The room was dark, lit only by the flickering light of the television screen as some b-rate horror game showed on the screen. The air was dank with the smell of teenage boy, cigarette smoke and moldering food. Grunting softly, Matt hammered at the controller, XX triangle X. The zombie fell to its knees, mouth open in a silent moan as the hero slashed it with a chainsaw. The repetitive bashing of buttons and mindless plotless destruction of the game was boring but helped him work out his frustration with his life.
Matt was not normally a guy much given to introspection and dwelling on unfortunate events, but he couldn't help feeling a little bitter about the turn his life had taken. For years his life had been normal; he had lived with his mum, an overworked single mother, in a small apartment in California, America. Okay it hadn't been entirely normal sincehe hadn't gone to school since first grade, opting to stay and home and play video games and mess around on the computer instead, studying only enough that the authorities wouldn't make him go back to school, but he'd been happy enough. Then he had to mess it all up. If he hadn't paid attention to that stupid competition…
There'd been a website advertising itself to hackers as a challenge. Loads had tried to break into it, and all had failed. Until him. Mail Jeevas, 12 years old and a hacker extraordinaire, which had brought him to the attention of Wammy House and had lead to him being stuck here. Okay, that may have been 2 years ago, and he might be generally quite okay with living here, but it was his birthday, a time that always brought back memories. And no one had remembered. The second of January. Not a good start to the New Year.
"Dammit!"
Angrily Matt rose in one swift movement, cursing as he watched the message pop up on the TV screen informing him he had died. Sighing, he padded over to his desk, barely visible under the clutter of empty mugs, screwed up paper and towers of precariously balanced games. Knocking a few things off accidentally, and carefully re-arranging a few more he'd just managed to locate his laptop when there came a knock at the door.
Matt froze wide-eyed, an almost comic expression of dismay plastered on his face. Who the hell could that be…? Wildly he glanced round his room, confirming, that yes, it was a dingy tip, and yes, you could tell he'd been smoking. Frantically he opened the window, trying to let some fresh air in. The unknown knocker knocked again, this time managing to convey an air of impatience.
"Just a second," he yelped, kicking his washing into a corner and hurriedly cramming the closest trash to hand in his overflowing bin. Giving up, he went and opened the door, hoping not to get in too much trouble.
* * * * * * * *
"- really is your last chance. I don't know why you think you're above the rules but believe me…"
Yadda yadda ya. Mello tuned it out, putting his most bored and snotty expression on his face. Roger gave him the same lecture every time. Well what did they expect to happen, putting him and Near in the same room? They were just lucky he hadn't killed the little snotbag. He glared down at the dusty wooden floor. It was too bad they were putting him in with someone else. He would have liked a whole room to himself, still, he'd be able to housetrain his new roommate, using his influence as the person with the second highest score in Wammy's House, and if that didn't work, he could always just beat the crap out of them.
A pause in the constant flow of scolding told him that Roger had finally finished, and he looked up, catching the exasperated expression on the old mans face. Roger was getting on, but he was still a powerfully built, athletic looking man, however whenever he was forced to deal with Mello, he seemed for some unknown reason to appear much more weary than was normal for the energetic man. Next Mello scrutinized the door. It was a plain pine door, identical to the others lining the corridor, its sole distinguishing feature being that it was number 27. Mello put on his biggest and brightest glare.
Roger had started talking again at some point, and Mello caught some of it as he knocked on the door. "- don't expect you to become friends, but I do expect you to both learn to get on with it."
"Whatever old man, just shut up will ya?"
"Don't speak to me that way!"
Mello grinned and stared ahead; baiting Roger was fun.
Several minutes later he was still staring at the door. The closed door. "For crying out loud, are you sure this guy's alive?"
Roger clenched his fists tighter, causing some of his knuckles to crack, and a line deepened between his eyebrows. " Maybe he didn't hear."
Mello hammered on the door himself, impatience searing him.
Some muffled yelling then some heavy thuds. A brief pause then footsteps, and the door swung open.
"Sorry, I was just…"
Mello gaped at his new roommate, and the scene of chaos that lay beyond him. A wasteland of crumpled clothes, take-out cartons, games, tossed books and sheaves of spilled paper, the bed a mountain of covers half on half off the mattress itself, the other bed – his bed – seemed to be used as a dumping ground for clean (relatively speaking) clothes. The room itself stank of nicotine and was only dimly lit by a half opened window.
"Ah, Matt, this is your new roommate Mello. I'm sure I told you he was moving in today…" The unspoken rebuke in Roger's tone implied that the mess was not expected, but did not cheer up Mello immensely. He was supposed to live in this?
"Did you?"
Mello managed to tear his eyes away from the disaster zone of the room briefly, and rested them briefly on this guy, Matt. He looked almost as hopeless as the room. His skinny blue jeans had somehow managed to get creased, and his stripy black and white top had several stains down the front. He had some ridiculous orange goggles on his face and bright fake looking red hair that clashed with them spectacularly. To add to this he sounded genuinely bewildered by Rogers claim that he had warned him Mello was moving in, and was now staring at Mello himself rather like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
"No fucking way am I staying here."
"Mello…" Rogers tone held very little patience. Good.
Mello spun, turning on the older man in a flash, "This place isn't fit for a dog!" he spat, unconsciously tensing his whole body in preparation for confrontation.
"Well, it is rather messy," began Roger mildly.
"Have you seen it?" screamed Mello, gesticulating wildly.
"Well, you're not exactly in a position to choose where you stay, so you're just going to have to get on with it." Roger's eyes flashed steel and he propelled Mello in before slamming the door on him.
For a few seconds Mello could only stare in icy anger at the again closed door, but then his new roommate choose to start talking.
"So, uh… I guess we better tidy up a bit.
Coldly Mello fixed his most evil smirk on his face and turned around. His voice was dangerously low. "Who said anything about 'we'?"
