Hey, all! DeadShut here with chapter two. It's not as long as chapter one, but screw it; just enjoy.
Sora, Riku, and Kairi are all back, but "better than ever" would be an overstatement. Meanwhile, a new set of colorful psychopaths and enemies are conspiring the worst plans they can dream up. How can our heroes deal with this?
As for the delay, I'm sorry. These chapters are gonna be delayed a lot, for both Hajikurazaki and I are working on something. Something big.
Enjoy!
The yellow school bus dropped Sora off a block away from his apartment, much like it did every day for the past three weeks he had been attending Coolidge High. Relief always came over him as he hopped off the bus, away from the strangers he had ridden it with, and walked over dry leaves of red and orange hues that lay on the sidewalk. Behind him, as he walked with his head down and his backpack strung over his shoulder casually, parents greeted their children with hugs, kisses, and warm smiles.
That was so familiar to Sora, yet also so alien. After a month of having his parents killed, he had a hard time looking at other kids rushing to their own, no matter how old. Many kids his age didn't want anything to do with their parents, and for that Sora scorned them; they would not be so rebellious if they had gone what he had gone through.
His nose started to burn and tears sprang in the corners of his eyes. Cursing to himself, he wiped them away; he did not want to be seen crying, by anyone.
Many times he wondered if his parents would have wanted him to grieve for them. He wasn't exactly sure. They never really talked about it. Although he had been somewhat independent in his teenaged years, he was still pretty close to his parents. But they seldom talked about tragedy. Sora had been raised to be a kind and caring person, like his parents were before him. His father had been a website developer for a lawn mower company and his mother had worked as the CEO of a small-town radio program. Both ended up wealthy individually, and a lot of that money had been donated to various charities. It was that wealth that bought them an innocent vacation from Maine to Manhattan, and ultimately to their deaths.
Sighing for what felt like the millionth time since this depressing September began, Sora walked into his apartment building. It wasn't a pisspoor-conditioned complex, but it certainly was no Grand Hotel, either. The people there were nice, and Sora did enjoy the name of the building: Il Rifugio; "The Refuge". Sora walked up the stairwell to the third floor, and went down the hall to the fifth apartment on the right. Using his key, he walked in to the smell of burning cheese.
The apartment wasn't very big. Only two bedrooms and one bathroom, with a small kitchen that was indistinguishable from the dining room. The living room had the most space, where there was a medium-sized TV playing some sitcom. In the kitchen, however, was a tall and good-looking youth who turned at the sound of someone entering.
"Il mio amico!" yelled Riku happily from the kitchen. He was wearing a tomato sauce-stained apron and a smile so bright that it would make most young ladies his age blush. "Entrare, entrare!"
"Italian for dinner?" asked Sora, smiling, as he placed his backpack on the couch.
"Ah, mio amico, you're a genius. What gave it away?"
"It was either the smell or your bad Italian."
"You break my heart sometimes, O'Reilly."
"What makes you so chipper today?"
"Look at the newspaper," said Riku, gleefully pointing down at the kitchen table behind him.
Sora walked over and read the headline: "THE 'D.C. AVENGERS' STRIKE AGAIN". Underneath was a very large picture, taken from a security camera, of two people in masks wielding Keyblades taking down a couple of robbers in a liquor store.
"Ah, Jesus," groaned Sora. "I knew we would've been seen."
"It's all good, though. They praise us in that article. They've called you 'Blue' and me 'Red'. Because of the color of the ski masks we used. Isn't that hilarious?"
"I guess. 'D.C Avengers', though?" Sora worried. "That's not really the kind of life I wanna lead, here."
"Pffft."
"Mick bought us this apartment to relax ourselves, remember? In case you forgot, I was shot in the shoulder about a month ago. Oh, plus, I saw a man fall out of a building, another onto a tomahawk, battled two weapon-wielding psychopaths, and barely survived an exploding building."
"You'll have a lot to tell your redhaired grandkids."
Sora pursed his lips and looked down at the paper in embarrassment. "Yeah, I dunno about that."
"What do you mean?"
"Things haven't been goin' so well."
When Sora and Kairi admitted to Riku about their relationship, they had expected an explosion from their friend. However, Riku merely congratulated them enthusiastically, saying that this brought the three of them even closer together than before.
"Why's that?" Riku turned back to his slightly-ruined lasagna and began to slice it into squares.
"I dunno. Ever since that Zexion-dude kissed her, things are just awkward."
"Are they awkward because they're awkward, or are they awkward because you're making them awkward?"
"I don't know anymore. I mean, when she kissed him I was jealous. It kind of hit me right then that I hardly know her."
"You came into this movie in the middle, yeah," Riku agreed. "You want salad?"
"Yeah, please. But, when we were together, something felt right. Like some universal thing clicked. But…that Zexion said he loved her. Did he feel that click, too?"
"If he did, it wasn't the same kind of click."
"Why's that?"
"Because it wasn't mutual," said Riku. He placed a plate of lasagna and a bowl of salad in front of Sora. "So how was school today?"
"Oh, fuck you," laughed Sora.
"What?"
"We go from talking about things that matter to…"
"School matters, Sora," said Riku seriously. "I never got a proper education. You should be lucky Mick is paying for you to get one."
"Yeah, yeah…it's just weird, though."
"In what way?"
"I mean…when I started working with you guys, I figured that was all that mattered. I thought we were doing things beyond going to school every day. I thought it was all leading up to either a full-out battle with the Organization, or our deaths."
Riku paused for a moment to take a bite of his cooking. Then, through his food and a bit of a grimace, he asked Sora: "What makes you think that it's not?"
A bit stunned, Sora elaborated. "Well, we're not doing anything against the Organization now, are we? No, we're not."
"Sora, let me tell you, man…there are a lot more bad people in the world besides the Organization."
"They killed my fucking mom and dad!"
Riku's eyebrows raised as he looked at the fuming Sora. Sora was dimly aware that his fists were clenched and shaking on the table, but was fully aware that he was staring daggers into his friend.
Then, Riku said calmly, "Sora you listen to me right now and you listen good. You aren't the only Abandoned Boy out there, you hear? I never had parents. Ever in my entire life. You should consider yourself lucky that you had any good times with your parents. I would happily switch places with you."
"You've never had to feel the pain of losing them."
"You think I've never felt that pain, that heartbreak?" asked Riku harshly. He pointed to the coffee table, where a beautiful wedding ring had sat since they moved here. "I know what it's like to feel abandoned by those you care about. But I find family in what I have now. You. Kairi. Mick, Don, and Goof'. You're a part of this family, too."
Sniffing, Sora said, "I…I know. I'm sorry, man. Sometimes I forget."
"It's all good, buddy. Eat your damn lasagna already."
Sora did so, ravenously. He was too nervous to eat at school, so he was always starving by the time he got home. When he was done with the lasagna, he moved onto the salad and shoveled that down as well.
"Worked up an appetite there, huh?"
"Dude, school sucks," said Sora gravely. "I was never the new kid before, but I've found they typically get avoided."
"No new friends?" asked Riku jokingly.
"Nah. Well, I dunno. There's Belle Bright."
"Are you shitting me? Bright, did you just say?"
"Yeah, why?"
"At the bar I work at…her sister sometimes drops by. Does she have brown hair and brown eyes?"
"Yeah, Belle's eyes are unreal. They're so dark and pretty. But, anyway, she's a nice girl. She recommended a bunch of books for me…"
Riku snorted, "I didn't know you were much of a reader."
"I'm not. But she is, and it was still a nice gesture. So I guess Belle is my only…friendly acquaintance in school, really.
"But screw school, Riku. It's Friday night…what are we doing?"
"You're not gonna see Kairi?"
"Uhhh, I don't think so. She hasn't texted me in long while. We hardly talked at all this week. So I guess I'm free."
"Okay," said Riku happily. "Maybe we can find a party to go to or something and get laid."
"I'm not gonna cheat on Kairi," said Sora flatly.
"I was talking about me."
"Oh go to Hell. Where are we gonna find a party, anyways? We don't have any friends, Riku."
"Uhh, don't I know a couple people in D.C.?"
"You used to."
"Terra?"
"Dead."
"Leon?"
"Dead."
"Ven?"
"Dead."
"Cloud!" shouted Riku. "He's close! Right down the road. I had almost forgotten."
"Cloud? Cloud isn't gonna know where a party is, Riku. He's getting married in a week."
Sora had been reunited with Cloud and Namine after his battle with Marluxia in the Grand Hotel. Sora instantly took a liking to the couple now that they actually were a couple, and it was hard to mistake the two for the people they had been under Terra's employ. However, as Riku and Mick revealed to him later, Terra had actually been under Aqua's employ. Riku had also proposed to Aqua, but was turned down. Cloud was there for him. It was funny to Sora; out of all the criminals he had met since July, he did not expect to be befriend Cloud, who had seemed so minor and unimportant when he had first met him. However, Riku and Sora had gone to Cloud's house for dinner a couple of times, and they all shared many laughs and told each other their stories. It would not have been such a close relationship had Mick not trusted the man; apparently, it was Mick who had freed Cloud and Namine from their positions. It didn't matter either way to Sora. He was just happy to have another addition to this strange, strange "family" he had been brought into.
Riku looked positively downtrodden. "Well, I can't take you to Club Rennie's without a fake ID. Only I have one."
"You can go ahead and go without me. You work better without me pretending to be your wingman anyway."
"Okay." Riku stood up and grabbed his car keys from the coffee table. "You sure you don't wanna come?"
"Pretty sure, yeah."
"I'll bring you a couple of drinks."
"Now that's responsible parenting."
Riku laughed. "What would you like?"
"Just a couple cans of Heisenberg. Nothing special."
"Gotcha. See ya', man."
"Later, skater."
Sora watched Riku go, amused at this last exchange. He knew Riku drank alcohol, but it took a bit of peer pressure and a realization that he had been traumatized too many times in his life to get Sora himself to start drinking. He seldom got drunk; only a little tipsy here and there. Sometimes he would feel guilty about it, but he was aware that underage drinking was a common thing. Riku, however, knew no boundaries these days; he drank until he was vomiting in the toilet.
Sora suspected he was depressed about Aqua rejecting his marriage proposal. That kind of thing really could ruin someone.
Just look at Zexion…
Sora shuddered. Remembering the incident with Zexion and Kairi in the alleyway always brought a chill up his spine, which would then cool down with a burning jealousy and resentment. It also brought a pure hatred for Zeke Fender, who had screamed at them his new, Organization-given name. Many times, Sora felt the desperate need to track down that cold-hearted man and use the Keyblade to chop him to bits. How dare Fender intrude on Sora's relationship? How dare he stain their love with his existence?
But these thoughts would always precede a wave of guilt and worry. What if Zeke truly loved Kairi, and Sora was less important in her mind? What if Kairi truly loved the intellectual back, and was merely lying in the alleyway to avoid hurting Sora's feelings?
Sora groaned and flopped onto the couch, his head full of worries.
Why, oh why, couldn't Zexion just move on? Why couldn't he just love someone else instead of Kairi? Why must his love be undying, something Sora himself could not guarantee?
A quote popped into Sora's head, something he read on the internet when he was moping about this one lonely night.
The quote he had read was: "The mark of a mature man is a certain scar he bears; the memory of a perfect woman never won, or of a once true-love forever lost. However much he may love you, he is only here because she is not."
Was that what Zexion had done?
Was it?
If thoughts of Kairi had driven the man mad, Sora could resonate with Zexion; all this thinking was driving him crazy as well. Which is why he sometimes craved a drink once in a while.
He looked at his cell phone. No new messages. No surprises there.
Maybe I should text her.
Stupid idea. Maybe she wants to be away from you for a while.
That's bullshit. We're going out, aren't we?
Oh yeah? When was your last date? When was the last time you said "I love you"?
The Hotel.
Yeah. Right before Fender said anything.
"Love stinks," sang Sora softly. "Yeah, yeah…"
After a while, on the couch, he silently fell asleep.
"Hello, Mr. Dawson. I am calling on behalf of Edward Truman, who will be running for the vacant position in the U.S. Senate to represent the state of New York. Do you have a moment to spare? You do? Oh, good. First and foremost…you are a resident of Maryland, are you not? Okay, good, I thought so. Now, as you may know, two months ago the enigmatic group of Internet-based gangsters called the Heartless launched an attack on Washington D.C., destroying the Washington Monument. As a precaution, the U.S. government decided to shut down the majority of Internet connections nationwide, causing at first a global panic. However, the Heartless' leader, Dante 'Diz' Shell, was publicly executed at an airport in Miami, which locals watched in horror…what was that? Who killed Mr. Shell? I do believe it was a competing terrorist by the name of…hang on a second…Kirk Manson. He was the leader of this group of three terrorists, and wanted badly to kill Shell to claim the bounty on his head. They were, in turn, killed off by former-Senator Mouse's agents. Due to the violence he had been a part of, Senator Mouse resigned from his position, and gave a few recommendations to fill his seat in the Senate, one of the few being Mr. Truman, Democrat and former governor of New York. His son is now the new District Attorney in Manhattan, after the assassination of Eddie Gargan.
"Mr. Dawson, these are dark times, indeed. However, Mr. Truman has made it his goal to do his best to improve our situation, and in our desperate time of need he believes he will come to the rescue. Please, Mr. Dawson, can Mr. Dawson count on your vote in the upcoming elections? Remember: there is no truer man than Truman.
"You will? Oh, thank you, Mr. Dawson. Please, have a nice day, and remember…keep optimistic."
Click.
Dialtone.
Kairi hung up the phone, sighed, and left her small cubicle to grab herself a coffee from the break room. Mr. Truman had bought this office building for his campaigners. At first, Kairi thought the job would be incredibly interesting, but she was disappointed to find that, at first, her job was nothing more than a telemarketer. She still did telemarketing nowadays, but as of late she had become Truman's official secretary, which involved running around trying to find the guy in order to tell him the whole host of news she would receive in between his absences.
She arrived in the break room to find a man in a blue suit and red tie, fixing himself a sandwich.
"Oh, thank God," she said. "Mr. Truman, I've been looking all over for you."
Truman was a handsome man, and attracted many of the women around the office and around town. However, those good looks had struck a fear in some, as charm seldom preceded hard work.
The politician smiled and said, "What news, Kairi?"
"Uh, like a hundred pieces of news, sir. Should I start with the 'Really Friggin' Important'-stuff, or the 'Mildly Friggin' Important'-stuff?"
Through a bite of cheese and ham, Truman said, "Go ahead and start with the Really Friggin' Important Stuff, Miss O'Cooper."
"Okay, well, first of all, Trudy and those in her branch found that a bunch of posters have been ripped down. We're not sure who did it, but…"
"Call a snoop or something, please."
"Gotcha. Mmm, next…apparently, the mayor of your hometown wants to celebrate the elections with a Halloween party in your penthouse, and I wasn't exactly sure who to…"
"Oh, a party? Uh, get Jack. He's the best party-planner around."
"Sir, we haven't heard from Mr. Skellington in a couple of weeks now. Remember? He didn't plan that Patriot Party of yours, and you were fuming mad…"
"Oh, right. Well, I'll send someone over to Jack's later, make a couple calls…is that it?"
"No, there's one other thing."
"What might that be?"
"One of your funders."
Truman raised his eyebrows.
Kairi pressed, "That Otto Oogie fellow. There's been a new police development with him; apparently, some cops are suspicious about his flow of income."
"Suspicious? Why?"
"Because, based on the amount Oogie is raking in, which is excessive, it seems like he has multiple sources of income from an unknown origin."
"So?"
"So that's bad, sir. Why wouldn't Oogie want to let people know about his business? Isn't that how a business is run - through advertising? How does someone acquire…" She went through some paperwork. "…three hundred thousand dollars without any apparent source? Money doesn't just come from nothing."
"How much is Otto donating to the campaigns?"
"A couple million dollars, but…"
"Then there is absolutely nothing to worry about."
Truman patted Kairi on the shoulder, gave a soppy smile, and went for the door.
"Sir," said Kairi urgently. "I don't think it would be wise to be accepting donations from a man who might be a criminal. It'd look bad in the public eye…"
"Who said what he's doing is criminal?" asked Truman loudly. "Just because you, a fucking secretary, are unaware of some sources of his income, you assume it's criminal? This is mindless paranoid bullshit, Kairi, and I won't have it!"
Tears springing to her eyes, Kairi muttered, "Okay, sir. I'm sorry, sir."
Truman nodded, lips pursed. Then, he said, "Listen, honey. Don't act so downtrodden, okay? I'm sorry."
Kairi said nothing.
"Are you mad?"
Kairi said nothing.
"Yeah, you are. I'm sorry, Kairi. I have a lot on my mind and I took it out on you. I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you, soon. Okay? I need to run some business now. Alright?"
"A-alright."
"Alright, sweetie. Thank you."
Cheryl had been on a fabulous date this evening.
She had met the rather handsome (albeit bearish) man on an online dating website. His profile said he was an entrepreneur with a good sense of humor, and that had been no lie. He took her out to one of the most beautiful restaurants she had ever seen, and fed her some of the most delicious meals she had ever eaten. He had ordered some very expensive French champagne, and they toasted the dating service. He then bought a wrapped bottle of the same champagne for her as a present, much to her delight. All this had very much turned her on, so she shyly agreed when he asked her if she wanted to come home with him and "relax" at his house. Yeah, Cheryl thought, there would be relaxing…if "relaxing" meant an all-night sex-spree. For what this man had done for her tonight, he deserved it.
Right now he was pumping gas into the car at the gas station. She looked at herself in her pocket mirror, and applied a fresh layer of lipstick; she wanted her lips to look plush, kissable, and sexy for him when they inevitably got into bed with one another. This was actually a first for her; she rarely met a man who treated her like such royalty for an entire night. Usually, men would just talk about how pretty she was. Cheryl, after breaking up with these men, usually told them that actions speak louder than words. And all this man did was act. It was like he was from a fairy tale.
He got back into the car and smiled at her.
"Well," said Otto Oogie, grinning broadly. "Aren't you sexy right now, miss. I got you this." He pulled out of his pocket a Reese's peanut butter cup.
"My favorite!" she squealed, taking it. "You remembered that from our chat?"
"Mhmm. You fascinate me. I remember almost every little detail about you. Shall we go?"
"Yes, please," she said, smiling. "And hurry."
Otto laughed. "Demanding, now, aren't we?"
"You can say I have it bad for you."
Otto laughed again as he drove out of the gas station. For a couple of minutes they drove in silence, until Cheryl noticed that they were taking a couple of back roads she had never been on before; a coworker had once informed her that only abandoned factories were on such roads.
"Otto?"
"Yes?"
"Where are we?"
"I really can't wait 'till I get home. Can we please…here?"
She shuddered with longing. "God, yes."
"Lean your chair back. Unbuckle your seatbelt."
"Yes, Otto…"
She did, and then a second later his burly form was on top of her. His weight turned her on even more so, and that pressure was pleasurable. He took off her dress for her, then slowly unstrapped her bra, then pulled her panties off with his teeth.
"Hang on a sec," he whispered into her ear. "I have to take a piss."
She laughed and nodded as he left the car and into the darkness around them.
God, I'm so horny, she thought, surprised. It's like he's too good to be true.
The car door opened again.
"You ready yet?" she asked in what she hoped was a sexy voice, but turned to see that the person entering the car was not Otto, but another, muscular man. She was then pulled, screaming, out of the car and onto the pavement.
"What'd I tell you?" she heard Otto's voice say from somewhere close. "A fine ass, average tits, and a clearly fuck-able pussy. Pay up."
The man holding her replied in a thick Russian accent that was heavy with disappointment, "You promised us a lot more than that. This is Cheryl Packer?"
"Yes. So?"
"Not Rachel Teague? Where is that one? My boss told you he had a thing for Teague. He thought she would make much money."
"I'm afraid Teague's run into a rather gruesome fate."
Silence for a moment. Then, the Russian spoke, "We've lost too much money because of you and your sick fetishes."
"And yet you're all richer beyond your wildest dreams," replied Otto disdainfully. "What I do in the privacy of my home has nothing to do with you or your boss. Shall we go inside?"
"Why?"
"I own more than half of this little factory of your boss', and I'm afraid that when I want to come in, there are to be no questions asked."
"Fine." The Russian picked Cheryl up by the hair, and she cried in alarm as she felt very sticky tape cover her mouth and tied her wrists together. "Walk," the Russian commanded, and she did so.
After getting a good look around, she realized they were walking towards a dilapidated factory that, although looked very ramshackle, seemed to be running. It was not long before they were inside, where she witnessed the utmost of horrors. Inside this high-ceilinged plant were workers dressed in casual wear, men in business wear, and naked women walking around serving the former two categories like some twisted, sexual waitresses.
Frightened, Cheryl turned to Otto and saw with a mixture of surprise and fear that her date was now wearing what appeared to be a burlap sack mask over his face. The pale, green eyes beneath the bizarre mask studied her for a moment.
Then, Otto said, "Take her down to the cages. This fucking princess needs to spend maybe a year or two appealing to our BDSM-customers, if she even lives that long to do so."
The Russian nodded, and Otto watched as he carried Cheryl, screaming underneath the tape, away. Then, Otto turned to see a familiar face.
"Ah, Ethan!" cried Otto.
Truman embraced the big man, and said, "You still wear that mask, Otto?"
"When conducting this kind of business, yes. I don't need any common man recognizing me from the papers. You've actually risked me quite a lot for coming here tonight, but it's nice to have you see my recent investment."
"I must say, Otto, this new market isn't anything like you. I always figured you kept the women you seduced for yourself."
"I haven't been able to find any delicious ones yet."
Truman laughed. "Your hobby amuses me, Otto."
"Me as well, sir."
"Do you eat the girls raw?" wondered Truman. "Or do you cook them?"
"Typically cook 'em."
"What do breasts taste like when cooked?"
"Come over one night and find out. The art of seduction is too easy. I've had maybe five meals in the past month alone, with enough to give to this operation, which I've bought sixty-three percent of."
"From who?"
"Can't say, Ethan. I'm sorry. I trust you and all, but this business is doing wonders for me, and I can't jeopardize it at all."
"I understand. And what if someone stumbles upon an active factory selling women in cages as sexual slaves and pictures of child pornography, Otto?"
"It's not child pornography, at least not under the court of law. How do you think mothers and fathers take pictures of their baby's bottoms and keep them in their wallets? As long as nothing too extreme is shown, it isn't illegal. We're giving the perverted fucks just enough."
"And the sex slaves?"
"They spend most of their day-to-day lives drugged so they can't speak to us. When we interact with one another with the slaves in front of us, we wear masks."
"And you chose to make a mask out of a burlap sack?"
"I find it frightening, as do the women. My fetishes aren't important. We should be discussing business. What brings you here tonight?"
"My personal assistant got a good look at your generous donations."
"Ah…female?"
"Yep. She's concerned about you, and apparently the cops have a watchful eye on you, Otto."
"What do you want me to do with her?"
"You own sixty-three percent of these men, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps send a couple of them to her house tomorrow night to bring her here."
"You don't want me to kill her?"
"No, and I also do not want her ending up like Miss Teague, so I'm asking you as a friend to keep your hands off of her. Drug her up and she'll make a fine slave as soon as possible. However, I want a personal discount, since I'm leading her to you."
"You wish to lead me to a product and then you want a discount to have her? Why not drug her up yourself and keep her as a slave?"
"Too much suspicion. Plus, you're the professional in these matters. Perhaps when I'm done with her I'll let you have her. She's deliciously creamy-white."
"I do enjoy girls like that. I'm surprised you haven't seduced her yourself yet, sir."
"Ah, as am I," said Truman, frowning. "But she's very young. Not even twenty-one yet."
"The younger the fresher."
"For a meal, perhaps, but teenagers are too questioning these days. Are they included in your distributing pornography?"
"On occasion. To those with that kind of fetish, merely tricking a girl that age into bed is more simplistic than buying pictures of her naked. However, sometimes you'll get a customer wanting to have pictures of the girl dead."
Truman laughed. "People have such kinky secrets. Since I've met you, I haven't been able to look at a stranger the same way without wondering how he or she pleasures herself in the comforts of his or her home."
"Must make political debates more interesting."
"It certainly does."
"What shall I get in return for bringing the girl here?"
Truman smiled. "Whatever you want."
Otto returned the smile from under his mask, then turned to watch his new "company" work.
"Refill."
The bartender eyed Hayner warily, but nevertheless gave him another shot. Hayner licked his lips as he was poured another small glass of Seagrams vodka, then took it and threw it back. A small yet pleasant buzz began to ring in the back of his head, and he was dimly aware that this was going to be another night, alone, shitfaced, here at the Grape in SoHo. The Grape was a private little bar that was a reputed "gay bar"; it was the only tavern in Manhattan in which Hayner truly felt comfortable.
"Refill."
He lifted his new shot of Seagrams and said, "To lost love and loneliness."
"Amen," replied the barkeep thickly.
Isa hadn't picked up his cell phone in almost a month. Hayner truly wished to speak with his beloved, but fate was truly not on his side.
He loves that whore, Hayner thought bitterly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Aqua. She doesn't even deserve him! What has she done that makes him so attracted to her? What does she have?
Power. That was what. Regardless of what Hayner wanted personally and emotionally, both he and Isa were still gangsters. They had one thing in common with every other damned gangster on the planet: a shared megalomania. A need for a rank and a position over others. Money, sex, cars, parties, guns. A life of excitement and self-worth.
Well, no. That latter part wasn't true when you were in a gang. When you were in a gang, you were in a gang. Every step you took was for the progression of that gang. Hayner was an accountant for Aqua, yes, but that meant he was in her empire, and that his entire livelihood depended on her.
Don't. You'll only hurt yourself.
Isa had been right. Falling this deep in love with someone was certainly a type of self-mutilation.
What the hell. He's not your boyfriend.
Yes. But the flirting, the kissing…it made Hayner feel so alive. So…so…
"Mind if I sit here?"
Hayner turned and his jaw dropped. Standing before him was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, beautiful man wearing a black pea coat and red scarf. The man had a natural, devilish smirk on top of a silly-looking patch of beard that nested on his chin.
Nervous, Hayner looked down and said, "Uh…no, go ahead."
The man smiled and took a seat next to Hayner, who was already feeling a hot blush creep up his face.
"Come here often?" asked the stranger.
"Lately, yes." Way to look desperate, he thought.
"Hm. This is my first time here. I heard it's a nice place to get away…get drunk…get fucked…"
"This isn't a whore's club," said Hayner firmly, still not looking at the man.
"Fucking is never synonymous with whoring. We all need sex. That's actually why I'm here. To get fucked. Know anyone who might be interested?"
"You'd be surprised…"
"Huh?"
"Nevermind. Depends on your taste in…people, I guess."
"I'd prefer someone like you. You're a fucking cutie."
Hayner blushed harder and finally turned to the man. He felt an erection grow in his pants and hoped to God that the man did not see it…
But saw it the man did, and instead of looking away embarrassed, he boldly grabbed at it. Hayner moaned with longing.
"Perhaps we should go," the stranger whispered.
"Lead the way, babe…" Hayner said, standing up.
The stranger smiled gleefully, and also stood up.
The Grape was a bar in an alleyway, so when the two exited together they walked into darkness.
"My place is a couple blocks away…" Hayner began.
"No," said the man instantly. "Here."
"Here?"
"Here."
The stranger took Hayner's hand and led him further into the dark alleyway. Hayner allowed himself to be dragged, suddenly even more turned-on than he was before.
However, once the man let go and turned around, Hayner witnessed the impossible. Before his eyes, with the only light around shining from the streets into the alley, the stranger who had so seductively lured him out here began to change. Some strange, disgusting-looking material began to cover the man completely, turning him into some sort of monster. Hayner turned to run, but the creature held him back by his collar.
"Don't run," the thing spoke, and Hayner's blood chilled at the sound; it was almost like two voices, the voice of the man and a darker, raspier one, speaking in unison. He struggled in the thing's grip.
"Let me go!" Hayner screamed.
"If you scream like that again, I'll kill you," spoke the creature. "Now, I've got a couple questions. First and foremost; you work for Someone, don't you?"
Hayner spat at the question.
A second later the creature took its claws and tore the skin on Hayner's shoulder. Hayner hissed in pain.
"Do you work for Someone?" persisted the thing.
"Yes."
"Good. I take it you'll know where the runner, Riku Hannon, is." As Hayner opened his mouth, the monster added hastily: "Of course, if you lie to me, I shall kill everyone you hold dear…or, perhaps…the one you hold dear…"
"I don't know what the fuck you are talking about," said Hayner, suddenly fearful.
"Lawrence, Hayner. I mean Lawrence. The one I've watched you call about twenty times for the week I've been stalking you."
"You couldn't kill Isa," said Hayner firmly. "Ever. Not even in your dreams."
That's fine if you think so, but when I tear out his eyes and make you eat them, I better not hear any crying."
Hayner winced.
"I'll kill him as easily as I lured you out here."
"If you lay one finger on Isa…"
"You'll do what, exactly? Have Angelina Godfrey place a hit on me? I'm a phantom, 'homeboy'. I don't exist. I will kill this Isa if you do not speak now! Where is Riku Hannon?"
"D.C.!" wailed Hayner. "He's in D.C.!"
"I take it the others are with him?"
"W-what others?"
"Sora O'Reilly, Kairi O'Cooper…"
"I don't know who they are."
"No time left for lies, Hayner."
"I'm not lying to you! I swear!"
"To what? God?" The monster laughed mockingly.
"No…I swear in Isa's name I have no idea who you're talking about. But Riku is in D.C. I'm sure of it. Please…"
"Fine," snarled the monstrosity. "But I shall be back for both you and Isa if you have lied to me."
"I'm not…please…please don't kill him."
"We'll see."
The creature flung Hayner, hard, into a couple of nearby trashcans. Hayner felt his face smack against the hard concrete of the building, then shuddered as pain throbbed in the middle of his face. Hayner moaned in pain as Felix Vanitas climbed away on the side of the building neighboring The Grape, laughing.
Blood gushing from his nose, Hayner pulled out his cell phone and called the man he loved for possibly the thousandth time since he had talked to him. This time, he left the message:
"Isa…I've been hurt…I think my nose is broken…please, watch out for strangers…"
He ended the call and blacked out.
Well, DeadShut is really setting us up for something grand, in't he?
Unfortunately, I have no idea when the next chapter will be out, but I'm working on it diligently as always. I certainly hope you all stick around. It'll be worth it.
As for that "something big", it most certainly is, but we can't tell you. Hurr. Keeping secrets we be.
Has a nice day from the both of us. :D