Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Letter---From The Lost Days ( Chapter 10 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The boys find a big piece of help in their quest...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.06.2007 | Pages: 6 | Words: 9.2K | Visits: 221 | Status: Completed
The boys find a big piece of help in their quest...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.06.2007 | Pages: 6 | Words: 9.2K | Visits: 221 | 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 Ten:
Letter---from The Lost Days
They were led to the labs. Junior was able to slip through walls with powers of transparency, and was able to ‘leak’ this power unto the others, enabling all to move through their journey quicker than they were used to. But by the time they made it into the labs, Junior and the others had thought it was a terrible idea, voicing their opinions in displeasure once recognizing the insides of the building. In the confusion, Richie quickly slipped off and disappeared into the darkness.
The laboratories were a hotspot of activity for the military-based group. Virgil whipped out the cellphone, grumbling for revenge. When he realized that the phone was fading in and out, cutting with intense static, he stomped his foot with frustration.
“He’s purposely shuttin’ me out! He does this when he’s all mad at me and trying to prove a point! He’s such a girl,” Virgil sighed dramatically, shaking his dreads. “At least I get it out there and let people KNOW I’m pissed. I ain’t playin’ no games!”
“Why would he lead us here, when we’re tryin’ to avoid these people?” Junior hissed, keeping his voice lowered just in case someone was nearby.
Hotstreak nervously regarded what he recognized as the main laboratories lobby. It was in the sad state of disrepair as the rest of the world, but the chairs were tossed carelessly and the walls were decorated with bulletholes and gore. He grimaced, thinking of the various lab animals that were kept here at one time. The air smelled musty and stale, and his entire body stiffened in reaction to being inside this place. His mind was swirling with both panic and flashbacks of his past. His skin seemed to crawl at the thoughts of needles and men and women in white lab coats.
It took him awhile to try and focus, coming back from his panicked haze to hear Virgil say: “...materials for some stupid toy of his! He could be anywhere lookin’ for that!”
Junior inhaled deeply, struggling to calm his irritation and pent-up exhaustion that threatened to spill over him at this point. Using his energy to transfer onto others really took a lot out of him. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he tried to focus into the darkness. Everything was so still and dark that he felt that moving would produce a very unwelcome crash of sound. It was almost as if he could hear the others’ heartbeats, but it was only his own.
“All right, then...who knows their way around here?”
Virgil pointed at Hotstreak. “The guy used to live here. He knows his way around.”
“I fuckin’ HATE this place! For fucking twenty-three years I was here, under their fuckin’ microscopes and having blood sucked outta me for their stupid research!” Hotstreak shouted, causing them to startle. “I ain’t going ANYWHERE here, or leading anybody anywhere. This is fucking bullshit. I call dibs on beating him senseless first!”
Virgil and Junior looked surprised at the vehemence in his tone. Then Virgil guffawed. “You’re such a woman. What are you all worked up for? Be a man, dammit! A MAN!”
“Fuck you, dick face!”
“Oh, not uh, girlfriend, homie don’t play that way–!”
“KNOCK IT OFF!” Junior bellowed, startling both of them. Shamefaced at obeying, both males resorted to glaring at each other instead.“Virgil, you remember him sayin’ anything about a favorite haunt of his around here?”
“No. When he gets all techno-geek on me, I tend to tune him out. Kept me sane, man.”
Junior closed his eyes in frustration, rubbing at a massive headache at his temples. Virgil looked remorseful of this, regarding the floor with a subdued look. Hotstreak frowned at both of them, struggling to keep his anxieties at bay. Just being inside the lobby had his limbs shaky and weak, his mouth dry. He clenched his teeth, feeling incredibly useless and moronic for feeling this way in front of a couple of strangers. He hid his shaking hands in his hooded sweater pockets, fisting them.
Junior then raised his head. He spoke quickly of leaving Richie to his own devices, trusting that the teen would locate them if help was needed. He had things he needed to discuss–the pair followed the younger Alva through the lobby and out the doors, heading into Dakota’s still and cold streets.
It took over an hour for them to reach their next destination–Junior already had a few places in mind that he wanted to visit. Virgil quickly took out their records, passing them to the man and explaining all that had happened to them since Maria’s first visit. Hotstreak tagged along for the lack of anything else to do, struggling to get over his anxieties at the lab.
The Juvenile Detention Hall loomed over them–a two story building that was heavily shadowed due to surrounding judicial buildings. Virgil recognized all, as he’d been through at least half of them due to his own proceedings. He looked up at Junior questioningly, seeing him withdraw his own set of papers from one of his vest pockets.
The building was dark and still–nothing new from the rest of the area. Cobwebs heavily lined the corners of the halls, and papers fluttered uselessly when the door was opened. The staircase ahead of them bore obvious damage, something that made Hotstreak mumble in suspicion. Junior opened one of his vest pockets to turn on a flashlight, the glow illuminating the damage within. Cautiously, he made his way forward, ears attuned to the creaks and protests under foot.
He made his way up the staircase, glancing at his papers then at the path before him. Hotstreak continued to grumble as he followed, keeping an eye out for the muck that accompanied a Wailer. On the second floor, Junior made his way with some confidence toward the left, pushing through some doors and entering into an office area. Virgil followed slowly, unsure of where they were being led and for what reason.
Finally, Junior stopped them within the main Archives, shuffling through his papers with some determination. He set his flashlight atop of a cabinet, and glanced around–Virgil emitted light from his own hands to make sure that nothing was hiding in the shadows within. Hotstreak lingered at the doorway, crossing his arms sullenly and leaning against the frame as Junior began spreading out all his papers, Virgil looking on curiously.
“This is what I gathered since it all started,” Junior said, sitting down in one of the dusty chairs with a heavy exhale, blue eyes scanning all the papers before him. “Apparently, twenty years before this madness started, Alva–my dad–came across some hidden documents in his family’s archives in Germany. Once he had them brought here to the States, he began gettin’ it in his head that he had the clues as to who the Thirteen were back in the day, when the Evil first came.
“The documents didn’t mention names–but they were clues as to who each player was. The Hanging Man, the Star, the Illusionist, the Inventor, the Sheep, the Murderer, the Queen, the Hero, the Wizard, the Magician, the Knight, the Ghoul-In-Disguise and the Coward. All of them had special play in the defeat of Madelyne back in the day. Most of them had powers that weren’t natural with the rest of the world, allowing them that advantage against her forces. He began searchin’ for any distant relative or related kin–these folks’ names weren’t recorded, mind you, and though they had families, I’m sure, they weren’t no surviving relatives to exactly pierce together any connection to these people.
“So he began finding humans with supernatural abilities and placing them in his labs throughout the States. He succeeded in a few, but none of them were equipped with the detail that he was lookin’ for. He was wantin’ to make money off of those that he did find that were in connection with that bunch of people. That was his motive at first. But then this shit happened. And he lost control.”
“So now, he’s looking for these people,” Virgil interrupted, stilling. His eyes widened. “Us? My mother named me as the one savin’ the world, and I got all these tasks–”
“I don’t rightly know,” Junior interrupted with a frown, resting his forehead on his hand. “These people were never named in those documents. Just the titles. Ain’t nothin’ that links us, but...don’t you find it rightly suspicious that we got these powers? Add to all that the Others approaching. While I was still down in Valentine, this woman from the waters came to me–”
“Maria! She came to me, too!”
“She told me that I had to come back up here. But that was over two years ago. In that length of time, I was deadset in tryin’ to stop my stupid father from going ahead with his plans. He was gathering all military forces that he could–mercenaries, anybody lookin’ for a buck or something else. Raiding all the military bases around himself. I spent over two years trying to stop all that before comin’ up this way to track you guys down. First off, I didn’t think it was the pair of you that I’d be tracking until I stopped a convoy heading up to Dakota–they was armed with this.” Junior pushed towards Virgil a pair of papers stapled together. He saw that it was both his and Richie’s juvenile records.
Junior also pulled out a small box from one of his larger pockets, depositing it on the table as well. Virgil studied it, Junior quickly explaining it as a music box that he couldn’t get open–but Maria had given it to him. Virgil then studied the papers quietly while Hotstreak shuffled anxiously. If he fully understood what Junior was hinting at, it was that they were responsible for saving the damn world. The very thought made him cringe.
“Plus, they got the idea that there were some people being held up here in Dakota anyway.” Junior glanced at Hotstreak, shoving papers his way. “I found that it was you. Before transformation.”
Virgil snatched those papers while Hotstreak walked in to see what it was he was talking about. Virgil guffawed as he looked from paper to man. Hotstreak snatched the papers away, looking to see his lab records at age eighteen. He was embarrassed with the boring rust colored hair, the lack of solidarity in his teenage frame. It felt like eons ago when he’d looked this way. He narrowed his eyes at Virgil then shoved him. As the teen crashed into some shelves, he turned to Junior.
“Yeah, so? What’s this mean?”
“It means that you’re just as involved with this as we are,” Junior said with a touch of strain. “There are certain people we gotta find here in Dakota before we learn of anything else.”
“Like a video game,” Virgil chirped, straightening from the floor as he rubbed his head. “Fuck I gotta headache...”
“I didn’t play those,” Hotstreak muttered.
“Too busy playing dress-up and applying makeup to your sisters’ friends?” Virgil jabbed with a snicker.
Junior rubbed his forehead tiredly as Hotstreak socked Virgil in the stomach, the teen retaliating by shocking him. As the two males began to fight in earnest, using only fists and kicks to decide the winner, Junior crammed his palms against his eyes and sought to think. He removed his hands from his face and stared down at the papers in front of him. So he’d found the teens and the man as an added bonus...but now what?
Maria had merely mentioned that he should find the teens in Dakota–that things would go from there. He didn’t know what he was supposed to expect now that he’d accomplished that mission. Was something supposed to happen now? And what of his father and their men?
He straightened in his chair as somebody crashed through the door and landed in the hall. Their curses were heavy and dark, and punches were being thrown in fierce reaction to taunts. He glanced over, feeling immensely sleepy. He looked back at the papers in front of him and stared at the copied documents he had of Alva’s prized treasures. They were hand-written journals, it appeared–and the handwriting was familiar. He pulled one of them close to his face for inspection and didn’t even realize the exact moment he finally fell asleep.
It was nearly four hours later when he forced himself to wake. The two other males were missing–the building was silent. He sat up quickly, cursing himself to not re-energizing himself when he saw Virgil’s messy scrawl on a piece of paper declaring that he went for food, and Hotstreak was no where to be found. They’d be in the area–and Junior was angry. He crumbled the paper, muttering to himself as he wondered how they could fool around in this desperate time.
He looked up when he heard footfalls, and rose from his chair. His head was pounding with a headache, and he searched his vest pockets for his container of No Doze, watching the doorway cautiously. Richie popped into view, this time with a snowboarding goggle on his forehead. He looked so pleased and happy, something Junior wasn’t familiar with when it came to the teen, so he tried not to react in too much of a displeasure.
“Where the hell were you?” he snapped, finding the vial. “Why’d you take us to the fuckin’ labs?! We’re tryin’ to AVOID those people, Foley!”
“I needed to do something,” Richie said defensively, Backpack jumping from his back and scuttling throughout the room. “It was important.”
“Nevertheless, don’t you pull that shit again. I mean it!” Junior added, watching the robot cautiously. He popped a couple of pills, frowning at the lack of water. As he struggled to swallow, he watched the teen warily, familiar with the sullen pout that crossed his features. “We need to stick together. There’s shit we need to do, so we can’t have alla you runnin’ off in different directions doin’ different things. Is that clear?”
Richie picked at the strap that held the goggle in place, sullenly regarding Junior as he kept his mouth clamped shut. It was odd how he felt the conflict to naturally defy, and at the same time obey the older male simple because Junior had that effect on him. Three years may have passed, and he and Virgil may have beaten many odds through desperate times, but Junior still had that take-charge and bossy way of him that was somewhat comforting.
“Whatever,” he finally muttered, looking at the table as he ventured close. “Where’s the others?”
“I...I dunno. I must’ve fell asleep,” Junior mumbled, wiping his face. “I went over a few things with them.”
He filled Richie in on what he’d told the others while the teen shuffled through the papers on the table. When he was finished, Richie was looking at the handwritten papers with a sense of obvious unease. Junior crossed his arms and watched him, ears straining to hear any indication of the others.
“What?”
“...I dunno. These...where’d you get these papers?”
“Stole ‘em from my father’s office a couple of years back,” Junior answered, looking over his shoulder at them. He knew what each paper contained–descriptions of individual powers of the mentioned Thirteen. He noticed that the paper holding the titles’ was torn–it was only half of a whole sheet. “They ain’t much, considering that some of these things don’t exist anymore...but the powers written down are pretty much what I’m taking in consideration when it comes to the people we need to find.”
“It’s...not that informative. There’s still so many gaping holes. What do these titles mean, and are they connected with the powers mentioned here?” Richie murmured, shuffling through the numbered papers and finding them lacking in sequence. “There’s more? It looks as if some of them were rescued from a fire...they’re so old! Why haven’t you put them in plastic?”
“Dunno,” Junior muttered, wiping at his eyes. His head was incredibly fuzzy, and his eyes were droopy. He wanted more sleep but felt that he couldn’t when things needed closure and definition.
“You’re going to ruin these. Find plastic sheets to put them in, or Ziplock bags. I thought you’d be smarter than that, Junior. These should be preserved! You need to start taking better care of such things, if you want us to work together and find a solution to this responsibility...”
Junior had forgotten how bossy Richie could be, and rolled his eyes at the thought of taking his orders. He snatched the papers away, eyeing the robot warily as it scuttled up one shelf with its eye extended. “Anyway, I was thinking of going through the records of this place could give us an idea of things. Maria had mentioned that we were to come here. But she didn’t define a reason.”
“She just...gave you an abstract order? What are we supposed to do here? Why the Juvenile Detention Center, unless there’s others out there like us that are our age. Or perhaps workers...or maybe someone connected to Virgil and I,” Richie theorized as he glanced around himself. “Or maybe there are notes here and there...Hotstreak had found a clue in a random police station on a bulletin board. Maybe we should start searching those–”
“What’s that thing do, anyway?” Junior interrupted, staring at Backpack as it settled itself atop of one shelf, looking rather relaxed for a robot.
Richie was very eager to show-off his invention, sitting at the edge of the table with stiff movements. His ass still hurt. “It took me all this time to complete, using parts from the lab. It’s capable of security actions, able to link into the city’s security system–from street cameras to federal buildings that are equipped with a system that had been linked to the main security department in Dakota. It’s also equipped with motion sensing functions that are automatically active in searching for both creatures and man–it can also detect abnormalities in other human beings or non-humans. Also for large sources of movement, heat, sound and electronic devices. It’s automatically attuned to survivors’ camps based on their numbers, their own electronically linked defense measures such as wireless devices or cell phone usage–easily bypassed and functioned without the use of off-Earth devices–and can take signals from two-way radios, enabling it to link into their usage and functions as well. It’s one of my greatest designs!
“Also, it is capable of–” he paused suddenly, Backpack emitting a toneless sound that made Junior jump. Richie frowned. “Virgil’s back. Hotstreak, too.”
Junior frowned at him, wondering how it was that Backpack could communicate with him when he hadn’t heard anything more from the robot but that single sound. Indeed, he heard the tromping of heavy footfalls in the hall, Virgil’s bragging reaching them before the two actually made it into the room.
“Daddy brought home dinner,” Virgil announced, slamming the pack full of canned goods that he and Richie had stolen from the firehouse days earlier onto the table. Hotstreak looked wholly exasperated as he ambled in, giving Richie a fierce scowl. Junior watched Virgil as the teen tore into the bag, withdrawing several cans of food. Junior’s stomach clenched hard, and it was all he could think about as he ventured closer. “But no utensils. Gonna have to go caveman to eat. ‘Sides, who needs forks anyway? Ain’t nobody to impress.”
“Where’d you get these?” Junior questioned, only faintly aware of Hotstreak roughly shaking Richie as he growled threats. “These recent? What kind of meat are they?”
“Peaches,” Virgil then announced, slamming the jar onto the table. Junior dropped the canned meat and found that instead, ripping it open. He had a handful in his mouth, Virgil watching him with a sort of fascinated expression as he stilled in mid-movement. “Dang. Hungry much?”
“Ain’t had fruit in a long while,” Junior muttered, but his mouth was too full to communicate fully. Virgil guffawed and finished unloading. He took a chair, noticing that his friend was back.
“Where’d you go, dipshit?” he asked, opening a jar of meat. “Abandoning us when we really needed you–not. Ah. Fixed your toy.”
Hotstreak shoved Richie so hard that the teen lost balance on the table and fell to the floor. Junior stopped chewing long enough to give the man a glare, Hotstreak scoffing at him before sullenly leaning against one of the shelves. Richie lifted himself from the floor, adjusting his glasses and shirt before giving Virgil a snotty look.
“Backpack is NOT a toy,” he growled. “It’s more capable of doing things than you can’t even imagine doing for yourself.”
“Fuck that. A toy’s a toy. You play with it so damn much...Junior, this guy–you should see him with it. He sleeps with it, gets all baby-talk with it–I’m surprised he doesn’t tried to bottle feed or change diapers on that damn thing!” Virgil snickered. He tossed a jar of meat at Richie anyway.
Richie took the jar, giving Junior an embarrassed look. “It’s my most treasured possession. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to take really good care of it? It’s very capable of–”
“My brain HURTS,” Hotstreak complained loudly. “It’s leaking out of my ears because of your brain speeches. Shut up, already.”
Richie scowled at him, and Junior rolled his eyes as he wondered how they were ever going to come together to work together when all they did was fight amongst themselves. But he was a little puzzled when Richie held out his jar of meat, offering Hotstreak some with a sort of soft expression that he couldn’t really see from his angle. Before he could say something, or dwell on that contact, Virgil asked him how Maria approached him.
Richie studied the small box on the table as Junior answered Virgil’s question. Hotstreak had taken the jar and was focused on eating rather than doing anything more. Backpack emitted noises with a musical tilt, Richie glancing at it curiously as data streamed into his mind. It had just declared their location secure, and a two-mile radius scan provided details of a few random creatures.
“Listen for radio frequencies, and double-scan the streets,” he murmured as he ventured close to the table, picking up the box. “Miniaturize broad-based search on survivors and focus mainly on the military within a five mile radius of our location.”
Hotstreak heard the command, and frowned at Backpack. “How do you know what its saying?” he asked, really needing to ease that curiosity. It had been bugging him for awhile.
Richie glanced at him, rummaging through his messenger bag. He retrieved the key he’d had hidden within, fiddling with it as he wondered how to answer the question in a way Hotstreak could understand. He picked up the box, thoughtfully pressing his thumb over the keyhole. “Basically, there’s a chip in my head that allows connection. Backpack’s inquiries and readings are transmitted to that chip, which I designed to translate electronic pulses into human word processing. A machine emits these same electronic pulses to each other to communicate basic needs, responses, orders and inquiries that enable effective processing when in alliance with each other or to generate its own form of responsibility in its own design. Backpack was designed to emit the same pulses, but the chip translates so that I can interpret its commands as I would with communicating with another person.”
Hotstreak blinked, then regarded the robot with an expression of doubt. Junior and Virgil, who heard the explanation, were also wearing thoughtful expressions.
“How’d that chip get in your head?” Junior asked, almost appalled as he thought of brain surgery and Virgil. He looked at the teen, who was clueless as to the explanation behind his expression.
Richie shrugged, embarrassed at the attention as he eyed the key in his hand thoughtfully. “The labs have surgery systems that are manned by sophisticated electronics and operated by programmed robots. I assume this was because of the need for examinations and surgeries of superhumans–which Alva had named Metahumans, as stated in his files–and because of their inhuman design with certain delicate wiring that he needed to examine and study, and he didn’t trust human hands and their brain functioning capabilities. The Metahumans were a valuable resource for him, so he had a group of highly qualified technicians, engineers and medical experts to help him design a sophisticated system that enabled definite surgery of various areas in a Meta’s body, especially the brain to see what area functioned when powers were used. Anyway, these systems were at the labs. The robots were designed to be operated via computer command, after human inputted data and the system’s own computer knowledge of the human body and medical effects that were/are common with accompanying illnesses and common breakdowns, such as cancer, appendix-removal, dotta dotta dotta. I had those same surgery ‘bots operate on me after designing a chip to enable me to communicate effectively with Backpack. Of course, I’d tested the product on basic lab animals and random survivors before implementing the procedure on myself.”
The two men were silent, processing his words with a sort of horrified air. Virgil finished off his food and belched in a greasy manner, looking at Junior with a tired expression. “He’s psycho, man. Tell ‘em what you did with them later.”
Richie shrugged carelessly as he fitted the key into the box. He stilled when he realized it fit. “I had them gassed just to preserve my work and operated on them within studious time installments that allowed me to research what having a foreign piece of electronics in their brains would do. Afterward, I removed them from my study.”
“You...killed them,” Junior stated tonelessly.
“Well, yeah. I can’t have them in anyway connected with Backpack, in case of a takeover.” Richie glanced at him as he turned the key. The lock clicked as it was unlocked.
“Not because of humane reasons cuz he was puttin’ foreign shit in their heads, and testing out human beings like fuckin’ lab rats, but because he didn’t want to share his toys,” Virgil said dryly, an eye roll accompanying his words.
“Of course, none of you will ever understand!” Richie snapped. Hotstreak was now looking at him in a new light–the teen had seemed so innocent and careless...but his hands were stained with blood. “It’s not like they’d be missed! And it’s for the benefit of my research on human-robot fusion, basically cyborg technology! It also ensured Backpack’s gain as sophisticated technology!”
“Jeez,” Junior breathed, staring at him in shock.
“Told you. He’s psycho. And he blathers too much about stupid techno stuff that ain’t even interesting. I mean, whoop-de-doo, he made a robot. But all sacrifices made are in the interest of technological science!” Virgil boomed dramatically. Then he gave Richie a thoughtful look. “Y’know, if things were different, you’d be considered a threat upon humanity. That’s kinda cool.”
Richie frowned at him, but the mood was destroyed as he opened the box. A light musical chime filled the silence, all males leaning forward to look into the velvet-lined box. Inside was a small piece of yellow paper–folded into quarters. Junior snatched it up before Richie could.
“How’d you open it?” he exclaimed. “I tried all this time to open that thing!”
“I had the key...”
“So that’s what it went to,” Hotstreak mused as he stared at the key inserted in the keyhole. Junior carefully opened the paper as the others crowded around him.
“It’s a list,” Virgil breathed as the others registered this at the same time. “Look, our names! What’s this mean?”
“That really looks like my handwriting,” Richie observed with a shiver.
“Carter St. Grace, Francis Stone, Virgil Hawkins, Edwin Alva, Edwin Alva Junior, Richard Foley, Jessie, Frank Johnston, Maureen, Ivan Evans, Josey Walker, Frieda Goren and Blaine...are these the people we gotta find?” Junior questioned, mainly to himself. He was amazed at how crucial this list was, a huge help in their quest.
“We’re on it, it has to be!” Virgil exclaimed excitedly. He looked at Hotstreak with a frown. “But your name ain’t on there...”
“It is,” Hotstreak muttered, not wanting to let him know which one was his.
Virgil then looked stumped. “But...how...to find the others...?”
“Your dad is part of it?” Richie asked nervously. “Does he have a list, too?”
“I...I don’t think so.” Trouble, Junior reviewed the names. He felt alongside the column, noting the wear. “It was torn...here. There was something else there.”
Then he started, shuffling through the papers to find that one strip of titles. He aligned it with the list and it fit perfectly–names aligned with titles. The room was filled with awed silence as this was reviewed.
“This is amazing!” Virgil exclaimed, but felt that being named The Star was rather dorky and cheesy. Also, despite what his mother said, he wasn’t The Hero. Carter St. Grace was. “But...but how to find the others...?”
“It cuts out a lot of–” Richie trailed off, eyes widening. “If I can get to a police database, I can maybe find them that way!”
“It would mean that they’d have to be in the system, registered for faults,” Junior said with uncertainty, a little perturbed at being named The Magician. He didn’t feel magical, nor did he feel he pulled cheesy side-show tricks. “How about a genealogy center? Does Dakota have one? Or a Human Services center, where we can get access to birth certificates? Or is that only accountable for those in this state only?”
“Police would be more up to date, yet again, these guys have to have done something in order to be there,” Virgil said slowly, looking at Richie thoughtfully. “I mean, we ain’t all criminals. That’s what my mother said.”
“I can use Backpack to access that information as well.” Backpack scuttled up onto Richie’s back as the teen looked thoughtful. Then smug. “Any other protests on my invention and methods of research?”
Virgil frowned at him, then he conceded with a fist out. They bopped fists companionably, grins tossed cheesily. “I guess you’re geeky and weird enough to be my sidekick. Every hero needs one of those...”
“...Shut up, V...”
Junior rose. “Let’s look around this building, first. I got something we need to do.” He picked up one of the papers, showing it to the others.
“This here’s a list of juveniles that had taken a job opportunity trip out of state, and one of these names,” he gestured at the newly formed list on the table, “is on it. I need to know where they had to go because the date and location was marked out with ink.”
Virgil leaned forward to see this, bewildered. “Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know. But let’s look around this place. Foley, help me. I want to see what that thing can do,” Junior commanded, gathering all his papers up and refolding them. The list was carefully folded and placed in his shirt pocket, which he buttoned over.
“I’m guessing the main office!” Virgil piped up. “I’ll find info there!”
The other males left the room, Virgil talking excitedly over his title and pestering Hotstreak for his.
Junior and Richie made their way to the other end of the building, where Junior shoved open a door leading into Records, where he was sure they’d find something. The intense darkness had him withdrawing his flashlight, Richie coming through with various glowsticks and a couple of flashlights of his own. The room was basic–filing cabinets storing written records in various rows throughout the room, along with desks.
Their lights allowed Junior to see the reddish marks on Richie’s neck as the teen removed his scarf. As he set to fiddle with what looked like a GPS device on one of the filing cabinets, Junior debated on whether or not to question Richie over them, juggling his flashlight. The teen stilled suddenly, as if remembering something. He then quickly rewrapped the scarf back around his neck. When he caught Junior’s pensive stare, his expression was that of guilt.
“You’re foolin’ around with somebody?” Junior finally asked.
“It’s none of your business,” the teen replied curtly, looking at the cabinet near him.
“No...it really ain’t,” Junior agreed, but hesitated. He knew Richie’s history, and debated on whether or not to continue. He’d noticed Richie moving stiffly, careful with his steps and eliminated the possibility of a girl. “You and Virgil–”
“NO!” Richie immediately exclaimed, then clamped his mouth with one hand.
Junior quirked a half-smile at that response, unable to see Virgil consenting to such a notion, but these were desperate and lonely situations. Anything was possible. Then he remembered Virgil giving Hotstreak shit earlier and frowned darkly. He didn’t get any info on Hotstreak, but the man mentioned his life here at the labs. Quick math put his age as a year older than Junior’s own. He recalled that strange tension between Richie and Hotstreak earlier.
“You and the Pomeranian ain’t that close, are you? Because–”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business.”
Junior fiddled with his flashlight. He shouldn’t care; what others conducted in their times of need shouldn’t matter. But it bothered him. He shifted attention to the desktops. “I understand if you’re feeling lonely, but sex shouldn’t be appropriate if’n you don’t know what you’re about. With your past, you tend to take it differently than what is appropriate.”
Richie opened his mouth to protest before Junior cut him off, looking at him tersely. “I’m just saying, you don’t know what’s out there! This man is older than you, and can take things wholly different than what you are looking for! I can’t stop you from feelin’ as you do, but you’ve got to realize that what you’re loking for won’t be found in promiscuity.”
“I am NOT promiscuous–!”
“You’ve used sex as a substitute for what you felt you lacked back in the day, and you can claim all you want over needing ‘understanding’ and intelligence, but in truth, you’re findin’ sad substitutes for what you really need. While I can’t enforce shit in this world, I can tell you now that what yer doin’ is setting yourself up for the disasters, and I’d rather prevent that.”
Richie gritted his teeth, both unaware that Hotstreak was listening to them outside the office, having abandoned Virgil for being too annoying.
“I know what I’m doing,” Richie snapped, angrily shifting through various files atop one desk. “It’s just sex. He’s only good for dick and nothing more!”
“I don’t wanna be hearing that, Foley!” Junior snapped back, turning to look at him. “You’re 16! You ain’t in control of nothing, and yer lettin’ that get to you and lettin’ it cloud your mind over the more important issues at hand!”
“You can’t expect me to NOT feel this way, and for needing what I need! I’m not doing anything concerning what you’re saying!” Richie tossed the files aside, growing angry and embarrassed. “Besides, what do you know about anything? You’re nothing but a–!”
“Now you’re gettin’ ridiculous. You’re mad and embarrassed by the subject and resortin’ to anger to cover up the real problem at hand. CALM DOWN.”
“I don’t have a problem!”
Junior whirled, slapping a hand on a nearby desk to silence him. “You cut that out now, y’hear? Lower your voice. You don’t need to be shoutin’ at me now. I’m only concerned that you’ll get an unhealthy attachment to this one, and it fucking disgusts me how a man that age can think it’s okay to take advantage of a boy like you. While I don’t like it and I truly fear for you, I ain’t stoppin’ you from doin’ what you’re doing. I only hope that head of yours realizes that ya’ll need protection, because who knows what you’re spreadin’ to him, and vice versa.”
Richie sputtered, growing red. But he feverishly shook his head. “I don’t have anything–!”
“You ever see a clinic after that stint in Omaha? Huh?! Who knows’ what THAT one had, and he prolly gave it to you. Who knows where the other one’s been, too! You ever think about that?!”
Richie sullenly stared the shadows to ignore Junior’s pointed expression. Hotstreak frowned, feeling a little worried in that that situation hadn’t even crossed his mind. Harley had been his only partner. But who knows what Harley may have contacted with his ‘projects’? Where Richie had been before him...
In disgust, Junior continued looking through a pile of papers atop of a desk, looking for a main point of access in what the filing cabinets contained. “Be more careful, then. I can’t stop you. But he shouldn’t be doin’ this shit to you at your age. Laws or not, morals play a big factor if’n you even got ‘em.”
Richie was silent, sullen. He stared at a point beyond his desk, angry at how Junior was speaking to him. Junior stopped shuffling, then opened a few drawers. “Don’t be closin’ up, Foley. Somewhere, you know I’m right. And it ain’t like I’m bein’ all hateful towards you. You know that. Don’t be mad at me–”
“You can shut up now. Save your five cent lectures for Virgil.”
“Foley–”
“Shut up, Junior!”
“FOLEY! If you can’t stop yourself for bein’ mad, then you need to set yourself down somewhere and calm yourself down. We don’t need you bein’ all angry when shit’s ‘bout ready to go down,” Junior commanded.
Hotstreak smirked. He could hear Richie muttering under his breath over ‘Lucy lectures’. He made sure to file this away to tease him later. While offended over Junior’s disgust at him, he wasn’t going to take it too badly. After all, he’d done his own share of guilt tripping over what he and Richie had done.
But, surprisingly, Richie was quiet for the longest while as they began searching through the cabinets. He even responded when Junior questioned him on any finds on his end. Hotstreak leaned against the wall, exhaling noiselessly. When he heard the incoming footfalls of the other teen, he reacted with a start. Then he pushed away from the wall, walking into the room with nonchalance.
“Didn’t find anything,” he announced, a touch too loudly. “I’m thinking Virgil’s lying. He don’t know what he’s doing.”
Junior faced him, wiping his face. “Where is Hawkins?”
Hotstreak jammed a thumb behind him as Virgil hurried in at that moment. “Nothin’!” Virgil exhaled noisily. “Maybe peoples already got to it.”
“They might’ve,” Junior muttered, remembering his father’s access in juvenile records across the state. “Let’s give this place one last comb-over. Maybe the Others will pop up soon and give us another clue.”
“Wait!” Virgil shouted, startling all of them. “My father’s office! The Community Center! Let’s look there!”
“Where’s that?” Junior asked, feeling hopeful once he remembered Robert Hawkins’ job as administrator for the Youth Center.
Virgil told him, growing obviously cheered and excited over what they were going to do. Before he could say anything more, Hotstreak cut in with, “Well, since there’s still more ground to cover here, why don’t we split up? That’ll make things faster.”
Junior shot him a suspicious look, both teens looking surprised at the suggestion. “Splittin’ up ain’t a good idea,” Junior warned, facing him directly.
“It’s not like we can’t contact each other, anyway!” Hotstreak exclaimed. “The kids got somethin’ going on with their little toys, there. We each have a kid, it’ll all work out.”
“...I don’t like that idea–”
“It’d be a better idea,” Richie cut in quickly, darting a nervous look at Hotstreak. “You two can continue looking through the system for this person, and perhaps find the Human Services building for records on birth certificates. Hotstreak won’t be of any real help–he’d fuck things up with his brainlessness and impulsive behavior.”
“Now, wait a minute–!” Hotstreak protested angrily as Virgil cut in, “Good idea.”
He looked at Junior while Hotstreak looked ready to kill him. “He ain’t got what it takes to be a hero. He’d only get in the way, and he needs a babysitter. Daddy can’t be home all the time to watch his kids...”
Junior frowned as he looked at Richie and Hotstreak suspiciously. Hotstreak scowled, more than annoyed at their low opinion and continued mocking of him.
“Virgil also needs a babysitter, Junior,” Richie added. “If someone isn’t holding his hand, he’d screw up the process. He needs a sound mind to help him along.”
“‘Sound’ mind...’ch. I’ll ‘sound’ your face,” Virgil muttered with a scowl. “I don’t need no fucking babysitter! I’m man enough on my own!”
“‘Man’...you aren’t no man, Virgil! You have the brain of an eight year old, and an even younger disposition!”
Virgil shocked him, Backpack reacting with that same convulsive jerk off Richie’s back. Once he stopped the charge, laughing evilly, Backpack reacted with its rebar arms to slam him into the wall, pining him there by his jacket.
“ENOUGH!” Junior bellowed over their rising shouts, Hotstreak looking intensely bored of it all. “Jeez! Can’t you two get along better’n that?!”
Richie scowled at Virgil as Backpack made its way onto his back. Virgil scowled back at him.
“Fine! Just...don’t fuck around. An’ I’m sure BOTH of you know what I mean!” Junior shot the pair pointed looks.
Virgil slipped back into his jacket, scoffing, “Yeah. That means nobody plays with anybody’s dicks while doin’ your job!”
Richie and Virgil exchanged looks, the former lifting an eyebrow with suspicious regard. The latter gave him a similar expression until Virgil discreetly pulled at his own shirt collar and tapped his neck suggestively, then pointed at Hotstreak. Richie’s face changed into that of horrified embarrassment, but that didn’t stop him from kicking Virgil fiercely in the shin.
As Virgil howled with pain, flopping forward as Richie put distance between them, Junior was distracted from his confrontation with the other man. He quickly grabbed Virgil by his jacket and yanked him back as the teen vowed death on the other.
“What is with you two?” he exclaimed, shoving Virgil behind him.
“We don’t get along,” Richie said quickly, sticking his tongue out at Virgil.
“You see that?! THAT’S what I have to put up with! It’s so fucking annoying–! I’mina bash your head in, you fucking fag!”
“Shut up, dick face! You only wish!”
“KNOCK IT OFF!” Junior bellowed. “Let’s go, Virgil. We’ll do it that way. In the meanwhile...you two had BETTER look for that damn information. I fucking mean it.”
“Yeah...no fuckin’ around,” Virgil said tauntingly. He picked up a stapler and hurled it in Richie’s direction, but the blond ducked behind Hotstreak. “It’s only obvious, you sick fucks. Y’know that’s why ya’ll are in Purgatory?”
“Let’s go, Hawkins,” Junior muttered, yanking on his collar as he marched out the door.
As soon as Junior and Virgil left, Hotstreak turned to Richie, shoving him angrily. “You shit. What’s with all this crap? Saying all this crap about how I’m good for nothin’ but dick!”
Richie sputtered, reddening. “You were spying on me! AGAIN!”
“So what?! As soon as that guy comes around, you’re acting all childish and telling on me over all this shit? Good Lord, you’re nothing but a kid...But I’m feelin’ all lonely and assed out over my man turning all psycho on me, and I fell for your little game for dick in one of my more rare moments of vulnerability–!”
“Oh, what the hell is this?” Richie groaned. “I don’t care what happened with your loser of a boyfriend–!”
“HEY! He wasn’t a loser when I met him!”
“Well, that says something about you, doesn’t it?” Richie shot back.
Hotstreak blinked, then frowned.
“Besides, he was on my case about those fucking things you left on my neck–”
“You weren’t complaining about that then!”
“–I had to say something!”
“...What’s that mean?” Hotstreak stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re still in the closet, you trollop?”
Richie grew flustered, fiddling with his scarf. He then grabbed the device he’d set down earlier, shoving that into his bag. “N-no. No. I’m not–I’m not exactly...I–”
“Oh, ho ho ho ho...this is ri–great!” Hotstreak fiddled with his hair, feeling a heavier weight on his conscience. “I not only went all hypocritical with a fuckin’ 16 year old harlot, this dweeby tart happens to be all ‘confused’–”
“I’m not a whore! And I’m not ‘confused’...maybe. It’s just–I’m so used to hiding it that I–am not exactly–”
“Yada yada yada! Whatever! The thing is–you’re 16. You’re a dork. Sex was a mistake–”
“Oh, a mistake!” Richie repeated nastily. “Such a mistake you were spying on me in one of my more PRIVATE moments, and you accuse ME of seducing YOU?! You could have just kept that to yourself, you pervert, but you WANTED IT!”
“Oh, shut up! I haven’t known you for five days, and you were already tryin’ to get into my pants from hour one!”
Richie began hurling files at Hotstreak, who exclaimed in surprise. “Fuck you, bastard! Egotistical jerk! You’re such an asshole! You tease and play and purposefully say all this shit, and use it all against me!”
Hotstreak began laughing. Richie resorted to throwing whatever else he could reach. As a stapler bounced off his injured shoulder, Hotstreak began throwing back what things he could reach himself. Richie ducked behind his desk to avoid injury.
“That’s the GAME, you dumb dick!” Hotstreak yelled at him. He winced at the added pain to his shoulder injury. “That’s how shit is played! You gotta play for it!”
“‘Game’?! What ‘game’?! Why do I have to play some stupid game?!”
“Jesus Christ, Princess...which is, by the way, a fitting name for you–not everyone always gets what they want and you’ve actually got to work for–oh. What am I saying? I’m trying to lecture a teenage whore. This is so fuckin’ stupid...” Hotstreak then hurled the stapler back at him.
“I’m NOT a prostitute!” Richie screamed at him, ducking behind the desk as the stapler bounced off the edge.
“Oh? You ain’t? So those old men buyin’ you in exchange for sex ain’t prostitution? Let me tell you somethin’ Princess. Old men 20-30 years older than you ain’t in love with your damn brain. Yeah, you’re smart–I’ll give ya that. But what life experience ya got to offer for someone forty years old and already done his part in life? While you’re just then droppin’ balls? Huh?”
Richie stared at him, too tense to speak or move.
Hotstreak smirked. “You ain’t exactly prime material for a sex partner, for my tastes and conscience. Sorry, Princess, but no more–you ain’t gettin’ my dick anymore. Find someone your own age. Virgil’s all hard-up for action–that’s why you two play like that. Get to know each other a little more that way. I ain’t playin’ with you no more.”
Richie stared at him with that expression of fury, visibly red. Hotstreak gave him another smirk, then left the room.
When Hotstreak left, Richie felt himself explode. He angrily hit the desk, shoving everything off the desktop. His eyes burned, and he felt hot and shaky over the words that rang in his mind. He kicked over the wastebaskets and slumped to the floor, leaning against the desk. The embarrassment over the lack of control over himself and the situation was strong. He ripped his glasses off and started crying into his arms.
Hotstreak heard him crying from down the hall and paused. He suddenly felt bad, reminded of Richie’s age and wondering just what was appropriate in confrontations with someone ten years younger than him. Fighting with Harley had been very different, and those were very different settings. He grimaced, forcing himself to keep walking. But when he rounded the corner, he stopped, exhaling heavily. He didn’t want to have this on his conscience as well. He sighed low and walked back into the room, spying Richie on the other side of the desk. Hotstreak felt even worse as he was reminded of Richie’s age, seeing how small he looked in that position.
He ventured over, Richie pausing in mid-sob once he realized that Hotstreak was next to him. He immediately wiped his eyes, glancing over at Hotstreak’s shoes and feeling embarrassed at his show of tears. He rose to rush away when Hotstreak grabbed his arm with a reluctant sound. Richie angrily wrenched his arm back, Hotstreak gripping him more firmly as he muttered, “Look, I’m sorry. Don’t do that. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m not crying!”
Hotstreak shrugged as he let him ago, never taking his eyes off his as Richie jerked away and rushed out of the room. The redhead sighed heavily, listening to him run down the hall. He turned, unsure of his next move, spying Backpack blinking at him from atop a file cabinet. He scowled at it, then turned and walked out with aimless intent.
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 Ten:
Letter---from The Lost Days
They were led to the labs. Junior was able to slip through walls with powers of transparency, and was able to ‘leak’ this power unto the others, enabling all to move through their journey quicker than they were used to. But by the time they made it into the labs, Junior and the others had thought it was a terrible idea, voicing their opinions in displeasure once recognizing the insides of the building. In the confusion, Richie quickly slipped off and disappeared into the darkness.
The laboratories were a hotspot of activity for the military-based group. Virgil whipped out the cellphone, grumbling for revenge. When he realized that the phone was fading in and out, cutting with intense static, he stomped his foot with frustration.
“He’s purposely shuttin’ me out! He does this when he’s all mad at me and trying to prove a point! He’s such a girl,” Virgil sighed dramatically, shaking his dreads. “At least I get it out there and let people KNOW I’m pissed. I ain’t playin’ no games!”
“Why would he lead us here, when we’re tryin’ to avoid these people?” Junior hissed, keeping his voice lowered just in case someone was nearby.
Hotstreak nervously regarded what he recognized as the main laboratories lobby. It was in the sad state of disrepair as the rest of the world, but the chairs were tossed carelessly and the walls were decorated with bulletholes and gore. He grimaced, thinking of the various lab animals that were kept here at one time. The air smelled musty and stale, and his entire body stiffened in reaction to being inside this place. His mind was swirling with both panic and flashbacks of his past. His skin seemed to crawl at the thoughts of needles and men and women in white lab coats.
It took him awhile to try and focus, coming back from his panicked haze to hear Virgil say: “...materials for some stupid toy of his! He could be anywhere lookin’ for that!”
Junior inhaled deeply, struggling to calm his irritation and pent-up exhaustion that threatened to spill over him at this point. Using his energy to transfer onto others really took a lot out of him. He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth as he tried to focus into the darkness. Everything was so still and dark that he felt that moving would produce a very unwelcome crash of sound. It was almost as if he could hear the others’ heartbeats, but it was only his own.
“All right, then...who knows their way around here?”
Virgil pointed at Hotstreak. “The guy used to live here. He knows his way around.”
“I fuckin’ HATE this place! For fucking twenty-three years I was here, under their fuckin’ microscopes and having blood sucked outta me for their stupid research!” Hotstreak shouted, causing them to startle. “I ain’t going ANYWHERE here, or leading anybody anywhere. This is fucking bullshit. I call dibs on beating him senseless first!”
Virgil and Junior looked surprised at the vehemence in his tone. Then Virgil guffawed. “You’re such a woman. What are you all worked up for? Be a man, dammit! A MAN!”
“Fuck you, dick face!”
“Oh, not uh, girlfriend, homie don’t play that way–!”
“KNOCK IT OFF!” Junior bellowed, startling both of them. Shamefaced at obeying, both males resorted to glaring at each other instead.“Virgil, you remember him sayin’ anything about a favorite haunt of his around here?”
“No. When he gets all techno-geek on me, I tend to tune him out. Kept me sane, man.”
Junior closed his eyes in frustration, rubbing at a massive headache at his temples. Virgil looked remorseful of this, regarding the floor with a subdued look. Hotstreak frowned at both of them, struggling to keep his anxieties at bay. Just being inside the lobby had his limbs shaky and weak, his mouth dry. He clenched his teeth, feeling incredibly useless and moronic for feeling this way in front of a couple of strangers. He hid his shaking hands in his hooded sweater pockets, fisting them.
Junior then raised his head. He spoke quickly of leaving Richie to his own devices, trusting that the teen would locate them if help was needed. He had things he needed to discuss–the pair followed the younger Alva through the lobby and out the doors, heading into Dakota’s still and cold streets.
It took over an hour for them to reach their next destination–Junior already had a few places in mind that he wanted to visit. Virgil quickly took out their records, passing them to the man and explaining all that had happened to them since Maria’s first visit. Hotstreak tagged along for the lack of anything else to do, struggling to get over his anxieties at the lab.
The Juvenile Detention Hall loomed over them–a two story building that was heavily shadowed due to surrounding judicial buildings. Virgil recognized all, as he’d been through at least half of them due to his own proceedings. He looked up at Junior questioningly, seeing him withdraw his own set of papers from one of his vest pockets.
The building was dark and still–nothing new from the rest of the area. Cobwebs heavily lined the corners of the halls, and papers fluttered uselessly when the door was opened. The staircase ahead of them bore obvious damage, something that made Hotstreak mumble in suspicion. Junior opened one of his vest pockets to turn on a flashlight, the glow illuminating the damage within. Cautiously, he made his way forward, ears attuned to the creaks and protests under foot.
He made his way up the staircase, glancing at his papers then at the path before him. Hotstreak continued to grumble as he followed, keeping an eye out for the muck that accompanied a Wailer. On the second floor, Junior made his way with some confidence toward the left, pushing through some doors and entering into an office area. Virgil followed slowly, unsure of where they were being led and for what reason.
Finally, Junior stopped them within the main Archives, shuffling through his papers with some determination. He set his flashlight atop of a cabinet, and glanced around–Virgil emitted light from his own hands to make sure that nothing was hiding in the shadows within. Hotstreak lingered at the doorway, crossing his arms sullenly and leaning against the frame as Junior began spreading out all his papers, Virgil looking on curiously.
“This is what I gathered since it all started,” Junior said, sitting down in one of the dusty chairs with a heavy exhale, blue eyes scanning all the papers before him. “Apparently, twenty years before this madness started, Alva–my dad–came across some hidden documents in his family’s archives in Germany. Once he had them brought here to the States, he began gettin’ it in his head that he had the clues as to who the Thirteen were back in the day, when the Evil first came.
“The documents didn’t mention names–but they were clues as to who each player was. The Hanging Man, the Star, the Illusionist, the Inventor, the Sheep, the Murderer, the Queen, the Hero, the Wizard, the Magician, the Knight, the Ghoul-In-Disguise and the Coward. All of them had special play in the defeat of Madelyne back in the day. Most of them had powers that weren’t natural with the rest of the world, allowing them that advantage against her forces. He began searchin’ for any distant relative or related kin–these folks’ names weren’t recorded, mind you, and though they had families, I’m sure, they weren’t no surviving relatives to exactly pierce together any connection to these people.
“So he began finding humans with supernatural abilities and placing them in his labs throughout the States. He succeeded in a few, but none of them were equipped with the detail that he was lookin’ for. He was wantin’ to make money off of those that he did find that were in connection with that bunch of people. That was his motive at first. But then this shit happened. And he lost control.”
“So now, he’s looking for these people,” Virgil interrupted, stilling. His eyes widened. “Us? My mother named me as the one savin’ the world, and I got all these tasks–”
“I don’t rightly know,” Junior interrupted with a frown, resting his forehead on his hand. “These people were never named in those documents. Just the titles. Ain’t nothin’ that links us, but...don’t you find it rightly suspicious that we got these powers? Add to all that the Others approaching. While I was still down in Valentine, this woman from the waters came to me–”
“Maria! She came to me, too!”
“She told me that I had to come back up here. But that was over two years ago. In that length of time, I was deadset in tryin’ to stop my stupid father from going ahead with his plans. He was gathering all military forces that he could–mercenaries, anybody lookin’ for a buck or something else. Raiding all the military bases around himself. I spent over two years trying to stop all that before comin’ up this way to track you guys down. First off, I didn’t think it was the pair of you that I’d be tracking until I stopped a convoy heading up to Dakota–they was armed with this.” Junior pushed towards Virgil a pair of papers stapled together. He saw that it was both his and Richie’s juvenile records.
Junior also pulled out a small box from one of his larger pockets, depositing it on the table as well. Virgil studied it, Junior quickly explaining it as a music box that he couldn’t get open–but Maria had given it to him. Virgil then studied the papers quietly while Hotstreak shuffled anxiously. If he fully understood what Junior was hinting at, it was that they were responsible for saving the damn world. The very thought made him cringe.
“Plus, they got the idea that there were some people being held up here in Dakota anyway.” Junior glanced at Hotstreak, shoving papers his way. “I found that it was you. Before transformation.”
Virgil snatched those papers while Hotstreak walked in to see what it was he was talking about. Virgil guffawed as he looked from paper to man. Hotstreak snatched the papers away, looking to see his lab records at age eighteen. He was embarrassed with the boring rust colored hair, the lack of solidarity in his teenage frame. It felt like eons ago when he’d looked this way. He narrowed his eyes at Virgil then shoved him. As the teen crashed into some shelves, he turned to Junior.
“Yeah, so? What’s this mean?”
“It means that you’re just as involved with this as we are,” Junior said with a touch of strain. “There are certain people we gotta find here in Dakota before we learn of anything else.”
“Like a video game,” Virgil chirped, straightening from the floor as he rubbed his head. “Fuck I gotta headache...”
“I didn’t play those,” Hotstreak muttered.
“Too busy playing dress-up and applying makeup to your sisters’ friends?” Virgil jabbed with a snicker.
Junior rubbed his forehead tiredly as Hotstreak socked Virgil in the stomach, the teen retaliating by shocking him. As the two males began to fight in earnest, using only fists and kicks to decide the winner, Junior crammed his palms against his eyes and sought to think. He removed his hands from his face and stared down at the papers in front of him. So he’d found the teens and the man as an added bonus...but now what?
Maria had merely mentioned that he should find the teens in Dakota–that things would go from there. He didn’t know what he was supposed to expect now that he’d accomplished that mission. Was something supposed to happen now? And what of his father and their men?
He straightened in his chair as somebody crashed through the door and landed in the hall. Their curses were heavy and dark, and punches were being thrown in fierce reaction to taunts. He glanced over, feeling immensely sleepy. He looked back at the papers in front of him and stared at the copied documents he had of Alva’s prized treasures. They were hand-written journals, it appeared–and the handwriting was familiar. He pulled one of them close to his face for inspection and didn’t even realize the exact moment he finally fell asleep.
It was nearly four hours later when he forced himself to wake. The two other males were missing–the building was silent. He sat up quickly, cursing himself to not re-energizing himself when he saw Virgil’s messy scrawl on a piece of paper declaring that he went for food, and Hotstreak was no where to be found. They’d be in the area–and Junior was angry. He crumbled the paper, muttering to himself as he wondered how they could fool around in this desperate time.
He looked up when he heard footfalls, and rose from his chair. His head was pounding with a headache, and he searched his vest pockets for his container of No Doze, watching the doorway cautiously. Richie popped into view, this time with a snowboarding goggle on his forehead. He looked so pleased and happy, something Junior wasn’t familiar with when it came to the teen, so he tried not to react in too much of a displeasure.
“Where the hell were you?” he snapped, finding the vial. “Why’d you take us to the fuckin’ labs?! We’re tryin’ to AVOID those people, Foley!”
“I needed to do something,” Richie said defensively, Backpack jumping from his back and scuttling throughout the room. “It was important.”
“Nevertheless, don’t you pull that shit again. I mean it!” Junior added, watching the robot cautiously. He popped a couple of pills, frowning at the lack of water. As he struggled to swallow, he watched the teen warily, familiar with the sullen pout that crossed his features. “We need to stick together. There’s shit we need to do, so we can’t have alla you runnin’ off in different directions doin’ different things. Is that clear?”
Richie picked at the strap that held the goggle in place, sullenly regarding Junior as he kept his mouth clamped shut. It was odd how he felt the conflict to naturally defy, and at the same time obey the older male simple because Junior had that effect on him. Three years may have passed, and he and Virgil may have beaten many odds through desperate times, but Junior still had that take-charge and bossy way of him that was somewhat comforting.
“Whatever,” he finally muttered, looking at the table as he ventured close. “Where’s the others?”
“I...I dunno. I must’ve fell asleep,” Junior mumbled, wiping his face. “I went over a few things with them.”
He filled Richie in on what he’d told the others while the teen shuffled through the papers on the table. When he was finished, Richie was looking at the handwritten papers with a sense of obvious unease. Junior crossed his arms and watched him, ears straining to hear any indication of the others.
“What?”
“...I dunno. These...where’d you get these papers?”
“Stole ‘em from my father’s office a couple of years back,” Junior answered, looking over his shoulder at them. He knew what each paper contained–descriptions of individual powers of the mentioned Thirteen. He noticed that the paper holding the titles’ was torn–it was only half of a whole sheet. “They ain’t much, considering that some of these things don’t exist anymore...but the powers written down are pretty much what I’m taking in consideration when it comes to the people we need to find.”
“It’s...not that informative. There’s still so many gaping holes. What do these titles mean, and are they connected with the powers mentioned here?” Richie murmured, shuffling through the numbered papers and finding them lacking in sequence. “There’s more? It looks as if some of them were rescued from a fire...they’re so old! Why haven’t you put them in plastic?”
“Dunno,” Junior muttered, wiping at his eyes. His head was incredibly fuzzy, and his eyes were droopy. He wanted more sleep but felt that he couldn’t when things needed closure and definition.
“You’re going to ruin these. Find plastic sheets to put them in, or Ziplock bags. I thought you’d be smarter than that, Junior. These should be preserved! You need to start taking better care of such things, if you want us to work together and find a solution to this responsibility...”
Junior had forgotten how bossy Richie could be, and rolled his eyes at the thought of taking his orders. He snatched the papers away, eyeing the robot warily as it scuttled up one shelf with its eye extended. “Anyway, I was thinking of going through the records of this place could give us an idea of things. Maria had mentioned that we were to come here. But she didn’t define a reason.”
“She just...gave you an abstract order? What are we supposed to do here? Why the Juvenile Detention Center, unless there’s others out there like us that are our age. Or perhaps workers...or maybe someone connected to Virgil and I,” Richie theorized as he glanced around himself. “Or maybe there are notes here and there...Hotstreak had found a clue in a random police station on a bulletin board. Maybe we should start searching those–”
“What’s that thing do, anyway?” Junior interrupted, staring at Backpack as it settled itself atop of one shelf, looking rather relaxed for a robot.
Richie was very eager to show-off his invention, sitting at the edge of the table with stiff movements. His ass still hurt. “It took me all this time to complete, using parts from the lab. It’s capable of security actions, able to link into the city’s security system–from street cameras to federal buildings that are equipped with a system that had been linked to the main security department in Dakota. It’s also equipped with motion sensing functions that are automatically active in searching for both creatures and man–it can also detect abnormalities in other human beings or non-humans. Also for large sources of movement, heat, sound and electronic devices. It’s automatically attuned to survivors’ camps based on their numbers, their own electronically linked defense measures such as wireless devices or cell phone usage–easily bypassed and functioned without the use of off-Earth devices–and can take signals from two-way radios, enabling it to link into their usage and functions as well. It’s one of my greatest designs!
“Also, it is capable of–” he paused suddenly, Backpack emitting a toneless sound that made Junior jump. Richie frowned. “Virgil’s back. Hotstreak, too.”
Junior frowned at him, wondering how it was that Backpack could communicate with him when he hadn’t heard anything more from the robot but that single sound. Indeed, he heard the tromping of heavy footfalls in the hall, Virgil’s bragging reaching them before the two actually made it into the room.
“Daddy brought home dinner,” Virgil announced, slamming the pack full of canned goods that he and Richie had stolen from the firehouse days earlier onto the table. Hotstreak looked wholly exasperated as he ambled in, giving Richie a fierce scowl. Junior watched Virgil as the teen tore into the bag, withdrawing several cans of food. Junior’s stomach clenched hard, and it was all he could think about as he ventured closer. “But no utensils. Gonna have to go caveman to eat. ‘Sides, who needs forks anyway? Ain’t nobody to impress.”
“Where’d you get these?” Junior questioned, only faintly aware of Hotstreak roughly shaking Richie as he growled threats. “These recent? What kind of meat are they?”
“Peaches,” Virgil then announced, slamming the jar onto the table. Junior dropped the canned meat and found that instead, ripping it open. He had a handful in his mouth, Virgil watching him with a sort of fascinated expression as he stilled in mid-movement. “Dang. Hungry much?”
“Ain’t had fruit in a long while,” Junior muttered, but his mouth was too full to communicate fully. Virgil guffawed and finished unloading. He took a chair, noticing that his friend was back.
“Where’d you go, dipshit?” he asked, opening a jar of meat. “Abandoning us when we really needed you–not. Ah. Fixed your toy.”
Hotstreak shoved Richie so hard that the teen lost balance on the table and fell to the floor. Junior stopped chewing long enough to give the man a glare, Hotstreak scoffing at him before sullenly leaning against one of the shelves. Richie lifted himself from the floor, adjusting his glasses and shirt before giving Virgil a snotty look.
“Backpack is NOT a toy,” he growled. “It’s more capable of doing things than you can’t even imagine doing for yourself.”
“Fuck that. A toy’s a toy. You play with it so damn much...Junior, this guy–you should see him with it. He sleeps with it, gets all baby-talk with it–I’m surprised he doesn’t tried to bottle feed or change diapers on that damn thing!” Virgil snickered. He tossed a jar of meat at Richie anyway.
Richie took the jar, giving Junior an embarrassed look. “It’s my most treasured possession. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to take really good care of it? It’s very capable of–”
“My brain HURTS,” Hotstreak complained loudly. “It’s leaking out of my ears because of your brain speeches. Shut up, already.”
Richie scowled at him, and Junior rolled his eyes as he wondered how they were ever going to come together to work together when all they did was fight amongst themselves. But he was a little puzzled when Richie held out his jar of meat, offering Hotstreak some with a sort of soft expression that he couldn’t really see from his angle. Before he could say something, or dwell on that contact, Virgil asked him how Maria approached him.
Richie studied the small box on the table as Junior answered Virgil’s question. Hotstreak had taken the jar and was focused on eating rather than doing anything more. Backpack emitted noises with a musical tilt, Richie glancing at it curiously as data streamed into his mind. It had just declared their location secure, and a two-mile radius scan provided details of a few random creatures.
“Listen for radio frequencies, and double-scan the streets,” he murmured as he ventured close to the table, picking up the box. “Miniaturize broad-based search on survivors and focus mainly on the military within a five mile radius of our location.”
Hotstreak heard the command, and frowned at Backpack. “How do you know what its saying?” he asked, really needing to ease that curiosity. It had been bugging him for awhile.
Richie glanced at him, rummaging through his messenger bag. He retrieved the key he’d had hidden within, fiddling with it as he wondered how to answer the question in a way Hotstreak could understand. He picked up the box, thoughtfully pressing his thumb over the keyhole. “Basically, there’s a chip in my head that allows connection. Backpack’s inquiries and readings are transmitted to that chip, which I designed to translate electronic pulses into human word processing. A machine emits these same electronic pulses to each other to communicate basic needs, responses, orders and inquiries that enable effective processing when in alliance with each other or to generate its own form of responsibility in its own design. Backpack was designed to emit the same pulses, but the chip translates so that I can interpret its commands as I would with communicating with another person.”
Hotstreak blinked, then regarded the robot with an expression of doubt. Junior and Virgil, who heard the explanation, were also wearing thoughtful expressions.
“How’d that chip get in your head?” Junior asked, almost appalled as he thought of brain surgery and Virgil. He looked at the teen, who was clueless as to the explanation behind his expression.
Richie shrugged, embarrassed at the attention as he eyed the key in his hand thoughtfully. “The labs have surgery systems that are manned by sophisticated electronics and operated by programmed robots. I assume this was because of the need for examinations and surgeries of superhumans–which Alva had named Metahumans, as stated in his files–and because of their inhuman design with certain delicate wiring that he needed to examine and study, and he didn’t trust human hands and their brain functioning capabilities. The Metahumans were a valuable resource for him, so he had a group of highly qualified technicians, engineers and medical experts to help him design a sophisticated system that enabled definite surgery of various areas in a Meta’s body, especially the brain to see what area functioned when powers were used. Anyway, these systems were at the labs. The robots were designed to be operated via computer command, after human inputted data and the system’s own computer knowledge of the human body and medical effects that were/are common with accompanying illnesses and common breakdowns, such as cancer, appendix-removal, dotta dotta dotta. I had those same surgery ‘bots operate on me after designing a chip to enable me to communicate effectively with Backpack. Of course, I’d tested the product on basic lab animals and random survivors before implementing the procedure on myself.”
The two men were silent, processing his words with a sort of horrified air. Virgil finished off his food and belched in a greasy manner, looking at Junior with a tired expression. “He’s psycho, man. Tell ‘em what you did with them later.”
Richie shrugged carelessly as he fitted the key into the box. He stilled when he realized it fit. “I had them gassed just to preserve my work and operated on them within studious time installments that allowed me to research what having a foreign piece of electronics in their brains would do. Afterward, I removed them from my study.”
“You...killed them,” Junior stated tonelessly.
“Well, yeah. I can’t have them in anyway connected with Backpack, in case of a takeover.” Richie glanced at him as he turned the key. The lock clicked as it was unlocked.
“Not because of humane reasons cuz he was puttin’ foreign shit in their heads, and testing out human beings like fuckin’ lab rats, but because he didn’t want to share his toys,” Virgil said dryly, an eye roll accompanying his words.
“Of course, none of you will ever understand!” Richie snapped. Hotstreak was now looking at him in a new light–the teen had seemed so innocent and careless...but his hands were stained with blood. “It’s not like they’d be missed! And it’s for the benefit of my research on human-robot fusion, basically cyborg technology! It also ensured Backpack’s gain as sophisticated technology!”
“Jeez,” Junior breathed, staring at him in shock.
“Told you. He’s psycho. And he blathers too much about stupid techno stuff that ain’t even interesting. I mean, whoop-de-doo, he made a robot. But all sacrifices made are in the interest of technological science!” Virgil boomed dramatically. Then he gave Richie a thoughtful look. “Y’know, if things were different, you’d be considered a threat upon humanity. That’s kinda cool.”
Richie frowned at him, but the mood was destroyed as he opened the box. A light musical chime filled the silence, all males leaning forward to look into the velvet-lined box. Inside was a small piece of yellow paper–folded into quarters. Junior snatched it up before Richie could.
“How’d you open it?” he exclaimed. “I tried all this time to open that thing!”
“I had the key...”
“So that’s what it went to,” Hotstreak mused as he stared at the key inserted in the keyhole. Junior carefully opened the paper as the others crowded around him.
“It’s a list,” Virgil breathed as the others registered this at the same time. “Look, our names! What’s this mean?”
“That really looks like my handwriting,” Richie observed with a shiver.
“Carter St. Grace, Francis Stone, Virgil Hawkins, Edwin Alva, Edwin Alva Junior, Richard Foley, Jessie, Frank Johnston, Maureen, Ivan Evans, Josey Walker, Frieda Goren and Blaine...are these the people we gotta find?” Junior questioned, mainly to himself. He was amazed at how crucial this list was, a huge help in their quest.
“We’re on it, it has to be!” Virgil exclaimed excitedly. He looked at Hotstreak with a frown. “But your name ain’t on there...”
“It is,” Hotstreak muttered, not wanting to let him know which one was his.
Virgil then looked stumped. “But...how...to find the others...?”
“Your dad is part of it?” Richie asked nervously. “Does he have a list, too?”
“I...I don’t think so.” Trouble, Junior reviewed the names. He felt alongside the column, noting the wear. “It was torn...here. There was something else there.”
Then he started, shuffling through the papers to find that one strip of titles. He aligned it with the list and it fit perfectly–names aligned with titles. The room was filled with awed silence as this was reviewed.
“This is amazing!” Virgil exclaimed, but felt that being named The Star was rather dorky and cheesy. Also, despite what his mother said, he wasn’t The Hero. Carter St. Grace was. “But...but how to find the others...?”
“It cuts out a lot of–” Richie trailed off, eyes widening. “If I can get to a police database, I can maybe find them that way!”
“It would mean that they’d have to be in the system, registered for faults,” Junior said with uncertainty, a little perturbed at being named The Magician. He didn’t feel magical, nor did he feel he pulled cheesy side-show tricks. “How about a genealogy center? Does Dakota have one? Or a Human Services center, where we can get access to birth certificates? Or is that only accountable for those in this state only?”
“Police would be more up to date, yet again, these guys have to have done something in order to be there,” Virgil said slowly, looking at Richie thoughtfully. “I mean, we ain’t all criminals. That’s what my mother said.”
“I can use Backpack to access that information as well.” Backpack scuttled up onto Richie’s back as the teen looked thoughtful. Then smug. “Any other protests on my invention and methods of research?”
Virgil frowned at him, then he conceded with a fist out. They bopped fists companionably, grins tossed cheesily. “I guess you’re geeky and weird enough to be my sidekick. Every hero needs one of those...”
“...Shut up, V...”
Junior rose. “Let’s look around this building, first. I got something we need to do.” He picked up one of the papers, showing it to the others.
“This here’s a list of juveniles that had taken a job opportunity trip out of state, and one of these names,” he gestured at the newly formed list on the table, “is on it. I need to know where they had to go because the date and location was marked out with ink.”
Virgil leaned forward to see this, bewildered. “Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know. But let’s look around this place. Foley, help me. I want to see what that thing can do,” Junior commanded, gathering all his papers up and refolding them. The list was carefully folded and placed in his shirt pocket, which he buttoned over.
“I’m guessing the main office!” Virgil piped up. “I’ll find info there!”
The other males left the room, Virgil talking excitedly over his title and pestering Hotstreak for his.
Junior and Richie made their way to the other end of the building, where Junior shoved open a door leading into Records, where he was sure they’d find something. The intense darkness had him withdrawing his flashlight, Richie coming through with various glowsticks and a couple of flashlights of his own. The room was basic–filing cabinets storing written records in various rows throughout the room, along with desks.
Their lights allowed Junior to see the reddish marks on Richie’s neck as the teen removed his scarf. As he set to fiddle with what looked like a GPS device on one of the filing cabinets, Junior debated on whether or not to question Richie over them, juggling his flashlight. The teen stilled suddenly, as if remembering something. He then quickly rewrapped the scarf back around his neck. When he caught Junior’s pensive stare, his expression was that of guilt.
“You’re foolin’ around with somebody?” Junior finally asked.
“It’s none of your business,” the teen replied curtly, looking at the cabinet near him.
“No...it really ain’t,” Junior agreed, but hesitated. He knew Richie’s history, and debated on whether or not to continue. He’d noticed Richie moving stiffly, careful with his steps and eliminated the possibility of a girl. “You and Virgil–”
“NO!” Richie immediately exclaimed, then clamped his mouth with one hand.
Junior quirked a half-smile at that response, unable to see Virgil consenting to such a notion, but these were desperate and lonely situations. Anything was possible. Then he remembered Virgil giving Hotstreak shit earlier and frowned darkly. He didn’t get any info on Hotstreak, but the man mentioned his life here at the labs. Quick math put his age as a year older than Junior’s own. He recalled that strange tension between Richie and Hotstreak earlier.
“You and the Pomeranian ain’t that close, are you? Because–”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business.”
Junior fiddled with his flashlight. He shouldn’t care; what others conducted in their times of need shouldn’t matter. But it bothered him. He shifted attention to the desktops. “I understand if you’re feeling lonely, but sex shouldn’t be appropriate if’n you don’t know what you’re about. With your past, you tend to take it differently than what is appropriate.”
Richie opened his mouth to protest before Junior cut him off, looking at him tersely. “I’m just saying, you don’t know what’s out there! This man is older than you, and can take things wholly different than what you are looking for! I can’t stop you from feelin’ as you do, but you’ve got to realize that what you’re loking for won’t be found in promiscuity.”
“I am NOT promiscuous–!”
“You’ve used sex as a substitute for what you felt you lacked back in the day, and you can claim all you want over needing ‘understanding’ and intelligence, but in truth, you’re findin’ sad substitutes for what you really need. While I can’t enforce shit in this world, I can tell you now that what yer doin’ is setting yourself up for the disasters, and I’d rather prevent that.”
Richie gritted his teeth, both unaware that Hotstreak was listening to them outside the office, having abandoned Virgil for being too annoying.
“I know what I’m doing,” Richie snapped, angrily shifting through various files atop one desk. “It’s just sex. He’s only good for dick and nothing more!”
“I don’t wanna be hearing that, Foley!” Junior snapped back, turning to look at him. “You’re 16! You ain’t in control of nothing, and yer lettin’ that get to you and lettin’ it cloud your mind over the more important issues at hand!”
“You can’t expect me to NOT feel this way, and for needing what I need! I’m not doing anything concerning what you’re saying!” Richie tossed the files aside, growing angry and embarrassed. “Besides, what do you know about anything? You’re nothing but a–!”
“Now you’re gettin’ ridiculous. You’re mad and embarrassed by the subject and resortin’ to anger to cover up the real problem at hand. CALM DOWN.”
“I don’t have a problem!”
Junior whirled, slapping a hand on a nearby desk to silence him. “You cut that out now, y’hear? Lower your voice. You don’t need to be shoutin’ at me now. I’m only concerned that you’ll get an unhealthy attachment to this one, and it fucking disgusts me how a man that age can think it’s okay to take advantage of a boy like you. While I don’t like it and I truly fear for you, I ain’t stoppin’ you from doin’ what you’re doing. I only hope that head of yours realizes that ya’ll need protection, because who knows what you’re spreadin’ to him, and vice versa.”
Richie sputtered, growing red. But he feverishly shook his head. “I don’t have anything–!”
“You ever see a clinic after that stint in Omaha? Huh?! Who knows’ what THAT one had, and he prolly gave it to you. Who knows where the other one’s been, too! You ever think about that?!”
Richie sullenly stared the shadows to ignore Junior’s pointed expression. Hotstreak frowned, feeling a little worried in that that situation hadn’t even crossed his mind. Harley had been his only partner. But who knows what Harley may have contacted with his ‘projects’? Where Richie had been before him...
In disgust, Junior continued looking through a pile of papers atop of a desk, looking for a main point of access in what the filing cabinets contained. “Be more careful, then. I can’t stop you. But he shouldn’t be doin’ this shit to you at your age. Laws or not, morals play a big factor if’n you even got ‘em.”
Richie was silent, sullen. He stared at a point beyond his desk, angry at how Junior was speaking to him. Junior stopped shuffling, then opened a few drawers. “Don’t be closin’ up, Foley. Somewhere, you know I’m right. And it ain’t like I’m bein’ all hateful towards you. You know that. Don’t be mad at me–”
“You can shut up now. Save your five cent lectures for Virgil.”
“Foley–”
“Shut up, Junior!”
“FOLEY! If you can’t stop yourself for bein’ mad, then you need to set yourself down somewhere and calm yourself down. We don’t need you bein’ all angry when shit’s ‘bout ready to go down,” Junior commanded.
Hotstreak smirked. He could hear Richie muttering under his breath over ‘Lucy lectures’. He made sure to file this away to tease him later. While offended over Junior’s disgust at him, he wasn’t going to take it too badly. After all, he’d done his own share of guilt tripping over what he and Richie had done.
But, surprisingly, Richie was quiet for the longest while as they began searching through the cabinets. He even responded when Junior questioned him on any finds on his end. Hotstreak leaned against the wall, exhaling noiselessly. When he heard the incoming footfalls of the other teen, he reacted with a start. Then he pushed away from the wall, walking into the room with nonchalance.
“Didn’t find anything,” he announced, a touch too loudly. “I’m thinking Virgil’s lying. He don’t know what he’s doing.”
Junior faced him, wiping his face. “Where is Hawkins?”
Hotstreak jammed a thumb behind him as Virgil hurried in at that moment. “Nothin’!” Virgil exhaled noisily. “Maybe peoples already got to it.”
“They might’ve,” Junior muttered, remembering his father’s access in juvenile records across the state. “Let’s give this place one last comb-over. Maybe the Others will pop up soon and give us another clue.”
“Wait!” Virgil shouted, startling all of them. “My father’s office! The Community Center! Let’s look there!”
“Where’s that?” Junior asked, feeling hopeful once he remembered Robert Hawkins’ job as administrator for the Youth Center.
Virgil told him, growing obviously cheered and excited over what they were going to do. Before he could say anything more, Hotstreak cut in with, “Well, since there’s still more ground to cover here, why don’t we split up? That’ll make things faster.”
Junior shot him a suspicious look, both teens looking surprised at the suggestion. “Splittin’ up ain’t a good idea,” Junior warned, facing him directly.
“It’s not like we can’t contact each other, anyway!” Hotstreak exclaimed. “The kids got somethin’ going on with their little toys, there. We each have a kid, it’ll all work out.”
“...I don’t like that idea–”
“It’d be a better idea,” Richie cut in quickly, darting a nervous look at Hotstreak. “You two can continue looking through the system for this person, and perhaps find the Human Services building for records on birth certificates. Hotstreak won’t be of any real help–he’d fuck things up with his brainlessness and impulsive behavior.”
“Now, wait a minute–!” Hotstreak protested angrily as Virgil cut in, “Good idea.”
He looked at Junior while Hotstreak looked ready to kill him. “He ain’t got what it takes to be a hero. He’d only get in the way, and he needs a babysitter. Daddy can’t be home all the time to watch his kids...”
Junior frowned as he looked at Richie and Hotstreak suspiciously. Hotstreak scowled, more than annoyed at their low opinion and continued mocking of him.
“Virgil also needs a babysitter, Junior,” Richie added. “If someone isn’t holding his hand, he’d screw up the process. He needs a sound mind to help him along.”
“‘Sound’ mind...’ch. I’ll ‘sound’ your face,” Virgil muttered with a scowl. “I don’t need no fucking babysitter! I’m man enough on my own!”
“‘Man’...you aren’t no man, Virgil! You have the brain of an eight year old, and an even younger disposition!”
Virgil shocked him, Backpack reacting with that same convulsive jerk off Richie’s back. Once he stopped the charge, laughing evilly, Backpack reacted with its rebar arms to slam him into the wall, pining him there by his jacket.
“ENOUGH!” Junior bellowed over their rising shouts, Hotstreak looking intensely bored of it all. “Jeez! Can’t you two get along better’n that?!”
Richie scowled at Virgil as Backpack made its way onto his back. Virgil scowled back at him.
“Fine! Just...don’t fuck around. An’ I’m sure BOTH of you know what I mean!” Junior shot the pair pointed looks.
Virgil slipped back into his jacket, scoffing, “Yeah. That means nobody plays with anybody’s dicks while doin’ your job!”
Richie and Virgil exchanged looks, the former lifting an eyebrow with suspicious regard. The latter gave him a similar expression until Virgil discreetly pulled at his own shirt collar and tapped his neck suggestively, then pointed at Hotstreak. Richie’s face changed into that of horrified embarrassment, but that didn’t stop him from kicking Virgil fiercely in the shin.
As Virgil howled with pain, flopping forward as Richie put distance between them, Junior was distracted from his confrontation with the other man. He quickly grabbed Virgil by his jacket and yanked him back as the teen vowed death on the other.
“What is with you two?” he exclaimed, shoving Virgil behind him.
“We don’t get along,” Richie said quickly, sticking his tongue out at Virgil.
“You see that?! THAT’S what I have to put up with! It’s so fucking annoying–! I’mina bash your head in, you fucking fag!”
“Shut up, dick face! You only wish!”
“KNOCK IT OFF!” Junior bellowed. “Let’s go, Virgil. We’ll do it that way. In the meanwhile...you two had BETTER look for that damn information. I fucking mean it.”
“Yeah...no fuckin’ around,” Virgil said tauntingly. He picked up a stapler and hurled it in Richie’s direction, but the blond ducked behind Hotstreak. “It’s only obvious, you sick fucks. Y’know that’s why ya’ll are in Purgatory?”
“Let’s go, Hawkins,” Junior muttered, yanking on his collar as he marched out the door.
As soon as Junior and Virgil left, Hotstreak turned to Richie, shoving him angrily. “You shit. What’s with all this crap? Saying all this crap about how I’m good for nothin’ but dick!”
Richie sputtered, reddening. “You were spying on me! AGAIN!”
“So what?! As soon as that guy comes around, you’re acting all childish and telling on me over all this shit? Good Lord, you’re nothing but a kid...But I’m feelin’ all lonely and assed out over my man turning all psycho on me, and I fell for your little game for dick in one of my more rare moments of vulnerability–!”
“Oh, what the hell is this?” Richie groaned. “I don’t care what happened with your loser of a boyfriend–!”
“HEY! He wasn’t a loser when I met him!”
“Well, that says something about you, doesn’t it?” Richie shot back.
Hotstreak blinked, then frowned.
“Besides, he was on my case about those fucking things you left on my neck–”
“You weren’t complaining about that then!”
“–I had to say something!”
“...What’s that mean?” Hotstreak stared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re still in the closet, you trollop?”
Richie grew flustered, fiddling with his scarf. He then grabbed the device he’d set down earlier, shoving that into his bag. “N-no. No. I’m not–I’m not exactly...I–”
“Oh, ho ho ho ho...this is ri–great!” Hotstreak fiddled with his hair, feeling a heavier weight on his conscience. “I not only went all hypocritical with a fuckin’ 16 year old harlot, this dweeby tart happens to be all ‘confused’–”
“I’m not a whore! And I’m not ‘confused’...maybe. It’s just–I’m so used to hiding it that I–am not exactly–”
“Yada yada yada! Whatever! The thing is–you’re 16. You’re a dork. Sex was a mistake–”
“Oh, a mistake!” Richie repeated nastily. “Such a mistake you were spying on me in one of my more PRIVATE moments, and you accuse ME of seducing YOU?! You could have just kept that to yourself, you pervert, but you WANTED IT!”
“Oh, shut up! I haven’t known you for five days, and you were already tryin’ to get into my pants from hour one!”
Richie began hurling files at Hotstreak, who exclaimed in surprise. “Fuck you, bastard! Egotistical jerk! You’re such an asshole! You tease and play and purposefully say all this shit, and use it all against me!”
Hotstreak began laughing. Richie resorted to throwing whatever else he could reach. As a stapler bounced off his injured shoulder, Hotstreak began throwing back what things he could reach himself. Richie ducked behind his desk to avoid injury.
“That’s the GAME, you dumb dick!” Hotstreak yelled at him. He winced at the added pain to his shoulder injury. “That’s how shit is played! You gotta play for it!”
“‘Game’?! What ‘game’?! Why do I have to play some stupid game?!”
“Jesus Christ, Princess...which is, by the way, a fitting name for you–not everyone always gets what they want and you’ve actually got to work for–oh. What am I saying? I’m trying to lecture a teenage whore. This is so fuckin’ stupid...” Hotstreak then hurled the stapler back at him.
“I’m NOT a prostitute!” Richie screamed at him, ducking behind the desk as the stapler bounced off the edge.
“Oh? You ain’t? So those old men buyin’ you in exchange for sex ain’t prostitution? Let me tell you somethin’ Princess. Old men 20-30 years older than you ain’t in love with your damn brain. Yeah, you’re smart–I’ll give ya that. But what life experience ya got to offer for someone forty years old and already done his part in life? While you’re just then droppin’ balls? Huh?”
Richie stared at him, too tense to speak or move.
Hotstreak smirked. “You ain’t exactly prime material for a sex partner, for my tastes and conscience. Sorry, Princess, but no more–you ain’t gettin’ my dick anymore. Find someone your own age. Virgil’s all hard-up for action–that’s why you two play like that. Get to know each other a little more that way. I ain’t playin’ with you no more.”
Richie stared at him with that expression of fury, visibly red. Hotstreak gave him another smirk, then left the room.
When Hotstreak left, Richie felt himself explode. He angrily hit the desk, shoving everything off the desktop. His eyes burned, and he felt hot and shaky over the words that rang in his mind. He kicked over the wastebaskets and slumped to the floor, leaning against the desk. The embarrassment over the lack of control over himself and the situation was strong. He ripped his glasses off and started crying into his arms.
Hotstreak heard him crying from down the hall and paused. He suddenly felt bad, reminded of Richie’s age and wondering just what was appropriate in confrontations with someone ten years younger than him. Fighting with Harley had been very different, and those were very different settings. He grimaced, forcing himself to keep walking. But when he rounded the corner, he stopped, exhaling heavily. He didn’t want to have this on his conscience as well. He sighed low and walked back into the room, spying Richie on the other side of the desk. Hotstreak felt even worse as he was reminded of Richie’s age, seeing how small he looked in that position.
He ventured over, Richie pausing in mid-sob once he realized that Hotstreak was next to him. He immediately wiped his eyes, glancing over at Hotstreak’s shoes and feeling embarrassed at his show of tears. He rose to rush away when Hotstreak grabbed his arm with a reluctant sound. Richie angrily wrenched his arm back, Hotstreak gripping him more firmly as he muttered, “Look, I’m sorry. Don’t do that. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I’m not crying!”
Hotstreak shrugged as he let him ago, never taking his eyes off his as Richie jerked away and rushed out of the room. The redhead sighed heavily, listening to him run down the hall. He turned, unsure of his next move, spying Backpack blinking at him from atop a file cabinet. He scowled at it, then turned and walked out with aimless intent.