AFTER THE FIRST BLOOD SPILLS
This is much more of an experiment for me than anything else. Usually my style is crass comedy bordering on offensive. However, I felt compelled to explore a different genre and this is the result. I just hope it's not received with too much backlash.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. If I did, I would be in a mansion right now, sitting in a hot tub, calling all my enemies and telling them to kiss my ass.
Chapter One – The First Victim
Home, 11:56 a.m.
I woke up this morning feeling like shit, this time for a reason other than my excruciating hangover. Every inch of my body felt cold with dread as I begrudgingly rolled out of bed. I aimlessly stumbled through the house, struggling to open my eyes, only to find something I never thought I would see.
Two hours ago I awoke to find my sister Bubbles dead. At first I thought she was still asleep. But then I touched her freezing cold hands, and saw how her neck was twisted around, and the drops of blood on her pale skin. I struggled to retain my balance as the dark reality settled into my throbbing head. Bubbles is dead, murdered in our house in the middle of the night while I was passed out drunk in the next room.
My sister Blossom is falling over herself in anguish. Watching her bawl like that, I start to feel guilty that I'm not doing the same. Granted, she and Bubbles were much more bonded to one another than I had ever been to either of them. Just about the only thing I share in common with my sisters is a birthday, and even those celebrations have only made me feel more like a stranger to them. I've never been one to allow myself to get too close to people, because you find yourself saying goodbye to them before you even know it.
But I never thought I'd be saying goodbye to Bubbles. Not today. Not like this. Fifteen years we've been together, protecting this city from the thugs and scumbags who try to run it into the ground. We became so arrogant with our sense of false security, assuming we were too strong to be brought down like this. How wrong we were. How foolish.
Who did this to you, Bubbles? Any number of crooks have had wet dreams about the thought of us disappearing from Townsville forever, though only a handful would ever act on their sadistic impulses. But last night someone did, and managed to slip away before any of us realized what he had done.
Whoever did this had it in for Bubbles. Why would someone capable of murdering a Powerpuff not take all three of us out in one foul swoop? No, Bubbles was singled out for a reason. She picked the wrong person to piss off – someone who couldn't just let it go.
Blossom and Professor are in the living room, trying to comfort each other for whatever its worth. I feel especially bad for him. His work never allowed him the luxury of having a family, so he had to create one instead. I used to scoff at the idea, thinking it was simply his way of denying his own loneliness and overcompensating for his social ineptitude. Seeing him now though, falling to pieces right in front of me, makes me realize just how much he truly believes in us as his "daughters."
"Are you sure about this?" he asks Blossom, his voice quivering.
She nods softly. "It's better this way, Professor. The police can't really help us now. If anything they'll just get in the way. Besides, I don't want this getting out and causing the entire city to panic."
I look over at Bubbles' dresser. Her cell phone is sitting on top of a pile of cheesy romance novels. I flip it open and find an unfamiliar number at the top of her list of recently dialed calls: 310-392-8702. The area code suggests it's in Townsville, most likely on the south side of the city. I turn to her computer and type in the number. An address comes up: 6623 Cedarwood Lane, Apt. 69.
This doesn't make sense. The resident of that apartment is no friend of ours by any means, but definitely not the killing type. She's a thief, not a murderer – blood and gore is too messy for her style. But Bubbles was talking to her for some reason. If nothing else, she probably knows more about the circumstances of Bubbles' death than either Blossom or I do.
Blossom – it would be better if she stayed out of this. Her current emotional state would make her a huge liability. Blossom has always been the true vigilante of the three of us. Her thirst for justice is both her strength and her weakness. I don't trust her not to shred my contact to pieces. No, this must be handled with restraint – something Blossom is incapable of doing right now.
I'll be paying a visit to Apartment 69 tonight. Bubbles' friend – or whatever she was to my sister – has a lot of shit to answer for…
I wish I could put up the second chapter – it was my intention to put up two at a time together – because Chapter Two is told from a different POV, and I alternate between them throughout the story. But alas, it's almost 1 a.m., and I'm still somewhat hungover from last night.
Peace, Love, and All Things Rock,
Terra the Masterful