"She was my best friend. I could go on forever about the lovey-dovey feelings I had for her, the adventures we shared. Not that it would mean anything to you, you wouldn't understand it. Not now. Not ever again by the look of things. I loved her, so very very much. We always ask ourselves how things went wrong, why things ended up the way they did. But what I'm telling you now is when, when something so wrong happened. You don't remember, do you? You're like a shadow on the world, a small smudge of mystery floating around looking for his place. Seeking love in dark corners of this land where love is seldom found. And yet you succeed where others have often failed. You feel the faint touch of something special, and like the pincers of a crab you latch on refusing to let go. And that passion, that fury of wanting and needing...that's how you destroy yourself."
"Who are you?"
"You're too weak to figure it out for yourself and I'm too angry to tell. And this anger isn't your average pissed off. It's like...well, let's say for now I'm in the bottom of your soul. I'm in the back of your head, poison in your veins. I'm so cliche it's ridiculous, and my own principles will not allow me to continue this little monologue of mine. Therefore I take my leave. Sayonora, Einen Verloren."
Hits rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes and shook the pins and needles out of his feet. Sitting indian-style in the cold for long amounts of time did that to you. He exhaled a sleepy sigh, a dragons-breath of warm air making a flitting cloud from his lips, and dying swiftly as it was absorbed by the striking cold around it. He blinked some more and looked to his left. He started when he didn't see the guard anymore, but relaxed as he realized the bastard must have moved a little to the side. Hits leaned forward a little but his vision was obscured by the rank pile of garbage rotting next to him.
Silently and slowly he rolled to the dusty concrete ground, laying on his stomach and eagerly listening for the telltale clap of the raiders boots on the floor. He didn't hear it, and he slid forward, inch by inch. Peeking ahead he spied the raider sitting on an old school chair, the desk ripped off of it. It seemed to have become colder, and the night seemed deeper. Wasn't there the dying rays of the sunset just a minute ago? Hits mentally berated himself, he must have fallen asleep in the middle of an infiltration attempt. He wondered briefly what his dream was about.
The raider snorted and shivered, drawing a stitched-together burlap sack around his shoulders. Hits forgot about his dream and hopped to a crouch, setting off swiftly towards the sleeping raider. Hits loved that, when the perfect moment to strike was laid out before you. The anticipation, the waiting was agonizing beyond belief, but the chance, the opportunity was worth it.
He swung behind the raider just as the raider shot up and looked ahead of him. The man shed the burlap and turned around, sure that he had sensed something near. He must have imagined it, because he only saw the still forms of the destroyed interior of a school, old pillars lifting the remains of the second floor and a hallway sloping down into darkness.
He listened carefully, but heard nothing.
From his standpoint the night was still and dark and the skeleton of the school hung open, exposing its innards to the wasted world. The sight of the dark lonely place drove him to cringe with fear, and turn away. Besides, there was nothing to see now that the presence he felt was gone. He wasn't quite sure it was ever really there. He sat back in his chair and hugged his makeshift blanket close.
Hits peeled away from the wall he had plastered himself to, and stalked away into the quiet lower hallway of the school. Rows of lockers rushed by him as he walked, some bent and twisted from the abuse they suffered at the hands of scavengers. He stopped at some blue double doors and moved closer. He pressed his ear to the cold, murky glass and listened. Any sound of a footstep or a breath would indicate the presence of someone likely to make some noise if they saw him entering the bowels of the school. He quivered in anticipation for a moment and then pressed his palms against the rusted metal of the handle, pushing inward. The door opened surprisingly smoothly, and he was in the building.
He squinted his eyes in the murky light, and inhaled stale dusty air. He was in a hallway lined by lockers, the metal scrap doors hanging open and broken in many places. He took a step forward, quietly. Then another.
He relaxed and set off at a quick pace into the blackness. He passed by hallways riddled with age and pipes and rods of metal jutting out from the walls at odd angles. He felt as if there were eyes all around, and he could swear the place was infested with rats, as he could hear the sound of scratching and pattering all around him. He stopped and listened.
The scratching sound seemed to be coming from down the hallway ahead of him. He crept low, moving closer to the curious noise, so intent that he failed to realize a raider girl was turning the corner before she saw him.
"What the fu-!" was all she could get out before Hits slammed both his palms into her forehead while tripping her, crashing her into the ground. She groaned aloud, and Hits kneeled down and grabbed the front of her shirt, drawing her close. "Night night," Hits whispered, and he wrapped his arm around her throat and squeezed. She coughed meekly before going silent. Hits immediately let go, giving her air before she died of asphyxiation. He had a problem with killing girls. He opened the nearby bathroom door and dragged her into it, tearing off pieces of her clothing and armor and tying her hands and feet. He chuckled to himself when he was done. "Raaaape," he laughed to himself as he shut the door behind him.
The source of the noise was nearby, he knew it. Turning a corner, he spied a door across from some file cabinets. He took two steps, froze, and quickly pushed himself against a wall in the shadows. A man with a hockey mask and a submachine gun walked past him, swiveling his head left and right. Probably looking for the girl. Hits held his breath, wondered why and then moved closer and tapped the man on the shoulder.
"Neera, you almost scared the shit outta me-" he started as he turned around, but when he saw Hits he stopped, momentarily bewildered.
"Well hi there!" Hits greeted cheerily.
The raider reached for his weapon but Hits was faster. He threw an uppercut that knocked the mans mask off his face, and then he kicked the guys gun hand relieving him of his weapon. The gun clattered away, stopping after hitting the file cabinets. The guy had spun around, showing Hits his face. He looked rough, with matted, messy brown hair, a cut lip and a sneer. The man growled an angry roar, and threw a flurry of punches that caught Hits slightly off guard. Hits blocked them one by one by one, raising his forearms and knocking the mans force in every which way and other direction. The man threw an almost-winning fist but Hits met it with his open palm, softening the blow with a small bend in his elbow. Hits had a hold on the guys hand but the raider didn't care, he just used his whole body weight to wrench himself out of Hits' grasp. Now Hits pushed forward, spinning around to hit the guy with a backfist, ducking and twisting to get a good brutal jab with his elbow, but the raider blocked the attacks, dodged the attacks or just took it without missing a beat.
Hits sprung back from a low kick to the knee that could have hurt alot, and jumped forward again for charge. He rammed the guy with his shoulder, catching him and slamming him into a wall. The raider just grabbed Hits' shirt for a hold and slammed his knee into Hits' stomach, which Hits just did not like at all. But before he had time to respond the raider grabbed Hits by his arm and shoulder and pushed forward, crushing him into the lockers behind him. They crumpled with a series of metallic protests, and Hits felt all his bruises all over again.
Hits stumbled to his knee, but shot up again, throwing himself away from another kick. He rolled to a stop and got to his feet.
"You're not a bad fighter," the cut-lipped man said, "it's too bad you pissed me off. We coulda used a scrappy bastard like you." He stooped low and picked up the submachine gun Hits had kicked away. "Uh-oh. Looks like I got my gun back," he said with an evil smile.
"Looks like you got a bunch of lockers on you too," Hits said, with a bigger evil smile.
The raider's grin faltered as he wondered what Hits was talking about. "Wha-?"
Hits quickly reached out with one hand and grabbed the back of the row of lockers he had been thrown into. With a quick pull, the bent and broken lockers tipped precariously forward, threatening to topple onto the raider. He saw what Hits was doing, and he quickly raised his gun. Hits pulled the lockers down.
With a great shuddering crash, the metal fell over right on top of the raider. They all broke apart, being held together by flimsy budget craftsmanship and each clang and crash of the commotion echoed through the hallways.
The raider was partially buried, and was already quickly working himself out of the mess, but Hits kicked the gun away yet again. "Bastard!" the raider snarled, spitting in Hits' direction. "Dead person!" Hits mockingly snarled back. He stomped on the raiders throat, breaking his neck and killing him.
"Tell me, when you finally remember, what do you think you will do? I'm curious. See, I hold a sort of special interest, seeing as it was my life that was ruined. Her life was ruined that day too."
"Day?"
"Ah, you remembered something?"
"No..I just know that...whatever happened, it wasn't just a day. Weeks. Maybe months. I can't..."
"Don't trouble your precious little head. You're too busy killing people remember? Just enjoy what you have now. Ehe, ahahahahahaahaha! I, haha, I couldn't keep a straight face trying to help you. You're a monster. When I'm free I'm going to end you."
"No, I'm sick of your threats, just go away."
"I can't, I'm here all the time. That's the problem. I'm stuck here, instead of being back where I belong, when I belong. Don't you see this isn't where we should be!? This isn't what should be happening! I-"
"Shut the FUCK up. I'm tired of your whining. Everyone has problems, and I'm going to deal with mine."
Hits sat up and looked away from the mirror. "I can't remember who I am or what happened to me. I don't know why I can do all this weird stuff, and you aren't going to tell me. So I'm going to forget about you. I'm going to make all the memories go away, at least temporarily."
He raised the gun and looked at it sadly. "I only have fragment of pain and anguish in my mind, and since I don't understand it I might as well forget it until I can."
He smiled at his reflection and raised the gun to his head. "I don't think I'll be seeing you in my dreams after I wake up. Sayanora, something, whatever you said."
Hits pulled the trigger.
