Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock, maybe just the plot for this story if anything
Chapter Four: Darkness EngulfsHotstreak crashed into the water headfirst. Resisting the urge to gasp in a much-needed breath of air, he let himself linger in the silence, a blissful smile crossing his lips. He had his powers back, he could feel the flames within him begging for fiery release but he had to wait until he was dry again.
Hotstreak's grin grew wider, better still, Ebon was nowhere in sight. After the two had merged, a thoroughly uncomfortable experience in itself, Hotstreak had been disoriented and Ebon had pushed into his mind. Hotstreak had floated in a mist of darkness, much like the water around him now, and all he could do was watch Ebon use his powers against Static and Gear.
And now they had separated for some unknown reason. Hotstreak was not sorry.
Above the water, the ship trembled ominously, fire poured from every window and there was an enormous cloud of smoke hovering just overhead, casting everything into a haze.
Hotstreak's lungs ached for air and he reluctantly pushed for the surface, thinking that Static would be there waiting to arrest him. What was there was worse, much worse.
The ship exploded.
Hotstreak had no time to react and dozens of pieces of razor sharp debris cut into the water around the helpless pyro. One piece slit his shoulder and Hotstreak winced, another embedded itself in his side.
Hotstreak gasped and reached to pull the metal out, his hand came away smudged with the dark tint of blood, the water around him clouded with blood also.
Feeling lightheaded, Hotstreak tried to swim with his good arm back to shore; the coldness of the water and the ache in his side had numbed him.
Suddenly, a dark stain in the water caught Hotstreak's eye. Had the ship been carrying oil and now it was leaking into Dakota Bay? No, the stain slithered towards him fast and Hotstreak jerked backwards as it rose out of the water and engulfed him.
It was Ebon! Ebon had wrapped his shadows around Hotstreak's wrists and was dragging him down into the water. Hotstreak tried to kick out and escape but Ebon was quicker and locked Hotstreak's ankles in his shadowy grip as well.
Ebon's purple eyes glowed menacingly as he dragged Hotstreak lower.
Hotstreak's ears popped painfully before Ebon stopped his descent…and whirled around to sink his fist into Hotstreak's cheek. The pyro's head exploded into pain but Ebon reeled back with his fist again and hit Hotstreak across the nose. Again and again Ebon punched him, cutting his cheek and splitting his lip.
Apparently the Breed leader wanted to finish the fight that he and Hotstreak had started on the ship. Ebon had an unfair advantage, his powers worked in water and his appeared to be uninjured.
But even shadow masters need to breathe so, satisfied with his work Ebon released Hotstreak and darted for the surface.
Hotstreak stayed in the water, his bad arm floating uselessly in the water and his side preventing him from moving. All he could see was the dark water above him, tainted with his own blood.
He wanted to breathe but couldn't make him limbs move. His lungs screamed for air. All he could see was the darkness clouding his eyes.
Francis sat up in bed, gasping for breath. Sweat dripped from his brow and he realized with some disgust that he was shaking.
He got up from bed as careful as he could, he didn't want to disturb Theresa, and left the bedroom. Francis wandered to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, still taking in ragged breaths.
He had thought the nightmares would stop. He never told Theresa about them, he was ashamed of his own ineptitude that night at the docks.
He had been on the verge of drowning before he had come to his senses and finally struggled back to the surface. The walk to Theresa's had been excruciating, she had found him clinging to her doorpost, his shirt and pants soaked through with blood and bruises marking his pale skin.
Francis shuddered at the memory.
He tried instead to remember happier things, like the news of Ebon's death.
Despite the fact that the second Big Bang had occurred in an isolated spot and only Static, Gear, Ebon, and himself had been re-contaminated, Ebon had broken into Alva Industries on his own in an attempt to steal more gas.
Guards had shot on sight. Ebon may have been able to transport himself anywhere instantly, but even he was unable to dodge speeding bullets. They cut through his shadowy frame and he was unable to recuperate, leaving him writhing on the floor. He died later that night at Dakota General.
It was the next day that Francis and Theresa decided to move to Gotham.
Francis went out to the balcony and leaned against the railing. The wind blew gently across his bare chest and he smiled, remembering the times when Theresa would fly to his apartment in the dead of night. A pair of familiar arms wrapped around his middle and Theresa rested her head against his shoulder.
"Come back to bed mi amore."
Francis stiffened reflexively and then slowly let himself relax into his wife's embrace. Too many years of being hit and instantaneously hitting back had made it difficult for him to adapt to the touchy-feely way Theresa lived.
Francis nodded and pulled Theresa to his front and hugged her fiercely. He wasn't naïve enough to think he would still be standing here if it weren't for her.
She had saved his life.
Theresa watched the small of his back move up and down rhythmically with each breath. Reaching out, she gently traced a muscle in his back and tried not to frown when he flinched in his sleep. Speaking of sleep, it surprised Theresa that he had fallen back into a deep slumber within moments of her coaxing him back into bed. Usually he fidgeted all night after one his nightmares.
She sighed and pressed her hand against his shoulder blade. She wished he would tell her what plagued his dreams, but Francis would never allow himself to do that. It had taken almost a year for him to admit he loved her, and even then it had sounded painful for him to say.
Theresa never liked to think about what had made Francis this way, but she knew his past had not been sugarcoated. Her own life had been full of misery and poverty, but according to her older brother, Carlos who had died in the first Bang, Francis' own past was beyond comparison. No Banger ever talked about it. It was a subject treated as a taboo, punishable by Francis' rage, which was formidable enough.
Theresa felt her lips twitch into a soft smile. She remembered when Jesse had been born. Francis had been terrified of that little baby, never making a sound, getting her whatever she needed for their son, but he didn't hold Jesse until he was three months old…and that had only been with Theresa's incessant nagging.
"Francis, come here." Francis poked his head into the room and smiled at his wife.
"Yeah babe?"
"Hold your son." Theresa extended Jesse to him. Francis backed up, the smile flying from his face.
"N-no. That's okay. I…err…I shouldn't." He mumbled and attempted to leave.
Theresa was on her feet and stalking towards him before he could exit the room. "No Francis. Hold out your arms, I promise it's not that hard." She held Jesse in the crook of one arm and manipulated Francis' arms into the proper position.
Finally, Theresa put Jesse into his father's arms and stepped back smiling.
Francis looked extremely uncomfortable. "Okay, take him back now."
Theresa frowned. "No. You've got him and look how happy he is." Jesse gurgles his agreement and waved one pudgy arm in the air. Francis grinned and adjusted his arms carefully.
"What if I drop him?"
Theresa shook her head in exasperation. "You've caught me falling from twenty feet in the air and I didn't get a bruise. I think our son is in safe hands."
Theresa wrapped her arms around her husband's waist and hugged him. To her surprise he actually nestled closer to her in his sleep. She tucked her head into his shoulder and fell asleep with a smile still on her lips.
Virgil hadn't slept in days. Richie took naps at random hours of the day and now, at three in the morning, Richie was dozing half on and half off the couch with Backpack running dozens of tests at his feet.
Virgil looked around at the impressive décor of a Wayne Towers penthouse, given to the super hero duo for their exclusive usage while Bruce was away. Now swathed in darkness and shadow, the room was intimidating and Virgil wandered out onto the balcony and gazed down at the city past the outcropping gargoyles.
Even at this ungodly hour Gotham was thriving. Lights from cars and businesses, probably of the illegal nature, illuminated the streets and drove away the shadows.
Virgil grinned as the night breeze played across his cheeks, glad for once that his mask was gone. He was tired of course, they both were. They had been running DNA tests on hundreds of suspects and had been patrolling the city at all hours of the day but nothing had turned up on their mysterious killer.
Virgil really wasn't too worried. That may sound callous, but killers who were this grotesque in their work found their way into the law's hands one way or another. It just depended on how clever this particular murderer was, and how long they could keep themselves hidden.
What was really bothering Virgil was the return of Hotstreak. Guilt plagued him, not about what he had said to his archrival, but that he had blurted it out in front of his kid. It wasn't protocol and Virgil should never have let himself slip so deep into his emotions like that. It was mistakes like that which led to stupid decisions in the field.
It was just seeing Hotstreak again had made all his past feelings rise up and erupt. The fear when he faced the bully before the Bang, the rage when he had beaten him up for no reason, the offhandedness they treated each other when they fought. It was a childish rivalry but one that had never been resolved.
Virgil frowned, now remembering how Hotstreak and Wade's childhood rivalry had dramatically escalated through the years.
Virgil was sitting on a low stone wall, comic book in hand and Richie at his side, offering his nine-year-old insight. "You see V, Gorlak was trying to shoot the captain and then Varveena shot him back before Tolar could die!"
"Who's Varveena again?" Virgil flipped the comic book so it was upside down and tried to comprehend the complex pages.
Richie sighed. 'Maybe you just weren't meant for Galactic Intervention V."
They both looked up to hear cheering, the eleven-year-olds were on the basketball court and it looked like Francis Stone had won another game of Horse. The red-haired boy took a bow and his friend Jake clapped for him, laughing and exchanging dollar bills with a heavy set boy named Wade.
"Toldya he could make that shot!" Jake exclaimed and ran up to Francis, taking the ball from him and dribbling up to the basket for a lay-up.
Francis grinned at Wade and shrugged. "And I told you not to bet against me. Bad way to lose ten bucks."
Wade stood, he towered over Francis who was short for his age. "Are you mocking me? You could never make that shot again in a million years!"
Francis frowned. "Course I could. I could do it right now and you'd owe me another ten."
Wade shoved Francis hard and the boy teetered backwards on his heels but didn't fall over.
All the boys stopped their games; Virgil and Richie were watching the exchange nervously. One of the younger kids ran inside hollering for a teacher.
Francis swiped a lock of red hair from his face and shoved Wade back. Wade smirked, as if he had been waiting for an excuse to fight…and Francis had given it to him. Francis reeled back at the first punch and then he was springing back up, diving low and driving Wade to the ground with tackle.
Virgil stood on the wall and tried to see the fight over the ring of kids surrounding them. There was a loud crack and several boys 'ooohed' appreciatively.
Two teachers ran from the school and dove into the fray, pulling the boys apart. When the dust had cleared, Wade was nursing a broken nose, which had been the crack, and Francis' shirt was torn and he had a black eye and split lip.
The littler boy had really been no match for Wade but from that day on the two were constantly at each other's throats. Then Francis had hit his growth spurt and Wade no longer loomed over him. Their fights were no longer fought with fists, but with guns and knives. It was actually their feud which had inevitably led to the Big Bang…a fact that Virgil still resented. Life would have been different sure, but so much simpler.
He was older now, and he hoped wiser, he knew now that he didn't want him and Hotstreak to become like Francis and Wade. That was why he accepted Gear's idea of letting Hotstreak cool off for a few days. Virgil knew he needed to cool off as well, instead he had jumped straight into endless hours of work to clear his mind.
Without thinking, Virgil let his thought stray back to the last night he had seen Hotstreak before last week. It was at the second Bang, which had been a very confusing night for Static.
First Hotstreak led Ebon to the gas, then he stole the gas back from Ebon, then fused with Ebon into some superfreak metamonster straight out of Galactic Intervention.
Virgil slipped back into the past, unaware that the same memory was haunting his own archrival on the other side of the city.
He was little more than a shadow on the wall, albeit a very large shadow. He moved swiftly and with purpose through the dark alleys of Gotham.
Finally he reached his destination. It might once have been considered a nice apartment building, but the paint had long since faded from its walls and trash was strewn about the steps.
Forgoing the entrance entirely, he chose to enter the building via the fire escape. His hulking mass made the rusted metal protest but it held and no one stirred within the apartments.
He climbed until he reached the second highest apartment, and then he took a small key from his pocket and made quick work of the window latch.
Crawling into the apartment, his nose crinkled at the smell. Garbage and dirty dishes littered the kitchen. He made his way silently to the bedroom and poked his head experimentally into the room.
His victim was sleeping, a bottle of whiskey empty on the nightstand. The man smiled sinisterly and crept into the room.
In one quick movement, he had the man in a stranglehold and one massive hand across his mouth.
His victim thrashed in alarm and shock, reached for the nightstand. The man beat him there and removed a gun from the drawer. He let the cartridge hit the ground and then dragged the frightened man into the main room.
After that, he finished the deed quickly. Slicing open the man before him in a systematic way, he grinned in a satisfied manner. Then taking the writhing body, he dumped it out the window so the police would find his mangled body in the street below.
He shut the window, went to the sink to wash his hands, and the left the apartment building through the main entrance without a sign from either cop or superhero.
Author's Note:
Any guesses on who was killed? It is a metahuman. Any guesses on the killer? Let me know in a REVIEW!
