Crapola! I forgot to put in a disclaimer in the first chapter! Sorry!
I do not own Dr. Horrible or any of the other characters. I wish I owned Billy, but, sadly enough, I do not.
Chapter Two: Stolen
He awoke in darkness, his face glued to the carpet with dried blood. For a minute he just lay there, simply experiencing the pain. His nose was broken--or at least it felt like it. He slowly lifted his head off the ground, wincing as the layers of dried blood pulled at his skin before sticking to the carpet.
He managed to stand and stumble through the darkness and into the bathroom. As he went, his feet met many unidentified objects that were not where they were supposed to be. He was glad all the lights were off. He really didn't want to deal with fixing this place up tonight. All he wanted was sleep.
He had to force open the bathroom door because it was hanging strangely on its hinges. He flicked on the light and saw that, other than the door, the bathroom hadn't taken too much damage. Meaning that the mirror was in one piece, although it had a thick layer of shaving cream over it. The shower curtain had been ripped from the wall and the contents of every bottle of shampoo and every tube of toothpaste he owned was floating around in the tub like some strange fluffy and minty concoction.
He sighed and wiped some of the shaving cream off the mirror with one of his gloves before taking both of them off. He grimaced when he saw his reflection. His bruised and broken face was covered in a mask of blood, some of which was fresh and dripping all over the counter.
He dug around in the drawers below the sink--which were all practically empty now--until he found a wash cloth.
After getting the majority of the blood off and making sure that his nose wasn't broken too badly, he turned the light off and trekked to his bedroom, which was in a much worse state than the bathroom.
Not a single piece of furniture, with the exception of his bed and bedside table, was left standing and his personal possessions were scattered all over the floor. He heard CDs cracking under his feet as he struggled out of his blood splattered clothes and into some clean pajama bottoms before throwing himself onto the bed.
The mattress had taken a beating, too. It was ripped all over the place, stuffing and springs were sticking out here and there. One such spring was poking into his stomach as he lay there. He didn't care though. All he wanted was to sleep, which he did.
------{^_^}------
His prediction had been right. His body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Several trucks. And a steam roller.
He was very annoyed by the sunlight that was pouring through the broken window. Squeezing his eyes shut against it, he tried to will away everything about the day before. When he opened them again, he wanted the pain to disappear. He wanted the energy gems to be back in their original vault, the one that he had an access code to. He wanted his apartment put back together. And, most of all, he wanted Captain Hammer's memory modified. He didn't want anyone other than a few close friends to know where he lived.
Captain Hammer was definitely not a close friend.
He groaned and rolled onto his back, the loose spring scraping along his bruised skin as he did so. He winced and thought about how he would probably have to move. He couldn't keep living here. It was only a matter of time before the idea of his archenemy being able to waltz into his room at any time he pleased turned him into a paranoid wreck.
He opened one of his eyes just a crack and glanced at the cell phone on his bedside table. Miraculously enough, the phone was undamaged except for a light scratch on the screen, which was announcing that it was already one in the afternoon. There was also a flashing icon on the screen. He had a message.
He used one finger, the nail of which was cracked and bleeding, to check the caller ID. It was Moist, so instead of listening to the message, he just hit "call back" and put it on speakerphone.
"Hey, Doc, did ya' get my message?" Moist asked, having picked up after only one ring.
"Yeah, but I didn't listen to it," Billy said, forcing himself into a half sitting position. God, he hurt. "What's up?"
"Just wondering what happened yesterday," Moist said casually. Billy suspected that his friend already knew that the mission had been a fail.
"Got caught," Billy sighed, experimentally stretching his limbs. Nothing seemed broken. Other than his nose, possibly. "Captain Hammer saw me."
"Oh, no way! He's supposed to be out of town this weekend!" Moist exclaimed sympathetically. "I can't believe he--what's that sound?"
He was referring to Billy trying to stand up, his feet crunching another CD as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He blinked and said, "Just a CD. They're scattered everywhere. Hammer trashed my place."
"What?" Moist asked. "How did he--"
"Saw Pink's car and followed me home. Put my face through the computer and totally destroyed the place . . . and me . . ."
"Jeeze, man," Moist sighed. "Do you want me to come over and help you pick up?"
"Yeah, that would be--" His voice dried up. He'd been surveying the ruins that surrounded him and now his eyes were fixed on a blank space on the shelf across the room. "It's gone. Moist . . . it's gone!"
"What? What's gone?"
Billy tore through the debris, searching for what was probably the most important thing in his life right now. Without it, his next plan was pointless. It was why he needed those gems in the first place. His very existence depended on that one item.
"What? What is it? Hey, calm down. Talk to me." Moist instructed, trying to get his friend to relax a little bit. Billy was only half listening, though. He was going through every little piece of junk in the room, his injuries and pains forgotten. He could feel the panic rising in his chest and slightly nodded when Moist said, "I'm coming over. Don't do anything stupid. I'll be right there."
Billy had worked his way through the hallway and was starting on the kitchen when Moist arrived. Billy's henchmen and friend stared for a second at the carnage and only snapped out of his trance when Billy threw a frying pan (that was bent in half) at him and demanded he help him look.
After a few hours of searching and cleaning, they hadn't found the mysterious object that Billy was so keen on recovering. Moist wasn't sure what it was, but guessed that it was pretty important judging by the crazed look in Billy's eyes.
Evening was approaching by the time they had slumped onto the couch, exhausted. They had managed to separate the trash from the decent objects, but still hadn't found whatever "it" was. Even though the apartment was pretty well destroyed, Billy thankfully noted that Captain Hammer hadn't found his laboratory.
"So, what's missing?" Moist asked once they'd been resting a few minutes.
Billy groaned. Now that the adrenaline and panic had worn off, he was beginning to feel the throbbing pain again. All his running around had made it worse, and he didn't even want to try moving his lips enough to speak.
Finally he said, "You know that latest plan I've been rambling about?" Moist nodded as Billy tried to clear his throat and hacked up a disgusting mixture of spit and blood. His voice was diminished to a croaky whisper as he said, "The main part of it . . . is gone. He must have taken it . . . but I don't know why . . ."
"It's because he hates you," Moist said, his tone suggesting that it was the most obvious thing in the world.
They sat in silence for a moment. Moist wrestled with a can of mixed nuts he had found under the couch cushion, trying to assess the extent of his friend's injuries. Sometimes he pushed himself too far, but it was sort of hard to tell just when he'd reached his limit. Moist was pretty sure he hadn't seen anything like this . . . not for a long time anyway. Hopefully, Billy would take it easy for a week or two to give his body time to heal.
"What are you going to do?" Moist asked, breaking the painful silence. "About . . . about the stolen . . . thing?"
"Anything," Billy whispered, his eyes closing. Moist could tell he was about to fall asleep. "Anything to get it back . . . whatever it takes . . . anything . . ."