Okay then...first thing I've ever submitted in my life. Wanna be nice to me?! D I personally kinda like it...kinda. Please R&R, loves, it'd be much appreciated. If you want a second chapter, give me a plot idea or something and I'll see what I can do. I can't promise I'll be able to continue or anything, but I'll try!
And another thing. I seem to have a thing for dead fandoms. XD

PS.
I'll take a shot at writing a challenge, if you have any for me. Aren't I so nice? P::

Memories were shooting back and forth in his skull like they were 4th of July fireworks, and maybe just as loud. They clanged, oh dear bleeding Jesus on rollerblades, they clanged, and his head was in a state of mortal agony. That just may have been the after-effects of fusing with Ebon, fighting Static and Gear, and then somehow randomly un-fusing with Ebon after they were thrust into the lake, but what the hell. They were going by too fast to be seen clearly, but here and there were snippets of people he cared about that seemed to be from a life that was millions of light years behind him. A haggard-looking woman with a broken but somehow beautiful smile and fine red hair; his mother. A cocky grin set on a face with bright blue eyes inherited from the mother; his sister. A broad-shouldered drunken addict with a mean face and eyes with all the personality of a bad-tempered (maybe rabid) pitbull; his father.

Alright, so he didn't really care about his father—so what?

His sister was still around someplace, although that someplace really wasn't in the vicinity of Francis Stone, and she probably preferred that. Well, that's what he thought, and he didn't really want to find out if it was true or not. Hey, who really wanted to see a brother that accidentally messed up the entire family even though he really didn't do anything at all?

No one, and definitely not his sister, that's who.

But that wasn't exactly the point. It didn't even really matter, the memories with their firework-ing and clanging and what seemed like screaming at the top of their lungs in his head. What mattered was how he couldn't breathe—the (probably highly polluted) dark, murky water of the lake was all around him, suffocating him, closing in on him. But as Hotstreak thought about it, simultaneously trying to smack the hands of the malicious panic that was slowly descending on his mind, it was just claustrophobia. He was down deep enough in the water to feel the pressure shoving at his eardrums; that wasn't quite helping.

Somebody's hand, probably Ebon's, wrapped around his ankle. He kicked out savagely, aimlessly, and felt his foot connect with what he guessed would be Ebon's face. A faint gurgle of surprise and pain, complete with silvery bubbles, could just barely be heard through the water, but Hotstreak didn't really give a damn. He just wanted out.

Well, opening your eyes under polluted water wasn't the best idea one could ever get. Whatever. Hotstreak could actually see pale, wavery moonlight shining into the water and onto his face. Wouldn't it stand to reason that he was close the surface, close to freedom?

He thought so too.

The moment he tossed his head back from the water, droplets of it flying off and seeming to hang suspended in the air for a nanosecond, he took in a deep, relieved breath. It was kinda like the kind you see in movies after the hero

(or maybe heroin? Heroine! Hey, his mom was on that stuff all the time!)

has just risen from the raging ocean, the love of their life clinging to their neck for dear life as they paddle madly towards shore. Okay, so maybe that's a little melodramatic and really long and stupid, he thought to himself, but that, like many other things in his life, didn't really matter. His head was finally above water and he could finally breathe. That's all that really counted for the moment. He started swimming back towards what could be called the shore, relieved that his fire powers wouldn't cripple him while he tried to swim. There was this bad habit of people, when they'd throw him into a fountain or something when he was ignited and pissed and ready to put somebody through the wall. Static and that one bitch that randomly came around—Shebang, was it? Whatever, Static and she were always doing that to him.

Soft talking alerted him to stay low and be quiet. A surge of anger snuck up behind him and bagged him readily as he realized that it was Static and Gear. They were saying something about getting home and sleeping for about a week. Gear laughed and said that they had school, so that wasn't really possible. Static merely shrugged and announced he didn't really give a hoot; he thought they had damn well earned a vacation after fighting off the Hotstreak-Ebon thing. Gear had to agree.

Hotstreak's fists had been clenched so tightly the nails left purplish little crescent moons in his palms. He held them up to his face for a second, squinting at them and somehow managing to realize they had begun to bleed a bit even in the pathetic light from the city and the moon. A scowl crossed that handsome face that turned several female (and a few male—let's be honest, shall we?) heads. He growled in frustration, low in his throat, trying not to be too obvious about it because surely everyone agreed that it would be a bad idea.

After what seemed to be a frickin' eternity, the small zap of electricity and the gentle rumble of rocket skates were heard above the little bastard with the jackhammer in Hotstreak's skull. He waited until they were mere pinpricks in the sky before grabbing the edge of the low-standing dock and hoisting himself up. Water rushed down in a cascade from his clothes and the sound of water returning to water seemed far too loud in his (albeit water-logged) ears. What a watery sentence, he thought dryly, and haha, look at that, he made a funny. Really though, that hadn't been intentional.

A grimace of pain crossed his face again as something in his shoulders protested loudly against him supporting his weight on them for even a few moments as he climbed back up onto land. His legs objected tiredly with his knees popping off a few groans. The little tussle over the mutagen gas with Ebon and then the big ol' fight with Sparky and Gizmo and then the whole turning back into two separate people thing had taken its toll on him, mentally and physically. And the stupid prick with the jackhammer had yet to stop chiseling away at his brain!

- -

He woke up at the old hideout when his dream ended. There was a little bit of shock and disorientation as his mind was still responding to the dream and body still alert and sore from the events of earlier that night. After looking around for a few moments, Hotstreak decided that there was no danger present and his flames died down. A groan forced its way out of his sore throat as he rubbed his face.

"Dammit…dammit, dammit, dammit." he muttered, and found himself annoyed at the way his voice cracked. It was probably from all the screaming he and Ebon had done when they were fusing together because of that goddamn mutant-making gas.

That brought on a whole new round of questions; where was Ebon, where was Shiv, where were the rest of them, what happened to Talon—Well, Theresa now…er, again, his mind told him—were there a billion other new bang babies, who died, who lived, who was new, who was old, who had what powers, and what in THE hell was THAT?!

A deep-throated purr resounded irregularly loudly as a mutated cat with teeth like a saber-toothed tiger's and claws like Talon's slunk into view. Its fur was dappled with a few odd green spots here and there. One eye was missing, one ear was hanging down in ribbons, and there was a scar across its nose. Mr. Kitty had obviously been in a fight a while ago, judging from how healed the wounds looked. Well, it mighta been a Mrs. Kitty, or maybe even a Ms. Kitty, or maybe Hotstreak mentally smacked his mind for going off on such a random unimportant tangent. In any case, Mr. Mrs. or Ms. Kitty's face was exceedingly misshapen and squashed-y looking, and Hotstreak decided in nine tenths of a second that it was extraordinarily ugly.

He also decided to call it Jelly.

Get that look off your face.

He sighed deeply with resignation and fell back onto the mattress he had crawled into maybe a couple hours ago. His walk here had been aimless and uncoordinated; he really didn't even realize he had been coming here until he fell onto the mattress, but by then his eyes were already closing. He was half-asleep when his head touched the pillow, and ten seconds later found him already sleeping. Now he was wide awake again, still with that dirty bitch of a migraine. It randomly reminded him of this one chick he had gotten with once (a few hours later and he had scared himself half to death because he thought she had given him syphilis). She WOULD NOT leave him ALONE. She was there all the time, always hanging on him and invading his personal space. She had said she was pregnant just to try to keep him tied down, but that OBVIOUSLY didn't work, because Hotstreak OBVIOUSLY didn't get her pregnant, because she OBVIOUSLY (oh terribly, terribly obviously) had gotten her period two weeks after they hit the hay. Oh God, terribly, horrifyingly obviously.

But he chose not to dwell on that scarring memory, so he thought of something else instead, like the fact he couldn't get back to slumber and sleep that dirty bitch of a headache away.

Jelly jumped up onto his stomach, actually knocking the wind from him. Stupid, fat, fucking cat. Hotstreak almost bolted upright, but he felt tiny little pinpricks through his shirt and lay still immediately. Stupid, sharp, fucking claws. He wanted to get up, or at least get Jelly off him, because Jelly stank to high hell! Or…high heaven, or low hell, but that didn't matter. All that did (at the moment) was Jelly fucking STANK and blatantly refused to move, if the claws weren't any indication.

"You stupid fat fucking cat, get OFF!" Hotstreak growled, picking it up around its surprisingly soft middle. Its squashed face looked at him pitifully as he tossed it to the floor. "Keep off me. Evil-evil-evil devil cat. Stupid sharp fuckin claws…"

He laid back down again and shifted his position onto his right side. Asshole in brain will not stop hammering away at brain! he screamed mentally. He felt Jelly leap up beside him again, somehow all grace and muscle beneath the lard. Whatever…he was warm against his back, the mattress was comfy, and the headache was leisurely vanishing as sleep bagged his blindside once more.

And Jelly snored, just to mention the fact. Who the hell ever heard of a cat snoring?

If you think the rating should be higher cuz of the few f-bombs I dropped, let me know, please and thanks o.o