alert, he figured he should catch up on sleep as well. He put his things away into his backpack, feeling extremely guilty for doing so.
Hotstreak lowered himself on the bed Richie was laying on, and awkwardly arranged himself so that he was lying at the foot, the teen lying beside him. He stared up at the darkness with his hands folded upon his chest. As he laid there, he found himself lulled by the breathing of both teens. He was comforted by the noise, having listened to Harley’s breathing in the dark while they were in bed. He found himself really missing that familiarity of having his partner nearby. He couldn’t really imagine being on his own–the thought was terribly lonely and frightening. He started to wonder if the reason for his tagging along was to escape that scary loneliness. It was bothersome to think that he was weak that way–but how so when most of his life was spent within the company of others?
He turned, sighing heavily. With Richie’s closeness, he forced himself to think of him. He thought over their sex, amazed and bewildered how a kiss had turned into the full act. It had taken him at least three weeks to share that experience with Harley.
He reached out, tentatively touching Richie’s ankle. Backpack watched him, making him retract his hand. It bothered him in that Richie had experience. It made him think of the boy in the basement, being subject to Harley’s ‘curiosity’. It bothered him that Richie had been so young, so naive to think that it was all right to be in a ‘relationship’ with these older men. It made him wonder what sort of life Richie had before the invasion. He fell asleep with these thoughts shortly after.
* - * - * - * - *
He felt terribly unclean. He hadn’t found time to change his dirtied clothing, his hair was unkept and greasy, and his mouth tasted like dirty cotton. He was running on coffee, No-Doz, unnatural gathered energy, and his mind refused to settle. But he felt he couldn’t rest just yet–not when he was getting so close.
Their field of operations here in Dakota was steadily being wiped clean–as soon as Dakota’s survivor camps had learned of Alva’s men and combined military forces coming into the city with their seemingly endless amounts of supplies and weaponry, the group was being attacked practically hourly. Men were dropping by bullet, hands and desperation, and he felt that he was quickly running out of time.
Walking quietly through the dark and still halls, Edwin Alva, Jr. struggled to keep himself focused on his task. His vest pockets were full of the information he’d needed to get this far, and every clue he found was bringing him closer to his ultimate goal–finding the two teens that had brought his father’s forces to Dakota.
It hurt that his father was doing this; secretly behind all the attempts being made upon gathering a small group of people destined for Madelyn’s defeat for his own gain. It had been fortunate that he’d learned of this earlier so that he wasn’t sucked into Alva’s plans. But it was unfortunate that he was working alone–with all the spreading of Alva’s forces, he had no choice but run through every operation on his own and attempt his own search by luck and desperation of his own. It had taken months to come this far.
Junior heard clicking noises up ahead of him and stilled for a moment. Once he recognized that these were no human footsteps, he quickly whisked himself into the steel that formed the halls–his ability to absorb and amass himself with the material provided had proved to be of great significance in his survival and search.
The creature emerging from the bend of the hall revealed itself to be a Hunter–a shadowy form of an animal that resembled a canine, save for its grotesquely large maw and nearly invincible body that proved hard to penetrate in terms of death. Madelyn’s newest creatures seemed to be following him into the city; an unfortunate circumstance to the survivors’ that were familiar with the creatures within Dakota. The newer creatures were rapidly depleting the survivors’ numbers with almost every encounter.
The Hunter began sniffing the air–it had caught his scent. He would have to move as he was in order to get someplace further within the building to continue his search. The Hunter would send alert to its other companions.
Junior forced himself from the wall, emerging on the other side of the hall. He heard the Hunter’s frustrated attempts to track him, and quickly scurried through the hall towards a staircase. He winced as he seemed to hit every creak on the stairway, hoping that his location would be good enough to put distance between him and the creature.
He didn’t trust any flashlights or any other form of light, his eyes already accustomed to the darkness as he kept an ear out and negotiated his way through the hall toward the offices ahead. He could hear the faint murmur of human voices ahead of him, and recognized the barred hall doors as those that kept both creature and man out. He licked his dry, cracked lips and absorbed back into the wall, shifting material as he moved through steel into glass beyond locked doors.
Men in military fatigues were examining various papers atop of a table just ahead of him–none were paying attention to their surroundings, overly confident within the steel trap they’d encased themselves within. Junior retained his position in the wall, moving fluidly through the material to inch his way onto the floor and into the table legs. There, he was out of their view–pulling out of the table legs and reforming as he crouched underneath the table and listened to every detail they went through. He quickly counted ten sets of legs.
He listened to one man’s report of the teens’ activity. They’d acquired a ‘friend’. This man was bitter about it, and Junior frowned at the intensity in his voice as he relayed the information to the others. It almost sounded personal. It was also as if he were giving away this information based on need for alliance–Junior thought that he wasn’t familiar with the others. There was a sense of tension within the room that he attributed to this man’s presence.
“...unsure of their next destination, anyway,” another muttered, shifting at the end of the table. “They’re just now getting clues from the Others. Hawkins keeps bragging about it, and it isn’t as if they’re completely unified–the teens don’t actually get along as well as we’d thought. Their continued shift in alliances makes us doubt that they’re actually secure enough to go through their tasks.”
“At least we’ve got the key,” said another, and Junior heard the slight sound of metal hitting the table. “Without it, they can’t proceed. We’ve got one on them.”
“Any idea where the other kid’s at? Dashiel called us in on another hit convoy near Bakersfield Park.”
“Alva should have kept a better leash on his fucking bastard,” another muttered, and Junior scowled. “If he gets to the teens, we’re screwed.”
“Fill me in,” the new voice commanded.
“Later. Right now’s not the time.” The third exhaled heavily. “What of the Others?”
“Hawkins has been the only one to communicate with them. His mother appeared to him via electronic-communications. That pool house has been tested for any other apparitions, but Maria is his contact there. I say we blow the place before they go back there.”
“Permission granted. Make sure you secure the area, as well. That bitch can still communicate though water substances. Have we found any preventive measures to keep her from reaching out?”
“I was thinking electricity, but Hawkins could use that.”
Junior listened to them throw ideas around, already knowledgeable about ‘the Others’. They were responsible in filling in the appointed group of ‘heroes’ on their tasks. As far as he knew, the forces were helpless against their knowledgeable ways. The Others were determined to reach them, but he was curious as to why they were focusing on Hawkins.
When he’d first met the teen, Virgil had been so angry at the world; refusing to listen to reason, to look beyond his box. It had taken him awhile to reach into that angry mind just to get Virgil to see that others existed. His anger over the frustrating death of his beloved mother was expected, but wasn’t to be relied on to get him through life. He hadn’t gotten very far when the invasion happened. And he wasn’t that surprised that his ‘alliance’ with Richie wasn’t really steady; the two had egged and instigated everything that it had made it impossible to think that they’d get along anyway.
But Junior had figured their constant ribbing on each other was almost healthy–they also happened to draw out from each other new realizations, weaknesses and strengths. He had grown to realize that even with their constant fighting, they’d also started to rely on each other’s presence due to things in common. He’d almost had hope in that they would help each other heal. Still, he was very glad that the pair were still together; perhaps they realized that the other were the only constants and reliances they had in this world of Purgatory.
“Where are they stationed, now?” the third asked the first.
“The Veteran’s Clinic on Forty-Third. I’ve been watching them–both superhumans are completely wiped out. I know my partner–once he depletes himself of energy and sleep, he’s out for a good several hours. They’re vulnerable now if you want to attack.”
“Don’t forget that the other one has that little toy with him. Even if we attack, it somehow senses us. It’ll alert them long before we could reach them.”
“If we surround their perimeters, separate them, we can hit them harder–!”
“Surrounding their perimeter might be fine–separation will be easy, considering their egos, but you must keep in mind that reason still exists within them. Once they realize that they’re under attack, surely they will collaborate, and we don’t want that. It’s dangerous as it is with them being all friendly toward each other in this manner–we’ll work on separating them once we have the chance, but I do agree with you in that they ARE weakened at the moment...”
Junior didn’t hear anything else–upon hearing the address, he quickly melted into the floor and continued to do so until he was out on the street. Forty-Third wasn’t very far from where these men were stationed and while he had the chance, he was going to take it.
Dakota was silent and still, and while he’d grown accustomed to working alone in the darkness, he still wouldn’t mind being with others he could trust. It was so hard negotiating the dangerousness of the world–so hard to trust. Survivors, while appearing grateful and awestruck by what he could do quickly turned on him. It was survival of the fittest, and while he hadn’t been wide-eyed and naive back in the day, he wasn’t really the type to cope on his own. He’d always had people around him–even those that he’d considered ‘friends’.
It wasn’t until the invasion when he realized who his true friends were.
He found the Veteran’s Clinic, and was in the building within minutes. He took in consideration the other’s plans and spoken observations–curious as to what they meant by Richie’s ‘toy’, but back in the day that boy ALWAYS had some sort of toy he was fiddling with to occupy his mind–but urgency kept him going.
He found the locked halls and doors–he didn’t bother with them as he found a winding path that led him towards the back of the building. Softly, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from creatures and survivors alike, he began calling the boys’ names. He saw the faint glow of light up ahead and cautiously slowed his step. He wasn’t sure how they were going to react to seeing him, again.
After all, the pair had tricked him the last time they were together.
Richie had confessed to him why he’d left his parents six months before the invasion. The thirteen year old had gone on and on about being misunderstand and disliked for having intelligence, and could never get along with his own peers. When the teen had confessed to meeting a ‘friend’ online and visiting him for nearly five months, Junior had gotten suspicious. After all, he’d worked with juveniles that were admitted sexual offenders, luring those younger than them to meet them for sexual thrills.
He’d learned that Richie had been staying with an over forty-year old man that ‘understood’ and ‘got’ him better than anybody else did. He’d claimed that the man had shown him attention he’d craved, had ‘taken care of him’ and never mocked him like everyone else did. Junior had been furious, disgusted–he’d taken a special liking to this teen. He’d started a private investigation into learning the man’s identity, but somewhere along the way, he’d gotten a request from Dakota’s Department of Children and Families. They’d wanted Richie back so that his family could work with him in a special program that had been recently designed to help juveniles and their families bond and work together in specialized therapy. Dakota’s Juvenile Courts and the judge presiding over the teen had agreed with the request, and all had sent official transcripts and documents needed for this transfer.
As a counselor in training, as he’d been between majors, his part-time job allowing him to decide whether or not he’d want to continue working with troubled juveniles, he and the other counselors had been advised via e-mail that the Foleys’ had wanted their son back so that they could work with each other. After the request had gone through, Junior had volunteered to transfer Richie from Valentine to Dakota; the teen seemed to trust him more.
But he hadn’t realized until sometime after the invasion that it had been a set-up; the teen had hacked into Dakota’s DCF and Juvenile Court files, sent the email, and basically arranged the travel so that he could leave the ranch. Despite Richie’s background of electronic hacking and use of his ‘toys’, no one had questioned the order. When Junior made it into Dakota, the invasion struck–in the chaos, Richie jumped out of the vehicle and moments later, Virgil was using his powers to escape from the trunk. It had seemed that Richie hadn’t been aware of Virgil’s tagging along. Junior had been so panicked and confused over what the teens had just done that he’d lost them. He’d returned to Valentine after Dakota had fallen, utterly tormented over what had happened.
But then...his father came through with plans of his own. With some time, Junior had learned that these very same teens were the ones his father was after. Junior was determined to get to them first.
First to box their ears for their trickery, secondly because he was one of them.
He neared the glow in the rooms, cautiously regarding the silence. Straining his ears, he heard soft breathing and snores. He recalled one of the men saying that the ‘supers’ would be passed out from overexertion. He continued to creep forward, cautious over what trap or setup he was going to encounter.
He saw the room where candles glowed brightly. Just as he was going to peek in, several flying objects shot out of the room and wrapped around him. He had enough time to pull himself into the floor before rebar arms could slice through him. As it were, his linoleum form sustained injury that made him curse aloud as he sunk through the floor, hearing the sharp impact of objects slamming atop of him. He pushed himself into the wall, seeing that a circular-shaped robot with one eye was following his every movement as it pushed itself protectively over Richie. There were two other males with him, but all were sleeping so hard that it appeared they weren’t even aware of the robot’s attacking at all.
Those rebar-arms slammed through the wall and almost managed to tear right through him, but Junior sunk to floor level once more, reaching for the steel frame of the beds and absorbing that. This time thicker arms wrapped around him, and he struggled to absorb that–as he did so, the robot began to emit a loud wail of sound.
“Get this thing off me!” he snarled as the thinner arms struck his steel-frame repeatedly, trying to run through his form.
Richie stared at him in obvious fright and surprise, rolling off the bed in startled reaction upon this new thing. Junior struggled to absorb more matter into his frame once it felt as if the robot’s arms would surely pierce through him with its continued force. As he did so, the bed he’d taken into possession dropped the mattress and the single sleeping male onto the floor, and he grew in mass.
“Richie! Get this thing off me!” Junior commanded again, his voice affected by the steel he’d taken in.
The teen was obviously dazed and confused, the robot suddenly emitting a high-volt charge into Junior’s frame–and suddenly withdrawing what looked to be a gun from its back. Junior didn’t want to know what THAT did.
“FOLEY! CALL IT OFF!” he snapped.
“Backpack, stop!” Richie commanded forcefully, the robot stopping its attack with a look in his direction. The teen then looked at him, lost as Backpack retracted only a couple of its arms, prepared for movement should Richie not agree with this intruder. “W-who are you?”
“It’s me,” the younger Alva said, shifting out of steel form with a wince.
He immediately felt sick as the mass he’d absorbed caused extra bulk on his form. Richie watched with a stunned expression as Junior grimaced then belched loudly, popping back into his normal human form. But his muscles were uncomfortably strained as the extra mass changed into energy rather than bulk. Having excess energy was helpful when he was feeling tired, and added to his caffeine buzz.
“I know, it’s a little strange,” he added, getting his first real look at the teen he hadn’t seen in three years. The Richard Foley he’d been familiar with was shorter, chunkier, had longer hair to cover his face, coke-bottle lenses and had preferred military-style jackets and cargo pants. This one was at least five foot four, a thin one-ten and one could actually see his face. A genuine smile of greeting graced his dry lips, feeling elation heat his veins upon actually finding the teens he’d spent a good while searching for.
He looked down at Virgil, noting that the boy had changed as well. He was more gangly than he was back then–more arms and legs. Back then, Virgil wore clean cut clothing that actually fit him, was very meticulous about the way his hair hung and had favored a certain brand of shoes over comfort–he seemed more lax in his appearance, now, favoring overly baggy clothing in similar colors of blue, white and yellow. His clothing may have given him bulk, but Junior was sure it was all just for show–just a glimpse of the black teen’s jaw line and thin neck told him otherwise. Virgil was the same size as Richie, give or take a few pounds. Junior had the urge to feed both of them quite suddenly.
Junior hiked up his pants, bending to look at Backpack curiously. “What’s this thing?”
Richie immediately reached for it, cautiously regarding him as he pulled his invention close to his chest. “It’s mine. I made it.”
Junior blinked at the possessive way the teen held the robot, then straightened. He jerked his sight to Hotstreak, who continued snoring away with no recognition of things around him. He lifted a chin at the man. “Who’s this?”
“A stray pet.” Richie started to smirk, but he still wasn’t sure of Junior and kept his face still.
Junior understood. He hurried over to Hotstreak, grimacing as he noted the bulk and stature of the man. “Shit. Look, we don’t got a lot of time. Ya’ll are surrounded. People been knowing what ya’ll were up to since you got here, you know that?”
“No.”
“I’ll explain later. There’s a lot I need to explain, but for the now, we need to move. Can you wake them up?” Junior went ahead and nudged Hotstreak’s shoulder, roughly pushing on him with his foot. Richie frowned as this happened, then turned to Virgil. Junior started to suggest a plan when Richie shifted into position and kicked Virgil hard in the groin.
The teen woke screaming in pain and fury, curling inward as Richie quickly put distance between them. Junior gaped in horror. Virgil’s face spoke levels of murder as he scanned the room, curled in fetal position with hands over his crotch. He retched a couple of times, struggling against an intense wave of nausea and dizziness. His head still felt out of focus, and things went black for a second. Once he was sure he was able to pull himself out of his daze, he immediately focused on mangling his friend. But he spotted Junior, and instantly shifted expression.
“J-Junior?!” he squealed in a high pitched question. It looked as if he were going to throw up, shoulders shaking as he curled more firmly into himself.
“What in the hell was THAT for?” Junior questioned. Richie shrugged as he started picking up their bags, throwing Virgil his.
“He’s hard to wake up.”
“I’M GOING TO FUCKIN’ KILL YOU FUCKIN’ DEAD YOU FUCKIN’–!”
“Ooh, as if I hadn’t heard that one before–you’re using up your repertoire–!”
“BOTH OF YOU KNOCK IT OFF!” Junior bellowed, startling both of them in mid-threat and mid-mock. Shooting them an irritated expression, he gave Hotstreak a short kick in the back, startling the man awake. “Now, get on up and listen up quick–ya’ll are surrounded good by these guys. We need a plan out, and I got one if ya’ll would just gather up.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Hotstreak demanded, taking sight of him while fighting fierce irritation in being rudely awakened. Richie tossed his backpack to him, and Hotstreak didn't react fast enough to catch it, letting it hit him in the chest with a grunt. He blearily noticed that the teens were somewhat comfortable with the man, radiating a sort of familiarity with him. The man stood around five foot eleven, was built in the shoulders and chest, and had plain features. His large nose and scrunched expression rang with some familiarity with Hotstreak, but he couldn’t place that face right yet.
He was rank, the redhead also noticed, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he clumsily slipped his backpack on. Wearing a dark orange vest over dirtied jeans and a plaid long-sleeve shirt that was in the very same condition as his pants.
Junior cast him an uninterested glance, hands on his hips as Virgil slowly lifted from the floor. The teen noticed that his bed was gone and looked lost as he scanned the room for it, very certain he’d fallen asleep in one.
“Alva’s forces are working with Madelyn’s,” Junior said gravely, making the trio still and stare at him in blank regard. “It all a long story, but it’s true. I’ve been gettin’ all this information while comin’ up this way for the both of ya’ll. This ain’t the time to explain it, as I’m certain that it ain’t secure. ‘Pears one of them ain’t all happy that this one here joined up with the pair of you. Made it sound real personal, too.”
“Hah, you sound like a bad B-Movie Westerner guy!” Hotstreak barked, then frowned. “Wait–who was it–?”
Richie glared at him, shaking his head in disgust. He snapped his fingers repeatedly in his direction and pointed sharply at the floor. “Heel! Or I’m taking the muzzle to you.”
“Hah! Maybe he just needs a shock collar,” Virgil chimed in, looking gleeful at the thought.
Hotstreak stilled, then shot them a furious look, flame licking along his shoulders as his fist knotted. Junior stepped in between them. He was startled that the man had powers, but he was struggling to stay on task rather than gape. “Let’s get this all straightened out, first. There ain’t no fighting here! We’re all together for a reason, and it needs to stay that way! Stop baitin’ on each other and listen up real close–! We’re goin’ underground, an’ I need to be certain that at least one of you knows what he’s doing down there so’s we can get to safety. Do any of ya’ll know the sewers?”
“Backpack has a copy of Dakota’s streets inputted into his system. He can correctly identify location by accessing this information and mapping out a route to a safe house,” Richie answered, hugging Backpack tightly to him as he volunteered the information.
“Listen to me, I’m a nerd,” Virgil mocked, Richie tossing him an irritated glance. “My toy is the very bestest in the entire world!”
“Hah, what a dork,” Hotstreak chimed in with a bark of laughter. He began mocking Richie’s voice with a higher-pitched version of his own. “Identify, input! Look at me, da-da! Look at me!”
Virgil and Hotstreak laughed nastily. Junior gave the redhead a glare of death. He then grabbed Virgil’s ear, yanking the teen close to him as the teen yelped in surprise.
“Don’t make me haveta wreck the both of you,” he threatened as Virgil tried to jerk away from him. Richie gave him a satisfied smile and then shot Hotstreak a furious expression, already planning revenge. Hotstreak caught the look and gave him a smirk. “Let’s get serious for the now, and we’ll talk about what it is you’re missing in your life that’s making ya into some stupid jackass. You wanna turn out like that one over there?”
“Hey!” Hotstreak complained, subjected to an accusing finger pointed in his direction.
Virgil jerked away from Junior, scowling at him as he rubbed his ear. Satisfied that he now had their attention, Junior looked back at Richie. “An’ don’t be thinkin’ that you’re exempt from that, Foley. You’re in the very same boat as the pair of them, and I’d expected a lot more from you.”
Richie scowled at that, Virgil making a smug face in his direction.
Everyone chastised, Junior exhaled heavily. He moved to speak again when Hotstreak asked, “Who the fuck are you to come in and start bullshit, acting like you’re all knowledgeable and in charge? I ain’t taking orders from you, dipshit. You ain’t nothing to me.”
“Please, ‘homeboy’,” Junior said sarcastically. “You’re just about as intimidating as a Pomeranian with that hair style of yours.”
“Oh, let me show you ‘intimidating’,” Hotstreak began, feeling heat build as his temper began to rise.
Backpack suddenly shifted out of Richie’s arms, emitting a series of sounds. Richie quickly looked at the others. “He’s right. There’s people coming in to surround the place. There’s a basement here, can you get the door open, Virgil?”
“See, how come that thingy didn’t tell you guys I was comin’ that one time?” Virgil asked, stiffly rushing out the door as Backpack led the way toward the basement.
Hotstreak caught Junior’s arm, dispelling some of the candles within the room. “I asked you a question. Who the hell are you?”
Junior yanked his arm back. “I used to work with them back in th’ day. Don’t like the looks of you, but it’s important that we stay together. There’s more we gotta search for, so if you’ll just save your little yapping for later, I’ll get to it.”
He ran after the teens, Hotstreak lingering just to mimic his speech with a smarty look before following. He already had the feeling that they weren’t going to get along very well.
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.
Sad Plea For Attention: Guh, I don't wanna sound whiny, but I can't help but notice that there are people reading this...and leaving no feedback. I would really REALLY appreciate any sort of feedback on this fic---I am currently unsure of how ya'll are taking it. PLEASE let me know what you think of this fic---if you are intimidated by the reviewing process on this site, go ahead and drop me a line at lavenderdaisies@hotmail.com. I would VERY MUCH APPRECIATE your thoughts and feelings and criticism that you feel for this. Thanksies! ^_^
Chapter Nine:
Hometown
They caught up to Virgil nearly two blocks later. The teen let loose his frustration in that they’d lost contact.
“You ditched me!” he accused them, dropping out of the sky. Hotstreak noticed that he was behaving in a different manner–as if he were struggling to function. Before Virgil could say anything else, Richie’s head snapped up.
“Did you find the shooter?” he asked wearily, and Hotstreak noted just how cute he looked, sleepy and still flushed. He had to wince once he saw red marks on his neck, Virgil taking note of them at the same time.
“No. Heeeeey...what’s that–?”
“Carry me,” Richie then demanded, already pulling off his messenger bag as both males reacted with a start upon hearing the order. “I’m really bushed. Or can’t your skinny little body handle my weight?”
Virgil started to reply a negative to the demand when the challenge was issued. He huffed, hands on his hips and noticeably fatigued in that instant. But he slung off his backpack, flinging it in Hotstreak’s direction as Richie hopped onto his back. “Well...I guess he is good for something. Hey, why don’t he carry you, princess? He’s bigger and taller than me!”
“Because you can fly, Virgil,” Richie muttered against his neck, moving for sleep as Hotstreak responded with indignance to having to carry their things.
“Hey! I’m not some freakin’ donkey!” Hotstreak exclaimed, refusing to pick up their bags as he looked affronted. “I ain’t carrying that shit! I’ve got my own shit to watch over!”
“Well, I guess I can carry all that, PLUS Backpack and Richie, because I’m obviously stronger than you all put together,” Virgil decided as he began picking up their bags. Richie’s arms tightened slightly around his neck, but he pretty much went deadweight as he started to fall asleep.
Insulted that Virgil was going to show him up with his show of muscle, Hotstreak snatched the bags from him with a mutter. He gave Backpack a wary look as the robot eyed him with an almost expectant air. Virgil gave a grunt as he latched his arms over Richie’s legs, noticeably straining as he took to the air. He didn’t lift very far and his face was a grimace of concentration, but he was determined to show Hotstreak with what he could handle. Hotstreak muttered again as he arranged the messenger bag over his shoulders, and slipped his arms through Virgil’s backpack so that he carried it against his chest. When Backpack climbed onto his back, wiggling underneath his own backpack, Hotstreak gave a start at the weight of the robot and its balancing movements.
“Where are we going?” he grumbled as Virgil started to float down the road.
“Someplace to crash. I’m running on fumes,” Virgil confessed, grimacing at the weight on his back. What a better way to bulk up than to carry his friend when he needed it. Virgil tried to think positively that way, but his head was pounding insistently and he felt incredibly sick.
“I know a place,” Hotstreak muttered. “It’s right ahead. I don’t think anybody’s using it–it was abandoned last time we–I was there.”
Virgil struggled with his own physical issues, trying to focus on what he was doing. His power wavered, his disk almost scraping the pavement. “So...you were with that guy? How long you guys hanging out?”
“We’d been fucking for three years.”
“Wha–?!” Virgil cried. “You’re gay?!”
“Yeah? SO?”
“Oh, no problem or anything...just...you don’t look the type,” Virgil confessed quickly, frowning as he realized he’d missed an opportunity to really rile things up. But he was just too tired. “And he didn’t either. I didn’t think military guys, like, allowed that.”
Hotstreak rolled his eyes, but he thought of how Harley had kept his orientation so secret that he’d bypassed all needs and comforts of acceptance with filling his life with ‘hetero’ normalness. It had been a great relief for Harley to finally express such needs and finding what he was looking for in him. It made him start to feel bad for the man once again–needing to be reassured that Harley was actually okay on his own.
He swallowed hard, reaching up to wipe his face and catching Richie’s scent on his fingers. It abruptly reminded him of his own hypocritical actions and thoughts, feeling worse for himself. But it also reminded him of sex so frantic and rushed that it brought a contradictory good feeling to his gut. He grimaced, unsure of how to sort through such things.
The place he led them to was a veteran’s clinic. It had things in there that he and Harley often used, and it was also a place to crash peacefully, as no one seemed to bother with it. Even as he set foot in the door, listening for anybody that might be using the building, he was wondering if there were still tubes of lubrication somewhere within the medical section of the place. Even as he felt guilty and shamed of what he’d done, he still found himself looking forward for more play between himself and the teen. It felt so different to be with a new partner–there were still so many possibilities that begged to be discovered.
Backpack emitted a series of sounds, but neither knew what it was trying to say. The building was dark, and the floors were incredibly dusty. Harley had boarded the windows two years earlier, and had set locks upon various sections of the place so that halls were closed off and certain areas used only. He lit his fist, his flame significantly lower than his usual, and led the way down the main hall toward the temporary rooms. They were small, holding two beds each with a minimal amount of furniture. The blankets had been stripped from the mattresses, but Hotstreak knew where some were, and would only give them up if he were asked.
He saw that everything was still in. He lit the candles, then watched as Virgil unceremoniously dumped his friend on the nearest bed. Richie curled up where he’d landed and went back to sleep, Backpack jumping onto the bed with him and nestling into his arms.
Virgil flopped backwards onto the bed next to his, and stared up at the ceiling with vertigo. Hotstreak dumped all their bags in a corner of the room, and left without saying a word to explore. Everything was still in their place–lightly dusted. It appeared that someone had come by to raid the medical supplies, but had left with very little–Harley had taken a great majority of these supplies and had taken them to a safer place, but had locked up a few valuables within a small space in the wall. He accessed that by shifting aside a metal cabinet. He found what he was looking for–picking up the tube of jelly and feeling heavy as he did so. By the time he’d come back, Virgil had fallen asleep. Seeing that Backpack was on alert, he figured he should catch up on sleep as well. He put his things away into his backpack, feeling extremely guilty for doing so.
Hotstreak lowered himself on the bed Richie was laying on, and awkwardly arranged himself so that he was lying at the foot, the teen lying beside him. He stared up at the darkness with his hands folded upon his chest. As he laid there, he found himself lulled by the breathing of both teens. He was comforted by the noise, having listened to Harley’s breathing in the dark while they were in bed. He found himself really missing that familiarity of having his partner nearby. He couldn’t really imagine being on his own–the thought was terribly lonely and frightening. He started to wonder if the reason for his tagging along was to escape that scary loneliness. It was bothersome to think that he was weak that way–but how so when most of his life was spent within the company of others?
He turned, sighing heavily. With Richie’s closeness, he forced himself to think of him. He thought over their sex, amazed and bewildered how a kiss had turned into the full act. It had taken him at least three weeks to share that experience with Harley.
He reached out, tentatively touching Richie’s ankle. Backpack watched him, making him retract his hand. It bothered him in that Richie had experience. It made him think of the boy in the basement, being subject to Harley’s ‘curiosity’. It bothered him that Richie had been so young, so naive to think that it was all right to be in a ‘relationship’ with these older men. It made him wonder what sort of life Richie had before the invasion. He fell asleep with these thoughts shortly after.
* - * - * - * - *
He felt terribly unclean. He hadn’t found time to change his dirtied clothing, his hair was unkept and greasy, and his mouth tasted like dirty cotton. He was running on coffee, No-Doz, unnatural gathered energy, and his mind refused to settle. But he felt he couldn’t rest just yet–not when he was getting so close.
Their field of operations here in Dakota was steadily being wiped clean–as soon as Dakota’s survivor camps had learned of Alva’s men and combined military forces coming into the city with their seemingly endless amounts of supplies and weaponry, the group was being attacked practically hourly. Men were dropping by bullet, hands and desperation, and he felt that he was quickly running out of time.
Walking quietly through the dark and still halls, Edwin Alva, Jr. struggled to keep himself focused on his task. His vest pockets were full of the information he’d needed to get this far, and every clue he found was bringing him closer to his ultimate goal–finding the two teens that had brought his father’s forces to Dakota.
It hurt that his father was doing this; secretly behind all the attempts being made upon gathering a small group of people destined for Madelyn’s defeat for his own gain. It had been fortunate that he’d learned of this earlier so that he wasn’t sucked into Alva’s plans. But it was unfortunate that he was working alone–with all the spreading of Alva’s forces, he had no choice but run through every operation on his own and attempt his own search by luck and desperation of his own. It had taken months to come this far.
Junior heard clicking noises up ahead of him and stilled for a moment. Once he recognized that these were no human footsteps, he quickly whisked himself into the steel that formed the halls–his ability to absorb and amass himself with the material provided had proved to be of great significance in his survival and search.
The creature emerging from the bend of the hall revealed itself to be a Hunter–a shadowy form of an animal that resembled a canine, save for its grotesquely large maw and nearly invincible body that proved hard to penetrate in terms of death. Madelyn’s newest creatures seemed to be following him into the city; an unfortunate circumstance to the survivors’ that were familiar with the creatures within Dakota. The newer creatures were rapidly depleting the survivors’ numbers with almost every encounter.
The Hunter began sniffing the air–it had caught his scent. He would have to move as he was in order to get someplace further within the building to continue his search. The Hunter would send alert to its other companions.
Junior forced himself from the wall, emerging on the other side of the hall. He heard the Hunter’s frustrated attempts to track him, and quickly scurried through the hall towards a staircase. He winced as he seemed to hit every creak on the stairway, hoping that his location would be good enough to put distance between him and the creature.
He didn’t trust any flashlights or any other form of light, his eyes already accustomed to the darkness as he kept an ear out and negotiated his way through the hall toward the offices ahead. He could hear the faint murmur of human voices ahead of him, and recognized the barred hall doors as those that kept both creature and man out. He licked his dry, cracked lips and absorbed back into the wall, shifting material as he moved through steel into glass beyond locked doors.
Men in military fatigues were examining various papers atop of a table just ahead of him–none were paying attention to their surroundings, overly confident within the steel trap they’d encased themselves within. Junior retained his position in the wall, moving fluidly through the material to inch his way onto the floor and into the table legs. There, he was out of their view–pulling out of the table legs and reforming as he crouched underneath the table and listened to every detail they went through. He quickly counted ten sets of legs.
He listened to one man’s report of the teens’ activity. They’d acquired a ‘friend’. This man was bitter about it, and Junior frowned at the intensity in his voice as he relayed the information to the others. It almost sounded personal. It was also as if he were giving away this information based on need for alliance–Junior thought that he wasn’t familiar with the others. There was a sense of tension within the room that he attributed to this man’s presence.
“...unsure of their next destination, anyway,” another muttered, shifting at the end of the table. “They’re just now getting clues from the Others. Hawkins keeps bragging about it, and it isn’t as if they’re completely unified–the teens don’t actually get along as well as we’d thought. Their continued shift in alliances makes us doubt that they’re actually secure enough to go through their tasks.”
“At least we’ve got the key,” said another, and Junior heard the slight sound of metal hitting the table. “Without it, they can’t proceed. We’ve got one on them.”
“Any idea where the other kid’s at? Dashiel called us in on another hit convoy near Bakersfield Park.”
“Alva should have kept a better leash on his fucking bastard,” another muttered, and Junior scowled. “If he gets to the teens, we’re screwed.”
“Fill me in,” the new voice commanded.
“Later. Right now’s not the time.” The third exhaled heavily. “What of the Others?”
“Hawkins has been the only one to communicate with them. His mother appeared to him via electronic-communications. That pool house has been tested for any other apparitions, but Maria is his contact there. I say we blow the place before they go back there.”
“Permission granted. Make sure you secure the area, as well. That bitch can still communicate though water substances. Have we found any preventive measures to keep her from reaching out?”
“I was thinking electricity, but Hawkins could use that.”
Junior listened to them throw ideas around, already knowledgeable about ‘the Others’. They were responsible in filling in the appointed group of ‘heroes’ on their tasks. As far as he knew, the forces were helpless against their knowledgeable ways. The Others were determined to reach them, but he was curious as to why they were focusing on Hawkins.
When he’d first met the teen, Virgil had been so angry at the world; refusing to listen to reason, to look beyond his box. It had taken him awhile to reach into that angry mind just to get Virgil to see that others existed. His anger over the frustrating death of his beloved mother was expected, but wasn’t to be relied on to get him through life. He hadn’t gotten very far when the invasion happened. And he wasn’t that surprised that his ‘alliance’ with Richie wasn’t really steady; the two had egged and instigated everything that it had made it impossible to think that they’d get along anyway.
But Junior had figured their constant ribbing on each other was almost healthy–they also happened to draw out from each other new realizations, weaknesses and strengths. He had grown to realize that even with their constant fighting, they’d also started to rely on each other’s presence due to things in common. He’d almost had hope in that they would help each other heal. Still, he was very glad that the pair were still together; perhaps they realized that the other were the only constants and reliances they had in this world of Purgatory.
“Where are they stationed, now?” the third asked the first.
“The Veteran’s Clinic on Forty-Third. I’ve been watching them–both superhumans are completely wiped out. I know my partner–once he depletes himself of energy and sleep, he’s out for a good several hours. They’re vulnerable now if you want to attack.”
“Don’t forget that the other one has that little toy with him. Even if we attack, it somehow senses us. It’ll alert them long before we could reach them.”
“If we surround their perimeters, separate them, we can hit them harder–!”
“Surrounding their perimeter might be fine–separation will be easy, considering their egos, but you must keep in mind that reason still exists within them. Once they realize that they’re under attack, surely they will collaborate, and we don’t want that. It’s dangerous as it is with them being all friendly toward each other in this manner–we’ll work on separating them once we have the chance, but I do agree with you in that they ARE weakened at the moment...”
Junior didn’t hear anything else–upon hearing the address, he quickly melted into the floor and continued to do so until he was out on the street. Forty-Third wasn’t very far from where these men were stationed and while he had the chance, he was going to take it.
Dakota was silent and still, and while he’d grown accustomed to working alone in the darkness, he still wouldn’t mind being with others he could trust. It was so hard negotiating the dangerousness of the world–so hard to trust. Survivors, while appearing grateful and awestruck by what he could do quickly turned on him. It was survival of the fittest, and while he hadn’t been wide-eyed and naive back in the day, he wasn’t really the type to cope on his own. He’d always had people around him–even those that he’d considered ‘friends’.
It wasn’t until the invasion when he realized who his true friends were.
He found the Veteran’s Clinic, and was in the building within minutes. He took in consideration the other’s plans and spoken observations–curious as to what they meant by Richie’s ‘toy’, but back in the day that boy ALWAYS had some sort of toy he was fiddling with to occupy his mind–but urgency kept him going.
He found the locked halls and doors–he didn’t bother with them as he found a winding path that led him towards the back of the building. Softly, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from creatures and survivors alike, he began calling the boys’ names. He saw the faint glow of light up ahead and cautiously slowed his step. He wasn’t sure how they were going to react to seeing him, again.
After all, the pair had tricked him the last time they were together.
Richie had confessed to him why he’d left his parents six months before the invasion. The thirteen year old had gone on and on about being misunderstand and disliked for having intelligence, and could never get along with his own peers. When the teen had confessed to meeting a ‘friend’ online and visiting him for nearly five months, Junior had gotten suspicious. After all, he’d worked with juveniles that were admitted sexual offenders, luring those younger than them to meet them for sexual thrills.
He’d learned that Richie had been staying with an over forty-year old man that ‘understood’ and ‘got’ him better than anybody else did. He’d claimed that the man had shown him attention he’d craved, had ‘taken care of him’ and never mocked him like everyone else did. Junior had been furious, disgusted–he’d taken a special liking to this teen. He’d started a private investigation into learning the man’s identity, but somewhere along the way, he’d gotten a request from Dakota’s Department of Children and Families. They’d wanted Richie back so that his family could work with him in a special program that had been recently designed to help juveniles and their families bond and work together in specialized therapy. Dakota’s Juvenile Courts and the judge presiding over the teen had agreed with the request, and all had sent official transcripts and documents needed for this transfer.
As a counselor in training, as he’d been between majors, his part-time job allowing him to decide whether or not he’d want to continue working with troubled juveniles, he and the other counselors had been advised via e-mail that the Foleys’ had wanted their son back so that they could work with each other. After the request had gone through, Junior had volunteered to transfer Richie from Valentine to Dakota; the teen seemed to trust him more.
But he hadn’t realized until sometime after the invasion that it had been a set-up; the teen had hacked into Dakota’s DCF and Juvenile Court files, sent the email, and basically arranged the travel so that he could leave the ranch. Despite Richie’s background of electronic hacking and use of his ‘toys’, no one had questioned the order. When Junior made it into Dakota, the invasion struck–in the chaos, Richie jumped out of the vehicle and moments later, Virgil was using his powers to escape from the trunk. It had seemed that Richie hadn’t been aware of Virgil’s tagging along. Junior had been so panicked and confused over what the teens had just done that he’d lost them. He’d returned to Valentine after Dakota had fallen, utterly tormented over what had happened.
But then...his father came through with plans of his own. With some time, Junior had learned that these very same teens were the ones his father was after. Junior was determined to get to them first.
First to box their ears for their trickery, secondly because he was one of them.
He neared the glow in the rooms, cautiously regarding the silence. Straining his ears, he heard soft breathing and snores. He recalled one of the men saying that the ‘supers’ would be passed out from overexertion. He continued to creep forward, cautious over what trap or setup he was going to encounter.
He saw the room where candles glowed brightly. Just as he was going to peek in, several flying objects shot out of the room and wrapped around him. He had enough time to pull himself into the floor before rebar arms could slice through him. As it were, his linoleum form sustained injury that made him curse aloud as he sunk through the floor, hearing the sharp impact of objects slamming atop of him. He pushed himself into the wall, seeing that a circular-shaped robot with one eye was following his every movement as it pushed itself protectively over Richie. There were two other males with him, but all were sleeping so hard that it appeared they weren’t even aware of the robot’s attacking at all.
Those rebar-arms slammed through the wall and almost managed to tear right through him, but Junior sunk to floor level once more, reaching for the steel frame of the beds and absorbing that. This time thicker arms wrapped around him, and he struggled to absorb that–as he did so, the robot began to emit a loud wail of sound.
“Get this thing off me!” he snarled as the thinner arms struck his steel-frame repeatedly, trying to run through his form.
Richie stared at him in obvious fright and surprise, rolling off the bed in startled reaction upon this new thing. Junior struggled to absorb more matter into his frame once it felt as if the robot’s arms would surely pierce through him with its continued force. As he did so, the bed he’d taken into possession dropped the mattress and the single sleeping male onto the floor, and he grew in mass.
“Richie! Get this thing off me!” Junior commanded again, his voice affected by the steel he’d taken in.
The teen was obviously dazed and confused, the robot suddenly emitting a high-volt charge into Junior’s frame–and suddenly withdrawing what looked to be a gun from its back. Junior didn’t want to know what THAT did.
“FOLEY! CALL IT OFF!” he snapped.
“Backpack, stop!” Richie commanded forcefully, the robot stopping its attack with a look in his direction. The teen then looked at him, lost as Backpack retracted only a couple of its arms, prepared for movement should Richie not agree with this intruder. “W-who are you?”
“It’s me,” the younger Alva said, shifting out of steel form with a wince.
He immediately felt sick as the mass he’d absorbed caused extra bulk on his form. Richie watched with a stunned expression as Junior grimaced then belched loudly, popping back into his normal human form. But his muscles were uncomfortably strained as the extra mass changed into energy rather than bulk. Having excess energy was helpful when he was feeling tired, and added to his caffeine buzz.
“I know, it’s a little strange,” he added, getting his first real look at the teen he hadn’t seen in three years. The Richard Foley he’d been familiar with was shorter, chunkier, had longer hair to cover his face, coke-bottle lenses and had preferred military-style jackets and cargo pants. This one was at least five foot four, a thin one-ten and one could actually see his face. A genuine smile of greeting graced his dry lips, feeling elation heat his veins upon actually finding the teens he’d spent a good while searching for.
He looked down at Virgil, noting that the boy had changed as well. He was more gangly than he was back then–more arms and legs. Back then, Virgil wore clean cut clothing that actually fit him, was very meticulous about the way his hair hung and had favored a certain brand of shoes over comfort–he seemed more lax in his appearance, now, favoring overly baggy clothing in similar colors of blue, white and yellow. His clothing may have given him bulk, but Junior was sure it was all just for show–just a glimpse of the black teen’s jaw line and thin neck told him otherwise. Virgil was the same size as Richie, give or take a few pounds. Junior had the urge to feed both of them quite suddenly.
Junior hiked up his pants, bending to look at Backpack curiously. “What’s this thing?”
Richie immediately reached for it, cautiously regarding him as he pulled his invention close to his chest. “It’s mine. I made it.”
Junior blinked at the possessive way the teen held the robot, then straightened. He jerked his sight to Hotstreak, who continued snoring away with no recognition of things around him. He lifted a chin at the man. “Who’s this?”
“A stray pet.” Richie started to smirk, but he still wasn’t sure of Junior and kept his face still.
Junior understood. He hurried over to Hotstreak, grimacing as he noted the bulk and stature of the man. “Shit. Look, we don’t got a lot of time. Ya’ll are surrounded. People been knowing what ya’ll were up to since you got here, you know that?”
“No.”
“I’ll explain later. There’s a lot I need to explain, but for the now, we need to move. Can you wake them up?” Junior went ahead and nudged Hotstreak’s shoulder, roughly pushing on him with his foot. Richie frowned as this happened, then turned to Virgil. Junior started to suggest a plan when Richie shifted into position and kicked Virgil hard in the groin.
The teen woke screaming in pain and fury, curling inward as Richie quickly put distance between them. Junior gaped in horror. Virgil’s face spoke levels of murder as he scanned the room, curled in fetal position with hands over his crotch. He retched a couple of times, struggling against an intense wave of nausea and dizziness. His head still felt out of focus, and things went black for a second. Once he was sure he was able to pull himself out of his daze, he immediately focused on mangling his friend. But he spotted Junior, and instantly shifted expression.
“J-Junior?!” he squealed in a high pitched question. It looked as if he were going to throw up, shoulders shaking as he curled more firmly into himself.
“What in the hell was THAT for?” Junior questioned. Richie shrugged as he started picking up their bags, throwing Virgil his.
“He’s hard to wake up.”
“I’M GOING TO FUCKIN’ KILL YOU FUCKIN’ DEAD YOU FUCKIN’–!”
“Ooh, as if I hadn’t heard that one before–you’re using up your repertoire–!”
“BOTH OF YOU KNOCK IT OFF!” Junior bellowed, startling both of them in mid-threat and mid-mock. Shooting them an irritated expression, he gave Hotstreak a short kick in the back, startling the man awake. “Now, get on up and listen up quick–ya’ll are surrounded good by these guys. We need a plan out, and I got one if ya’ll would just gather up.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Hotstreak demanded, taking sight of him while fighting fierce irritation in being rudely awakened. Richie tossed his backpack to him, and Hotstreak didn't react fast enough to catch it, letting it hit him in the chest with a grunt. He blearily noticed that the teens were somewhat comfortable with the man, radiating a sort of familiarity with him. The man stood around five foot eleven, was built in the shoulders and chest, and had plain features. His large nose and scrunched expression rang with some familiarity with Hotstreak, but he couldn’t place that face right yet.
He was rank, the redhead also noticed, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he clumsily slipped his backpack on. Wearing a dark orange vest over dirtied jeans and a plaid long-sleeve shirt that was in the very same condition as his pants.
Junior cast him an uninterested glance, hands on his hips as Virgil slowly lifted from the floor. The teen noticed that his bed was gone and looked lost as he scanned the room for it, very certain he’d fallen asleep in one.
“Alva’s forces are working with Madelyn’s,” Junior said gravely, making the trio still and stare at him in blank regard. “It all a long story, but it’s true. I’ve been gettin’ all this information while comin’ up this way for the both of ya’ll. This ain’t the time to explain it, as I’m certain that it ain’t secure. ‘Pears one of them ain’t all happy that this one here joined up with the pair of you. Made it sound real personal, too.”
“Hah, you sound like a bad B-Movie Westerner guy!” Hotstreak barked, then frowned. “Wait–who was it–?”
Richie glared at him, shaking his head in disgust. He snapped his fingers repeatedly in his direction and pointed sharply at the floor. “Heel! Or I’m taking the muzzle to you.”
“Hah! Maybe he just needs a shock collar,” Virgil chimed in, looking gleeful at the thought.
Hotstreak stilled, then shot them a furious look, flame licking along his shoulders as his fist knotted. Junior stepped in between them. He was startled that the man had powers, but he was struggling to stay on task rather than gape. “Let’s get this all straightened out, first. There ain’t no fighting here! We’re all together for a reason, and it needs to stay that way! Stop baitin’ on each other and listen up real close–! We’re goin’ underground, an’ I need to be certain that at least one of you knows what he’s doing down there so’s we can get to safety. Do any of ya’ll know the sewers?”
“Backpack has a copy of Dakota’s streets inputted into his system. He can correctly identify location by accessing this information and mapping out a route to a safe house,” Richie answered, hugging Backpack tightly to him as he volunteered the information.
“Listen to me, I’m a nerd,” Virgil mocked, Richie tossing him an irritated glance. “My toy is the very bestest in the entire world!”
“Hah, what a dork,” Hotstreak chimed in with a bark of laughter. He began mocking Richie’s voice with a higher-pitched version of his own. “Identify, input! Look at me, da-da! Look at me!”
Virgil and Hotstreak laughed nastily. Junior gave the redhead a glare of death. He then grabbed Virgil’s ear, yanking the teen close to him as the teen yelped in surprise.
“Don’t make me haveta wreck the both of you,” he threatened as Virgil tried to jerk away from him. Richie gave him a satisfied smile and then shot Hotstreak a furious expression, already planning revenge. Hotstreak caught the look and gave him a smirk. “Let’s get serious for the now, and we’ll talk about what it is you’re missing in your life that’s making ya into some stupid jackass. You wanna turn out like that one over there?”
“Hey!” Hotstreak complained, subjected to an accusing finger pointed in his direction.
Virgil jerked away from Junior, scowling at him as he rubbed his ear. Satisfied that he now had their attention, Junior looked back at Richie. “An’ don’t be thinkin’ that you’re exempt from that, Foley. You’re in the very same boat as the pair of them, and I’d expected a lot more from you.”
Richie scowled at that, Virgil making a smug face in his direction.
Everyone chastised, Junior exhaled heavily. He moved to speak again when Hotstreak asked, “Who the fuck are you to come in and start bullshit, acting like you’re all knowledgeable and in charge? I ain’t taking orders from you, dipshit. You ain’t nothing to me.”
“Please, ‘homeboy’,” Junior said sarcastically. “You’re just about as intimidating as a Pomeranian with that hair style of yours.”
“Oh, let me show you ‘intimidating’,” Hotstreak began, feeling heat build as his temper began to rise.
Backpack suddenly shifted out of Richie’s arms, emitting a series of sounds. Richie quickly looked at the others. “He’s right. There’s people coming in to surround the place. There’s a basement here, can you get the door open, Virgil?”
“See, how come that thingy didn’t tell you guys I was comin’ that one time?” Virgil asked, stiffly rushing out the door as Backpack led the way toward the basement.
Hotstreak caught Junior’s arm, dispelling some of the candles within the room. “I asked you a question. Who the hell are you?”
Junior yanked his arm back. “I used to work with them back in th’ day. Don’t like the looks of you, but it’s important that we stay together. There’s more we gotta search for, so if you’ll just save your little yapping for later, I’ll get to it.”
He ran after the teens, Hotstreak lingering just to mimic his speech with a smarty look before following. He already had the feeling that they weren’t going to get along very well.