Das Machts Nichts: Prelude

I cannot say that I've ever written a normal romance AATC fic, much less attempted one.

Nor do I plan to. EVER.

I am Vos Mos Amplio. I'm an editor, but today, I'm also a writer.

Perhaps by the end of this fic, you will have figured out my original profile on the site. If you still care to guess, at least.

Also, if I happen to know you (or know OF you by name, location, likes, etc.), expect cameos of yourselves in the fic as supporting/original characters. It's about time someone did something like that…

-"I heard gunshots…"

The booming of gunshots shattered the peace of the Sunday evening, jarring people from their complacency and fragile naps. Immeadiately following, a bitter scream was heard; it was pained cry, and everyone could tell that someone of their number had been lost, though none could tell who it was. Under the threat of a likely active shooter, most people remained indoors… they huddled in tenuous safety while the braver few of those who were also curious, flocked out through their gates and into the streets, wanting to know who had fired the weapon and more importantly, who had been shot.

Everyone knew the direction of where the explosions were heard, but a lone man who lived in the closest proximity (who happened to have a shred of audacity to even step out of his home), pointed at the house across from his. "Over there!" he shouted, while worry was etched across his, "it came from the Seville house!" Despite being a teacher, thus 'knowing better', he was already trekking across the street to the house while calling for the police first, then for an ambulance. Danger was most likely in the house, the shooter that is, and he should've just waited outside.

But Dracon had to see. His students were in there. Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. They were in there.

Were they still in there?

He hoped not.

The teacher gingerly tried the doorknob, only to find that it was still open and that the door itself had never been closed up all the way. It fully opened easily without even a creak, and the man stepped inside. He treaded carefully throughout the rooms on the ground floor he was on, low and cautious to avoid making even the slightest noise. He still had no idea why he'd even approach the house, let alone enter it, and could only wonder if he had grown too fond of his students. 'No, that's nonsense. I might be stupid right now, but something must've happened to the boys! And damn, it happened when Dave's away on his business trip! He told me to check up on them! Maybe if I had checked up on them more frequently-'

A hand grasped at his shoulder, and the teacher nearly jumped out of his skin in fright. Before he could even yell or act rashly, a voice spoke.

"Take it easy, Mr. Dracon, it's just me."

He recognized the voice as one of his students. "Hmm? Streamer?"

The girl grunted in the affirmative when she heard her nickname, though it was a name she hated. "Yeah, it's me, Sir. We should be waiting outside until the cops come-"

"The boys are my responsibility!" Mr. Dracon insisted. "You don't have to be in here with me…! At least let me go check to see if they're all right! Maybe even do some first aid!"

"What if the shooter is still in here? Mikhael's gone crazy!" Streamer whispered fiercely.

"I don't care!" the man exclaimed as he kept on walking, heading off into the living room. Streamer was still hot on his heels, caught up because she didn't know whether to stay with him or to retreat outside with him. Ultimately, her own concern overwhelmed her common sense, and she followed after her teacher. Soon, he came to a sudden stop, making Streamer bump into him. She tried to peer around him to see what could have possibly made him stand still in shock.

There was nothing good to see-… once the girl saw the bloodied bodies of her friends, she screamed, and sirens wailed in the distance as they beared down on the location of the house with the dead therein. Yet still, there was no time to grieve as law enforcement came quickly, cordoning the area with police tape, allowing themselves and the morticians to work unimpeded, hauling off the bodies of Brittany, Alvin and Mikhael. However, when the time came that a detective on scene asked for details as to what happened, four people stepped forward.

There was more than one side to every story, and this was no different; everyone's account mattered.

Only one person could not tell a story.

I'm vague for a reason. You don't know why these people are dead until the fic ends. But as for who the supporting characters, the people who read this will recognize themselves as I go on, though everyone should know who the teacher is (if you know who I happen to Beta for). I'll spoil who each person is when their particular chapter ends.

For this chapter for example, Dracon is actually SpyroDragonTime.

Embrace the insanity!

-Vos Mos Amplio.