A/N: What am I doing to myself? I have homework that needs to be done, and school stresses me out, and I sit here and add a Randicon fanfic..? Hold on... Never mind. Enjoy it! And Detentionaire cause I like Lee and his bro. More notes at bottom.
On a scale of one to ten, how bad do you think your life is? Well, his is a ten, so put your hands down.
Gunshots rang out in a practiced pattern, dogs began barking after picking up a scent. People screamed, dodging out of the way in order to avoid being trampled by men and women in uniform, chasing after a teenaged boy.
They all seemed sickly and pale, maybe from sitting in front of their t.v.'s and watching the most beloved man speak about a new product or how this city was such a wonderful place.
Yeah, right.
Almost fifty percent of the city seemed to be housing fights or having saloons on every corner.
There was a forest, and a mountain, but those would take some time to get to, by underground railroad or walking.
The boy in question ran down an alley, but not before a bullet shot through his left arm.
Where was the fairness that the teenaged boy's idol so said remained here?
"Shit!" He hissed, grumbling angrily as he dodged behind a trash can, gagging on the rotting stench of food and old, worn products.
The boy could have sworn he saw parts for an electric dog, completely torn apart and shredded.
"Ya know what, I am not gonna dwell on that," said the boy aloud, whispering to avoid detection.
Flashlights shined down the alley, yet they didn't enter, knowing that if the boy did survive, he would die of blood loss sooner or later. Meantime, said boy bit his lip, breaking through the skin as he put pressure on the wound in order to try and stop the bleeding, frowning as it flowed through his fingers.
Isn't blood pretty? I'd rather drink and study that then the medicine people fed me in the past.
The sky above was a sickly grey-green, as if the air was polluted in one way or another. Maybe it was. You know, sometimes, when people have technology that is good enough, they don't remember that they need to care for the things that matter most
The boy could remember a time when the sky was a beautiful blue color, yet now it was...that. But then again, had the sky really been blue? He had seen it in a dream before, and dreams were not to be trusted.
Not for him.
Not anymore.
Dreams are things that people wish for dearly. Blue is just an insane color for this sky.
'What did I do?' He thought to himself as he tore off some fabric from his pants, which was not an easy task. 'I went in, took the test, and all of a sudden I'm here, in an alley, shot and probably bleeding to death. Such a great day.'
I'd want to see the stars as I die. Even if they are balls of gas.
Successfully bandaging his arm with only his teeth and right hand, he stood up on wobbly knees, using the dumpster for support when the coast was clear.
He took in his surroundings; a sewage pipe spewing out said sewage, going down a drain to an unknown place, boxes kicked and trampled in various places, some wire on top of the brick walls that surrounded him, some rotting food, a couple of pages ripped from a book, some hair which freaked the boy out, some green algae growing on the walls, and a chicken.
He grimaced at the clucking horror.
I wonder why the hell someone would make these monstrosities. Just look at them.
"Am-scray, icken-chay!" hissed the boy.
He was about fourteen, with dull blue eyes and hidden vibrant purple hair, hidden by a black hoodie with intricate red designs that looked liked boxes, to be frank.
He was handsome, you could say. A ladies man. Yet he wasn't like that at all. A small crush on a girl, and that was that. Not like he would be doing anything about it anymore.
To the pleasure of the teen, the chicken 'clucked' it's white feathery mass of hideousness out of there.
Sighing as he slid down the brick wall, he winced as the wall jolted against his arm. Black dots began to appear in his vision, before he couldn't see altogether.
A shht brought his attention to the east, toward the dead end. That was the sound of a shoe scraping along the floor. Or maybe...shht...a stick?
Why would you carry a stick instead of a gun, dumbass?
The boy knew that if he didn't get medical treatment soon, he would lose his arm, or worse, die from blood loss or infection. Neither sounded appealing.
The sound came again, from the west this time, and he heard someone sigh, obviously in relief.
"Randy Cunningham, thank god I found you. We need to get you some medical attention, and fast..."
The boy, Randy, was fading fast. He barely heard the words now, and felt himself having his arm slung across someone's shoulder before he felt numb. The words blurred together, and that was when the darkness claimed him.
Isn't it funny how we all were once afraid of the dark, and yet as we grow, it becomes a comfort for some?
A/N: Yes, I did this for Arrival-Layne, yes I will try to post on a regular sqedual, yes, your oc's can be requested, and no, the Randicon will not be immeadiet and will probably be at the end like all the cliche movies show.