i haven't posted anything in a while, have i? sorry about that! anyways, here you go. this story will have several chapters and hopefully i can bring myself to finish it. the title is from 'Breathe Into Me' by RED.
and if it looks to me like you and your reflection
plan to add your own fire to this dimension.
then tell it that this is ain't no free for all to see.
there's only three... it's just you and me against me.
It was a lovely day. The sky was a clear blue with puffy white clouds dotting it here and there, the sun was bright and warm, the air was fresh and warm and carried a sweet smell - but the people of Deluxe didn't know that. Confined to a life in a pod, brainwashed to believe that this was a just life, that they were safe and free under the iron fist of a man with a god complex. If they even dared lash out against him they would be imprisoned, or worse, killed.
The underground retreat beneath the so-called utopia thrived much more. They were able to wander the streets freely, wear what they pleased, and did not have to follow anybody's orders. While the lack of a direct government would have been disastrous anywhere else, it meant better living when it came to Detroit. Yet they still longed to see the sunshine, listen to birds that weren't mutated into something ugly sing, breathe fresh air.
Electrical wires stretched across the ground and over walls sparked occasionally, water dripped from leaky pipes and the air was full of dust and god knows what else. Detroit had been a polluted city before Deluxe, and all that air was stuck in this confined space now. Yet advanced medicine proved to work well, no one getting sick frequently and children being born without defects thanks to their mothers breathing in toxic air.
There was the soft hum of life throughout the city. Citizens sat on benches, relaxed in little restaurants even if the food wasn't great, walked along the pavements and talked to one another. The threat of Kane's bots bursting in was always great, yet no one seemed nervous. They had protection, people they could trust to fend off any attacks on their dirty yet lovely city.
The railing creaked beneath added weight, the bars wobbly and unsturdy as if they were ready to give way at any moment and send the teenager plummeting to the sidewalk below, just to become a stain there for years to come. Mike dragged his teeth along his bottom lip slowly before biting down lightly. His jacket was discarded to the side, sweat was causing the back of his t-shirt to stick to his back. Where his hair met the nape of his neck it was plastered to his skin.
It got so unbearably hot in Motor City sometimes. Nowadays people spent their time around Lake Erie, letting the water cool down their bodies whilst mechanics worked on installing more air conditioners around the city. The last thing Detroit needed was everyone suffering from heat stroke. Their hospital had been partially destroyed by Kane's bots, and didn't have much room left in it or many willing doctors. It was essential that the citizens were kept entirely from harm whenever they could be. Luckily Kane's attacks were usually planned and Mike would know when to begin evacuation to a safer area of the city.
The attack for the week was earlier that morning. It was easily fought, and only a few buildings were destroyed but there were still bomb shells here and there that needed proper deactivation before inhabitants could safely return to said area. They didn't want or need anything blowing up in anyone's face. Texas suffered minor injuries from his car flipping over. Just a sprained ankle that would heal in the next few days. Of course, the man had been furious, claiming that he was now a liability to the Burners and that without him being able to fight they were practically helpless.
Everyone laughed.
But that was earlier. Now Mike had retreated back to the Skylark Motel, sat in his room for hours on end just because he needed to be alone. He was friendly, he was kind, he was compassionate and he was considerate. Yet that did not mean he wasn't stressed. Having the burden of protecting an entire city on your shoulders, the constant attacks, the planning and just the general vive la revolution bullshit would make anyone who wasn't raised and groomed for this sort of thing crumble from pressure.
Mike had been, however, raised and groomed from a young age to be something like a soldier. When his mother left Detroit Deluxe to find a better life, his father was left without much to live for except his only son. He couldn't find proper work, due to being a mechanic; cars weren't allowed in Deluxe. Seeing his father crumble to such a state had caused him to force himself to become stronger. Maybe he had been a bit of a rabblerouser as a child, always managing to sneak from his pod and run about the city, hiding from the bots until they eventually found him and returned him home.
At age thirteen he joined Kane's forces. He had always been known as that cheerful, smiley kid that everyone liked and tended to tease a lot. It had been no wonder that he moved so fast up the ranks, with his attitude and loyal disposition. "Kind of like a dog," Kane had mused, "let's just hope he knows where his leash ends."
He had grown used to people pressing high expectations onto him, to people continuously telling him don't mess up, don't mess up, you'll screw everything we worked for over if you mess up. There was only one thing that mattered then: Abraham Kane and his cause. Don't screw up. Respect him. Adore him. Be loyal. Obey.
Of course, all that had been a crock of bullshit and more and Mike had found that out soon enough. It'd been nearly two years since then - today he turned eighteen. A fight in the morning to celebrate being a legal adult now, wonderful. Yet it did pump him full of adrenaline and left him with enough energy to make it through the day. Jacob insisted on celebration, telling him that you only turn eighteen once, might as well make it memorable. But Mike refused with a smile, saying it was just like any other day, he was just one year older. Just so long as he got to spend it in peace with the company of his friends he'd be fine.
Peace wasn't what he got, which in the end pushed him far from his Burners for a good portion of the day. Of course he felt guilty! Why wouldn't he? When he ran off like this it worried his friends. Mike didn't want to come off as a typical mopey teenager because he wasn't. He hoped they understood why he needed time to himself every so often. It was a normal thing. Everyone needed it. But he was their leader and he had to be there for them. He had to explain the next course of action and he had to be strong for them.
Swallowing the lump in his dry throat, Mike ran his fingers along the top of the railing, the metal cool beneath is fingers which shocked him when it came in contact with his hot skin. He drew his hand back, instead shoving it into the pocket of his jeans awkwardly, feeling somewhat embarrassed that he had been startled so easily by the change of temperature. "Heh, calm down Mike, nothing to worry about," he mumbled to himself, yet there was something in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck prickle with unease and bile rise in his throat.
He turned abruptly on his heel and trotted into his room, slamming the door to the balcony shut without a second thought.
Somewhere else, not too far away, the thinnest tendrils of smoke rose into the generally clean air of Deluxe. If he was found up here, he would be in a lot of trouble. Not that he cared. Kane was just a tool to him in finding and killing Mike Chilton - something he had been attempting for nearly two years. Two years... since then, he had advanced greatly in his fighting technique, his technology, his weapons. Every time they ran into one another, it was becoming harder and harder for Mike to get away safely.
Any day now, Mike would be in a crumpled heap on the ground surrounded by his own blood. His assailant would be standing over him with the sickest sense of satisfaction. That was for his family. That was for everyone who didn't get out in time.
Shifting his legs, the metal of his improved armor scratched along the pristine white surface of the roof. With a finger he flicked ash of the tip of his cigarette. Smoking and any other kinds of drug use was strictly prohibited in Deluxe. It tarnished the so-called perfect image that Kane tried so hard to keep whilst the city was under his subtle dictatorship. It was a wonder that the majority of its citizens hadn't noticed yet, and anyone who did quickly migrated to Motor City.
His stomach did a flip at the thought. Motor City. His home. Well, his old home.
Red, as he was called, was born and raised in Motor City twenty years ago. It had been around the time Kane had begun the transition from old Detroit to Deluxe, when KaneCo had actually been trying to help people. Red and his family refused to move, as did a few other citizens. They had to be sent to older houses along the edge of the city where he spent the majority of his life.
While it may have been difficult to tell now, he was a shy and reserved child. He had been interested in painting but wasn't very good at it, usually spraypainting a red hourglass symbol all over the buildings on the street, or just running around throughout the city before trying to pick fights with people much larger than him. That always earned him a few bruises and scrapes and sent him crying back home where his mother would pick him up and kiss his cheeks before she cleaned up his cuts.
If only he could have done the same thing so easy when she was crushed by tons of debris and cement and brick the day that one Cadet Chilton led Kane's men to his home, the day it was destroyed along with the rest of his life. Red had been but eighteen then. He remembered returning later that day, blood leaking from his now partially blind left eye and running down his cheek, smearing across the rest of his cheek. He stared with his one good eye across the wreckage for any signs of life. It caused him to scramble forward, digging through the blocks of cement.
The image scarred into his mind forever was the one of his parents bleeding from their heads, their noses, their mouths. Their limbs were crushed as were the rest of the bones throughout their bodies.
He didn't bother looking for her. She would have caused him to go insane he had had found her dead. Red would have snapped completely. While it obviously happened, seeing her dead body would have been his breaking point.
Red had screamed and sobbed, he had cursed the man who was responsible for all this until his throat was sore and he couldn't speak above a mere whisper. He remembered men and women in black suits appearing some time later, possibly looking for survivors that may have been left behind, and coaxed him to his feet. He had been terribly silent as they led him to a rather large building for him to stay in for his eye and other wounds to be treated. There was one man he briefly remembered. Dark-skinned, shades, a smirk that made him look like he told a really sly joke that no one else got. But he couldn't remember his name for the life of him.
They had asked his name. He didn't want to tell them, so he just responded with, "Red." That worked enough for them. As far as Red was concerned, that was his real name now. He couldn't really remember what his birthname was. It was pushed so far back into his head it was nearly wiped completely from his memory.
Afterwards he had left the establishment. He found a shitty, small house to stay in. After working crappy job after crappy job to get money, practicing and familiarizing himself with Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, lifting weights, taking morning and evening runs and eating things that wouldn't hinder his ability to fight. Then he gathered fabrics, he made a suit for himself, he found pieces of scrap metal and bought an old helmet, cleaned them all, and began forging armor. All while doing this, he had to go out and find a car. There was a large red one in the junkyard. At that time it had been watched over by some megalomaniacal man, which meant Red had to have been sneaky.
The car definitely got modifications. It was turned into a death machine. The whole thing was a safety hazard... for whoever was up against it. It took an entire year until he was done. That's when he knew he had been ready to chase after Mike Chilton, whom he had gathered as much information about as he could.
Red stared blankly at nothing with his good eye as he thought. Then he ran his tongue out over his lips, dropping the butt of the cigarette over the edge of the building and watching it fall and fall and fall. A passing bot zapped it, incinerating it completely before it could hit the ground.
Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs which led to the roof. Red hopped to his feet, sliding his helmet back into place and clicking the latches so it held firm just in time to hear the crackle of static coming from the giant hologram projected off the roof as somebody passed through it. Kane's loud, booming voice rattled through the speakers in his helmet. "Revengo, I have a job for you." Kane didn't sound pleased to find the assassin up here, but he said nothing of it.
Red turned around on his heel, peering at the man in front of him through his visor. Though he was sneering behind the helmet, his voice sounded the same as the rest of Kane's dogs: attentive, yet almost sickly sweet.
"Anything for you, sir."
