This chapter was a little rushed. I'm sorry if it shows but hopefully it won't happen again.
For as long as he could remember, he was unhappy. He vaguely remembered having a happy childhood, but those memories ended at around seven years old- the time he began idolizing his father. Whenever the man would walk into the room, Chris would stop what he was doing and stare at him, hoping he would come and talk to him. Playing was out of the question- his father had never done that- but any sign of affection would do, and it usually came in the form of a small half smile or a pat on the head, which was never enough. He likened his feelings to a sponge. He'd whither away and shrink down to almost nothing, then his father would come by and it'd be like a drop of water. He'd suck it up and return back to whatever he'd settled for as normal. Over and over again, the cycle would repeat itself and he got used to straining for nothing.. He lived a life that was just short of satisfaction, but he felt he had no right to complain, seeing as how he was always reminded of how lucky he was, and he realized that in some ways, he really was. He was the only son of two of the richest people in New York, and he was treated as such. A bodyguard accompanied him nearly everywhere he went, whether it was clothes shopping or picking up comics at the little store he felt he wasn't welcome at downtown. He felt the eyes of everyone his age glued to him every time he walked into that brightly colored building, and he kept his head down as Stu cleared a path for him. There was a time when he felt like an asshole for seeming to demand attention wherever he went, but that feeling evolved into a sense of arrogance soon enough. He had a phase where he'd smile when the large man ahead of him scared the other shoppers to make them move, but that phase faded faster than the first, and his arrogance melted into quiet acceptance and self pity. He would beg people in his head to talk to him. To please show that they had a desire to just say hi, but nobody ever did, and it was a hit to his self esteem to know that nobody felt braving the huge bodyguard was worth whatever the skinny rich kid might have to offer. Obviously, if they were in the same store, they had common interests, and these interests were so nerdy that it would be an automatic hit if anyone started a conversation about anything, even something he hated. It would stir up a debate, and he would've enjoyed it, but no. He was left to shop alone in the shadow of a man he'd known since the day he was born.
He never had a normal life. He knew what a normal life was, and he knew that was one luxury he didn't have. Normal kids woke up to their parents getting ready to leave for work. They'd eat whatever over-processed food their on-the-go mother had purchased for them, and run out to the bus stop, where they'd be picked up and shipped off to a crappy dirt stained public school that would teach them jack shit for twelve years, then send them out on their own, expecting them to find success or be labeled a failure. Chris woke up when his nanny knocked on his door. She'd walk in and open the blinds before saying, "Time to get up, Chrissy." and leaving to clean somewhere else. He'd go into his closet and find an outfit to wear, then get in the elevator to go downstairs for breakfast. It would be plated for him, right across from his perfectly groomed and made up mother, who would be reading one of two things- a trashy romance novel with roses and cursive writing on the cover- or the entertainment section of the news paper. His father would be locked in his office, and all Chris would get from him that early would be the muffled sounds of his yelling coming from inside. It intrigued him, and his habit of sitting in the hall with his ear against the door, or just a few feet away, playing with his toys, lasted well into his teenage years. It was where he learned how to swear, and learned that his dad wasn't just like one of those scary mob men from the movies he loved so much- his dad WAS that man. From the time he was seven on, he felt as if his dad was everything he should aspire to be. Most kids watched mob movies and idolized the actors in them, tricking their minds into believing those Hollywood bigshots actually had some kind of power on the streets, but Chris didn't have to pretend. If his dad wanted someone dead, that person died, and in a child's mind, that made his father God. Looking back at his life, Chris knew he was wrong to feel the way he did about his father, but he also knew it wasn't his fault. Not wanting to blame his mother, he looked over the fact that she never stood up and told her husband to tone his behavior down when Chris was around, and he felt helpless, not knowing how to fix what went wrong. He loved his mother, though he ignored her for the most part for the majority of his life, and he loved his father even though his father rarely paid him any attention, and even when he did it was never enough.
He often sat alone in his room and stared down at the streets, sad he couldn't tell what the people looked like from so high up. He watched the tiny dots move around, wondering if they were businessmen or schoolkids, and if they were going home or to work. He played games with them, picking one specific dot, deciding whether or not they would bump into someone in the time he could keep them in his sight, and he'd watch them, hoping he was right. If he wasn't , he started again with another dot. If he was, he started again with another dot anyway. He led a lonely existence, and the only time he actually had interaction with people his age was when his parents threw parties, and their friends couldn't find babysitters. They'd bring their kids along and they were forced to stay in Chris's room, which was big enough for the kids to avoid them if they so chose to. Sometimes they did, but there were a few of the kids that enjoyed Chris's company, and grew ecstatic when they were allowed to go to the D'Amico house to play. Chris's best friend was a boy his age named Jeremiah Yimenez, the son of one of his father's lower ranking henchmen Jared Yimenez. Jeremiah was exactly like Chris in the sense that he wanted to be his father, and the fact that his father wanted to be Chris's father made Jeremiah idolize Frank on a level close to Chris's adoration. Whenever they would play, and Chris's father would walk by, both of the boys stopped moving and watched him until he was gone. Chris was filled with pride when it happened, and he tried his hardest to act like it was no big deal to be the son of Frank D'Amico. Chris never doubted Jeremiah's friendship. Though the boy obviously thrived on seeing even a glimpse of Frank, he never asked where he was, if he was home, or if Chris had overheard anything new. He was as happy discussing new swear words he'd heard through the door as he was talking about Power Rangers. Chris saw him as mentally younger, even though he was actually older. He was more innocent and Chris knew the boy had a more normal upbringing. If Chris was allowed to spend the night at anyone's house, he would have loved for it to be Jeremiah's, but his overprotective parents wouldn't allow it, and Frank didn't yet trust Jared enough to have any member of his family, no matter how young, to stay overnight in his house. So they would play with action figures and run around, dressed in superhero costumes until the time came for Jeremiah to leave, at which point, Angie, Chris's mother, would kiss him on the forehead before saying goodbye to him, and Chris would wave as if he didn't really care that he was leaving, though he really did. Chris knew his mother noticed how starved he was for interaction, and she did her best to organize play dates, but it all came down to his father's mood, which was usually not very happy.
Years went on, and Jared earned Frank's respect. He became a regular member of the D'Amico henchmen and Jeremiah was allowed to come over more. Those times were all Chris had to look forward to and their friendship never faltered. As Chris grew older, he grew bitter and hated anyone who got any attention from his father, including Jared, but he kept his anger to himself, fearing it would jeopardize the only real friendship he had. It was because of that bitterness that he didn't feel anything when he thought everyone, including Jared, had been gunned down in his hallway that night. He wasn't thinking of Jeremiah, or how he would feel knowing his father had been murdered, all that went through his head was that the competition had been eliminated. He was, however, completely let down when saw how his father hid while his men died for him. It seemed like a cowardly act, and it messed with his emotions but his fear pushed his disappointment aside.
That night was a clusterfuck of emotions. He was angry that his father had taken one of his very few friends, Kick-Ass, and intended to execute him live on the internet. He was scared for Dave, but there was nothing he could do, no matter how angry he was, so he watched in a daze. He was overcome with excitement when the gunshots rang through the screen and all of his father's men on site were slaughtered. He was livid and embarrassed when he saw that his only target was the one who had done it all. During the massacre at home, he was terrified, but relieved when he saw Dave alive and well. However, something clicked in his head when his father ordered him to attack his friend. Though he did it, he didn't give it his all. Spending all his time at home, he could've beat Dave in no time flat, knocking him out and having time to help his father, but he didn't. Every day after that night, he was humiliated whenever he thought of the double knockout hit the two of them managed to pull off.
That was it. When Chris opened his eyes upon coming to, he knew what he had to do, and he grabbed his father's sword. He'd learned enough from the comic books he was raised on to know right and wrong, and he knew he was wrong. He knew his father was wrong. Hurting Dave was wrong, shooting a little girl was wrong, and letting all of his men- his "friends"- die for him while he hid behind a desk was wrong. Putting his mother through it all, and destroying his entire house- it was all wrong, and when something was wrong, someone had to make it right. There comes a time in everyone's life where they're pushed so far that their emotions turn off, and though his father was the most important person in the world to him, Chris had snapped, and he was prepared to kill his father or die trying. For a boy who had never broken a bone, or needed stitches, winding up bleeding from the mouth and nose on the floor of his father's gym was a big deal, and he wasn't happy. The years of frustration were coming out, and he ran to his dad's office only to find it destroyed. Dave had the girl in his arms, and Chris watched the two of them fly off with a jetpack. It was the coolest thing he'd ever witnessed and all he could do was watch, wondering where his father had gone.
His life got better and worse after that. He took time to just sit and go over everything that had happened. He learned who everyone was that was involved. That Kick-Ass was Dave Lizewski, Big Daddy and Hit-Girl were Damon and Mindy Macready. He learned the names of every man who died that night, and he learned about their lives so he could talk to their families and apologize. Understandably, several of the families wanted nothing to do with him. Still, others welcomed him in as if he were Frank himself and being nice to him would guarantee them a better life. He used his father's money to pay for every funeral the families would allow, and he gathered his courage and called Dave. Hearing only Chris's voice, Dave knew who he was and he let loose a very colorful string of expletives. Chris managed to calm him down and asked if they could meet, which was something Dave wanted no part of, until Chris told him that they could meet on the steps of the nearby police station, in civilian clothing. Once there, Dave finally put two and two together and realized that Chris was Red Mist. A mild fight broke out but Chris defended himself quickly, showing the skills he held out on the night they were forced to fight. He sat Dave down, he talked to him, and he earned his trust, at least partially. Chris reported back to Dave with every good thing he had done, trying his hardest to prove he wasn't his father- something he never thought he would even think of wanting to do. The man who was once his idol was now the man he was working his ass off to disassociate himself from. He asked about Damon and Mindy, and Dave knew to keep his mouth shut about them. All he let Chris in on was that Damon was dead, and Mindy was pissed. It was enough to fill Chris with fear, but he went to bed every night terrified of an attack that would never come, and he wondered why. So, he dug.
He learned about them like he learned about the men that had died, and what he found out was that he'd shot who could've been the world's most lethal assassin. He felt a small amount of sick pride knowing he'd managed to do it, but remembered she was just a little girl, and felt ashamed of himself. The more he dug, the more he found out about his father's ties to this little girl and her now dead father. He learned about her mother, and the prison sentence. He learned about Gigandet, and the entire operation against the Macreadys. Upon the realization that the police officer was such a twisted prick, Chris pulled as many strings as he could to get the man fired. It was another small thing he reported back to Dave. His guilt tore him apart, but there was nothing he could do to fix it, and that was something he had to live with. He saw it as his punishment for what he'd done.
To ease his mind, he decided he needed to get away from the site of the worst time of his life, and he bought a house in the middle of a small farming town. It was modest when he bought it, but his lavish upbringing caused him to upgrade nearly everything in it to make himself more comfortable. The TV was replaced by a screen that nearly covered an entire wall. The shower was expanded, retiled, and a touchpad replaced the knobs. Lights, chairs, the stove, carpet, countertops, couches, bed, closet, and even the toilets were all messed with until he felt comfortable. Knowing walking around with his last name would allow him to have absolutely no peace, he went through the trouble of legally changing his name, using his middle name and his mother's maiden name to form his new identity. It wasn't too complicated but it was enough to get "D'Amico" off every receipt and phone bill he received. He lived quietly by himself, spending his time working out, messing with whatever he could on his house, and teaching himself new skills. He took classes online, never feeling satisfied with his level of education. He kept in touch with whoever he could, meaning a handful of people that included his mother, Dave, and Jeremiah.
His growing friendship with Dave, his guilt over the Macreadys, and his nearly life-long friendship with Jeremiah came crashing together the night he got the phonecall from his oldest friend, telling him what he already knew- the identity of Kick-Ass and Hit-Girl. He felt his heart jump into his throat as Jeremiah told Chris everything he knew about the superheroes who had a hand in trying to kill his father, and who were responsible for the death of Chris's father. He was angry, but excited, and Chris heard the shaking in his friend's voice as he unveiled the details of his father's plan to destroy the two people he hated more than anyone on Earth. Chris saw, without any clouded judgment, why Jeremiah was upset, and understood where he was coming from. Despite that, and despite whatever loyalty he knew he should feel for him, Chris knew Jeremiah wasn't the one who's side he had to be on. He took notes, asked questions, and memorized as much of Jared's plan as he could before tracking Mindy down.
He knew going to Dave would've been a mistake. He was, after all, just a kid in the grand scheme of things, which was strange seeing as how Chris found himself going around a 22 year old and searching for a 16 year old. He found her, through her adoptive father Marcus- also her father's ex-partner. He thought long and hard about every possible outcome before he sent the text message. Was he ready to die for all this? Was he ready to be exposed as Red Mist? What else did she have on him? Obviously she was smart, she'd been trained nearly her whole life. So, she'd have dirt on him. He was part of the D'Amico empire, after all. After a little while sitting there, thinking too much, he decided there wasn't a choice. Whether he lived, died, got the shit beat out of him, or was exposed in some way, he knew he couldn't live with himself if he let something happen to someone as innocent as Dave. He sent a text to the phone under the name Mindy Williams, and didn't count on getting a response.
Meet at Richie's Diner at nine tomorrow night. -CDA
He knew if she got it, she would be there, and if she wasn't, he was on his own. Either way, he had to come out of hiding.
On his way to meet her, though, he made a stop at Dave's house and saw the scene of a murder. It confused him so much that he checked the notes he'd made during his conversation with Jeremiah. It wasn't right, and nobody was supposed to die tonight. When he saw Dave sobbing, he had to leave, fearing he'd lose his composure, run up, and try to comfort his friend. He got into his car and drove to the diner.
The second he saw her, sitting in a booth by herself, the guilt came back to him. He found it hard to look at her but he had enough discipline to be able to force himself to appear confident, even if he wasn't feeling it. He sat down, and he took his verbal beating, countering her attacks and arguments with nothing but facts. He was honest about everything, and he told her things she could've kicked his ass or killed him for. She did neither. She reacted the way he hoped she would- the way he honestly knew she would. She was smart, and she put emotions aside in favor of facts. She put her feelings on the back burner and suffered through having to relive her pain in order to get the information she needed. This girl he had feared and felt guilty over was now in front of him and he didn't feel threatened by her, he felt like her equal. That wasn't saying she wasn't scary as hell, but he knew she wouldn't hurt him, because he knew she was one of the good guys. Despite how violent and vicious she got, she walked on the moral high ground and he wasn't a criminal. He knew that she was aware of that. He threw every bit of confidence he had at her, tossing in a little arrogance, and made her see him for what he was- someone trying to do the right thing, and someone who had learned a lot since making stupid decisions that had cost lives, mainly her father's.
The night ended with him not knowing which way she'd go. Whether she would join in, or walk away was all up to her, but he'd made the decision early on to do whatever he could to fix the situation. He was willing to die protecting the people he didn't know on the list he had folded up in his pocket. It was the only way he could see to go about the situation. He drove through town in a haze, clueless about how it was going to happen, but it was going to. He was going to have to kill, and there was a possibility he would die, but there were no other options. He'd spent his life playing superheroes with his best and only friend, and now he had to stop playing and actually attempt becoming one. There would be no capes or masks this time. It wasn't about the fame like it was when he wore eyeliner and fake red hair. This time, his goal was to remain unseen and he knew driving around in a $80,000 car wasn't going to help him in that department. He had to dress down in more ways than one, and he needed to find a place away from his friends and family to stay in town. Attempting to put the teenage girl out of his mind, he drove around, searching for a place to set up so he could map out a plan to intervene in a plot that would cause the deaths of a dozen or so innocent people. His nerves were killing him and all he wanted to do was sleep, but it wasn't an option. His happiness and comfort were nothing to him now. He was on a mission and, whether he had a shot in hell or not, he was going to put everything he had into it, including his life.