I do not own Loveless or Maximum Ride.
This is basically a cross between the two, taking place six years after Loveless ended (or at least my own idea for the ending to the series). To any Loveless fans out there, no, I did not keep the whole cat ears equal virginity system. That only applies to Ritsuka and a few other characters, not the whole world like in Loveless.
So, without further a due....
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Sophia slammed through her apartment door, panting like a wet and ragged dog. In seconds a massive puddle had formed in the doorway and soaked the carpet below Sophia's feet. With a grunt she shoved the door close and bolted it in place. Sighing, she dropped her soaking wet jacket before glancing around her home.
Though nothing seemed amiss, she felt unsettled. Flicking on the lights to get a better view she walked around her small living room. From every piece of furniture to every spec of dust, the room was exactly as she had left it that morning. Turning to the bedroom, she realized what was off.
Smoke. Marlboro cigarettes. She knew them at the first whiff and prayed she didn't know the owner of them. Fishing her buck knife from her pocket, she cautiously pushed her bedroom door open.
In the darkness she saw him. He sat on the edge of her bed, the warm glow of his cigarette casting an orange hue upon his face. She stared at him, and he stared back. With a flick of her hand she turned the lights on.
The young Japanese man sitting before her was only a year or two younger than her, but no one could tell from his looks. She knew at full height he was a little over six-foot and, though outwardly skinning, he was built from head to toe in thick muscle. A red coat with black fur on the ends and black pants lined his frame. If she were not so afraid, Sophia would have blushed when she noticed he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath his coat, revealing his hard packed abbes.
Not to her surprise, he wore a black beanie, which outlined his second pair of ears. Down his neck were layers of bandages, thick with blood.
When he spoke it was in perfect English. "You left your door unlocked."
She said nothing, slowly opened her knife from behind her back. When she didn't respond he continued.
"And the one you have probably wouldn't hold up if someone kicked it. You should buy one of those security doors. The steel gate ones."
"It wouldn't stop an Eraser."
"Well, at least they sent me rather than one of them. You have that to be grateful for."
"No," She said, fear pumping through her body, "No I don't. I think I should sit down."
"Don't. You won't be staying long enough." He took a long puff from his cigarette. Silence sat between them until it was nearly completely gone.
"If its any comfort they never told me when I had to return. So, I brought you something." He grinned and turned away from her. "I was able to get a hold of—"
In one step Sophia cleared the space between them, her knife whistling right for the intruder's neck. But she wasn't fast enough, and she probably knew that before she tried driving a four-inch blade into his throat. He cupped her wrist in his right hand and pushed it downward, his bandaged neck nice and safe. Roughly pulling her towards him, he took the still burning cigarette form his mouth and smothered it against her neck.
Searing hot pain was all she felt. Her screams went beyond the walls of the building, beyond the city lights into the storm above. With a thud she hit the floor, dazed.
"Really, now," He muttered as he took the knife from her tiny hand, "That was just rude. I was trying to give you your background file. But I guess you don't care about that."
With that, he threw the file into the air, letting it flap open and the dozen or so papers flutter to the floor. Sophia made no move to collect them or even glance at them. Steadily, she came to her feet. And then she ran.
Her powerful legs threw her out of her apartment in three steps. She'd brave the storm rather than stay in the same building as that psychopath. She bolted down the walkway to the elevator and slammed her index finger so hard against the down button that it cracked. The door "binged" open and she slid inside.
"Come on! Come on! Come on!" She muttered as she repeatedly pressed the bottom floor button.
Just a moment before the elevator began to drop, she heard the flicker of a lighter. All the way down she held her breath in, lungs filled with terror. Like a starter's gun during a track meet, the second "bing" shot Sophia out of the elevator and into the pouring rain.
She didn't dare look back to see if he was following her. Instead she tried to find an escape route. She was surrounded on all sides by massive buildings that were either apartments or businesses; guess it doesn't really matter what they are. None could serve as halfway descent hiding place.
Finally, she made her decision. Curling her back as she ran she let her pale white wings sprout out of her back and out the slits in her shirt. Stretching them to out to their full six-foot wingspan and let them flap.
And they snapped like twigs. Again searing hot pain rippled through her body and she slipped and fell flat on her face. She had been bound. It had happened to her before She knew it without looking. Invisible metal chains as thick as her arms were now tightly wrapped around her wings. He had her.
She leaned her head back, pushing the pain to the back of her mind, and found him slowly walking towards her. Was there a spring in his step? She couldn't tell. She could tell one thing though: not a drop of water hit him, but flowed around him as if an invisible barrier protected him.
When he reached her he pulled a newspaper from the inside of his coat. Unfolding it and slipping on a pair of reading glasses (God, did he look so good), he read, "'On March 3rd a serial killer formerly dubbed "The Butterfly Collector"'—oh, now that's good—"killed a third girl by nailing her to the ground with silver needles and burning their backs.'"
He stopped, and the words set in.
Sophia felt terror like no other. She'd take the place of any Vietnam soldier sitting in a hole and wondering when the bombs were going to blow them to bits. She'd take the place of any prisoner who's wondering whether or not his cellmate is going to shank him in the morning. They didn't know what its like to be burned and shredded at the same time. They didn't know how the blade would slip through their ribcage repeatedly and spill their guts all over the floor. She did.
Fear intermingled with anger. She wanted to scream, wanted to tell the world exactly was happening. She wanted every son of a bitch sitting in his living rooms watching TV and every housewife sleeping with her husband's best friend to know what was going to happen to her. But she couldn't scream, couldn't form the words.
All she could do was ask, "Why?
"Why? Which why?"
"Why do you do this? Why do you hunt your own kind?"
"Oh, you mean these!" He pulled off his beanie and revealed his second pair of ears. Fluffy, black cat ears to be exact. "And this!"
He tucked the back of his pants and a long black tail slipped out the back, slowly wrapping around his right ankle.
"Why? Because I don't care anymore. I don't care…about anything. That's why I can do this. You? You care too much. You care whether or not the cute guy who shares your Saturday night shift at the café has noticed your wearing high heals. You care whether or not a squad of Erasers is going to bust down your doors and drag you back to the School.
"And you care about death too much. Look at yourself! I bet you are wondering how exactly the needles are going to pierce your muscles. All these little cares! Now look at me! I'm not your kind. I'm different. I'm free. I've," He stretched out the next two words, "let go! And that's all you have to do. Just let go."
She listened, and she learned. All her emotions, all her problems, all her cares, she let go. And it was great. The rain stopped being cold and became cool, calming, serene. The striking pain she had pushed to the back of her mind was almost…pleasing, almost like sex. And death? Please! Little needles in her back sounded kind of fun, kind of sexy.
"You don't have to worry about me," She finally said, arching her head to gaze at the stars above. "I won't scream now."
"Good, but I can't trust you. You did try to stab me in the neck earlier."
"Yah…I'm sorry about that."
"Its okay. Not like it hasn't happened before. Well, now that I've bound your little wings I guess I should," The magic slid off of his lips like crystal, "Ice your lips and numb your tongues with the tears of heaven."
At his will the tears of heaven sliding down her face froze at her lips and literally "muted" her. She didn't really mind; it was uncomfortably, but also kind of nice. Cold lipstick. Ice cold. If she wasn't going to die she could totally sell that.
"Now, for the whole living thing." He raised his hands to the heavens. "Blood is the proof of life. Let it flow like the rain. Silver, shining tears of heaven, spill my specimen's red life fluid. Impale my pretty little butterfly."
Nearly two dozen silver, shining needles slid clear through flesh, muscle, bone, and concrete along Sophia's limbs. Her body twitched as each needle pinned her to the ground. A little bird turned butterfly. How exquisite.
"And now, for my finally." He took one last puff from his cigarette before flicking it at Sophia's broken wings. "Like a flickering star before it dies, like the crackle of firecrackers at the dawn of a new year, burn."
A tiny, white-hot inferno slivered across Sophia's back, burning away her wings and shirt and flesh. It lasted for only a moment and then it flickered, turning her wings do dust. And she was wrong. She did scream. But no one heard her.