Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Time And Time Again ❯ Ashes And Ghost ( Chapter 13 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Things go downhill from here...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.18.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 201 | Status: Completed
Things go downhill from here...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Horror / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 02.18.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 8.0K | Visits: 201 | Status: Completed
AU, OOC, violence...supernatural themes, violence...slash, gore
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS! Dwayne McDuffie and WB and Milestone do in...their various ways. This is based off Silent Hill, of which I do not own...Konami and Team Silent does ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I also don’t own...Akira Yamaoka does...But I own THIS story’s grief...not that it counts...
A/N: Negh...sorry for the looooong absence. I’ve...um....no excuse, really. Just...yeah.
Chapter Thirteen:
Ashes And Ghost
Stumbling outside the burning building, Hotstreak gaped at the destruction with dismay. His earlier injuries were aching with renewed vigor due to the battle, and he was out of breath due to the exertion he’d placed upon himself. The battle with the Dark Men had proved fruitless–the creatures had been much too strong for him. It had almost seemed as if they were invincible, growing larger in number and in strength the more he fought back. His hands were trembling as he lifted them, smoke wafting away from his open palms as he registered the depletion of his energy–his mind was still whirling over the frantic battle, so he wasn’t quite aware that he’d been the only one to make it out. Enough time had passed in that he’d forgotten what it was he had been fighting for in the first place; once he remembered Richie, he looked up at the building with horrified remembrance. He couldn’t even recall seeing where the teen had gone when the monsters had crammed the halls.
He bellowed his name repeatedly, venturing up to the building steps, unfazed by the raging heat of the fire. Somewhere within, the structure began to collapse, the roof falling inward with a large curl of sparks, noise and smoke. Feeling incredibly horrified by the loss of the teen, Hotstreak watched the building burn.
The sounds of various creatures caught his attention. He whirled to see the shadows alive with the unnatural animals that had grown interested in the raging fire. Too tired to continue fighting, he had no choice but to use the fire’s safety, running around the building until he found a clear path away from the structure. At the end of the alley, he had to pause and look back up, feeling weighed down by his feelings of guilt and apprehension in that the teen was somewhere in there…burning alive.
Something touched his mind–something dark and frightening that made his entire system heat with painful frenzy. In reflex, he shook his head, trying to dispel the images of blackened shapes writhing among the flames. There was the keening sound of agonizing screams that echoed within his mind, but he attributed that to those of the creatures that were coming in close to investigate.
His mind cleared of that blackness, but he was aware that something was trying to break through his thoughts; trying to make him remember. And every part of him didn’t want that to happen.
* - * - * - * - *
Virgil was complaining loudly as Junior grit his teeth, wrapping gauze around the teen’s foot. The bleeding had mostly stopped, and flesh had swelled considerably due to the traumatic wound. He knew basic first aid, but this injury required more than that. He was hoping that the other two would know something more to that effect. If it grew infected, there was no doubt in Junior’s mind that the foot would have to be amputated. The teen was battling the side effects considerably, but in doing so was driving the former counselor crazy with his constant complaining.
The hospital was in a morbid state of disrepair–dark and foreboding, with many strange sounds emitting from its empty spaces. It kept the two males apprehensive and tense, pausing at intervals to study and judge a particular sound before daring to move on with their actions. Metallic banging rang through the halls in systematic order, as if someone was dragging something heavy for a brief moment then dropping it–it continued on every floor, ringing through the empty elevator shafts. Every sound was amplified and echoed with cringing strength, with outside noises shuffling in with its own foreboding. Somewhere, the wind whistled loudly, and the emptiness amplified the coldness that came in through the broken windows.
“I’m not saying that I’m scared or anything, but I really don’t like this place,” Virgil was saying as Junior used tape to keep his bandaging in place. “You know? I think when it was still alive I’d still not like this place. And it ain’t like I’m scared, but don’t you think it’s a little too quiet in here? I mean, come on–we’re being set up, I think! I think there’s people in here, waiting for us to drop our guards! I think the military’s out there in those halls, just waiting for us to slip up! And when they do come in to snatch us, I’m going to be busting some heads and getting all riled up and–!”
“Will you just shut up?!” Junior snarled, whacking his foot purposefully for that action. Virgil screamed with renewed vigor and held tightly onto his ankles while he waited for the pain to fade. But it just throbbed fiercely, causing him to pant as he shot the older male a fierce scowl. “Sorry, but you’re makin’ it hard for me to concentrate on your stupid self! Stop your damn complainin’ already, all right?! I can’t hear for anything when your mouth is yammering on and on–!”
“You ain’t gonna go psycho on me, are you?” Virgil asked suspiciously, trying to emit some display of his powers, but only letting loose with weak sparks.
“No! but I will if you keep it up!” Junior threatened.
“See? I knew it. I knew you were still plotting on me, you wicked nasty bastard–!”
“Just…shut up. All right? Shut up.” With a tired sigh, Junior wiped his hands down his face as Virgil continued to regard him suspiciously, still clutching his ankle. The older man moved away from the bed, upsetting his supplies. They crashed to the floor noisily, making both of them jump. The noise echoed down the hall, and both of them stilled, listening hard for any sound of intruders. The wind howled ominously, and something metallic clanged once.
Finally, Virgil exhaled lightly. “We need to find Maureen. She still out there. And those other two are just messin’ around, I know they are. See if you can get Richie on the phone, willya? Interrupt whatever they’re doing…which is wrong on all accounts. You know that Pomeranian’s getting’ all illegal on Rich’s ass–”
“I’m sure they’re doin’ what they’re supposed to be doing, Virgil. There probably ain’t no need to interrupt them,” Junior muttered crossly, examining his work. “’Sides, I trust Foley to be doin’ his job. The Pomeranian ain’t that useful for much else, I’m thinkin’.”
“Well, you haven’t hung around them much as I have. They sneaky, you know.”
“Why you care, Virgil? You got something to say? Is that jealousy I detect in your tone, or somethin’?”
“NO!” Virgil exclaimed, voice cracking. “Ain’t no jealousy for anybody! I’m just sayin’–! I’m getting all injured doin’ what I’m supposed to be doin’, and those guys are just playing with each other’s dicks–!”
“Virgil, there ain’t nothing of that going on, and you know it! You don’t know nothing, and I’ll expect you to stay it that way until you got definite proof!” Junior ordered, giving the sullen teen a frown. “Don’t you be startin’ anything, cuz you know both of them will be getting’ on ya for starting that sort of mess, and I ain’t about to jump in and stop anybody from beating on somebody for startin’ lies!”
“Rich got those hickies from somebody! And it sure weren’t me! And he ain’t hanging around no girl–!”
“Why you care, Virgil?” Junior repeated himself with exasperation. “Just drop it, all right? Ain’t nothin’ good comin’ out of your mouth right now, and you may say that you ain’t scared, but you provin’ me something else with that useless yapping of yours. Jesus.”
“I’m just saying,” Virgil grumbled, but he dropped the subject with another loud sigh. Junior assisted him as he slipped off the table, wincing as pain began throbbing immediately up and down his leg once more. “It hurts. I can’t walk. I’m crippled! I’m a stupid cripple now!”
“You’re not crippled,” Junior muttered, helping him hop toward the door. “Let’s find you some crutches, or something. You can use those. And since you’re hurt so badly, we need to find you someplace safe to rest so you can…reboot yourself, or whatever.”
“Yeah, just a little bit of rest. I mean, I can’t be laying around on my job, or nothing. Saving the world don’t mean that I gotta be hiding away, letting someone else do it when it was assigned to ME.”
Junior rolled his eyes as they left the hospital room, carefully maneuvering out into the darkness of the hall. From the map they’d seen in the front lobby, the five levels varied in department, but the fourth level was the pediatrics ward; plenty of bedspace and security for the pair of them if they needed someplace to rest. It took some time to find a secure room; Virgil whispered his complaints in the empty stairway, which was heavily shadowed, colder than the halls. Every sound seemed to echo, their shuffling steps ringing accusingly through the silence. The pediatrics level was just as sinister as the last, and Virgil’s expression turned worried and more frightened as he took in the sight of an abandoned teddy bear that was lying in the hall.
“More creepier than actually seein’ some monster,” he’d muttered, and Junior had to agree, trying not to imagine what had happened to the bear’s owner.
Finding a suitable room, he herded Virgil into it, remembering that Hotstreak had mentioned the two teens being able to talk to each other. Once Virgil supplied him with the phone he used to communicate with Richie, Junior left the room with a warning that he’d cold-clock Virgil if the teen chose to ignore getting his rest over coming after him to bug him with his business. Grumbling, Virgil propped his foot up with some dirty pillows and settled uncomfortably on the unused bed, too jittery by the silence to fully relax.
After some searching, Junior found some sleeping aids. It took some time to get Virgil to take them, as the teen was wary over being drugged. But after the aids took effect, Junior quietly left the room, securing the door behind him as he took to the empty hall. Something clattered noisily near the nurse’s station, and he jumped in startled reflex. He listened against the door to see if Virgil was stirring, and relaxed in that there was no indication from the teen that he’d heard the noise.
He investigated, finding that some papers had fallen to the floor. It didn’t seem as if there were monsters present–but humans, especially other survivors, were just as threatening. To reassure himself, he spent some time searching the ward for anything out of place and found nothing. He finally sat himself in a wheelchair that was left abandoned down the hall from Virgil’s room, and examined the cellphone that the teen used to communicate with the other. The tracking device was easy enough to interpret, and the other’s location was at the police station just down the road. He called for Richie, hating out how loud his voice was within the still silence.
He heard static on the other end. Frowning, Junior tried not to think that Virgil may have been right. But he trusted that the blond teen and the firestarter would keep each other safe in any other event–still, a niggling feeling of doubt in that aspect had him fidgeting nervously, chewing at his dirty fingernails as various scenarios flitted through his mind on why Richie wasn’t answering his phone.
As he contemplated leaving Virgil to check on the other two, he became aware that he was being watched–the very sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The hall was dark, but there was faint light coming from an open doorway nearby, illuminating the area enough for him to negotiate the area without a flashlight. A desk at the very corner near the elevators, which he recognized as a security station, caught his attention–he could see a purple reflection in the empty fish tank that sat atop of the desk. He hoped that it was a ‘friendly’, rather than some monster.
But then again, he didn’t know of any monsters that wore purple coats and had white, long hair. The very fact that Maureen had followed them made hope and relief bloom within his chest–perhaps she wasn’t quite scared of them as she’d previously shown. Perhaps there was some hope in accomplishing their task–but even as he acknowledged that she was around, he kept it to himself. Maybe she’d reveal herself to them on her own–hopefully with friendly intentions, rather than the one she’d left them with.
But he worried himself over the loss of contact with Richie and Hotstreak–why weren’t they answering? Why weren’t they showing up? Richie was bright enough to think for the pair of them–because he doubted Hotstreak would think beyond his basic needs–and would have tracked them to the hospital. So why did he feel so worried that there was something more to the picture than he thought?
He fiddled with the phone, staring at the blinking red light on the map–he cursed them lightly, hoping that they weren’t playing around. He rose from the wheelchair on unsteady legs, patting his vest pockets for something to eat. Finding a half-eaten Powerbar, he forced himself to chew on that. The darkness was heavy, and the last time he’d looked out the window he’d seen that it was snowing–the faint smell of smoke touched his senses, and he paused in chewing to contemplate that scent.
Once again, panic touched him. He fiddled with the phone once more, brow furrowed as he thought of leaving Virgil just to check on the others. He swallowed the lump of peanut butter, grimacing at the painful way it hit his gut. He stared down at the wheelchair then put the phone away. Once absorbing the metal of the contraption, he felt better than he had earlier–his skin reflected the metal he’d taken into his body, and he curled his fingers into fists. In his metallic state, he felt invincible–but maybe to Maureen, who was still hidden away, he appeared threatening. He once again took on the appearance of human flesh, the energy in that action giving him more of a boost. He felt wide-awake, but just to be sure, he found his vial of No-Doze and popped a couple of those pills to reassure himself.
He turned away from the fabric scraps left behind from the wheelchair and started walking back to Virgil’s room. Checking in on the teen, he saw that the boy was sleeping heavily–the bandages were soaked once again. He scowled at the soggy mess, feeling helpless in that he was unable to provide anymore care. He couldn’t leave the teen–what if he bled to death while he was away?
The thought of losing one of their members made him panic–what would happen if Virgil died? If any of them died?
He felt an ominous feeling well in his chest, and he worried his bottom lip, unsure of what action to take. He heard something scuffling within the hall and whirled, startled at the sound. He reassured himself that it was only Maureen, and watched as the door slowly inched open. Seeing the brightness of her jacket and hair relaxed him slightly. He didn’t want to frighten her or cause her anymore apprehension, so he turned his back to the door as the smell of her unwashed presence touched him. He heard her breathing, the rustle of her clothing as she slowly peered into the room.
“Are you sleeping, too?” she asked, a soft whisper that disturbed the silence. “Are you going to sleep, too? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s hurt,” Junior replied, staring at the bloodied bandages. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Did…did I do that…?”
“…Yes. But only cuz you felt it was self-defense,” Junior said hurriedly.
She shuffled, looking wholly guilty as she studied Virgil’s foot for a few moments. Then her brow scrunched, as if she was trying to remember how that had come to be. “Can’t you find a doctor?”
Junior thought of the medics within the military groups, and felt desperation rise within him. He couldn’t ask for their help–but then again, his father only wanted the teens for his use. They were nothing to Alva if they were dead.
Desperation made his decision for him. “Yes. I know there’s a couple out there.”
“Good? Or bad?”
Junior frowned, wincing at the smell that touched him. He turned to her, feeling jittery as the pills and the extra energy began churning his blood and his thoughts. “Are you all alone, Maureen? Do you have someone to take care of you?”
She stared up at him with those large lavender eyes, processing his words with that childish expression of hers. “Sometimes I’m not. They talk to me, and I don’t feel all alone. But sometimes, they don’t talk for awhile, and I kind of get scared. But I know they’re there.”
“Who’s…who’s ‘they’?”
“I never see them. But they talk to me, so they are there. They are real,” she said, and her words confused Junior.
“The Others?”
Her face screwed with her own confusion. “Um….no. They are not that…that woman. I saw that woman talking to you. They are just…there. They talk to me, but sometimes, they don’t make any sense. They tell me what to do, sometimes, and then I do what they say. But sometimes what they say are bad.”
“But…you don’t have the company of other people?”
“No. No, others are bad. They do bad things, and they want to do bad things. They said it’s only because I am a girl. But people are always like that–when it was normal, when I was still by myself and after I had runned away, there were always people wanting to do bad things. They try to pretend they are nice, but they really aren’t.” Maureen, feeling a little safer, ventured completely into the room to lean with her back against the wall. She managed a quick glance at Virgil before once more staring up at Junior with a guileless expression. “Is he going to be sick? Sometimes, when people bleed, they get sick. Because there are no doctors to help them.”
“I’m…hoping that he doesn’t. I think he just needs to rest.”
“But there are doctors? You know where there are doctors?”
“Yeah. I…I just have to find them.”
“Are they nice?” she whispered, fiddling with the dirty ends of her sleeves. Junior looked at her uncomfortably, not wanting to scare her with his negative answer.
“Do you have clean clothes, Maureen? Maybe you should go and change, girl. It’s snowing out there–you might get sick,” Junior said cautiously. He was so used to interacting with boys, rather than girls. He wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of cleanliness and hygiene with her.
“Uh-uh. Me and the cold, the snow doesn’t hurt me, or bother me. And…it’s okay if I am unclean. People don’t like it when I smell, but they don’t bother me,” she replied quietly, looking rather cheered. “They leave me alone.”
It made sense, but Junior was wholly uncomfortable with the stench emanating from her. He tried not to breathe too deeply, subtly reaching up to his face to pinch his nostrils and breathe from his open mouth.
“They tell me that I am doing good with being unclean. They say that the bad men won’t bother me.”
Junior didn’t know who she was referring to, but he left the subject. He looked back at Virgil, biting his lower lip. “I need to find a doctor, Maureen. But I can’t leave him alone. There’s others out there, our friends. I need to find them, too.”
“Maybe they are getting warm?” Maureen suggested. “There’s a fire–there’s a building on fire, and I don’t know how it started, but it’s warm there. I think because it’s so cold that someone started a big fire to get themselves warm, and maybe that’s where they are?”
Junior stilled. “A big fire? Do you know where?”
“Um…I don’t know the building. But it’s not that far away. Maybe you can look out the window and see it.”
Junior turned, leaving the room to do that. He crossed the level floor, hearing her follow after him. The smell of smoke grew stronger the closer he got to the other side, and it was actually more visible as acrid tendrils drifted in through the broken windows. An orange glow lit up the darkness as he entered through the security doors, horrified at the sight of the light that lit up the entire half of the level.
“Oh, no,” he whispered, hurrying to the closest window and seeing that the fire was visibly spreading from building to building–it was definitely from the direction of the police station, and he gripped the window sill with panic. He could hear the roar of the fire, smoke mixing with the clouds and fog that covered Dakota; various creatures were crying out with their alarm as the fire spread. Maureen joined him, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. “Oh, no, what happened?”
“That doesn’t look good,” Maureen said with heavy uncertainty. “It’s moving fast. Maybe I should make it snow more, huh? Maybe I should put it out…? I should put it out, it’s going to burn the whole city down. Fire is bad–fire shouldn’t be here. There aren’t any firemen to put out the fire, so I should make it snow. I should put it out, huh? It might come over here, and that boy might burn up–”
“I have to leave, Maureen,” Junior said hastily, dashing back to Virgil’s room. She followed after a bewildered exclamation. “I have to find the others–my friends. I have to–! Find a doctor–I need to–dammit!”
“Maybe it’s too late? Maybe your friends didn’t do it, and they aren’t there? They shouldn’t have played with matches, huh? That’s what some kids did, back when it was normal, and they burned down this building near the river–I saw them do it. There were people that died in there, because it was they’re home–”
“Maureen, I need to ask you a really big–big favor. I need you to stay with him, all right? He’s asleep, and I can’t wake him up–”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t stay here. What if he’s mean to me? He was mean to me, he was saying things to me–”
“He won’t, I promise,” Junior said in a rush, patting his pockets for some paper and his pencil. He quickly scratched out a note, folding it in half. “I need to go find my friends–! If he says anything mean to you, I’ll–I’ll sock him. I’ll wallop him good for you, all right? But I need you to stay with him–!”
“I CAN’T!” Maureen cried. “I can’t, I’m scared!”
“PLEASE! Just give him this note if he wakes up–! I can’t wait any longer!” Junior said, pushing the note into her hands as she protested. He turned and left the room, hearing her run after him. He couldn’t spare anymore time convincing her, and sank through the floor, her startled words cut off shortly. Descending until he reached the first level, Junior solidified and raced out the front emergency room doors. The smell of smoke and burning rubber was intense. It made him choke–he hesitated as he coughed into his hands, pulling the collar of his shirt up around his nose and mouth.
The fire was spreading much too fast: he began reconsidering his choice in leaving the pair back in the hospital. He looked up at the sky, bewildered at how the cold allowed the fire to rage in such an uncontrolled manner. Then he thought of Hotstreak–it had to have been caused by him. But why? Why so intense?
He started forward, only to stop once he realized the shadows were moving. In human forms, they shuffled toward him from the darkness around him, making him cry out with frustration.
But when the forms appeared within the glow of the fire’s light, he froze, eyes widening. Horror had his chest clenching, his mind whirling madly as he processed the various undead forms. His left eye twitched as he took in the scanty mini-skirts, the thigh-high boots and stockings. The low-cut shirts and the baggy sweats. Their clothing varied, some dressed normally than others, but their faces gave it all away. He took in the dirty and clumped hair, the over exaggerated makeup.
Helpless rage overrode his common sense, and his thoughts whirled with murder and madness as their hoarse voices called his name, taunting him with their sexual innuendos and lewd actions. They were undead, but they were unlike any other zombies he’d ever encountered. And rather than invoke his annoyance, they invoked a rage he’d thought was long buried and contained.
His teeth snapped together and his jaw clenched, his skin heating with his rising fury. Disgust built up as he took in their scanty attire, their bright fabrics. Thin faces, puffy eyes, round bodies, skinny frames–the undead prostitutes varied in appearance and forms, but they were what they were.
His fingers were trembling as they clenched, and his left eye twitched more violently than before as utter disgust and hatred worked their violent ways through his body. His thoughts on the others and the situation that threatened them were replaced by his loathing for the women.
Metal replaced his human skin as he used the energy that he’d taken from his absorption of the metal in the wheelchair. Mindless rage caused him to grow blind to everything else, and the superhuman urge to kill/destroy overtook him.
* - * - * - * - *
Richie woke with a sputter, water soaking his jacket and hair. The unexpected jolt of liquid caused confusion as he woke from unconsciousness. As he slowly came to his senses, coughing from inhaling water, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Staring at him with mixed expressions of satisfaction and undisguised dislike was the man in black and Harley Williams. Richie startled as he registered their presence, jerking back in reflex and finding his hands caught. He looked up, squinting as he realized that the reason for his position was that he’d been handcuffed, a hemp rope knotted around the chain, holding his arms aloft. The rope led up toward the ceiling, was looped over a metal beam and held in place by another man in military fatigues.
Feeling entirely alarmed and confused, Richie blinked water away from his lashes as he looked around him. They were in a dark, dank room that smelled of rot, a chain link fence encircling the center of the room, the walls and floor made out of concrete. There was a two way mirror just beyond the chain link fence on his right, and a single metal door that was open beyond Harley, revealing a dark hallway. Below him was a single strip of metal grating–where a drainpipe loomed, dark and ominous. The drain tunnel was stained with black rusty coloring, of which he didn’t want to guess the contents.
His blood ran cold as he looked back at the man in black and Harley, his chest constricting with fear as he struggled to compose himself. He looked around hastily for Hotstreak, but the man wasn’t anywhere in sight. He had no idea where he was, or what had happened between the attack of the Dark Men and now.
“I hope you slept well,” the man in black murmured, setting a half empty bottle of water down at his feet. “Because that’s all the sleep you’re going to be getting for some time.”
“Where’s Hotstreak?” Richie demanded, hating how his voice cracked. “Where am I? What are you doing? What’s this room? Where did–?”
“Not ah ah…no more questions from you, mister. From now on, you’ll only provide answers. TRUE answers,” the man in black admonished, giving him a scowl. “I’m still a little sore in that you’d lied to me. I absolutely hate it when people lie to me.”
Richie scowled back, jerking at the bonds that kept his arms in place. He looked at Harley, pining the man with a glare. “Where’s Hotstreak?”
Harley merely glared back, crossing his muscular arms with an obvious twitch in them. His jaw was visibly clenched, his dark eyes narrowing with promise.
The man in black drew Richie’s attention once more, the man sidling up to the teen. It took him a moment to register both the pain and surprise when the man’s open palm cracked against his jaw. “I said, no more questions! As for your companion, we’ve no idea. You were brought here, alone. Does that satisfy you for now?”
“Why’d you hit me?! What was that for? What are you going to do–?” Richie’s angry questions were cut off with another slap to the face, this one knocking his head painfully to the side.
“I said no more.” The man in black scowled at him, nodding at the other man that held the rope.
When Richie realized that his arms were being pulled tight, forcing his arms to stretch upward, he grimaced, stretching his foot toward the floor in frantic effort for support. When the toes of his shoes scraped atop of the grating, his body pulled painfully upward by his arms, he groaned. The rope was tied off on the section of the fence the man stood against, and he was dismissed with a nod from the man in black.
Panting from the painful position, Richie squinted at the remaining men as the door slammed shut. The man in black looked smug as he stepped back, slowly crossing his arms.
“Now…there are a few things that we need to discuss,” he said smoothly, his voice ringing within the room. “And your cooperation is greatly appreciated. I’ll not lie to you, or coddle you–I’m letting you know now that I am fiercely angry at your lie from earlier. You’ve embarrassed me in front of my colleagues–I’ll need to save face. As for Mr. Williams here…I believe his revenge is his own reasoning for joining me. I believe you angered him in some way as well.”
Richie glared over at Harley, his toes scraping desperately at the floor in an effort to find some footing. The pain in his arms was wrenching, and he struggled in a futile manner as the man in black turned away from him. “I’m not going to answer anything!” he spit. “You’ll get nothing from me! There’s no way I’m going to listen to either of you! No one tells me what to do, and there’s nothing you can do otherwise!”
The man in black stilled, lips quirked. He reached out to stop Harley, the man itching to exact his exasperation at the teen’s stubborn words. He turned to face the blond, who gave him a stubborn look–still trying to toe the floor in an effort to relieve the pain in his upper torso. “Do you remember that day? When I’d expressed what I could do to you if you refused, or defied me?”
Richie remembered, and he remembered his reaction. But he stubbornly held his chin, steadily growing scared at the situation. He shot the man in black a defiant expression in response.
“Well…I plan to demonstrate. You see, there’s information that we need, that we lack in our own intelligence, and we need to borrow yours. Alva’s whelp conveniently destroyed what studies he’d had on Mr. Stone, and Mr. Williams here can only provide so much–you, meanwhile, have files upon files stored within that head of yours! Not only on Mr. Stone, but on the other particular characters that you have sullied yourself with. Convenient, easy to access and utterly limitless. I know you, Mr. Foley. I’ve known your past persona. There’s nothing that escapes your studies, and there’s nothing that can escape your need for knowledge and understanding. This makes you a prime and ample storage bin of fascination!”
“…So? I’m still not going to tell you anything!”
The man in black frowned, coming up close. He opened his mouth to continue his threats when Richie kicked out, catching the man in the groin. Even Harley winced, but the man in black did nothing in reaction. Richie drew his foot back with a sort of surprised expression, the man in black frowning once more. “You can’t hurt me, Mr. Foley. I am impervious to your pathetic physical actions. But you’ll regret that–I’m the sure the action, when given in kind to your own stoutly frame, will be something different.”
“‘I’m’ pathetic?! It’s taking two of you to perform your little interrogation! Two big, muscleheaded men with nothing better to do than gang up on the shorter, and I might add, much better looking nerd! Wow, absolutely pathetic!”
Harley snorted. “‘Better looking’…fucking stupid.”
The man in black smiled thinly. “I’ve learned that when you insult Mr. Williams and the subject of his looks, he gets very offended. You might want to watch your words in the future.”
“He would. If I looked like him, I’d be offended looking in the mirror, too.”
The next smile was a little more affectionate. Richie scowled at him, feeling wholly disturbed by that particular expression. The strain and stretch in his upper torso was definitely distracting him from his focus.
The man in black clasped his hands together as he stepped back. He looked at Harley. “Let’s begin, shall we? The only request that I ask is that you do NOT deliver any killing blows. You may bruise, break, burn, cut, and twist–you may pull, pinch, rip and scratch. But I cannot heal death.”
Richie looked at Harley with a horrified expression, remembering the Polaroids in the basement. Harley looked entirely gleeful as the man in black gestured at him to get started. A cold sweat broke out on the blond’s skin as he watched the twisted smile cross the brunette’s lips, the eager glint in his eyes as he focused on the teen.
* - * - * - * - *
In the world of the Saved, Robert Hawkins stared down at the photograph of his preteen son. Beyond his vision, the tall green Martian continued his calm drone over the recent findings of their investigation into the Missing, but all Robert could register was the young features of his son. Once he’d heard that the Justice League could not figure out why millions had disappeared within one day, Robert had tuned him out. His son had been so angry when they’d last seen each other, that enough time had passed in that Robert began blaming himself for not reacting in a different manner. If he’d just gave Virgil more attention…if he’d gotten him help sooner…if he’d just let him find the killers–but at the same time, he felt frustration in that Virgil couldn’t see beyond his own anger and helplessness to see that what he’d done was wrong.
He closed his eyes and yearned for the ability to turn back time. He’d give anything for the chance to see his son again–the fact that he’d only disappeared, that there wasn’t definite proof of his death gave him little hope. But enough in that Robert believed there was still a chance he’d see Virgil again. Jean was completely gone–her death was more definite. But Virgil’s situation was different; there was still hope.
Something shifted at the corner of his eye, and he lifted his head, expecting to see another hero standing nearby. But there wasn’t nothing there–his eyes caught onto the photo he had on a shelf, one of his wife. It took him a few moments, but he realized that J’onn had stopped speaking as well. A glance at the Martian told him that he had seen something; Robert lowered the photo he had of Virgil, and exhaled heavily.
* - * - * - * - *
The soldiers were careful to avoid the crazed battle outside of the hospital–their cargo was quickly and quietly deposited around the area. Though their expressions and thoughts on the items left on the empty streets were bewildered, they dared not question the man in black. From within the shadows around the area, the remaining six Bad Men watched the deposits, the Seventh giving a low snort.
“He means to resort to parlor tricks?” he growled softly, leatherless wings fluttering noisily behind him.
“There is a reason behind them,” the Sixth said quietly. “The human mind is weak–it’ll play tricks once it has the knowledge.”
“Tricks are nothing more than a joke!” the Seventh raged, wings folding sharply against his back. “He still plays with them, and regards the whole situation as he would with a game!”
“Don’t fret,” the Fourth whispered to the bundle in its arms. “He is only looking out for our own good.”
Before the Seventh could question the Fourth’s reasoning, the Third cut in with, “I count only two within the hospital. The Murderer and the Star. The Magician is much too crazed for us to approach. His strength lies in his insanity.”
“The Murderer knows we are here,” the Fifth murmured. “She can hear us when others cannot. Her cold scares us. Much like fire.”
“The First is playing with the Inventor. The Hero amuses himself. The Illusionist awaits his true love. His shadows confuse even us, and he is aware of us. His years as a demon keeps him clever.”
“The Sheep approaches,” the Fourth added. “Along with the Wizard. The Hanging Man is alone, but his fire is much too frightening. The Knight, the Ghoul In Disguise, The Queen, and the Coward are still lost to us.”
The Seventh regarded their reports, his expressionless face giving away nothing of his thoughts. But as he turned to them, it was obvious he was still displeased. The Seventh snapped, “Your cowardice disgusts me! We are demons! We are gifted with the abilities that enable us to kill even those that are blessed! Yet all of you squander your talents with excuses!”
“We cannot act out of line---!”
“I will see you all burn in your excuses, and I will do as I was created to do,” the Seventh snapped, turning away from them to leap onto the street below.
The Fourth rocked the blanketed bundle in its arms, cooing softly. The Sixth gave the others a worried expression.
* - * - * - * - *
Virgil awoke with a start, inhaling sharply as his drool clung to his face. The drugs in his system left him groggy and off-balance–but he was aware that he wasn’t alone, and that something was utterly wrong. His name was called, an urgent whisper that had awareness tingling throughout his every limb and consciousness. The powerful instinct to obey the insistent whispering had him lifting his head, sluggishly pulling himself into a sitting position. He swallowed thickly, the ringing noise in his head being that of his mother’s whispers. Wanting to obey her command, half-asleep, Virgil pulled his foot. The pain in that movement had him shouting aloud, startled painfully awake and startling his companion.
Once he realized the smell of smoke, his eyes widened. Maureen flung Junior’s note at him as she quickly left the room, too frightened of him to linger. Confused at her presence, Virgil grabbed the note before it fell to the floor, and registered that he was still bleeding despite the bandaging. Alarmed that the effort had done nothing to stop the bleeding, Virgil gaped at his wound before scowling at the door. He opened the note anyway, reading that Junior had left him to find Richie and Hotstreak–the police station was on fire and was quickly spreading.
Virgil moved as quickly as he could in his pained state–he held onto the bed for support, cursing and panting the whole way as his foot throbbed in tremendous discomfort. He began coughing on the smoke that filtered into the room, the sound of flames loud beyond the door. Wholly frightened that the building was on fire, Virgil hobbled away from his bed and used the wall for support. Maureen was standing nearby, fretting as she looked at him and at the floor.
“Where’s Junior?!” he demanded, growing aware that the building was rapidly heating.
“I don’t know!” she shrieked, blue tipped fingers clutching her hair. “He said he was looking for somebody–he left me alone! I didn’t want to be left alone! I said I’d put the fire out!”
“Do it, then! What you waiting for? Somebody to hold your damn hand?!” Virgil shouted in exasperation, waving at her. “You gotta job to do, don’t wait for somebody to tell you! Get on with it, girl, and put that fire out before we both die!”
Maureen nodded hastily, then ran down the hall before Virgil could question her on Junior’s time of leave. Cursing, he hobbled through the rooms, searching for medical supplies. He found an examination room full of the needed items, and spent some time unwrapping his wound, examining the damage. After he’d re-wrapped and taped his foot, he left the room hastily, finding that extreme cold had taken over the rising warmth. He made his way to the window, looking out to see scorched and blackened buildings–skeletal structures that looked sadly gloomy within the thickly falling snow.
But he marveled over the way Maureen converted the extreme heat and flame into ice and snow–the girl did it easily, with nothing more than a furrow in her brow as she focused on the skies, white hair whipping around her shoulders. After a few minutes, Virgil’s teeth began chattering noisily and his breath emerged as white clouds. Hugging himself, Virgil opened his mouth to call out a stop to the girl’s actions when he heard the screams.
Maureen must have heard them at the same time, for she paused in her actions, head tilted. The immense silence of cold and snow enabled them to hear the screaming more distinctly. Combined with the women’s shrieking, Junior’s enraged cries of hate and fury rang throughout the hospital halls. Virgil was struck still at the violence that coated every word, the utter loathing–it sent chills up and down his spine as he heard the former counselor rant and rave over prostitutes in general.
Maureen tossed him a worried expression, unsure of what to do as Virgil gave her a similar expression.
“He by himself?” he asked quietly, jolted by a particular stream of hate that filtered from the man’s mouth. Virgil cast a glance out the window, determining that the man was somewhere nearby, but the overhang of the hospital’s lower wards prevented him from seeing him.
“…Yes. He…He wasn’t like that when he left,” Maureen murmured, clutching her jacket tightly. “He wasn’t mean.”
Virgil listened, and realized that the women’s shrieking was jilted. Numerous. He recognized the sounds of battle, and hastily examined his own bandaging before gesturing at the wheelchair nearby. His powers were weak, but they were much stronger than they had been earlier. Thankful for some of his talent, he drew the wheelchair close to him, straining with the effort. Maureen watched him cautiously as he plopped himself onto the chair and wheeled himself toward the stairway. With no other choice, she followed at a distance.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS! Dwayne McDuffie and WB and Milestone do in...their various ways. This is based off Silent Hill, of which I do not own...Konami and Team Silent does ^_^ Chapter titles are borrowed from the titles of SH2 and SH3 soundtracks...both of which I also don’t own...Akira Yamaoka does...But I own THIS story’s grief...not that it counts...
A/N: Negh...sorry for the looooong absence. I’ve...um....no excuse, really. Just...yeah.
Chapter Thirteen:
Ashes And Ghost
Stumbling outside the burning building, Hotstreak gaped at the destruction with dismay. His earlier injuries were aching with renewed vigor due to the battle, and he was out of breath due to the exertion he’d placed upon himself. The battle with the Dark Men had proved fruitless–the creatures had been much too strong for him. It had almost seemed as if they were invincible, growing larger in number and in strength the more he fought back. His hands were trembling as he lifted them, smoke wafting away from his open palms as he registered the depletion of his energy–his mind was still whirling over the frantic battle, so he wasn’t quite aware that he’d been the only one to make it out. Enough time had passed in that he’d forgotten what it was he had been fighting for in the first place; once he remembered Richie, he looked up at the building with horrified remembrance. He couldn’t even recall seeing where the teen had gone when the monsters had crammed the halls.
He bellowed his name repeatedly, venturing up to the building steps, unfazed by the raging heat of the fire. Somewhere within, the structure began to collapse, the roof falling inward with a large curl of sparks, noise and smoke. Feeling incredibly horrified by the loss of the teen, Hotstreak watched the building burn.
The sounds of various creatures caught his attention. He whirled to see the shadows alive with the unnatural animals that had grown interested in the raging fire. Too tired to continue fighting, he had no choice but to use the fire’s safety, running around the building until he found a clear path away from the structure. At the end of the alley, he had to pause and look back up, feeling weighed down by his feelings of guilt and apprehension in that the teen was somewhere in there…burning alive.
Something touched his mind–something dark and frightening that made his entire system heat with painful frenzy. In reflex, he shook his head, trying to dispel the images of blackened shapes writhing among the flames. There was the keening sound of agonizing screams that echoed within his mind, but he attributed that to those of the creatures that were coming in close to investigate.
His mind cleared of that blackness, but he was aware that something was trying to break through his thoughts; trying to make him remember. And every part of him didn’t want that to happen.
* - * - * - * - *
Virgil was complaining loudly as Junior grit his teeth, wrapping gauze around the teen’s foot. The bleeding had mostly stopped, and flesh had swelled considerably due to the traumatic wound. He knew basic first aid, but this injury required more than that. He was hoping that the other two would know something more to that effect. If it grew infected, there was no doubt in Junior’s mind that the foot would have to be amputated. The teen was battling the side effects considerably, but in doing so was driving the former counselor crazy with his constant complaining.
The hospital was in a morbid state of disrepair–dark and foreboding, with many strange sounds emitting from its empty spaces. It kept the two males apprehensive and tense, pausing at intervals to study and judge a particular sound before daring to move on with their actions. Metallic banging rang through the halls in systematic order, as if someone was dragging something heavy for a brief moment then dropping it–it continued on every floor, ringing through the empty elevator shafts. Every sound was amplified and echoed with cringing strength, with outside noises shuffling in with its own foreboding. Somewhere, the wind whistled loudly, and the emptiness amplified the coldness that came in through the broken windows.
“I’m not saying that I’m scared or anything, but I really don’t like this place,” Virgil was saying as Junior used tape to keep his bandaging in place. “You know? I think when it was still alive I’d still not like this place. And it ain’t like I’m scared, but don’t you think it’s a little too quiet in here? I mean, come on–we’re being set up, I think! I think there’s people in here, waiting for us to drop our guards! I think the military’s out there in those halls, just waiting for us to slip up! And when they do come in to snatch us, I’m going to be busting some heads and getting all riled up and–!”
“Will you just shut up?!” Junior snarled, whacking his foot purposefully for that action. Virgil screamed with renewed vigor and held tightly onto his ankles while he waited for the pain to fade. But it just throbbed fiercely, causing him to pant as he shot the older male a fierce scowl. “Sorry, but you’re makin’ it hard for me to concentrate on your stupid self! Stop your damn complainin’ already, all right?! I can’t hear for anything when your mouth is yammering on and on–!”
“You ain’t gonna go psycho on me, are you?” Virgil asked suspiciously, trying to emit some display of his powers, but only letting loose with weak sparks.
“No! but I will if you keep it up!” Junior threatened.
“See? I knew it. I knew you were still plotting on me, you wicked nasty bastard–!”
“Just…shut up. All right? Shut up.” With a tired sigh, Junior wiped his hands down his face as Virgil continued to regard him suspiciously, still clutching his ankle. The older man moved away from the bed, upsetting his supplies. They crashed to the floor noisily, making both of them jump. The noise echoed down the hall, and both of them stilled, listening hard for any sound of intruders. The wind howled ominously, and something metallic clanged once.
Finally, Virgil exhaled lightly. “We need to find Maureen. She still out there. And those other two are just messin’ around, I know they are. See if you can get Richie on the phone, willya? Interrupt whatever they’re doing…which is wrong on all accounts. You know that Pomeranian’s getting’ all illegal on Rich’s ass–”
“I’m sure they’re doin’ what they’re supposed to be doing, Virgil. There probably ain’t no need to interrupt them,” Junior muttered crossly, examining his work. “’Sides, I trust Foley to be doin’ his job. The Pomeranian ain’t that useful for much else, I’m thinkin’.”
“Well, you haven’t hung around them much as I have. They sneaky, you know.”
“Why you care, Virgil? You got something to say? Is that jealousy I detect in your tone, or somethin’?”
“NO!” Virgil exclaimed, voice cracking. “Ain’t no jealousy for anybody! I’m just sayin’–! I’m getting all injured doin’ what I’m supposed to be doin’, and those guys are just playing with each other’s dicks–!”
“Virgil, there ain’t nothing of that going on, and you know it! You don’t know nothing, and I’ll expect you to stay it that way until you got definite proof!” Junior ordered, giving the sullen teen a frown. “Don’t you be startin’ anything, cuz you know both of them will be getting’ on ya for starting that sort of mess, and I ain’t about to jump in and stop anybody from beating on somebody for startin’ lies!”
“Rich got those hickies from somebody! And it sure weren’t me! And he ain’t hanging around no girl–!”
“Why you care, Virgil?” Junior repeated himself with exasperation. “Just drop it, all right? Ain’t nothin’ good comin’ out of your mouth right now, and you may say that you ain’t scared, but you provin’ me something else with that useless yapping of yours. Jesus.”
“I’m just saying,” Virgil grumbled, but he dropped the subject with another loud sigh. Junior assisted him as he slipped off the table, wincing as pain began throbbing immediately up and down his leg once more. “It hurts. I can’t walk. I’m crippled! I’m a stupid cripple now!”
“You’re not crippled,” Junior muttered, helping him hop toward the door. “Let’s find you some crutches, or something. You can use those. And since you’re hurt so badly, we need to find you someplace safe to rest so you can…reboot yourself, or whatever.”
“Yeah, just a little bit of rest. I mean, I can’t be laying around on my job, or nothing. Saving the world don’t mean that I gotta be hiding away, letting someone else do it when it was assigned to ME.”
Junior rolled his eyes as they left the hospital room, carefully maneuvering out into the darkness of the hall. From the map they’d seen in the front lobby, the five levels varied in department, but the fourth level was the pediatrics ward; plenty of bedspace and security for the pair of them if they needed someplace to rest. It took some time to find a secure room; Virgil whispered his complaints in the empty stairway, which was heavily shadowed, colder than the halls. Every sound seemed to echo, their shuffling steps ringing accusingly through the silence. The pediatrics level was just as sinister as the last, and Virgil’s expression turned worried and more frightened as he took in the sight of an abandoned teddy bear that was lying in the hall.
“More creepier than actually seein’ some monster,” he’d muttered, and Junior had to agree, trying not to imagine what had happened to the bear’s owner.
Finding a suitable room, he herded Virgil into it, remembering that Hotstreak had mentioned the two teens being able to talk to each other. Once Virgil supplied him with the phone he used to communicate with Richie, Junior left the room with a warning that he’d cold-clock Virgil if the teen chose to ignore getting his rest over coming after him to bug him with his business. Grumbling, Virgil propped his foot up with some dirty pillows and settled uncomfortably on the unused bed, too jittery by the silence to fully relax.
After some searching, Junior found some sleeping aids. It took some time to get Virgil to take them, as the teen was wary over being drugged. But after the aids took effect, Junior quietly left the room, securing the door behind him as he took to the empty hall. Something clattered noisily near the nurse’s station, and he jumped in startled reflex. He listened against the door to see if Virgil was stirring, and relaxed in that there was no indication from the teen that he’d heard the noise.
He investigated, finding that some papers had fallen to the floor. It didn’t seem as if there were monsters present–but humans, especially other survivors, were just as threatening. To reassure himself, he spent some time searching the ward for anything out of place and found nothing. He finally sat himself in a wheelchair that was left abandoned down the hall from Virgil’s room, and examined the cellphone that the teen used to communicate with the other. The tracking device was easy enough to interpret, and the other’s location was at the police station just down the road. He called for Richie, hating out how loud his voice was within the still silence.
He heard static on the other end. Frowning, Junior tried not to think that Virgil may have been right. But he trusted that the blond teen and the firestarter would keep each other safe in any other event–still, a niggling feeling of doubt in that aspect had him fidgeting nervously, chewing at his dirty fingernails as various scenarios flitted through his mind on why Richie wasn’t answering his phone.
As he contemplated leaving Virgil to check on the other two, he became aware that he was being watched–the very sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. The hall was dark, but there was faint light coming from an open doorway nearby, illuminating the area enough for him to negotiate the area without a flashlight. A desk at the very corner near the elevators, which he recognized as a security station, caught his attention–he could see a purple reflection in the empty fish tank that sat atop of the desk. He hoped that it was a ‘friendly’, rather than some monster.
But then again, he didn’t know of any monsters that wore purple coats and had white, long hair. The very fact that Maureen had followed them made hope and relief bloom within his chest–perhaps she wasn’t quite scared of them as she’d previously shown. Perhaps there was some hope in accomplishing their task–but even as he acknowledged that she was around, he kept it to himself. Maybe she’d reveal herself to them on her own–hopefully with friendly intentions, rather than the one she’d left them with.
But he worried himself over the loss of contact with Richie and Hotstreak–why weren’t they answering? Why weren’t they showing up? Richie was bright enough to think for the pair of them–because he doubted Hotstreak would think beyond his basic needs–and would have tracked them to the hospital. So why did he feel so worried that there was something more to the picture than he thought?
He fiddled with the phone, staring at the blinking red light on the map–he cursed them lightly, hoping that they weren’t playing around. He rose from the wheelchair on unsteady legs, patting his vest pockets for something to eat. Finding a half-eaten Powerbar, he forced himself to chew on that. The darkness was heavy, and the last time he’d looked out the window he’d seen that it was snowing–the faint smell of smoke touched his senses, and he paused in chewing to contemplate that scent.
Once again, panic touched him. He fiddled with the phone once more, brow furrowed as he thought of leaving Virgil just to check on the others. He swallowed the lump of peanut butter, grimacing at the painful way it hit his gut. He stared down at the wheelchair then put the phone away. Once absorbing the metal of the contraption, he felt better than he had earlier–his skin reflected the metal he’d taken into his body, and he curled his fingers into fists. In his metallic state, he felt invincible–but maybe to Maureen, who was still hidden away, he appeared threatening. He once again took on the appearance of human flesh, the energy in that action giving him more of a boost. He felt wide-awake, but just to be sure, he found his vial of No-Doze and popped a couple of those pills to reassure himself.
He turned away from the fabric scraps left behind from the wheelchair and started walking back to Virgil’s room. Checking in on the teen, he saw that the boy was sleeping heavily–the bandages were soaked once again. He scowled at the soggy mess, feeling helpless in that he was unable to provide anymore care. He couldn’t leave the teen–what if he bled to death while he was away?
The thought of losing one of their members made him panic–what would happen if Virgil died? If any of them died?
He felt an ominous feeling well in his chest, and he worried his bottom lip, unsure of what action to take. He heard something scuffling within the hall and whirled, startled at the sound. He reassured himself that it was only Maureen, and watched as the door slowly inched open. Seeing the brightness of her jacket and hair relaxed him slightly. He didn’t want to frighten her or cause her anymore apprehension, so he turned his back to the door as the smell of her unwashed presence touched him. He heard her breathing, the rustle of her clothing as she slowly peered into the room.
“Are you sleeping, too?” she asked, a soft whisper that disturbed the silence. “Are you going to sleep, too? What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s hurt,” Junior replied, staring at the bloodied bandages. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Did…did I do that…?”
“…Yes. But only cuz you felt it was self-defense,” Junior said hurriedly.
She shuffled, looking wholly guilty as she studied Virgil’s foot for a few moments. Then her brow scrunched, as if she was trying to remember how that had come to be. “Can’t you find a doctor?”
Junior thought of the medics within the military groups, and felt desperation rise within him. He couldn’t ask for their help–but then again, his father only wanted the teens for his use. They were nothing to Alva if they were dead.
Desperation made his decision for him. “Yes. I know there’s a couple out there.”
“Good? Or bad?”
Junior frowned, wincing at the smell that touched him. He turned to her, feeling jittery as the pills and the extra energy began churning his blood and his thoughts. “Are you all alone, Maureen? Do you have someone to take care of you?”
She stared up at him with those large lavender eyes, processing his words with that childish expression of hers. “Sometimes I’m not. They talk to me, and I don’t feel all alone. But sometimes, they don’t talk for awhile, and I kind of get scared. But I know they’re there.”
“Who’s…who’s ‘they’?”
“I never see them. But they talk to me, so they are there. They are real,” she said, and her words confused Junior.
“The Others?”
Her face screwed with her own confusion. “Um….no. They are not that…that woman. I saw that woman talking to you. They are just…there. They talk to me, but sometimes, they don’t make any sense. They tell me what to do, sometimes, and then I do what they say. But sometimes what they say are bad.”
“But…you don’t have the company of other people?”
“No. No, others are bad. They do bad things, and they want to do bad things. They said it’s only because I am a girl. But people are always like that–when it was normal, when I was still by myself and after I had runned away, there were always people wanting to do bad things. They try to pretend they are nice, but they really aren’t.” Maureen, feeling a little safer, ventured completely into the room to lean with her back against the wall. She managed a quick glance at Virgil before once more staring up at Junior with a guileless expression. “Is he going to be sick? Sometimes, when people bleed, they get sick. Because there are no doctors to help them.”
“I’m…hoping that he doesn’t. I think he just needs to rest.”
“But there are doctors? You know where there are doctors?”
“Yeah. I…I just have to find them.”
“Are they nice?” she whispered, fiddling with the dirty ends of her sleeves. Junior looked at her uncomfortably, not wanting to scare her with his negative answer.
“Do you have clean clothes, Maureen? Maybe you should go and change, girl. It’s snowing out there–you might get sick,” Junior said cautiously. He was so used to interacting with boys, rather than girls. He wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of cleanliness and hygiene with her.
“Uh-uh. Me and the cold, the snow doesn’t hurt me, or bother me. And…it’s okay if I am unclean. People don’t like it when I smell, but they don’t bother me,” she replied quietly, looking rather cheered. “They leave me alone.”
It made sense, but Junior was wholly uncomfortable with the stench emanating from her. He tried not to breathe too deeply, subtly reaching up to his face to pinch his nostrils and breathe from his open mouth.
“They tell me that I am doing good with being unclean. They say that the bad men won’t bother me.”
Junior didn’t know who she was referring to, but he left the subject. He looked back at Virgil, biting his lower lip. “I need to find a doctor, Maureen. But I can’t leave him alone. There’s others out there, our friends. I need to find them, too.”
“Maybe they are getting warm?” Maureen suggested. “There’s a fire–there’s a building on fire, and I don’t know how it started, but it’s warm there. I think because it’s so cold that someone started a big fire to get themselves warm, and maybe that’s where they are?”
Junior stilled. “A big fire? Do you know where?”
“Um…I don’t know the building. But it’s not that far away. Maybe you can look out the window and see it.”
Junior turned, leaving the room to do that. He crossed the level floor, hearing her follow after him. The smell of smoke grew stronger the closer he got to the other side, and it was actually more visible as acrid tendrils drifted in through the broken windows. An orange glow lit up the darkness as he entered through the security doors, horrified at the sight of the light that lit up the entire half of the level.
“Oh, no,” he whispered, hurrying to the closest window and seeing that the fire was visibly spreading from building to building–it was definitely from the direction of the police station, and he gripped the window sill with panic. He could hear the roar of the fire, smoke mixing with the clouds and fog that covered Dakota; various creatures were crying out with their alarm as the fire spread. Maureen joined him, her eyes wide as she took in the sight. “Oh, no, what happened?”
“That doesn’t look good,” Maureen said with heavy uncertainty. “It’s moving fast. Maybe I should make it snow more, huh? Maybe I should put it out…? I should put it out, it’s going to burn the whole city down. Fire is bad–fire shouldn’t be here. There aren’t any firemen to put out the fire, so I should make it snow. I should put it out, huh? It might come over here, and that boy might burn up–”
“I have to leave, Maureen,” Junior said hastily, dashing back to Virgil’s room. She followed after a bewildered exclamation. “I have to find the others–my friends. I have to–! Find a doctor–I need to–dammit!”
“Maybe it’s too late? Maybe your friends didn’t do it, and they aren’t there? They shouldn’t have played with matches, huh? That’s what some kids did, back when it was normal, and they burned down this building near the river–I saw them do it. There were people that died in there, because it was they’re home–”
“Maureen, I need to ask you a really big–big favor. I need you to stay with him, all right? He’s asleep, and I can’t wake him up–”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t stay here. What if he’s mean to me? He was mean to me, he was saying things to me–”
“He won’t, I promise,” Junior said in a rush, patting his pockets for some paper and his pencil. He quickly scratched out a note, folding it in half. “I need to go find my friends–! If he says anything mean to you, I’ll–I’ll sock him. I’ll wallop him good for you, all right? But I need you to stay with him–!”
“I CAN’T!” Maureen cried. “I can’t, I’m scared!”
“PLEASE! Just give him this note if he wakes up–! I can’t wait any longer!” Junior said, pushing the note into her hands as she protested. He turned and left the room, hearing her run after him. He couldn’t spare anymore time convincing her, and sank through the floor, her startled words cut off shortly. Descending until he reached the first level, Junior solidified and raced out the front emergency room doors. The smell of smoke and burning rubber was intense. It made him choke–he hesitated as he coughed into his hands, pulling the collar of his shirt up around his nose and mouth.
The fire was spreading much too fast: he began reconsidering his choice in leaving the pair back in the hospital. He looked up at the sky, bewildered at how the cold allowed the fire to rage in such an uncontrolled manner. Then he thought of Hotstreak–it had to have been caused by him. But why? Why so intense?
He started forward, only to stop once he realized the shadows were moving. In human forms, they shuffled toward him from the darkness around him, making him cry out with frustration.
But when the forms appeared within the glow of the fire’s light, he froze, eyes widening. Horror had his chest clenching, his mind whirling madly as he processed the various undead forms. His left eye twitched as he took in the scanty mini-skirts, the thigh-high boots and stockings. The low-cut shirts and the baggy sweats. Their clothing varied, some dressed normally than others, but their faces gave it all away. He took in the dirty and clumped hair, the over exaggerated makeup.
Helpless rage overrode his common sense, and his thoughts whirled with murder and madness as their hoarse voices called his name, taunting him with their sexual innuendos and lewd actions. They were undead, but they were unlike any other zombies he’d ever encountered. And rather than invoke his annoyance, they invoked a rage he’d thought was long buried and contained.
His teeth snapped together and his jaw clenched, his skin heating with his rising fury. Disgust built up as he took in their scanty attire, their bright fabrics. Thin faces, puffy eyes, round bodies, skinny frames–the undead prostitutes varied in appearance and forms, but they were what they were.
His fingers were trembling as they clenched, and his left eye twitched more violently than before as utter disgust and hatred worked their violent ways through his body. His thoughts on the others and the situation that threatened them were replaced by his loathing for the women.
Metal replaced his human skin as he used the energy that he’d taken from his absorption of the metal in the wheelchair. Mindless rage caused him to grow blind to everything else, and the superhuman urge to kill/destroy overtook him.
* - * - * - * - *
Richie woke with a sputter, water soaking his jacket and hair. The unexpected jolt of liquid caused confusion as he woke from unconsciousness. As he slowly came to his senses, coughing from inhaling water, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Staring at him with mixed expressions of satisfaction and undisguised dislike was the man in black and Harley Williams. Richie startled as he registered their presence, jerking back in reflex and finding his hands caught. He looked up, squinting as he realized that the reason for his position was that he’d been handcuffed, a hemp rope knotted around the chain, holding his arms aloft. The rope led up toward the ceiling, was looped over a metal beam and held in place by another man in military fatigues.
Feeling entirely alarmed and confused, Richie blinked water away from his lashes as he looked around him. They were in a dark, dank room that smelled of rot, a chain link fence encircling the center of the room, the walls and floor made out of concrete. There was a two way mirror just beyond the chain link fence on his right, and a single metal door that was open beyond Harley, revealing a dark hallway. Below him was a single strip of metal grating–where a drainpipe loomed, dark and ominous. The drain tunnel was stained with black rusty coloring, of which he didn’t want to guess the contents.
His blood ran cold as he looked back at the man in black and Harley, his chest constricting with fear as he struggled to compose himself. He looked around hastily for Hotstreak, but the man wasn’t anywhere in sight. He had no idea where he was, or what had happened between the attack of the Dark Men and now.
“I hope you slept well,” the man in black murmured, setting a half empty bottle of water down at his feet. “Because that’s all the sleep you’re going to be getting for some time.”
“Where’s Hotstreak?” Richie demanded, hating how his voice cracked. “Where am I? What are you doing? What’s this room? Where did–?”
“Not ah ah…no more questions from you, mister. From now on, you’ll only provide answers. TRUE answers,” the man in black admonished, giving him a scowl. “I’m still a little sore in that you’d lied to me. I absolutely hate it when people lie to me.”
Richie scowled back, jerking at the bonds that kept his arms in place. He looked at Harley, pining the man with a glare. “Where’s Hotstreak?”
Harley merely glared back, crossing his muscular arms with an obvious twitch in them. His jaw was visibly clenched, his dark eyes narrowing with promise.
The man in black drew Richie’s attention once more, the man sidling up to the teen. It took him a moment to register both the pain and surprise when the man’s open palm cracked against his jaw. “I said, no more questions! As for your companion, we’ve no idea. You were brought here, alone. Does that satisfy you for now?”
“Why’d you hit me?! What was that for? What are you going to do–?” Richie’s angry questions were cut off with another slap to the face, this one knocking his head painfully to the side.
“I said no more.” The man in black scowled at him, nodding at the other man that held the rope.
When Richie realized that his arms were being pulled tight, forcing his arms to stretch upward, he grimaced, stretching his foot toward the floor in frantic effort for support. When the toes of his shoes scraped atop of the grating, his body pulled painfully upward by his arms, he groaned. The rope was tied off on the section of the fence the man stood against, and he was dismissed with a nod from the man in black.
Panting from the painful position, Richie squinted at the remaining men as the door slammed shut. The man in black looked smug as he stepped back, slowly crossing his arms.
“Now…there are a few things that we need to discuss,” he said smoothly, his voice ringing within the room. “And your cooperation is greatly appreciated. I’ll not lie to you, or coddle you–I’m letting you know now that I am fiercely angry at your lie from earlier. You’ve embarrassed me in front of my colleagues–I’ll need to save face. As for Mr. Williams here…I believe his revenge is his own reasoning for joining me. I believe you angered him in some way as well.”
Richie glared over at Harley, his toes scraping desperately at the floor in an effort to find some footing. The pain in his arms was wrenching, and he struggled in a futile manner as the man in black turned away from him. “I’m not going to answer anything!” he spit. “You’ll get nothing from me! There’s no way I’m going to listen to either of you! No one tells me what to do, and there’s nothing you can do otherwise!”
The man in black stilled, lips quirked. He reached out to stop Harley, the man itching to exact his exasperation at the teen’s stubborn words. He turned to face the blond, who gave him a stubborn look–still trying to toe the floor in an effort to relieve the pain in his upper torso. “Do you remember that day? When I’d expressed what I could do to you if you refused, or defied me?”
Richie remembered, and he remembered his reaction. But he stubbornly held his chin, steadily growing scared at the situation. He shot the man in black a defiant expression in response.
“Well…I plan to demonstrate. You see, there’s information that we need, that we lack in our own intelligence, and we need to borrow yours. Alva’s whelp conveniently destroyed what studies he’d had on Mr. Stone, and Mr. Williams here can only provide so much–you, meanwhile, have files upon files stored within that head of yours! Not only on Mr. Stone, but on the other particular characters that you have sullied yourself with. Convenient, easy to access and utterly limitless. I know you, Mr. Foley. I’ve known your past persona. There’s nothing that escapes your studies, and there’s nothing that can escape your need for knowledge and understanding. This makes you a prime and ample storage bin of fascination!”
“…So? I’m still not going to tell you anything!”
The man in black frowned, coming up close. He opened his mouth to continue his threats when Richie kicked out, catching the man in the groin. Even Harley winced, but the man in black did nothing in reaction. Richie drew his foot back with a sort of surprised expression, the man in black frowning once more. “You can’t hurt me, Mr. Foley. I am impervious to your pathetic physical actions. But you’ll regret that–I’m the sure the action, when given in kind to your own stoutly frame, will be something different.”
“‘I’m’ pathetic?! It’s taking two of you to perform your little interrogation! Two big, muscleheaded men with nothing better to do than gang up on the shorter, and I might add, much better looking nerd! Wow, absolutely pathetic!”
Harley snorted. “‘Better looking’…fucking stupid.”
The man in black smiled thinly. “I’ve learned that when you insult Mr. Williams and the subject of his looks, he gets very offended. You might want to watch your words in the future.”
“He would. If I looked like him, I’d be offended looking in the mirror, too.”
The next smile was a little more affectionate. Richie scowled at him, feeling wholly disturbed by that particular expression. The strain and stretch in his upper torso was definitely distracting him from his focus.
The man in black clasped his hands together as he stepped back. He looked at Harley. “Let’s begin, shall we? The only request that I ask is that you do NOT deliver any killing blows. You may bruise, break, burn, cut, and twist–you may pull, pinch, rip and scratch. But I cannot heal death.”
Richie looked at Harley with a horrified expression, remembering the Polaroids in the basement. Harley looked entirely gleeful as the man in black gestured at him to get started. A cold sweat broke out on the blond’s skin as he watched the twisted smile cross the brunette’s lips, the eager glint in his eyes as he focused on the teen.
* - * - * - * - *
In the world of the Saved, Robert Hawkins stared down at the photograph of his preteen son. Beyond his vision, the tall green Martian continued his calm drone over the recent findings of their investigation into the Missing, but all Robert could register was the young features of his son. Once he’d heard that the Justice League could not figure out why millions had disappeared within one day, Robert had tuned him out. His son had been so angry when they’d last seen each other, that enough time had passed in that Robert began blaming himself for not reacting in a different manner. If he’d just gave Virgil more attention…if he’d gotten him help sooner…if he’d just let him find the killers–but at the same time, he felt frustration in that Virgil couldn’t see beyond his own anger and helplessness to see that what he’d done was wrong.
He closed his eyes and yearned for the ability to turn back time. He’d give anything for the chance to see his son again–the fact that he’d only disappeared, that there wasn’t definite proof of his death gave him little hope. But enough in that Robert believed there was still a chance he’d see Virgil again. Jean was completely gone–her death was more definite. But Virgil’s situation was different; there was still hope.
Something shifted at the corner of his eye, and he lifted his head, expecting to see another hero standing nearby. But there wasn’t nothing there–his eyes caught onto the photo he had on a shelf, one of his wife. It took him a few moments, but he realized that J’onn had stopped speaking as well. A glance at the Martian told him that he had seen something; Robert lowered the photo he had of Virgil, and exhaled heavily.
* - * - * - * - *
The soldiers were careful to avoid the crazed battle outside of the hospital–their cargo was quickly and quietly deposited around the area. Though their expressions and thoughts on the items left on the empty streets were bewildered, they dared not question the man in black. From within the shadows around the area, the remaining six Bad Men watched the deposits, the Seventh giving a low snort.
“He means to resort to parlor tricks?” he growled softly, leatherless wings fluttering noisily behind him.
“There is a reason behind them,” the Sixth said quietly. “The human mind is weak–it’ll play tricks once it has the knowledge.”
“Tricks are nothing more than a joke!” the Seventh raged, wings folding sharply against his back. “He still plays with them, and regards the whole situation as he would with a game!”
“Don’t fret,” the Fourth whispered to the bundle in its arms. “He is only looking out for our own good.”
Before the Seventh could question the Fourth’s reasoning, the Third cut in with, “I count only two within the hospital. The Murderer and the Star. The Magician is much too crazed for us to approach. His strength lies in his insanity.”
“The Murderer knows we are here,” the Fifth murmured. “She can hear us when others cannot. Her cold scares us. Much like fire.”
“The First is playing with the Inventor. The Hero amuses himself. The Illusionist awaits his true love. His shadows confuse even us, and he is aware of us. His years as a demon keeps him clever.”
“The Sheep approaches,” the Fourth added. “Along with the Wizard. The Hanging Man is alone, but his fire is much too frightening. The Knight, the Ghoul In Disguise, The Queen, and the Coward are still lost to us.”
The Seventh regarded their reports, his expressionless face giving away nothing of his thoughts. But as he turned to them, it was obvious he was still displeased. The Seventh snapped, “Your cowardice disgusts me! We are demons! We are gifted with the abilities that enable us to kill even those that are blessed! Yet all of you squander your talents with excuses!”
“We cannot act out of line---!”
“I will see you all burn in your excuses, and I will do as I was created to do,” the Seventh snapped, turning away from them to leap onto the street below.
The Fourth rocked the blanketed bundle in its arms, cooing softly. The Sixth gave the others a worried expression.
* - * - * - * - *
Virgil awoke with a start, inhaling sharply as his drool clung to his face. The drugs in his system left him groggy and off-balance–but he was aware that he wasn’t alone, and that something was utterly wrong. His name was called, an urgent whisper that had awareness tingling throughout his every limb and consciousness. The powerful instinct to obey the insistent whispering had him lifting his head, sluggishly pulling himself into a sitting position. He swallowed thickly, the ringing noise in his head being that of his mother’s whispers. Wanting to obey her command, half-asleep, Virgil pulled his foot. The pain in that movement had him shouting aloud, startled painfully awake and startling his companion.
Once he realized the smell of smoke, his eyes widened. Maureen flung Junior’s note at him as she quickly left the room, too frightened of him to linger. Confused at her presence, Virgil grabbed the note before it fell to the floor, and registered that he was still bleeding despite the bandaging. Alarmed that the effort had done nothing to stop the bleeding, Virgil gaped at his wound before scowling at the door. He opened the note anyway, reading that Junior had left him to find Richie and Hotstreak–the police station was on fire and was quickly spreading.
Virgil moved as quickly as he could in his pained state–he held onto the bed for support, cursing and panting the whole way as his foot throbbed in tremendous discomfort. He began coughing on the smoke that filtered into the room, the sound of flames loud beyond the door. Wholly frightened that the building was on fire, Virgil hobbled away from his bed and used the wall for support. Maureen was standing nearby, fretting as she looked at him and at the floor.
“Where’s Junior?!” he demanded, growing aware that the building was rapidly heating.
“I don’t know!” she shrieked, blue tipped fingers clutching her hair. “He said he was looking for somebody–he left me alone! I didn’t want to be left alone! I said I’d put the fire out!”
“Do it, then! What you waiting for? Somebody to hold your damn hand?!” Virgil shouted in exasperation, waving at her. “You gotta job to do, don’t wait for somebody to tell you! Get on with it, girl, and put that fire out before we both die!”
Maureen nodded hastily, then ran down the hall before Virgil could question her on Junior’s time of leave. Cursing, he hobbled through the rooms, searching for medical supplies. He found an examination room full of the needed items, and spent some time unwrapping his wound, examining the damage. After he’d re-wrapped and taped his foot, he left the room hastily, finding that extreme cold had taken over the rising warmth. He made his way to the window, looking out to see scorched and blackened buildings–skeletal structures that looked sadly gloomy within the thickly falling snow.
But he marveled over the way Maureen converted the extreme heat and flame into ice and snow–the girl did it easily, with nothing more than a furrow in her brow as she focused on the skies, white hair whipping around her shoulders. After a few minutes, Virgil’s teeth began chattering noisily and his breath emerged as white clouds. Hugging himself, Virgil opened his mouth to call out a stop to the girl’s actions when he heard the screams.
Maureen must have heard them at the same time, for she paused in her actions, head tilted. The immense silence of cold and snow enabled them to hear the screaming more distinctly. Combined with the women’s shrieking, Junior’s enraged cries of hate and fury rang throughout the hospital halls. Virgil was struck still at the violence that coated every word, the utter loathing–it sent chills up and down his spine as he heard the former counselor rant and rave over prostitutes in general.
Maureen tossed him a worried expression, unsure of what to do as Virgil gave her a similar expression.
“He by himself?” he asked quietly, jolted by a particular stream of hate that filtered from the man’s mouth. Virgil cast a glance out the window, determining that the man was somewhere nearby, but the overhang of the hospital’s lower wards prevented him from seeing him.
“…Yes. He…He wasn’t like that when he left,” Maureen murmured, clutching her jacket tightly. “He wasn’t mean.”
Virgil listened, and realized that the women’s shrieking was jilted. Numerous. He recognized the sounds of battle, and hastily examined his own bandaging before gesturing at the wheelchair nearby. His powers were weak, but they were much stronger than they had been earlier. Thankful for some of his talent, he drew the wheelchair close to him, straining with the effort. Maureen watched him cautiously as he plopped himself onto the chair and wheeled himself toward the stairway. With no other choice, she followed at a distance.