Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Watch The Sky ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for children under 17
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.27.2007 | Updated On: 04.09.2007 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 238 | Status: Completed
Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for children under 17
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 03.27.2007 | Updated On: 04.09.2007 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.7K | Visits: 238 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS! Dwayne McDuffie and WB and Milestone do in...their various ways.
Warning: profanity, darkness, slash, Character death, OOC
Chapter Eight
Static pressed both hands against his nose as he glided into the Metabreed’s hideout. He dared not leave his disc, not wanting to ruin any evidence a forensics team may need to sift through the mess of footprints that were visible. Hotstreak had been right–the bodies were rotting horribly within the underground area. It made his eyes burn, his stomach to lurch. Pausing just inside the doorway, he forced himself to breathe in through his mouth, but that didn’t dispel the odor. It just made it worse, in that he was actually tasting the stench. It permeated everything that he was wearing and seared itself in his brain. He coughed and gagged a few times, trying to compose himself.
When he looked up, he saw that everything looked rather normal for a hideout. While he was surprised that Ebon would hold his headquarters within the sewers, thinking that the man would do better for himself and his crew, he was struck frozen at the sight of Kangorr’s large feet sticking out of a very small drainpipe. He had to gape, wondering in bewilderment how the metahuman could have gotten in there. The opening had been much too small for a human to fit into–
Before he could venture closer to investigate, he caught the sight of Talon’s bright orange feathers. The stench was hideous at this close proximity, and he found himself not wanting to look. But he forced himself forward. Feathers were in disarray around the body, and it was strange–as he came closer, he had the feeling that instead of losing them in a struggle, the metahuman had been plucked. From her upper right arm down toward the center of her back, every feather plucked from her body revealed dimpled pink skin–there was something hideous about that image, one that made Static’s stomach curl. Her cause of death was a twisted neck; her head had been twisted so horribly that skin stretched into abnormal length and bones protruded from within the thinly stretched layer to appear scattered within–once he realized he was staring at her bloated face atop of the back of her shoulders, he gagged.
Holding an arm up over his nose, he regained his composure. His mind was racing over what he was seeing, thinking in panicked thought to remember why he was here in the first place. The silence was so thick–things were so still. Static looked around himself, noting that there wasn’t any blood. Whoever had killed them had–but hadn’t they mentioned Shiv, as well?
His brow furrowed curiously, and he left Talon’s body to venture over to Kangorr’s. His face reflected his puzzlement as he paused, staring at his large feet. He didn’t understand how the man had been drawn inside...there was just no way that it was possible. He didn’t want to think of how the man looked while inside, wincing as he turned away to look for Shiv. There was a definite sensation of not wanting to complete the task. He had all the evidence he needed–the three were dead, and by violent, gruesome means. But where was Ebon? Why hadn’t Ebon come forward rather than Hotstreak and Puff?
The smell was getting to him, making him sick and dizzy. He swallowed repeatedly and found that a bad idea, feeling the instant rush of bile climb his throat. He paused in mid-step to spit, wincing as acid curled over his tongue and teeth. As he was spitting, something scraped against the floor. It made him jerk in reflexive action, looking up to scan the area with narrowed eyes. As seconds passed, he began to realize that he had no idea if he’d even heard the sound in the first place. But his neck began to crawl, and he grew aware of a steady inhale/exhale sound that made goosepimples rise up on his flesh. Standing motionless for several seconds, he determined that he was only hearing gas being released nearby. It had given him enough time to judge the deaths of both Talon and Kangorr, coming to a conclusion that their manner of deaths was in no way possible by the twins.
However, it bothered him that the metahumans were aware of Osgoode helping him–the fact that they were now familiar with the teen sent a troubled wave of insecurity through Virgil.
He started to leave when Hotstreak barged in, covering his nose. He looked at Static accusingly, Puff and Onyx following immediately after. All of them looked wholly disturbed, and looked in his direction for some form of justice. Feeling immediately uncomfortable for this situation, conflicted by so many things, Static shook his head. He gestured at Kangorr.
“I truly don’t think they killed them,” he started off slow, skepticism clear in his tone. He had to wince, noticing that his voice seemed supremely loud within the still silence. He noted with some beguilement that the trio clung close together–all of them looked immensely troubled and...scared. It was distracting to note that the three, so gung-ho in life and against obstacles, were as frightened as he was. “That’s not humanly possible! Think about it–Kangorr is–was–definitely more stronger than those two, even if you put them together. And that pipe–there’s no way they could have done so by any means I’m aware of!”
“But they did it!” Hotstreak insisted, looking irritated. He glanced around with a momentary expression of trouble, taking a second longer to study the shadows beyond the lit area. “They were the last ones to see them alive! Yeah, that’s...a little weird, but they did it!”
“Where’s Ebon?” Static questioned.
All of them looked at each other, then shrugged. “We don’t know. We haven’t heard from him, either,” Puff confessed. Her expression was uneasy. “But then again, we only saw this. We didn’t go looking for him...and it couldn’t have been him! Even if he thought they were nuisances, Ebon ain’t capable of killing his own people.”
“He wouldn’t just let this go, either,” Hotstreak added, looking determinedly away from the corpses. He nodded at the car. “You seen Shiv?”
“N–no. I...didn’t get that far.”
“I...I guess it wouldn’t be possible that they’d have done that, either,” Puff muttered, looking at the floor. “Shiv, he–I don’t know. I don’t know of any humans that would...that would do that.”
“Anyway, it don’t matter. Probably run home cryin’ to your momma if you seen Shiv, anyway,” Hotstreak scoffed, but he didn’t venture close to the car, either. He looked wholly uncomfortable making that mocking comment, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.
Static really didn’t want to look in the car to see what made the pair so uncomfortable. He was frowning heavily as he withdrew the radio Osgoode had constructed for direct communication with the police chief. “I’ll...call this in. And I’ll look for Ebon. The twins will be questioned–but I don’t think they did this.”
“Unless they’re metas, too!” Puff shouted. “What if they’re metas just like us?!”
“Yeah!”
Static bit his lower lip. He wanted to negate it immediately, for the twins hadn’t been around during the Big Bang. “I’ll check on that, too. The full story needs to be investigated. I’m sure justice will be found in any event. Please...so the police could conduct their investigations...please leave.”
The trio muttered amongst themselves as they left without argument, somewhat satisfied that something would be done for their friends’ deaths. Static watched them leave, feeling entirely bothered by the situation. The twins’ not having any memory of this weekend truly bothered him; the fact that Osgoode was kidnaped just to get close to him; the fact that the trio’s deaths were so elaborate and brutal...something just wasn’t right.
01010011
Later that evening, Static watched a detective question the twins separately. Something pounded upon him as no recollection of the weekend turned into a wholly believable story of Richard running off with a boy he’d met at a club that gave him no identification, and Osgoode confirming that he’d found his brother the day after. Afterward, the pair of them had purchased rentals at a local DVD store, staying in Sunday while their mother and father rested after the frantic search for Richard and Osgoode. The store even confirmed purchases at the time given. It made his stomach twist as he started to question himself over their truth in the situation.
He also began debating over himself on whether or not they made up this story to protect Osgoode and Virgil–after all, no one but Robert Hawkins and a select few knew Static’s true identity. It also wasn’t confirmed that Osgoode assisted Static in the background–there were only metahumans that claimed this, yet those very same metahumans were wanted for other situations and didn’t bother with turning themselves in for questioning, for fear of being held over previous charges.
It was a tense and difficult situation, but when the parents came by–Sean and Maggie clearly upset at being called to the police station and given the details of the situation–they, too, went with their sons’ story. Which only upset Static even further–Maggie had clearly stated the night before that she’d no idea where her boys were this weekend. Why would she lie? How could she have known their stories and coincided perfectly with them?
Or were the twins just telling him lies all along?
Static’s head was pounding fiercely by the time the Foley family was released. News of the deaths had already gone into effect, and witnesses were being called forward for any details of the situation that had happened this weekend. Details of their deaths were being released, and the city of Dakota was frantic and startled over the gruesome acts that had been committed. Cries for Static to investigate and search for the killers commenced. He felt overwhelmed.
Heading home that night, he struggled to come up with excuses and explanations Osgoode may have had in order to give his lies so easily–to lie so easily to him, as well.
That next day, as he was getting ready for school, the police chief called for Static. The situation was ‘urgent’.
Static arrived on scene near one of the city’s morgues, where police kept the media at bay. The back alley was crawling with activity, with focus set near the Dumpster against one wall. The forensics team looked somewhat relieved as he entered, feeling a little overwhelmed by the situation he was being placed in. He’d never investigated murders and the like, before. All he’d ever done was put a stop to criminals robbing banks, destroying parks...never death. Static didn’t feel too good with the enormous responsibility he was put into, now. He hovered slowly toward the police chief, Barkin’s expression both disturbed and relieved.
He held up a note held in a plastic baggie, Static taking it with a curious expression.
“‘I am responsible for the deaths of Talon, Shiv and Kangorr. I lost my temper. They wouldn’t comply with my orders,’” Static mumbled to himself as he read the note. He shook his head incredulously as he finished reading it. Things like ‘regret’, ‘sincerely’ ‘goodbye’ didn’t fit the letter. The words he read didn’t fit the voice of the man that he’d faced regularly. It just didn’t seem real. “...This...this is...?”
“Ebon,” Barkin confirmed, turning away to point. Static followed his line of vision, and saw the pair of shadowy legs sticking out from behind a Dumpster. The coroner had arrived and was preparing the stretcher while the forensics team worked carefully. The unzipping of the body bag seemed to shriek over the harried noises of the media and gaping bystanders. Static winced. “Suicide.”
Static felt his stomach drop, and he blearily focused on Barkin. “...How...?”
“Well, considering the gas’s effects on his body, we can’t really tell at this point. It’s being treated as homicide until an autopsy has been complete.” Barkin looked at Static with a sense of relief. “Explains many things. I was afraid that there was to be another dangerous human being with which the city would have panicked over. It would make sense–Ebon was a control freak, and he perhaps lost his temper. The gas has had many negative effects on various souls. He probably did something completely out of character, and snapped.”
“Yeah,” Static mumbled, giving him the baggie. It just didn’t feel right. It just didn’t feel as if it were Ebon that had caused those deaths. There was just something so incredibly wrong with the entire situation, but solution avoided him due to lack of proper information. “Will you...will you let me know the cause of death before the media gets a hold of it?”
“Sure.” Barkin nodded at him, then turned away to supervise the body being loaded onto the stretcher. Static watched with a heavy expression, noting that even in death, Ebon’s shadowy form was hard to distinguish against the shadows. The very fact that the proud man was dead made Static feel lost. From his point of view, suicide just didn’t fit the man–the situation just screamed ‘wrong’.
01010011
Osgoode stared out at the shadows of their backyard, lost in thought. He felt so much anger swirling within him that he didn’t trust himself amongst his family. Richard was avoiding him completely, choosing to hover anxiously with his parents. Osgoode felt somewhat relieved in that; he knew that without a doubt, if he had a chance, he’d take out his frustrations and anger on his brother. Past experience guaranteed this.
Everything was wrong–and he knew it was. He knew Static/Virgil was having problems with the confirmation of deaths that swamped the media channels at this point–it was an overwhelming situation. But what the media didn’t know, or had the chance to confirm was the Foley twins’ involvement. Those that truly knew that side of the story refused to come forward, as previous charges would be handed to them upon custody. It was an agreeable situation for both Osgoode and Richard in that aspect.
But he was angry that Static took the side of the metahumans. He was angry that Static questioned him. He was also very jealous, very certain that Virgil had interest in his brother, and that Richard’s lies didn’t seem so much like lies anymore. Virgil wanted to ‘bag’ one of them was growing into a true situation. Catching him in Richard’s room was a confirmation–Virgil playing it off as if he’d seen ‘something’ made Osgoode even more angry.
He was aware that They were about–but no one else ever saw Them. Sean and Maggie had never done so, and always looked blank whenever he and his brother tried to explain to them who ‘They’ were. Why would Virgil see Them? It just seemed wholly unlikely.
Osgoode was also troubled over his parents. He and his brother had conspired together while they were ‘detained’, and had come up with the story they’d given the detective. They were given enough time to do so, and it was to protect Static’s identity from being revealed. But while he anticipated his parents being involved in the questioning, the fact that both Sean and Maggie confirmed their made-up details was...amazing. Osgoode and Richard hadn’t any time to talk to them personally to explain their side. It was as if...as if the lost time had been nothing but a dream. The more he thought over the situation, the more it started to fit. It felt as if that was what had happened, rather than the lack of recollection.
When he tried to ask why they had come up with the confirming details, Sean and Maggie had looked at him in confusion. That was what happened, they insisted in their bewildered way. But Richard looked troubled as well, just as lost as he in how their parents knew. It had come to a point where both teens weren’t sure what had happened this weekend–if their lack of memory had been a shared lie, a dream.
Osgoode startled once he realized that he wasn’t alone. Osgoode lifted his head to peer around himself, looking for any sign of Static or a metahuman. He could hear Sean lecturing his brother inside over the use of glass versus the carton, and his mother cooking in the kitchen. How this person managed to elude his previous sense of awareness bothered him, but he grew more interested in learning who it was rather than anything more.
He didn’t see anything. The shadows, though dark, were revealing. Looking up, he couldn’t see any sign of Static or his disc. He knew that Ebon had been found dead. There weren’t any other metas out there that could sneak up on a person in this way–Osgoode felt the uneasy sense of being studied, examined for problems.
It felt odd that he was regarded in this manner, and something tickled the back of his mind. Feeling disturbed, he turned and walked into the house, carefully shutting the door behind him. When he lifted his eyes to peer through the glass, he saw only his reflection. What startled him was the flash of white where slate should have been. When he blinked rapidly, his eyes returned to normal. He caught sight of Maggie looking at him curiously from the kitchen, and turned away from the sliding door to head upstairs.
“You are unsettled,” the voices said. “Your agitation and aggressive worries us. You will need to come with us, soon.”
‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’ he thought fiercely as he stomped his way up the stairs. It felt as if something was touching his back as he moved, an unsettling feeling that stayed with him as he slammed his way into his room. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’
“Your emotions are too high. Rest,” the voices murmured, much to his irritation.
“I don’t need to rest!” he snarled angrily, hitting his bed. “I don’t need that!”
“Settle down,” They hissed. “Do not draw attention to yourself. We are working on it. It will be fixed.”
“What will? What’s going to be fixed?!”
“The situation was grave, for a few moments. We were almost discovered. Had we not fixed the situation, it would not be as it is,” They murmured. At that, Osgoode knew that They had been the cause of the bewildering mess. “We will need to see you, again. We will come for you as we always do. You will let us in.”
“NO!” Osgoode shouted fiercely. “Leave us alone! Don’t bother us!”
“You cannot deny us. We will come. This city is tainted with too much activity. We will need to move yet again.”
“NO!” Osgoode protested, thinking immediately of Virgil. “No, I don’t want to!”
But the voices were silent. Breathing heavily, more fiercely irritated than before in that a decision had been made without his choice, Osgoode stared at the dent he’d put into his bed.
01010011
Richard clutched his pillow tight, struggling to breathe. The knocking just wouldn’t stop. His eyes shot toward the clock atop of his nightstand, seeing that it was nearly five a.m. At exactly two twenty the knocking had begun, and he’d lain in the same stiff position as he had when it started. He felt exhausted as he listened to the continuous knocking, fearful for what lingered outside his door. He wondered if Osgoode was all right–if his twin had given Them the invitation.
Sometimes, only one of them was taken–but he wouldn’t know if he couldn’t hear his brother’s door opening over the knocking. He shivered, drawing the blankets over his head, trying to muffle the sounds. He wished that They would just go away. He froze when the knocking stopped, his ears straining for indication of their next movement. When the door opened, creaking slightly, he felt as if he were punched in the gut. He hadn’t given the invitation–what gave Them the right to come in? He wanted to look up to see if it were Osgoode, but he didn’t hear the rushing of his twin’s feet, or the panicked hitch of his breath. He didn’t feel Osgoode’s presence–Richard trembled, squeezing his eyes shut as he heard the soft sweep of feet over carpet. He could feel Them more intensely, could feel Them looking down at him from around his bed. There was more than one. He could hear Them breathing, a steady change of sound that varied from each body.
He could barely breathe on his own, his chest tight with fear, his knuckles white as he gripped his blankets. His body was gripped with paralyzation, and once he realized he couldn’t move of his own accord, Richard felt sheer terror grip him tightly. The blankets were pulled away from his curled fingers. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of his room. He could see four forms standing around his bed–two on one side, two on the other. They were all looking down at him, quiet. Their silence was much more frightening than their knocking. He couldn’t breathe deeply or quickly enough, unable to wrest his eyes from the ones standing on his right.
He couldn’t see if Osgoode was with Them. Then, as what felt familiar, his body began moving without his permission. He rose into a sitting position, his skin chilly and his mind racing with fear as They allowed him room to rise. He couldn’t look at Them closely–They wouldn’t let him. They smelled of cold rubber, their bodies radiating cold rather than heat. He walked with Them out of his room, the four guiding him through the darkness silently. But beyond that silence he could hear a persistent knocking that seemed to echo throughout his mind. They still hadn’t gotten to Osgoode, yet–but it bothered him that They’d come into his room without invitation. They weren’t supposed to do that.
The darkness turned into a long, narrow corridor. His vision suddenly turned perfect, yet he knew his glasses were still atop of the nightstand where he’d left them the night before. His skin prickled with apprehension and fear, feeling one of Them touch his back in a sort of reassuring gesture. The touch moved from his back to the earring he’d left in his ear–the fingers felt rubbery and grotesquely slimy against his earlobe. The corridor was faintly lit, globules on the wall lighting the wall and ceiling. Even as his body moved without his permission, bare feet reacting to the cold feeling of metal against his skin, his eyes moved wildly from side to side. The man-forms were taller than him–their heads were square-shaped, with features that looked sloppy; as if their heads were clay and a pair of hands had pushed them inward to create a lump of deformed properties.
Their bodies were slender, their arms overly long. Their hands were square-shaped, fingers all the same length. Their legs didn’t move when they walked–which made Richard wonder how it was he could hear their footsteps; it was as if they were gliding atop of the floor. One looked back at him, its features a mess of lumps in which he couldn’t tell the expression. His heart pounded wildly in fear, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking.
“Your brother is being difficult,” it said with that array of childish voices. “He won’t let us in.”
Richard couldn’t think of returning conversation, or offering excuses. The four led him into a particular room that was colored in what seemed to be rust. It marred the walls in grotesque formations, as if it were alive and crawling along the space in some strange quest. His body stepped within the center of the room, and the four turned to leave him. Except one turned, reaching out to straighten his pjs with a sense of motherly distraction before it left. Trembling, Richard stared at the rust colors that marred the walls, straining his ears for any sense of direction or identification of the place he was in. He couldn’t quite grasp the situation he was in–it was much too bizarre to be a dream, and much too familiar to be new.
The corridors whistled with some unfamiliar sound–metal creaked and protested under unseen weight. He felt wholly alone and vulnerable; helpless and insignificant. Hugging himself, he heard the rustle of movement on the walls around him, rust shifting from splotch to splotch upon the wall like some living thing.
“Hello, Richard.” The voice was familiar to him–as familiar to him as that of his parents’, or his brother’s. He turned to see another new form enter the room, trailed by several smaller forms that resembled the first. Their grimacing features startled him, their small forms recognizable. They were the ones he’d seen from the corner of his eye–the ones that opened and closed doors angrily when dismissed. The speaker was taller than him–standing nearly six feet tall. Its features were recognizable–the large black eyes, the slits for a mouth and nose, the translucent skin...it radiated a sense of calmness and knowledge as it paused before him. Its body was covered in a fitting black body suit, leaving only its head and hands visible. “Where is your brother?”
Richard didn’t know if he should speak, or even if he could. He stared at the newcomer with fear, too scared to move. This thing, this creature–its very presence was to be feared. No matter how worldly it seemed, or how intelligent it spoke, this being caused alarm and fear with just its very words. It was capable of so many things, even while radiating a sense of calm with its words. He was terribly afraid of it; he hated being alone with it. He felt tremendously chilly–but his eyes watered out of reaction to the dry air, his nostrils tingling with every inhale.
“I don’t know, Harold,” he heard himself say, his voice giving away nothing of his panicked fear. “He won’t get up. I didn’t give the others permission to come into my room.”
“I told them to disregard your wishes,” ‘Harold’ said calmly, and Richard had the impression that the being was giving him a stern expression. The overly large almond-shaped eyes stared at him in a piercing way, unblinking. They were so unnerving that for a few moments, those black orbs were all that he saw. He found it impossible to move, gripped with paralyzing fear that began to turn into a sickening sense of weakness. Even if his limbs wouldn’t move of his own command, they started to tremble even violently with fear.
When Harold spoke again, Richard felt himself jerk in startled action. “I found it urgent that I see the both of you...in regards to the incident of earlier.”
“That’s not fair,” Richard spoke in a clipped manner. His knees knocked together. “We were assured a choice.”
“I found reason to override that choice, Richard. For that, I do not apologize. I do not like it when I have to discipline our children. I do not like interfering with life as it is known down there. But I will. When I find it necessary, I will interfere without your permission. Your genes are valuable in our research, and We need them intact. To be threatened by some invaluable source of life assures its pitiful death. I will do whatever it is that is necessary to protect the information that has been stored within your body. But your brother interfered, causing us to clean up his mess yet again. This displeases Us.”
“You’re scary. And the others are scary. I wish you’d just leave us alone!” Richard murmured, hearing himself speak so childishly that it made him wince. It was almost as if he were young again, a child of three or four.
Harold studied him with that expressionless face of his. His long hands reached for his head, the smaller beings trembling around the pair of them with titters of nervousness. When the mask was pulled away, Richard couldn’t look away from the horrifying features of Harold’s true face. Nearly human with its skeletal structure, but lacking lips, nose, eyelids, hair and ears, Harold’s ‘unfinished’ face gave him a start. His revealed gums were bleeding red, his teeth cracked and faintly yellow. His skin had a sagging quality to it–it was riddled with acne around his sunken cheeks. His neck was much too thin to support his head, but it did with amazing strength. Every muscle and bone was revealed underneath its translucent skin, reddening slowly with Harold’s rising anger. The large globes of his eyes pierced him with a stern stare, revealed teeth clenched in ire. Though he lacked the features necessary, Harold glared at him in reproach.
“I cannot do that. I am in charge of supervision here,” Harold said in that toneless voice of his. “I regret having to discipline our children when they disobey.”
“Why do you have to do that? I don’t like it!” Richard cried, faintly bewildered as to why he was still speaking so childishly. The little creatures hissed from below him, all of them staring at him sharply.
Harold was silent for a few moments, lid-less eyes casting over him sharply. “Remove your shirt, please.”
“...No. I have a choice.”
“Please do not make me more angry than I am, now. Your brother has been witnessed in his bouts of abuse. We must examine the damage and prepare you for repairs.”
“...No. I won’t get him in trouble.”
“We see everything, Richard. You cannot deny what he does.”
“...Please leave me alone.”
At that moment, the four creatures of previous walked in, escorting Osgoode within their small cluster. Once spying him, Osgoode swept past them and embraced his brother tightly, disregarding the smaller forms that crowded around them, and completely ignoring Harold. Richard clung to him, feeling him shake just as fiercely as he did.
“I knew you were gone,” Osgoode whispered. “I couldn’t keep them out knowing that you were gone.”
“It’s all right, Ozzie. We’re okay, now.”
By some unseen signal the creatures, save for Harold, left the room. Noticing the other being, Osgoode slowly pulled away from his brother to look at Harold. The unfinished face stared at him in reproach, Osgoode shuddering slightly. Defiantly he snapped, “Leave us alone! We’ve done nothing wrong!”
“‘Nothing’? You conveniently forget that you’ve murdered another human being without regards to thought or consequence. You were not created to take lives needlessly. We do not like that.”
“I found it necessary to do what I had to in order to protect!” Osgoode snarled, the slate color of his eyes fading sharply to bright white. “Killing another human being does not bother me! Nor should it matter! They were scum anyway!”
“It is not acceptable. You’ve become too aggressive,” Harold admonished quietly. “Where and how you’ve learned to become aggressive is something of a problem for Us. It means that this batch has been tainted. Other Units have and or became affected by an aggressive trait that has alarmed Us. We need to keep a more careful eye on you.”
“I do what is necessary!” Osgoode snapped.
“Even now, you snap at me, like some Earth animal,” Harold murmured. His eyes flashed darkly, the room growing darker, the rust on the walls spreading violently to cover what was empty. “Your anger has no where else to go, so you release it on others–especially your brother. This is not acceptable. You know he is valuable in our research. We find it prudent to conduct tests to determine why it is you behave in such a manner that We clearly do not agree with.”
“...N-no...”
Richard clung tightly to his brother, then ordered in a trembling voice, “We need to keep our memories. You keep taking them away, and we forget who it is we’ve met, while those people remember us. Please let us keep them.”
Harold frowned, head tilting slightly in thought. “Agreeable. But it was necessary to make you forget in our efforts to rectify what had already been done. You’ll retain your memories over the previous incident, but I expect that both of you think over your actions.”
“...Thank you.”
Harold studied the pair of them for a few moments, noticing the way they clung to each other. He shook his head in regret. “It was a bad idea to splice your genes to create two individuals instead of one, as We had originally planned. Perhaps it was in the splicing of your genetic makeup in that you’ve turned out so unpredictable. Maybe it should be considered in that you should be terminated–it might be fascinating to learn how one separated individual can cope with the loss of his other self.”
Both of them stiffened at his cold words. The mere thought of the other twin missing from the other’s life was horrifying. It was a thought comparable to losing a limb, or a needed organ.
Harold’s face regarded them for a few moments, then he replaced his mask. “I’ll leave you with this threat of your termination...The testing will commence shortly–say your goodbyes. You’ll see each other in the morning.”
01010011
When they awoke, the memory of last night eluded them. They had no idea why they were curled up in their parents’ bed in fetal positions, Maggie snoring soundly as she allowed them room to sleep. But the house felt raped once more by Their presence–the empty halls were hostile, and the stillness was unnatural. It truly felt as if they were the only lives remaining in such a large city.
Once they were conscious, hands automatically lifted to staunch bloody noses–the common result of breathing in such dry, heated air. But Osgoode felt more stiff than ever–every limb felt heavy, every muscle overused and weak. His body had betrayed him, and when he discovered his soiled pajamas, he burst into tears. Mortification made him unable to comprehend why he was in that state. Richard hurriedly shushed him, saying nothing as he pushed him from the bed with a quick glance at Maggie. As Osgoode hurried awkwardly out of the room, Richard quickly jerked the soiled sheets from the bed, startling Maggie completely as he ripped them from underneath her.
He shouted an inane excuse as he hurried away, Maggie grumbling as she read the time on her alarm clock, curling up with the remaining throw blanket at the end of the bed. Richard hurried back in, sprayed cleanser on the soiled spot and cleaned up hastily after his brother. Before Maggie could register his actions, he had cleaned the spot as best as he could with a towel and was off again. Too sleepy and used to their ‘odd’ actions, Maggie grumbled and went back to sleep without investigation.
In the bathroom that he shared with his brother, Osgoode gaped at the smattering of bruises all along his shoulders, back, and thighs. His fingers were oddly disfigured; each one out of place, his skin swollen and colored darkly with bruises. His hands had been punished for some forgotten crime. Though they throbbed painfully, they didn’t beget him any further pain, nor cause him further distress. He hadn’t any memory of how he’d gotten these injuries–he couldn’t think of any instance in which he’d fallen, or had been attacked.
His mind felt entirely weak–as if it had been wrung; he had the heavy sense of chastised action, as if he’d been punished for something that was currently beyond his comprehension. When Richard quietly entered the bathroom, his brow furrowed at the sight of his brother’s naked body. He reached out to touch his shoulders gently, entirely sorrowful over his brother’s state.
“I don’t know what I did,” Osgoode confessed, his voice strained as his eyes burned. “What did I do?”
“It’ll be okay,” Richard reassured him, turning him away from the mirror. “You heal fast. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again, okay? Get in the shower and clean off. I’ll be right here.”
After the shower, even as his limbs were weak and every normal effort was superhuman, Osgoode looked back at himself in the mirror and discovered that his bruises were gone. His fingers were set and no longer caused him pain. The only thing he was truly startled about was the normal preoccupation in that his face cleanser wasn’t doing as it promised. He groaned to himself as the house began to feel ‘normal’ again, slathering toothpaste over a zit while his brother howled about needing a new color for his toenails.
Warning: profanity, darkness, slash, Character death, OOC
Chapter Eight
Static pressed both hands against his nose as he glided into the Metabreed’s hideout. He dared not leave his disc, not wanting to ruin any evidence a forensics team may need to sift through the mess of footprints that were visible. Hotstreak had been right–the bodies were rotting horribly within the underground area. It made his eyes burn, his stomach to lurch. Pausing just inside the doorway, he forced himself to breathe in through his mouth, but that didn’t dispel the odor. It just made it worse, in that he was actually tasting the stench. It permeated everything that he was wearing and seared itself in his brain. He coughed and gagged a few times, trying to compose himself.
When he looked up, he saw that everything looked rather normal for a hideout. While he was surprised that Ebon would hold his headquarters within the sewers, thinking that the man would do better for himself and his crew, he was struck frozen at the sight of Kangorr’s large feet sticking out of a very small drainpipe. He had to gape, wondering in bewilderment how the metahuman could have gotten in there. The opening had been much too small for a human to fit into–
Before he could venture closer to investigate, he caught the sight of Talon’s bright orange feathers. The stench was hideous at this close proximity, and he found himself not wanting to look. But he forced himself forward. Feathers were in disarray around the body, and it was strange–as he came closer, he had the feeling that instead of losing them in a struggle, the metahuman had been plucked. From her upper right arm down toward the center of her back, every feather plucked from her body revealed dimpled pink skin–there was something hideous about that image, one that made Static’s stomach curl. Her cause of death was a twisted neck; her head had been twisted so horribly that skin stretched into abnormal length and bones protruded from within the thinly stretched layer to appear scattered within–once he realized he was staring at her bloated face atop of the back of her shoulders, he gagged.
Holding an arm up over his nose, he regained his composure. His mind was racing over what he was seeing, thinking in panicked thought to remember why he was here in the first place. The silence was so thick–things were so still. Static looked around himself, noting that there wasn’t any blood. Whoever had killed them had–but hadn’t they mentioned Shiv, as well?
His brow furrowed curiously, and he left Talon’s body to venture over to Kangorr’s. His face reflected his puzzlement as he paused, staring at his large feet. He didn’t understand how the man had been drawn inside...there was just no way that it was possible. He didn’t want to think of how the man looked while inside, wincing as he turned away to look for Shiv. There was a definite sensation of not wanting to complete the task. He had all the evidence he needed–the three were dead, and by violent, gruesome means. But where was Ebon? Why hadn’t Ebon come forward rather than Hotstreak and Puff?
The smell was getting to him, making him sick and dizzy. He swallowed repeatedly and found that a bad idea, feeling the instant rush of bile climb his throat. He paused in mid-step to spit, wincing as acid curled over his tongue and teeth. As he was spitting, something scraped against the floor. It made him jerk in reflexive action, looking up to scan the area with narrowed eyes. As seconds passed, he began to realize that he had no idea if he’d even heard the sound in the first place. But his neck began to crawl, and he grew aware of a steady inhale/exhale sound that made goosepimples rise up on his flesh. Standing motionless for several seconds, he determined that he was only hearing gas being released nearby. It had given him enough time to judge the deaths of both Talon and Kangorr, coming to a conclusion that their manner of deaths was in no way possible by the twins.
However, it bothered him that the metahumans were aware of Osgoode helping him–the fact that they were now familiar with the teen sent a troubled wave of insecurity through Virgil.
He started to leave when Hotstreak barged in, covering his nose. He looked at Static accusingly, Puff and Onyx following immediately after. All of them looked wholly disturbed, and looked in his direction for some form of justice. Feeling immediately uncomfortable for this situation, conflicted by so many things, Static shook his head. He gestured at Kangorr.
“I truly don’t think they killed them,” he started off slow, skepticism clear in his tone. He had to wince, noticing that his voice seemed supremely loud within the still silence. He noted with some beguilement that the trio clung close together–all of them looked immensely troubled and...scared. It was distracting to note that the three, so gung-ho in life and against obstacles, were as frightened as he was. “That’s not humanly possible! Think about it–Kangorr is–was–definitely more stronger than those two, even if you put them together. And that pipe–there’s no way they could have done so by any means I’m aware of!”
“But they did it!” Hotstreak insisted, looking irritated. He glanced around with a momentary expression of trouble, taking a second longer to study the shadows beyond the lit area. “They were the last ones to see them alive! Yeah, that’s...a little weird, but they did it!”
“Where’s Ebon?” Static questioned.
All of them looked at each other, then shrugged. “We don’t know. We haven’t heard from him, either,” Puff confessed. Her expression was uneasy. “But then again, we only saw this. We didn’t go looking for him...and it couldn’t have been him! Even if he thought they were nuisances, Ebon ain’t capable of killing his own people.”
“He wouldn’t just let this go, either,” Hotstreak added, looking determinedly away from the corpses. He nodded at the car. “You seen Shiv?”
“N–no. I...didn’t get that far.”
“I...I guess it wouldn’t be possible that they’d have done that, either,” Puff muttered, looking at the floor. “Shiv, he–I don’t know. I don’t know of any humans that would...that would do that.”
“Anyway, it don’t matter. Probably run home cryin’ to your momma if you seen Shiv, anyway,” Hotstreak scoffed, but he didn’t venture close to the car, either. He looked wholly uncomfortable making that mocking comment, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.
Static really didn’t want to look in the car to see what made the pair so uncomfortable. He was frowning heavily as he withdrew the radio Osgoode had constructed for direct communication with the police chief. “I’ll...call this in. And I’ll look for Ebon. The twins will be questioned–but I don’t think they did this.”
“Unless they’re metas, too!” Puff shouted. “What if they’re metas just like us?!”
“Yeah!”
Static bit his lower lip. He wanted to negate it immediately, for the twins hadn’t been around during the Big Bang. “I’ll check on that, too. The full story needs to be investigated. I’m sure justice will be found in any event. Please...so the police could conduct their investigations...please leave.”
The trio muttered amongst themselves as they left without argument, somewhat satisfied that something would be done for their friends’ deaths. Static watched them leave, feeling entirely bothered by the situation. The twins’ not having any memory of this weekend truly bothered him; the fact that Osgoode was kidnaped just to get close to him; the fact that the trio’s deaths were so elaborate and brutal...something just wasn’t right.
01010011
Later that evening, Static watched a detective question the twins separately. Something pounded upon him as no recollection of the weekend turned into a wholly believable story of Richard running off with a boy he’d met at a club that gave him no identification, and Osgoode confirming that he’d found his brother the day after. Afterward, the pair of them had purchased rentals at a local DVD store, staying in Sunday while their mother and father rested after the frantic search for Richard and Osgoode. The store even confirmed purchases at the time given. It made his stomach twist as he started to question himself over their truth in the situation.
He also began debating over himself on whether or not they made up this story to protect Osgoode and Virgil–after all, no one but Robert Hawkins and a select few knew Static’s true identity. It also wasn’t confirmed that Osgoode assisted Static in the background–there were only metahumans that claimed this, yet those very same metahumans were wanted for other situations and didn’t bother with turning themselves in for questioning, for fear of being held over previous charges.
It was a tense and difficult situation, but when the parents came by–Sean and Maggie clearly upset at being called to the police station and given the details of the situation–they, too, went with their sons’ story. Which only upset Static even further–Maggie had clearly stated the night before that she’d no idea where her boys were this weekend. Why would she lie? How could she have known their stories and coincided perfectly with them?
Or were the twins just telling him lies all along?
Static’s head was pounding fiercely by the time the Foley family was released. News of the deaths had already gone into effect, and witnesses were being called forward for any details of the situation that had happened this weekend. Details of their deaths were being released, and the city of Dakota was frantic and startled over the gruesome acts that had been committed. Cries for Static to investigate and search for the killers commenced. He felt overwhelmed.
Heading home that night, he struggled to come up with excuses and explanations Osgoode may have had in order to give his lies so easily–to lie so easily to him, as well.
That next day, as he was getting ready for school, the police chief called for Static. The situation was ‘urgent’.
Static arrived on scene near one of the city’s morgues, where police kept the media at bay. The back alley was crawling with activity, with focus set near the Dumpster against one wall. The forensics team looked somewhat relieved as he entered, feeling a little overwhelmed by the situation he was being placed in. He’d never investigated murders and the like, before. All he’d ever done was put a stop to criminals robbing banks, destroying parks...never death. Static didn’t feel too good with the enormous responsibility he was put into, now. He hovered slowly toward the police chief, Barkin’s expression both disturbed and relieved.
He held up a note held in a plastic baggie, Static taking it with a curious expression.
“‘I am responsible for the deaths of Talon, Shiv and Kangorr. I lost my temper. They wouldn’t comply with my orders,’” Static mumbled to himself as he read the note. He shook his head incredulously as he finished reading it. Things like ‘regret’, ‘sincerely’ ‘goodbye’ didn’t fit the letter. The words he read didn’t fit the voice of the man that he’d faced regularly. It just didn’t seem real. “...This...this is...?”
“Ebon,” Barkin confirmed, turning away to point. Static followed his line of vision, and saw the pair of shadowy legs sticking out from behind a Dumpster. The coroner had arrived and was preparing the stretcher while the forensics team worked carefully. The unzipping of the body bag seemed to shriek over the harried noises of the media and gaping bystanders. Static winced. “Suicide.”
Static felt his stomach drop, and he blearily focused on Barkin. “...How...?”
“Well, considering the gas’s effects on his body, we can’t really tell at this point. It’s being treated as homicide until an autopsy has been complete.” Barkin looked at Static with a sense of relief. “Explains many things. I was afraid that there was to be another dangerous human being with which the city would have panicked over. It would make sense–Ebon was a control freak, and he perhaps lost his temper. The gas has had many negative effects on various souls. He probably did something completely out of character, and snapped.”
“Yeah,” Static mumbled, giving him the baggie. It just didn’t feel right. It just didn’t feel as if it were Ebon that had caused those deaths. There was just something so incredibly wrong with the entire situation, but solution avoided him due to lack of proper information. “Will you...will you let me know the cause of death before the media gets a hold of it?”
“Sure.” Barkin nodded at him, then turned away to supervise the body being loaded onto the stretcher. Static watched with a heavy expression, noting that even in death, Ebon’s shadowy form was hard to distinguish against the shadows. The very fact that the proud man was dead made Static feel lost. From his point of view, suicide just didn’t fit the man–the situation just screamed ‘wrong’.
01010011
Osgoode stared out at the shadows of their backyard, lost in thought. He felt so much anger swirling within him that he didn’t trust himself amongst his family. Richard was avoiding him completely, choosing to hover anxiously with his parents. Osgoode felt somewhat relieved in that; he knew that without a doubt, if he had a chance, he’d take out his frustrations and anger on his brother. Past experience guaranteed this.
Everything was wrong–and he knew it was. He knew Static/Virgil was having problems with the confirmation of deaths that swamped the media channels at this point–it was an overwhelming situation. But what the media didn’t know, or had the chance to confirm was the Foley twins’ involvement. Those that truly knew that side of the story refused to come forward, as previous charges would be handed to them upon custody. It was an agreeable situation for both Osgoode and Richard in that aspect.
But he was angry that Static took the side of the metahumans. He was angry that Static questioned him. He was also very jealous, very certain that Virgil had interest in his brother, and that Richard’s lies didn’t seem so much like lies anymore. Virgil wanted to ‘bag’ one of them was growing into a true situation. Catching him in Richard’s room was a confirmation–Virgil playing it off as if he’d seen ‘something’ made Osgoode even more angry.
He was aware that They were about–but no one else ever saw Them. Sean and Maggie had never done so, and always looked blank whenever he and his brother tried to explain to them who ‘They’ were. Why would Virgil see Them? It just seemed wholly unlikely.
Osgoode was also troubled over his parents. He and his brother had conspired together while they were ‘detained’, and had come up with the story they’d given the detective. They were given enough time to do so, and it was to protect Static’s identity from being revealed. But while he anticipated his parents being involved in the questioning, the fact that both Sean and Maggie confirmed their made-up details was...amazing. Osgoode and Richard hadn’t any time to talk to them personally to explain their side. It was as if...as if the lost time had been nothing but a dream. The more he thought over the situation, the more it started to fit. It felt as if that was what had happened, rather than the lack of recollection.
When he tried to ask why they had come up with the confirming details, Sean and Maggie had looked at him in confusion. That was what happened, they insisted in their bewildered way. But Richard looked troubled as well, just as lost as he in how their parents knew. It had come to a point where both teens weren’t sure what had happened this weekend–if their lack of memory had been a shared lie, a dream.
Osgoode startled once he realized that he wasn’t alone. Osgoode lifted his head to peer around himself, looking for any sign of Static or a metahuman. He could hear Sean lecturing his brother inside over the use of glass versus the carton, and his mother cooking in the kitchen. How this person managed to elude his previous sense of awareness bothered him, but he grew more interested in learning who it was rather than anything more.
He didn’t see anything. The shadows, though dark, were revealing. Looking up, he couldn’t see any sign of Static or his disc. He knew that Ebon had been found dead. There weren’t any other metas out there that could sneak up on a person in this way–Osgoode felt the uneasy sense of being studied, examined for problems.
It felt odd that he was regarded in this manner, and something tickled the back of his mind. Feeling disturbed, he turned and walked into the house, carefully shutting the door behind him. When he lifted his eyes to peer through the glass, he saw only his reflection. What startled him was the flash of white where slate should have been. When he blinked rapidly, his eyes returned to normal. He caught sight of Maggie looking at him curiously from the kitchen, and turned away from the sliding door to head upstairs.
“You are unsettled,” the voices said. “Your agitation and aggressive worries us. You will need to come with us, soon.”
‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’ he thought fiercely as he stomped his way up the stairs. It felt as if something was touching his back as he moved, an unsettling feeling that stayed with him as he slammed his way into his room. ‘There’s nothing wrong with me!’
“Your emotions are too high. Rest,” the voices murmured, much to his irritation.
“I don’t need to rest!” he snarled angrily, hitting his bed. “I don’t need that!”
“Settle down,” They hissed. “Do not draw attention to yourself. We are working on it. It will be fixed.”
“What will? What’s going to be fixed?!”
“The situation was grave, for a few moments. We were almost discovered. Had we not fixed the situation, it would not be as it is,” They murmured. At that, Osgoode knew that They had been the cause of the bewildering mess. “We will need to see you, again. We will come for you as we always do. You will let us in.”
“NO!” Osgoode shouted fiercely. “Leave us alone! Don’t bother us!”
“You cannot deny us. We will come. This city is tainted with too much activity. We will need to move yet again.”
“NO!” Osgoode protested, thinking immediately of Virgil. “No, I don’t want to!”
But the voices were silent. Breathing heavily, more fiercely irritated than before in that a decision had been made without his choice, Osgoode stared at the dent he’d put into his bed.
01010011
Richard clutched his pillow tight, struggling to breathe. The knocking just wouldn’t stop. His eyes shot toward the clock atop of his nightstand, seeing that it was nearly five a.m. At exactly two twenty the knocking had begun, and he’d lain in the same stiff position as he had when it started. He felt exhausted as he listened to the continuous knocking, fearful for what lingered outside his door. He wondered if Osgoode was all right–if his twin had given Them the invitation.
Sometimes, only one of them was taken–but he wouldn’t know if he couldn’t hear his brother’s door opening over the knocking. He shivered, drawing the blankets over his head, trying to muffle the sounds. He wished that They would just go away. He froze when the knocking stopped, his ears straining for indication of their next movement. When the door opened, creaking slightly, he felt as if he were punched in the gut. He hadn’t given the invitation–what gave Them the right to come in? He wanted to look up to see if it were Osgoode, but he didn’t hear the rushing of his twin’s feet, or the panicked hitch of his breath. He didn’t feel Osgoode’s presence–Richard trembled, squeezing his eyes shut as he heard the soft sweep of feet over carpet. He could feel Them more intensely, could feel Them looking down at him from around his bed. There was more than one. He could hear Them breathing, a steady change of sound that varied from each body.
He could barely breathe on his own, his chest tight with fear, his knuckles white as he gripped his blankets. His body was gripped with paralyzation, and once he realized he couldn’t move of his own accord, Richard felt sheer terror grip him tightly. The blankets were pulled away from his curled fingers. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness of his room. He could see four forms standing around his bed–two on one side, two on the other. They were all looking down at him, quiet. Their silence was much more frightening than their knocking. He couldn’t breathe deeply or quickly enough, unable to wrest his eyes from the ones standing on his right.
He couldn’t see if Osgoode was with Them. Then, as what felt familiar, his body began moving without his permission. He rose into a sitting position, his skin chilly and his mind racing with fear as They allowed him room to rise. He couldn’t look at Them closely–They wouldn’t let him. They smelled of cold rubber, their bodies radiating cold rather than heat. He walked with Them out of his room, the four guiding him through the darkness silently. But beyond that silence he could hear a persistent knocking that seemed to echo throughout his mind. They still hadn’t gotten to Osgoode, yet–but it bothered him that They’d come into his room without invitation. They weren’t supposed to do that.
The darkness turned into a long, narrow corridor. His vision suddenly turned perfect, yet he knew his glasses were still atop of the nightstand where he’d left them the night before. His skin prickled with apprehension and fear, feeling one of Them touch his back in a sort of reassuring gesture. The touch moved from his back to the earring he’d left in his ear–the fingers felt rubbery and grotesquely slimy against his earlobe. The corridor was faintly lit, globules on the wall lighting the wall and ceiling. Even as his body moved without his permission, bare feet reacting to the cold feeling of metal against his skin, his eyes moved wildly from side to side. The man-forms were taller than him–their heads were square-shaped, with features that looked sloppy; as if their heads were clay and a pair of hands had pushed them inward to create a lump of deformed properties.
Their bodies were slender, their arms overly long. Their hands were square-shaped, fingers all the same length. Their legs didn’t move when they walked–which made Richard wonder how it was he could hear their footsteps; it was as if they were gliding atop of the floor. One looked back at him, its features a mess of lumps in which he couldn’t tell the expression. His heart pounded wildly in fear, but he couldn’t stop himself from walking.
“Your brother is being difficult,” it said with that array of childish voices. “He won’t let us in.”
Richard couldn’t think of returning conversation, or offering excuses. The four led him into a particular room that was colored in what seemed to be rust. It marred the walls in grotesque formations, as if it were alive and crawling along the space in some strange quest. His body stepped within the center of the room, and the four turned to leave him. Except one turned, reaching out to straighten his pjs with a sense of motherly distraction before it left. Trembling, Richard stared at the rust colors that marred the walls, straining his ears for any sense of direction or identification of the place he was in. He couldn’t quite grasp the situation he was in–it was much too bizarre to be a dream, and much too familiar to be new.
The corridors whistled with some unfamiliar sound–metal creaked and protested under unseen weight. He felt wholly alone and vulnerable; helpless and insignificant. Hugging himself, he heard the rustle of movement on the walls around him, rust shifting from splotch to splotch upon the wall like some living thing.
“Hello, Richard.” The voice was familiar to him–as familiar to him as that of his parents’, or his brother’s. He turned to see another new form enter the room, trailed by several smaller forms that resembled the first. Their grimacing features startled him, their small forms recognizable. They were the ones he’d seen from the corner of his eye–the ones that opened and closed doors angrily when dismissed. The speaker was taller than him–standing nearly six feet tall. Its features were recognizable–the large black eyes, the slits for a mouth and nose, the translucent skin...it radiated a sense of calmness and knowledge as it paused before him. Its body was covered in a fitting black body suit, leaving only its head and hands visible. “Where is your brother?”
Richard didn’t know if he should speak, or even if he could. He stared at the newcomer with fear, too scared to move. This thing, this creature–its very presence was to be feared. No matter how worldly it seemed, or how intelligent it spoke, this being caused alarm and fear with just its very words. It was capable of so many things, even while radiating a sense of calm with its words. He was terribly afraid of it; he hated being alone with it. He felt tremendously chilly–but his eyes watered out of reaction to the dry air, his nostrils tingling with every inhale.
“I don’t know, Harold,” he heard himself say, his voice giving away nothing of his panicked fear. “He won’t get up. I didn’t give the others permission to come into my room.”
“I told them to disregard your wishes,” ‘Harold’ said calmly, and Richard had the impression that the being was giving him a stern expression. The overly large almond-shaped eyes stared at him in a piercing way, unblinking. They were so unnerving that for a few moments, those black orbs were all that he saw. He found it impossible to move, gripped with paralyzing fear that began to turn into a sickening sense of weakness. Even if his limbs wouldn’t move of his own command, they started to tremble even violently with fear.
When Harold spoke again, Richard felt himself jerk in startled action. “I found it urgent that I see the both of you...in regards to the incident of earlier.”
“That’s not fair,” Richard spoke in a clipped manner. His knees knocked together. “We were assured a choice.”
“I found reason to override that choice, Richard. For that, I do not apologize. I do not like it when I have to discipline our children. I do not like interfering with life as it is known down there. But I will. When I find it necessary, I will interfere without your permission. Your genes are valuable in our research, and We need them intact. To be threatened by some invaluable source of life assures its pitiful death. I will do whatever it is that is necessary to protect the information that has been stored within your body. But your brother interfered, causing us to clean up his mess yet again. This displeases Us.”
“You’re scary. And the others are scary. I wish you’d just leave us alone!” Richard murmured, hearing himself speak so childishly that it made him wince. It was almost as if he were young again, a child of three or four.
Harold studied him with that expressionless face of his. His long hands reached for his head, the smaller beings trembling around the pair of them with titters of nervousness. When the mask was pulled away, Richard couldn’t look away from the horrifying features of Harold’s true face. Nearly human with its skeletal structure, but lacking lips, nose, eyelids, hair and ears, Harold’s ‘unfinished’ face gave him a start. His revealed gums were bleeding red, his teeth cracked and faintly yellow. His skin had a sagging quality to it–it was riddled with acne around his sunken cheeks. His neck was much too thin to support his head, but it did with amazing strength. Every muscle and bone was revealed underneath its translucent skin, reddening slowly with Harold’s rising anger. The large globes of his eyes pierced him with a stern stare, revealed teeth clenched in ire. Though he lacked the features necessary, Harold glared at him in reproach.
“I cannot do that. I am in charge of supervision here,” Harold said in that toneless voice of his. “I regret having to discipline our children when they disobey.”
“Why do you have to do that? I don’t like it!” Richard cried, faintly bewildered as to why he was still speaking so childishly. The little creatures hissed from below him, all of them staring at him sharply.
Harold was silent for a few moments, lid-less eyes casting over him sharply. “Remove your shirt, please.”
“...No. I have a choice.”
“Please do not make me more angry than I am, now. Your brother has been witnessed in his bouts of abuse. We must examine the damage and prepare you for repairs.”
“...No. I won’t get him in trouble.”
“We see everything, Richard. You cannot deny what he does.”
“...Please leave me alone.”
At that moment, the four creatures of previous walked in, escorting Osgoode within their small cluster. Once spying him, Osgoode swept past them and embraced his brother tightly, disregarding the smaller forms that crowded around them, and completely ignoring Harold. Richard clung to him, feeling him shake just as fiercely as he did.
“I knew you were gone,” Osgoode whispered. “I couldn’t keep them out knowing that you were gone.”
“It’s all right, Ozzie. We’re okay, now.”
By some unseen signal the creatures, save for Harold, left the room. Noticing the other being, Osgoode slowly pulled away from his brother to look at Harold. The unfinished face stared at him in reproach, Osgoode shuddering slightly. Defiantly he snapped, “Leave us alone! We’ve done nothing wrong!”
“‘Nothing’? You conveniently forget that you’ve murdered another human being without regards to thought or consequence. You were not created to take lives needlessly. We do not like that.”
“I found it necessary to do what I had to in order to protect!” Osgoode snarled, the slate color of his eyes fading sharply to bright white. “Killing another human being does not bother me! Nor should it matter! They were scum anyway!”
“It is not acceptable. You’ve become too aggressive,” Harold admonished quietly. “Where and how you’ve learned to become aggressive is something of a problem for Us. It means that this batch has been tainted. Other Units have and or became affected by an aggressive trait that has alarmed Us. We need to keep a more careful eye on you.”
“I do what is necessary!” Osgoode snapped.
“Even now, you snap at me, like some Earth animal,” Harold murmured. His eyes flashed darkly, the room growing darker, the rust on the walls spreading violently to cover what was empty. “Your anger has no where else to go, so you release it on others–especially your brother. This is not acceptable. You know he is valuable in our research. We find it prudent to conduct tests to determine why it is you behave in such a manner that We clearly do not agree with.”
“...N-no...”
Richard clung tightly to his brother, then ordered in a trembling voice, “We need to keep our memories. You keep taking them away, and we forget who it is we’ve met, while those people remember us. Please let us keep them.”
Harold frowned, head tilting slightly in thought. “Agreeable. But it was necessary to make you forget in our efforts to rectify what had already been done. You’ll retain your memories over the previous incident, but I expect that both of you think over your actions.”
“...Thank you.”
Harold studied the pair of them for a few moments, noticing the way they clung to each other. He shook his head in regret. “It was a bad idea to splice your genes to create two individuals instead of one, as We had originally planned. Perhaps it was in the splicing of your genetic makeup in that you’ve turned out so unpredictable. Maybe it should be considered in that you should be terminated–it might be fascinating to learn how one separated individual can cope with the loss of his other self.”
Both of them stiffened at his cold words. The mere thought of the other twin missing from the other’s life was horrifying. It was a thought comparable to losing a limb, or a needed organ.
Harold’s face regarded them for a few moments, then he replaced his mask. “I’ll leave you with this threat of your termination...The testing will commence shortly–say your goodbyes. You’ll see each other in the morning.”
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When they awoke, the memory of last night eluded them. They had no idea why they were curled up in their parents’ bed in fetal positions, Maggie snoring soundly as she allowed them room to sleep. But the house felt raped once more by Their presence–the empty halls were hostile, and the stillness was unnatural. It truly felt as if they were the only lives remaining in such a large city.
Once they were conscious, hands automatically lifted to staunch bloody noses–the common result of breathing in such dry, heated air. But Osgoode felt more stiff than ever–every limb felt heavy, every muscle overused and weak. His body had betrayed him, and when he discovered his soiled pajamas, he burst into tears. Mortification made him unable to comprehend why he was in that state. Richard hurriedly shushed him, saying nothing as he pushed him from the bed with a quick glance at Maggie. As Osgoode hurried awkwardly out of the room, Richard quickly jerked the soiled sheets from the bed, startling Maggie completely as he ripped them from underneath her.
He shouted an inane excuse as he hurried away, Maggie grumbling as she read the time on her alarm clock, curling up with the remaining throw blanket at the end of the bed. Richard hurried back in, sprayed cleanser on the soiled spot and cleaned up hastily after his brother. Before Maggie could register his actions, he had cleaned the spot as best as he could with a towel and was off again. Too sleepy and used to their ‘odd’ actions, Maggie grumbled and went back to sleep without investigation.
In the bathroom that he shared with his brother, Osgoode gaped at the smattering of bruises all along his shoulders, back, and thighs. His fingers were oddly disfigured; each one out of place, his skin swollen and colored darkly with bruises. His hands had been punished for some forgotten crime. Though they throbbed painfully, they didn’t beget him any further pain, nor cause him further distress. He hadn’t any memory of how he’d gotten these injuries–he couldn’t think of any instance in which he’d fallen, or had been attacked.
His mind felt entirely weak–as if it had been wrung; he had the heavy sense of chastised action, as if he’d been punished for something that was currently beyond his comprehension. When Richard quietly entered the bathroom, his brow furrowed at the sight of his brother’s naked body. He reached out to touch his shoulders gently, entirely sorrowful over his brother’s state.
“I don’t know what I did,” Osgoode confessed, his voice strained as his eyes burned. “What did I do?”
“It’ll be okay,” Richard reassured him, turning him away from the mirror. “You heal fast. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again, okay? Get in the shower and clean off. I’ll be right here.”
After the shower, even as his limbs were weak and every normal effort was superhuman, Osgoode looked back at himself in the mirror and discovered that his bruises were gone. His fingers were set and no longer caused him pain. The only thing he was truly startled about was the normal preoccupation in that his face cleanser wasn’t doing as it promised. He groaned to himself as the house began to feel ‘normal’ again, slathering toothpaste over a zit while his brother howled about needing a new color for his toenails.