Disclaimer:
I own nothing but the plot.Chapter One
Michael Jakson hates his own race, Virgil didn't. In fact, he was proud of his African blood. Even with Mr. Foley's racist believes, he'd never hide his dark skin behind a layer of white paint. That's why he was waaaay amazed as soon as he realized his hands were fair. The only logical reason involved nightmares... everything was blurred, yeah, but those pale-skinned arms belonged to him. No doubt. No freaking doubt.
Virgil sit on the bed, and checked the rest of the body. Although his eyes weren't helping at all, he could see the pale legs carrying out the orders of his brain. "What the..." his words gave him another surprise. That voice didn't belong to him, but to
"Richie?"
In that very moment and without any advice, a headache made him cover the poor head with his pale, sweating hands. He could imagine his own brain like a submachine-gun which shoots a hundred thoughts for second. Analysis's of his present situation (you're damn trapped inside Richie's body) the last night (Ebon and Hotstreak became a huge, mad monster... then what?) stupid preoccupations (I gotta pee! How in the hell I could do it if I must tou...) all the thoguht mixing, confusing him, advicing him, driving him...
Someone opened the door. "Get dressed" Sean said, sharply "You can do whatever you want at the house of that gangster, but now you're under my roof. Got it?"
Virgil flushed, only Caution made him stay quiet. He nodded, without a word.
"Five minutes" Sergeant Foley left the bedroom
He was laughing loud, while Static Shock and his pathetic sidekick rolled on the floor, screaming like the pig they were. Fire was everywhere. Deadly, golden tongues were destroying buildings, trees, everything. Static's face, that hated face, was replaced by a mask of fire, while...
"VIRGIL!" a young woman screamed angrily. Hotstreak blinked, confused.
"Finally!" Sharon sighed, still annoyed. "What a lazy guy I have as a brother..." she turned back, leaving a confused Francis behind.
