It was raining again. Thunder boomed and a sheet of rain fell on the buildings crammed close together in the poor part of the city. Lightning streaked the sky, illuminating a dark alley way. The secret hideout of the Underground movement had long since fallen silent after a hard days' work. All except one man had turned in for the night.
Torn stood at his usual table, pouring over the latest round of maps and Intel he'd received that day. He was tired, but…
"Dammit…" he mumbled, thumping the table with his fist.
He was almost certain that the Baron's right hand man, Errol, was responsible for most of the strife the Underground agents went through on a daily basis. Errol was the town's racing champion, the Commander of the Krimzon Guard, a grand leader if there ever was one…
…and almost certainly the biggest wank Torn had ever met. He'd served the city once as a Captain in the Krimzon Guard, and had met Errol numerous times, enduring his snide remarks about the way things were going. Torn suppressed a shiver. Just thinking about that guy made him angry.
He fought off a yawn, convincing himself that he wasn't tired; he couldn't be. He was the leader of the Underground. There was no time for sleep. He sighed. The sound of the agents turning over in their creaky beds was a tantalizing reality. Sleep…
Shaking his head, he groped for a cup of coffee he'd brewed earlier. He grimaced at the taste; it was not good. His eyelids felt like lead. He was almost asleep standing up, when the floorboards creaked in the secret hallway behind him. Torn spun on his heels.
It was Keira, a girl he had only recently befriended ('tolerated' was more like it). She'd proved her worth as a good mechanic for the Underground; Torn had been impressed by the speed in which she'd repaired a few of their beaten zoomers. Keira had wide green eyes, aqua hair and a slender frame. She held herself as if she were cold, barefoot and dressed in shorts and a long-sleeve t-shirt.
"What're you doing awake?" she asked, "It's half-past midnight."
Torn shrugged. "Nothin.' Just my job."
He turned back to his 'work.' Keira rolled her eyes, shuffling out of the secret hall way. She left the door open leading back into the bunker, stepping up beside Torn.
"C'mon. I know you're tired."
Torn snorted. "Not really."
"Oh yeah?"
Torn just looked at her. Keira sighed again. She studied him for a moment, the overhead light casting dark shadows across his face.
"Torn, you're exhausted," she said matter-of-factly, "You're killing yourself here. You don't even have a bed!"
The former Krimzon Guard shot her a look, and she slapped a hand over her mouth, remembering the sleeping agents nearby.
"I don't have a bed," Torn went on, "Because I gave it to the Kid."
"Oh…that was sweet of you."
Torn muttered something incoherent. Keira crossed her arms, regarding him like an older brother. He was scanning the papers in front of him once again, as if trying to ignore she was there.
"Promise me you'll go to bed soon."
"Hey, last time I checked, I was the one givin' orders," said Torn gruffly, "You've got a lot of nerve bossing me around in my own place."
Keira had a trace of fire behind her eyes, now.
"You need sleep! You can't run this thing by yourself!"
"What…did I just say?"
Keira pursed her lips, keeping a steely-eyed gaze on him. She squared her jaw, ready to argue on. This guy was some piece of work…
"I already respect you, Torn. I know you work hard; I know you know what's best."
Torn heaved a sigh. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? He was beginning to regret letting her stay the night at the hideout. Next time he'd make her sleep by the entrance.
"Leave me to my job, will ya?" he snapped.
Keira walked up to the table. She put a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, but only slightly.
"Good night," she said.
Torn said nothing. Keira smirked knowingly. She tapped him on the shoulder a few times saying,
"I'm just going to lie down in my nice, warm bed, cover up, and sink down into my big pillow…."
"Beat it!" Torn fired.
Keira only smiled, trotting back down the hallway, leaving him behind. Torn sighed as the secret door closed. He was definitely making her sleep by the entrance next time.
**********
The rain was what got him. It drummed on the roof in a rhythmic beat, occasionally interrupted by a low rumble of thunder. Torn had completely given up awhile ago. He had fallen asleep slumped over the desk, snoring. His dreams were short, if not non-existent these days. They only lasted around a few minutes before he snapped awake for a brief second. Right now he was in a deep sleep. Just blackness.
There was a dull throb in his arm. He stirred, but did nothing. Suddenly, a sharp needle of pain thrust him from sleep. He sat up straight, looking around wildly. It took him a minute to realize what had happened.
"Ah, jeez," he grumbled, running a hand through this dread locked hair, "What're you doing awake?"
The bright blue-eyed little boy was standing before him, looking up at him helplessly. Torn massaged his face with a hand.
"What is it, Kid? What's the matter?" he asked groggily.
Thunder cracked outside, rattling the tiny hideout. The kid jumped nearly two feet, latching himself to Torn's leg. He grimaced, making a move to shake him off. He could feel the boy's little heart pounding against him. Torn sighed. He pried the kid off of him as gently as possible.
"I get ya," he said, "It's the storm, isn't it?"
The boy nodded, a look of childish fear across his face. It was heartbreaking, though Torn wasn't that sympathetic. He picked him up, noticing he was trembling. He set him up on the table, saying,
"Jeez…are you okay?"
The boy shook his head. Torn bit his lower lip, thinking. Thunder sounded again, and the kid threw his arms around Torn's neck, trembling terribly. Torn offered no real comfort to the poor thing. He waited for the grip to lessen around him, but it did not.
"Kid…uh...are you gonna let go?"
He shook his head again, his face buried in Torn's chest. The ex-Guard heaved a sigh, massaging his temples. This was all he needed. Thunder roared and the grip tightened. Torn grimaced, thinking. What was it that kids needed for these things? Wasn't it like water or something? Milk? He couldn't remember; it had been a decade since he'd last seen a baby, let alone a toddler.
"…You want some water, kid?" he asked.
The boy unburied his face from Torn's shoulder, nodding. The latter was relieved. Water it is, then. He tried to move, but the boy hung tight.
"God," Torn gasped, "You're still scared?"
He nodded again. His blue eyes shined with imminent tears. Torn was hoping the kid would let go so he could grab the water, but he didn't. Torn decided to let him hang on. He moved toward the shelf with cups on it, and the child started struggling. He whined, kicking his legs.
"Sorry, but you can't be everywhere I go, just because you're afraid of a stupid storm."
The child whined again, looking up at him with that gut-wrenching helplessness. Torn sighed, complying to the guilt. They boy released the grip on his neck, and Torn held him upright with one arm. He walked toward the shelf, taking a cup down from it. He handed it to his companion, who snatched it up. Torn placed the toddler on the cracked concrete floor. He gave a start at the coldness on his bare feet. He was wearing an old racing t-shirt Keira had scrounged for him. Unfortunately, it bared the logo of Errol's racing team. It hung down to his knees. They boy looked up at Torn curiously.
"There's a fountain over there," Torn told him, pointing, "I'm not gonna do everything for you."
The little boy turned back to the fountain, most unsure of himself.
"If you're going to be the heir to this place, you might as well do something by yourself."
The boy started walking toward the fountain, until lighting flashed. Thunder sounded, and he trembled where he stood. Torn watched on, his hands on his hips. The kid continued on toward his objective, studying it for a brief second. He stood on his tip-toes, pulling down on the lever for water. He yelped as a cold stream of water shot out of the pipe. He wiped his face with a plump forearm, looking frustrated as the droplets sparkled on his cheeks. Torn laughed lightly. The boy sprayed himself twice more before placing his cup on the ground in front of the pipe. He stood on his tip-toes again, sticking his tongue out as he pulled the lever. The water trickled down into the mug, collecting and spilling over the edge. The boy held up his drink triumphantly.
"There you go," Torn said, smirking, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"
The boy shook his head, sipping the water. Torn picked him up again, placing him back on the table. He kicked his legs as he drank. Torn fell into a chair in front of him, holding his head. The child was looking at the map and pictures that surrounded him. Torn's ammo belt was lying within reach, and the curious toddler grabbed it, fishing through he pockets. Torn still held his head in his hands when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Hm? What?"
The kid was holding a picture in his little hands. Torn was momentarily annoyed that he'd rummaged around inside his belongings, but he let it go. The boy pointed at the picture, looking at the Underground leader expectantly.
"Oh," Torn yawned, "That's Ashelin. She used to be a Krimzon Guard with me a few years ago. See?" he pointed to a very young man with short, spiky hair, "That's me three years ago. I was twenty-four; Ashelin was twenty."
He took the picture from the kid's fingers, placing it carefully back into one of his pockets. He sighed at the distant swirl of memories.
"Ashelin's a good friend of mine. You've met her before…she's great, in fact, but don't let her hear you say that," he smirked as the boy sipped his water. "You won't tell her, right?"
The child shook his head, a mouthful of water.
"I didn't think so…"
After the little boy had finished his water, Torn knew it was time for sleep once more. It was almost two in the morning. Torn placed his new-found friend back on the cold floor, amazed that it was still storming. Thunder suddenly exploded outside, the loudest of the night. The boy actually cried out. He reached for Torn automatically. The ex-Guard himself had even been shaken by that one. A wave of unused adrenaline was receding inside him as he tried to help the kid regain his composure. The lights flickered only three times, which was a good thing. Usually after four flickers, the transformer would blow up, knocking out power to half the slums.
"Go on back to bed," said Torn, "Go 'head."
The boy pulled on his fingers, urging him to follow. Torn pursed his lips. He complied to the guilt once again.
"Alright, I'll walk you down there…"
He permitted the kid to hold his hand; the poor thing looked genuinely scared. They walked together down the secret corridor. This led them out to the bunker that was located deeper inside the hideout. There were more rooms back here, mainly for other agents, but also reserved for people who needed to be kept from the Baron's attention. There was also a small medical room in the far corner and one small bathroom with a shower.
The child released Torn's hand, scurrying around the corner. He pushed opened a door with red lettering on the front that read: Commander. The boy ran inside the room, running and jumping on to a bed. Torn winced; it was his, after all. A crocadog slept at the foot of the bed, his ears twitching in his sleep. Torn yawned, then watched as the boy flopped down, rolling under the sheets. He flopped backward on to the pillows and waved to the Underground leader.
"Okay…it's time for rest," Torn told him sleepily, "I've got work to do."
He turned to leave, but the kid protested. He grabbed Torn's arm.
"What?"
Torn would have left anyway, but it was those damn eyes that got him. Biting his tongue to keep from muttering swears, he sat down on the bed. The kid smiled at him. Torn fixed him with a stern gaze."
"I ain't singing anything. Let me make that clear right now," he said.
The boy's face fell in disappointment. Torn pursed his lips.
"Sorry, but no-can-do."
The child looked around, sighing. He found something that interested him. He grabbed a beaten, leather-bound book, then dropped it in Torn's lap, grinning.
"Oh, a story…" he turned the book over in his hands, frowning. "Did Miss Keira read to you from this?"
The boy nodded excitedly, cuddling closer to Torn. He lifted his heavy arm over his head, placing it around his shoulders. Torn sighed, opening the old book. The pages were yellowed and the print was fading. He squinted.
"…Okay," he said, flipping through the pages a few more times. He cleared his throat and began reading. "Once there was a young boy-" the kid appeared interested.
Torn nodded, raising his eyebrows. "A young boy…it's unbelievable, huh?" he cleared his throat again, "this boy was unaware of the trouble that lay ahead, but he was ready for whatever adventures had in store for him. He, himself, was never a trouble-maker, though his friend would often persuade him to break the rules..."
Torn stopped reading. He looked down at the kid, making a face. His companion looked back up at him expectantly, blue eyes shining.
"You know what? I got a better story."
He shut the book, throwing it on his nightstand. He wondered where Keira had gotten the thing. He stood up, noticing that the little boy appeared sad.
"No, I gotta be standing up for this," Torn informed him, "You just get under those blankets and listen, okay?"
The boy beamed, sliding deep under the sheets. Torn had his undivided attention.
"Alright. Our story begins…in this cruddy little city. And-" he took a moment, "It's raining…a lot like tonight," Torn began walking around. "There's this guy. He's a real piece of work. He's got short hair, an' it's buzzed; one of his ear's been gnarled in half from a previous battle. This guy's a former Wastelander, so nothing can scare him!"
The kid was hanging on to his every word. Torn continued to spin his tale of the former Wastelander-turned thug, who battled Metal Heads and gangster cronies alike, nearly losing his life in a barroom fight.
"-But he saw the flash of the blade at the last second, and spun around, punching the goon smack in the face!"
The kid's eyes were wide, amazed.
"Then he puts the hurt on the rest of 'em, punching and kicking anythin' that moves!!"
The story went on until the clock ticked two-fifteen. By then, the Wastelander had saved the city from an onslaught of Metal Heads, crime bosses, and –out of nowhere- Baron Praxis.
"-Then, he put his arm around his beautiful girlfriend, and they sped off into the sunset in their awesome Wastelander car, toward the unknown…. The End."
Torn snapped out of 'story mode.' He turned as quietly as he could, hoping not to disturb the dog or the child. He was relieved to see that both of them were sound asleep. Torn tapped him lightly on the head, smiling crookedly. He left the room as silently as possible, closing the door behind him. One thing was certain: his stories kicked fairy-tale ass….
