Chapter 10: Patricide
"GUH!" The last gangster gasped as Hank side-kicked him towards his boss's table. The head mobster yelped, watching as his final line of defense crumbled to the ground right before him.
"I-I don't know what you monsters want, but leave me the fuck out of it!" He shouted from beneath his desk, flailing his pistol.
Hank flipped the table over the leader's head, leaving the man completely exposed. As Hank shoved the muzzle of his dart pistol onto the man's forehead, the criminal nervously grinned.
"... Please?"
Hank rolled his eyes. "You people really are all the same, huh? I can't even be bothered to laugh about it anymore."
He pulled the trigger.
"Want one?"
Hank turned to Deimos, who was offering him a cigarette. He shook his head.
Deimos lit the smoke and rolled it between his fingers. "Suit yourself. You don't know what you're missing."
"Yeah, free cancer. Wish I was invited to that party."
"Oh, piss off. I offered you one just cause I would've thought you'd be, you know, more stressed out for… tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
Deimos blinked in surprise. Hank forgot something and he wasn't even making an attempt to hide it?
"You know… your date?"
Hank blinked twice, then rubbed the sides of his head, visibly frustrated. "Oh yeah. Great. I've been actively trying to forget that shitfest. There goes all my progress."
Sanford returned the cellphone to Deimos.
"The cops will be here in a few minutes." Sanford said.
Deimos nodded, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. He kneeled over the unconscious gang leader, who had started foaming at the mouth.
"Uh… is that supposed to happen?"
"Just fantastic." Harley held his temples as he watched the gang leader being carried off in a stretcher. "You managed to give the most important person in that entire mansion a mild seizure. Didn't I specifically tell you not to shoot anyone in the head?"
Sanford and Deimos glanced at Hank.
"Oops," Hank shrugged, unapologetic, "My finger must have slipped."
Harley sighed. "Please follow all the instructions I gave next time? I'll overlook this 'accident,' considering you three managed to take down the rest of the 40 punks inside that house. Thanks for your service tonight. Now let me take care of the rest."
The trio returned to their own vehicle as the group of squad cars and paddy wagons sped away. The sun was already rising, painting the sky a rich vermillion hue.
"Deimos?" Sanford asked just before they sat down.
Deimos turned to Sanford. "Yeah?"
Sanford landed a direct front kick towards Deimos's groin. The techie crumpled, his hands between his legs as a small squeak escaped his lips.
Hank nodded in approval. "Solid kick."
Deimos clutched himself. "M-my master… marksman balls..."
Sanford crossed his arms. "Serves you right."
"Not… even a goddamn warning…?" Deimos whimpered.
Sanford grinned. "Nah. Just a zinger to piss you off. How's it feel?"
"Rrgh… Fuck you, asshole!"
As Hank started up the car, Sanford stood over Deimos, grinning.
"Don't worry. I have a way to make you feel better."
Before Deimos could protest, Sanford seized the dart pistol from his holster and plugged Deimos in the leg.
The metal bedframe squealed in protest as Sanford threw himself onto his mattress. He raised his head, gazing at the clock on his nightstand.
2:37 AM.
He sank his face into his pillow. Exhaustion began to quickly wash over him.
"You're not even going to take a shower? How sanitary."
Sanford turned on his side with a frustrated sigh.
"Go away, Hank."
"I'd love to, but," Hank dropped a snoring Deimos off his shoulders, "I'm not dealing with this idiot over here. You take care of him."
"What? Why the fuck am I responsible?"
"Are you seriously asking that question?"
Sanford turned away from Hank, waving him off. "Fine. Maybe it's my fault. Too tired to give a shit. Do whatever."
"I hope you realize I'm not a nurse."
After a short moment of silence, Hank begrudgingly pulled Deimos out of Sanford's room by the ankles. A few minutes later, Sanford felt his grip on consciousness blissfully loosen, until-
"A-AHH! SWEET BABY… JEBUS! Hank? Hank! What... why is all this rope-!"
"You said you wanted the bullet out of your shoulder, right? Hold still."
"Are those pliers? Why the hell are you using pliers? Did you even fucking clean them?!"
"Shh. The camera's over there. Don't want to look too wimpy for your future audience, now, would you? On the count of three. One..."
"Nonon- AIEEEEeeeeee!"
"Here comes the staple gun!"
"OHGODNO-"
"SHUT UP!" Sanford shouted, bursting through the doorway to his room. "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
"You brought this on yourselves!" Hank's voice was tinged with uncharacteristic mirth.
"FUCK OFF, HANK!"
As the two were left in silence, Sanford returned back to his room. He threw himself onto his bed again, wrapping the pillow around his head to block out as much sound as possible.
"Hi."
Sanford jolted out of sleep, the back of his head hitting the wall beside him. He cussed, clutching his throbbing scalp.
"I guess that's an effective way of waking yourself up. Albeit primitive."
"GET-" Sanford started, before lapsing into a coughing fit.
"Get out of my room, Hank!" Sanford hoarsely continued.
"Wow, how rude. How do they say it? 'The early bird catches the worm?' I was just doing you a favor, buddy."
Sanford grabbed his digital clock, thrusting it into Hank's face. His exhaustion soon turned to rage.
"It's 5 in the morning! I've only slept for… Two hours and a half? What the hell is wrong with you?!"
"One question at a time. You slept for an hour, nineteen minutes, fifty seconds. As for what's wrong with me?" Hank shook a finger, "Tsk, tsk. Did you forget our little agreement so soon?"
Sanford was speechless. Suddenly, he remembered.
"You… You're not fucking serious, are you?"
"I think you know the answer to that rhetorical question."
Sanford turned over on his bed, tossing his blanket back on top of him. "At least give me one more hour, you prick."
"Oh no… I've been stood up. Just as I predicted." Hank said, trying to mimic Cathy's voice, "If only Sanford had kept to his promise. Why would he be so mean as to lie-?"
"You're a piece of human shit, you know that?" Sanford said, forcing himself off his warm mattress, "No joke."
"Someone told me once that I'm not human. I wonder who? Now get cooking."
Cursing to himself, Sanford trudged towards the kitchen. Tossing a frying pan onto the stove, he was ready.
Sanford glared at Hank. "Whaddya want? Toast? Omelets? An actual fucking steak?"
"Lobster."
Sanford stared at Hank in complete disbelief. He clenched his fists.
"Do I look like the type of motherfucker who'd buy lobster for breakfast?"
"Don't worry," Hank opened the fridge, revealing the near-bursting stash of food tucked inside. Sanford's jaw dropped in horror.
"While you were asleep, I bought all the ingredients."
Sanford grabbed the wriggling lobster from the fridge, in disbelief. Its claws were banded together, at the very least.
"You want me to cook a whole lobster at 4 in the morning? You… I…"
Sanford hesitated, shaking the lobster as if doing so would emphasize his points. He grunted.
"Fine. This is gonna be a huge waste, especially if we're not gonna wake up Deimos for it."
Hank grinned. "Great timing! Almost comedic, in fact. I got that covered, too."
What sounded like dozens of different alarm clocks blared in Deimos' room. The cacophony was immediately followed by Deimos screaming and falling off the side of his bed. Hank nodded to himself.
"... there we go."
Hank heard Deimos stomping and across his room, loudly swearing. One by one, the alarm clocks hit the floor.
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, SANFORD?!" Deimos shouted, storming towards his partner, "WHO THE FUCK LEAVES TEN ALARM CLOCKS AROUND ANOTHER PERSON'S BED?! HOW LONG DO YOU PLAN ON TORTURING ME MAN?!"
"That was me." Hank said.
Deimos' sleep-deprived eyes slowly turned towards Hank. He grabbed him by the collar.
"Why?" Deimos said, his voice hoarse, "First my balls, then my shoulder, now my beauty sleep?"
Hank's hand clamped onto Deimos' wrist and twisted it until it wouldn't twist any further.
"Hands off."
Deimos grit his teeth, trying to hide the pain of having his wrist near dislocated.
"Okay, okay. Asshole."
"I'm the asshole?" Hank said, placing a hand on his chest in sarcastic shock, "I've invited you to enjoy some lobster, prepared by Chef Sanford, and that's how you see me?"
Deimos looked at Sanford, his face scrunching up in confusion. His face lit up in realization.
"Oh! The bet! Wait, are you seriously going to boil a lobster-?"
"He'll drizzle on butter glaze and garnish it with ceviche, too."
"No I… Shut up and sit down," Sanford snapped, slamming a large boiling pot into the sink. "I can't believe this shit."
Just as Sanford had his hand over the faucet, Hank interrupted him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Sanford bit his lower lip.
"Yes, I heard you. Butter glaze and ceviche. I'll get on that after-"
Hank pulled out a wrapped package from beneath the kitchen table. "Did you really think I'd forget?"
"NO!" Sanford slammed his hands on the counter, "That's too goddamn far! I am not going to humiliate myself just because you want to be a fucking-"
"Gee… it looks like Sanford lied about the date all along." Hank's tried to copy Cathy's voice again, "Maybe I should write a follow-up article on how untruthful and cruel he was to me, so the rest of the city can see-"
"Fine!" Sanford yelled at the top of his lungs, "Fine, fine, FINE!"
Sanford yanked the package out of Hank's hands, storming out of the room.
Deimos looked genuinely impressed. "Shit. I've never seen him that upset before. What'd you make him do, Hank?"
"You have your phone on you?"
Deimos pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. "Yeah, why?"
"Get your camera ready."
Deimos raised an eyebrow. He shrugged to himself, booting a game of chess on his phone to pass the time. Footsteps approached from outside the kitchen doorway a couple of minutes later, though it was too dark for Deimos to see Sanford clearly.
"Took you long enough. Chop chop. You got a lobster to boil." Hank said.
Sanford stood stock-still in the darkness. Hank smirked.
"Don't be shy now. Or do I have to remind you what will happen if you keep stalling?"
Without a word, Sanford stepped out of the darkness and into the light. The moment Deimos' eyes registered what was in front of him, he dropped his phone. Only three words could slowly escape his lips:
"No. Fucking. WAY."
Before the two was Sanford, in all of his glory, wearing a maid costume.
Hank snickered. "Fits like a maid's glove."
Deimos on the other hand, picked up his phone and began taking photos like a madman. His face was turning just as red as Sanford's.
"HOLY SHIT, THIS IS FUCKING AMAZING!" The techie screamed, as he took his 19th snapshot.
Sanford slowly raised his gaze from the ground, meeting Hank's eyes.
"I hope you choke on the lobster."
"Well that's not gonna happen if you don't cook it first," Hank gestured towards the stove. "Move your frilly ass."
In total silence, Sanford forced himself to walk back towards the sink. He placed his hand around the faucet and turned the handle.
"By the way, try not to bend over if you can," Hank added from the kitchen table, "Judging by the sight of your legs, you don't shave all that often, huh?"
The faucet handle snapped off in Sanford's hand. He grabbed the live lobster with the other hand...
"HAAAAAAA!"
… and proceeded to scrub the life out of the crustacean while screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Stop yelling," Hank advised, grinning. "You'll wake the neighbors."
"We don't even have neighbors, you half-dead prick!"
"Here!"
After a good half hour of cooking, Sanford dropped a steaming plate of lobster on the kitchen table.
"Would ya look at that?" Hank rested his head to his side, taking a closer look at the platter. "You even put three lemons around it. Almost feels like I'm eating at a five-star restaurant."
"I'm honored. Now eat this fucking thing, so I can wash the dishes and go back to bed."
Hank removed his gloves. With a few intricate twists, he immediately found the meat and scooped it out with a fork. Deimos drooled as he watched Hank place a forkful into his mouth.
Sanford crossed his arms. "Well?"
As he chewed, Hank nodded in approval. "Not bad. But… it doesn't taste like anything."
Sanford's left eye twitched. "What."
Hank got up from his seat, walking over to the sink. "Eh. I was expecting it to actually taste like something. Whatever, take the rest."
After quickly washing his hands, Hank exited the kitchen. Sanford tossed his maid cap to the ground stomping on it repeatedly.
"Uh… San?"
Sanford glared at Deimos.
"WHAT."
"I-I didn't exactly have any dinner yesterday, so uh," Deimos pointed at the lobster, "I can eat that… maybe?"
"Do whatever the fuck you want," Sanford said, kicking the now-crumpled maid cap to the side, "see what I care. I'm going to fucking bed!"
And with that, Sanford stormed off. Deimos pulled out a fresh fork from a nearby cabinet. He took a forkful of lobster meat, falling back onto his seat as he closed his eyes in ecstasy.
"Mm… Damn, this is good."
8 hours later, Hank was awake again. His first move was towards the kitchen, where he made himself a simple bowl of cereal.
With a flick of the remote, the TV came alive. The first image that appeared was a reporter shoving a microphone towards Harley's face.
"Chief Harley, what are the details you can give us regarding this groundbreaking occurrence?"
Harley scratched the back of his head. "There's not much that can be disclosed regarding the incident as of now, but it is confirmed that all known members of the Satan's Pride gang are in captivity, including their leader."
"Were Hank, Sanford, and Deimos responsible for the capture of these criminals as well?" Another reporter asked.
"Yes. The three men had contacted our station at around midnight, giving us the coordinates of their raid. The members of Satan's Pride were found unconscious with no lasting injuries suffered."
"Is law enforcement coordinating with any of the three men in any way?" A third reporter asked.
"No," Harley quickly answered, "as far as I know, nobody in this police department has anything to do with any of the three."
"Chief Harley, bystanders reported that-"
"I would love to stay and chat, but there are papers I have to-"
Reporters swarmed towards Harley as he made his exit, while officers blockaded them. The din drowned out any further speech.
"Chief Harley refused to comment on any further questions, claiming that he needed to fill some important papers," The anchorman continued. "Up next: Analysts evaluate former Killer's possible connections with the criminal underworld?"
"Pfft," Hank flipped off the screen. "'Former killers,' he says. As if we've forgotten how to kill so soon."
Hank turned to Deimos, who had seemingly passed out on his chair.
"Deimos. Deimos? Wake the fuck up."
Deimos snorted, wiping the drool coming out of his mouth. "Hnnkk- Wha?"
"You were asleep."
Deimos laid his head back and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."
"The Anti-AAHW must've toned down the training for you newbies. Can't even last a single day without sleep? Pathetic."
"Don't care," Deimos yawned, closing his eyes again. "Wake me in an hour."
"I'm going for a workout, but I'll be back before the date. Make sure you tell Sanford that, else he'll get his maid panties in a twist."
"Mhm."
And with that, Deimos slipped back into unconsciousness. Hank sneered as he watched drool continue to ooze out of his housemate's mouth.
"Disgusting…"
As if someone had thrown a flashbang towards his face, the first thing Hank was greeted by outside his door were the bursts of light from a dozen different cameras. A fusillade of microphones were shoved towards his face.
"Mr. Wimbleton! Is it true that you and your comrades have had no relation with Chief Harley or any other part of the local police force?"
"What is your motive behind targeting these local gangs?"
"Are the three of you going to resume your attacks? If so, do you have any idea as to which group you're heading for next?"
"What is your take on the current state of Nevada regarding crime?"
Hank felt a migraine taking root inside his head.
"You couldn't answer the reporters yourself, so you decided to make it my problem, huh Harley," Hank thought to himself, "Fuck you."
Hank clenched his fist. His knuckles emitted five subtle, dangerous cracks. He reached under his coat. The mob fell silent as Hank's hand re-emerged, holding a pistol.
"This is my handgun," Hank explained, his voice calm, yet clear. "I purchased it two years ago, with my own money, and have been religiously cleaning and maintaining it ever since. This particular model is a Beretta 92 FS. Polymer-metal construction. Italian. I can tell you from experience that it is a reliable performer in the battlefield."
He flipped the gun in his hand and thumbed the magazine release. The reporters closest to Hank looked increasingly nervous as the mag slid out a few inches, brass casings glinting in the morning sun.
"It fires 9 millimeter parabellum rounds. It is believed by many, me included, that this round is capable of causing remote incapacitating effects on soft tissues: A hit on the chest could cause hemorrhages in the brain, for instance. Each bullet is fired with a muzzle velocity of almost four hundred meters per second- which is to say, if the gun is properly suppressed, the bullet will strike its target before the target even registers the sound profile of the bullet."
Hank slapped the magazine back into the magwell with a decisive click. A young man with a microphone flinched at the sudden sound.
"This magazine is loaded with seventeen live rounds of match-grade ammunition. I also carry with me, at all times, three extra magazines. An experienced marksman, like me, can make a two-inch grouping with this gun at a distance of up to fifty meters."
He slipped the handgun back into his coat, gave the crowd a withering glare, and watched the reporters nervously back away.
"Thank you for your time," Hank concluded.
The reporters gave Hank a wide berth as he made his way across the street. They didn't attempt to follow him as he walked around the street corner and out of sight.
Hank realized that his speech had drained him; it was the most he had spoken for in weeks. He double timed it to the gym, avoiding the curious gazes of passers-by.
Upon reaching the studio, Hank passed his gym membership card to the front desk.
"Hey Hank," the man behind the front desk greeted, "Here to gym-timidate my other customers again?"
"They're just not pushing themselves hard enough, Jeff."
As Jeff scanned him in, Hank noticed the gym was far more crowded than he remembered from his last visit. Some of the members stopped mid-set, chattering to each other as they noticed the veteran walk in.
"Full house," Hank noted.
"Yeah," Jeff replied, "I've had a sudden boom of people flooding in here around the same time you finished your first raid. My guess: a lot more people are getting excited about the crazy stunts you're pulling off. Feels like New Year's all over again with all these new memberships."
Hank stared back at the crowd, murdering all conversation. A few of the members shied away from his line of sight. Many more stood their ground and returned Hank's stare, wearing masks of confusion or fear or awe.
Jeff passed Hank his gym card.
"Don't sweat it too much, Hank. Think of it this way: you're Nevada's muscular idol! Pretty exciting, doesn't it?"
Hank pocketed the card while maintaining eye-contact with the other members until they finally turned their attention back to their own routines.
"Got too much attention as it is," Hank said, marching into the room amongst the metallic clanking of weights and the rhythmic thumping of shoes on treadmills.
Sanford paced back and forth in the living room. He glanced back at the digital clock by the TV; 5 PM.
Hearing the front door open, Sanford stood, confronting Hank face-to-face.
"Where the Hell were you?"
Hank closed the door behind him. "At the gym. Didn't Deimos tell you?"
Sanford crossed his arms. "He did, but you're telling me that you worked out for five hours?"
"No. I spent three walking around the neighborhood."
Sanford pointed at the clock. "Your date. Is in. AN HOUR."
Hank brushed past Sanford.
"Fifty five minutes, thirty four seconds, and counting. I'll be fine."
"You're not 'fine.'"
"I am," Hank insisted.
"You just hit the gym! Aren't you going to take a shower before your date? Isn't that common sense?"
"Okay, so I lied about the walking around part. I was actually reading one of the dating advice books I appropriated from Deimos's room. One of the chapters claimed that women find a man who smells like sweat attractive."
Sanford stared at Hank, half-expecting him to admit he was joking. He didn't.
Sanford gripped at the sides of his head. "Deimos's dick is drier than the fucking Sahara! Why would you take any kind of dating advice from him?!"
"I heard that!"
Deimos stood at the front door, holding two large bags on each hand. He glared at Hank. "You touched my stuff?"
Hank raised his hands in concession. "Alright. I lied about reading the book, too. Still, I barely sweat at all-"
"Whoa, wait," Deimos interrupted, "You're going to a date without taking a shower?!"
"Exactly!" Sanford agreed.
Deimos cringed. "Bro, you should at least quickly rinse, or something. 'Cause otherwise, that's seriously fucking gross…"
"I find that ironic coming from you," Hank quipped.
"Go take a damn shower, for God's sake," Sanford pointed back at the digital clock in the living room, "You have fifty minutes left!"
"Fine. Am I supposed to shave my pubes while I'm at it?"
"GO!" Sanford and Deimos shouted in unison.
One of Deimos' bags soared across the air. Hank stuck an arm out and caught it by the handle.
"...And put this on while you're at it!" Deimos added.
Sanford stood outside of Hank's room, impatiently tapping his left foot on the floorboards. He glanced over at the clock for the umpteenth time.
5:45 PM.
"Yo! How long do you two plan on staying in there for?!" Sanford yelled through the wooden door.
"Hang on, he's almost done!" Deimos called back.
"Almost done," Sanford turned towards the door, preparing to knock once again. "He's already wasted three-fourths of the last hour he has, and he's almost don-?!"
Thunk!
Deimos peeked around the corner and saw Sanford reeling, eyes watering, clutching at his nose where the door had struck it.
"I said he was almost done..."
"Shut up, Deimos!"
Sanford wiped the tears out of his eyes in time to see Hank leaving the bathroom.
For the first time in months, Hank wore something other than a Greyshirt or his combat attire. He had donned a black, short-sleeved t-shirt with navy blue jeans. A pair of sunglasses sat on his face, covering some of the scars crisscrossing his cheekbones.
"Wow," was the only word that escaped Sanford's lips.
"Spent my entire afternoon getting these clothes. Considering how much attention Hank would catch with his usual setup, this outfit should help make him look like a total stranger," Deimos faced Hank, "You're welcome, by the way."
"Huh. Who would've thought you had a taste in fashion, Deimos," Sanford said.
"You bet your ass I do," Deimos pointed towards Hank's shirt, "See this? Parco Molo, motherfucker."
Deimos crouched and pointed at Hank's jeans, "False Religion jeans. Even the fucking belt is brand-name. Import tax for this shit is through the roof, but it's hell of a lot better-looking than some plain old Greyshirt! This entire getup cost me a few hundred, but it's grade-A sexiness. Girls go head-over-heels for this sort of shit, ya know?"
"Now if only you had a brain to top that off…" Sanford muttered.
"I should go," Hank interrupted.
Sanford checked the time again. 5:50.
"You have ten minutes left," Sanford urged, pushing Hank towards the front door, "Come on, let's go, I'll drive!"
"Nine minutes, fifteen seconds and counting. The park's only three klicks away." Hank tugged at his collar, clearly uncomfortable in the loose clothing.
"I'll make it," Hank added.
"You're telling me you can clear ten blocks in ten minutes?" Sanford asked.
Hank walked out of the front door. "I might be late. Big deal."
Sanford sighed. Hank turned to him.
"Look. You and Deimos wasted enough of your own time. Stop worrying. You upheld your promise? I'll be damned if I don't uphold mine. I can handle the rest myself. Always have."
With slight hesitation, Sanford gave in. "Fine. I'll take your word for it."
The door slammed shut. Sanford covered his face with his hands, groaning.
"This is going to be a disaster…"
Deimos clasped a hand on Sanford's shoulder, chuckling.
"Four steps out of the door and you already lost faith in him? Some friend you are."
"I didn't have any 'faith' to lose in the first place! This man told us thirty minutes ago that women like the smell of sweat."
Sanford leaned on the doorframe, holding his temples. "I need a goddamn Aspirin..."
Deimos's grin widened, his eyes glinting.
"I figured you'd think that. So I bought this."
"What's in there?" Sanford asked, without giving the bags a glance.
"The other bag I brought in here was Hank's outfit," Deimos shook the bag he held, "This one's ours."
Hank strode through the entranceway of the park. The sun was already making its descent; he would have to move swiftly if he wanted to find Cathy before it got dark.
The veteran made his way up the large hill that stood in the center of the area. The height advantage should make the search easier, but that proved to be unnecessary.
Under the scarred oak, on the very same bench Hank liked to sit on at night, was Cathy.
Hank strode through the park, tangible as an apparition. He took a seat next to Cathy, leaning on his knees.
"Hi."
Cathy stiffened in surprise. Once she identified who had greeted her, she quickly stood, her cheeks pinking. "S-sorry! I didn't recognize you at first! I also didn't think you'd, well..."
"I didn't really have much of a choice," Hank said.
"Oh. That's alright, you didn't have to force yourself. I honestly wouldn't have minded too much if you didn't show up." Cathy replied.
"You say that as if you expected me not to show," Hank said.
Cathy nervously laughed, while Hank stood, watching as she dusted off her white sundress. It seemed brand-new and meticulously picked to match with her white leather sandals.
She looked back up at him. "But… since you're here, it wouldn't hurt to at least go with planned, would it?"
Hank shrugged. "Suppose not."
Cathy smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. There's an ice cream vendor down the hill. Want some?"
"I know the owner," Hank said. "He used to be a chef at the Headquarters. He might be able to give us a discount."
"Really? That's awesome! We should totally…"
"I honestly can't believe I agreed to this," Sanford said, lowering his head in shame as he glanced at his grandma costume. "The maid thing was already enough cross-dressing for a lifetime."
"Relax! Think of it this way: right now, we're Hank's wingmen! With us two following him around, his chances of scoring that blonde will double- no, triple after tonight's-!"
"Deimos, I know damn well you're here just to spy on the bastard."
"And so are you. Hypocrite."
"I'm here because I spent my morning preparing a dish he didn't bother taking two fucking bites out of. I deserve to know where my investment's going."
"Don't know how that makes you not a spy, but oookay…" Deimos said, turning away.
"It does. You're just here to get in that girl's pants." Sanford tugged at his disguise. "Anyways, why the Hell do I have to be the one wearing this granny costume?"
"Two reasons. One: two old men randomly sitting on a park bench together is fucking weird. Two: I have too much dignity to spare to be the grandma. So shut up and start acting… old."
Cathy and Hank walked down the hillside. Hank held a cone of vanilla-flavored ice cream in one hand, while Cathy held a strawberry-flavored one.
"...And then I said: 'I'm the one with the English degree, not you Paul!'" Cathy ranted on, waving her ice cream in the air like a wand.
"Mhm," Hank replied.
"I mean, this guy from the photography department had the moxie to actually criticize my work! Can you believe it?"
"No. No I can't."
"Right?! Honestly, people need to know their places in the office. Otherwise, we'd never get a single paper published for-!"
Cathy froze, her dessert hitting Hank in the chest. Hank looked down at his freshly-stained shirt.
"Hmph..." He muttered to himself.
Cathy covered her mouth with her free hand, still staring to her front, "Oh my gosh."
Hank bit his lower lip. "What?"
Cathy tugged at Hank's arm, pointing towards a nearby bench. "Look at those two! Aren't they adorable? I'm such a sucker for old love!"
Hank looked at the supposedly old couple sitting on the bench. Even though he and Cathy only had a side-view of the "elders," he immediately recognized his two roommates.
"Of course those two imbeciles are here…"
Cathy faced Hank with raised eyebrows, "You know them?"
"I honestly wish I didn't."
"Holy shit, they noticed us," Sanford whispered, turning his head away from Cathy, "Your fucking disguise didn't work, Deimos!"
"Like I said before San, relax," Deimos pulled out a plastic bag full of bread crumbs, tossing them on the gravel in front of them, "Keep your head down and we'll be fine from a distance."
The newfound sound of cooing caught Sanford's attention. He looked down in front of him.
Pigeons, ravenously pecking at the bread.
"Deimos! What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
Deimos threw another handful of bread towards the growing horde of birds. "Isn't it obvious? I'm feeding birds. Used to do this all the time when I was a lil' kid… ah, memories!"
"Have you completely lost your mind?!"
"What? You don't honestly believe in that 'do not feed the birds' bullshit, do you? This is clean, plain bread. It's fine. This is all part of the disguise-"
"Don't you know? Most of the pigeons were fucking hunted to death during the war! The surviving ones are… well, they're different, or something, I don't know. I read it somewhere. Just stop before it gets any worse!"
"Oh hoh, the mighty Sanford's scared of pigeons, now, too!"
Sanford grabbed towards the bag. "Give me the bag, Deimos!"
"Rrgh! Stoppit, you're gonna give us away!"
Cathy blushed. "Aww, look! Now they're holding hands! That's so romantic!"
Hank crossed his arms, unamused.
Like children fighting over a toy, the duo continued to wrestle over the bag.
"DEI... I MEAN, DEAREST, GIVE IT BACK!"
"NO, KINDLY GO FUCK YOURSELF, HONEY!"
SH-RIIP!
The bag split in half, its contents exploding all over the bench.
Cathy squinted. "Is that... Bread?"
Hank shrugged. "They're not worth my- they're not worth our time. We should leave."
"Way to go, asshole," Deimos shouted, "You just have to keep ruining my fun, don't you-?"
"Deimos."
Deimos followed Sanford's stare, meeting the gazes of the pigeons in front of them.
They weren't cooing.
"Oh, fuck," Deimos muttered.
Sanford sighed.
"Told you… we've got a fight on our hands."
Half a second later, Cathy watched in horror as two dozen birds flew towards the "couple," pecking at them mercilessly. She passed her ice cream to Hank in a hurry, causing the cone to smudge on his shirt.
"We have to help them!" The reporter shouted, rushing towards the two men.
Hank watched from a distance, an ice cream cone in each hand.
"OH GOD, WHY?!" Deimos screamed, hands wildly swatting at the birds scrambling all over him and his partner.
Amidst the chaos, Sanford saw Cathy running towards them.
"Deimos! That reporter chick is running towards us! What the fuck do we do?!"
"Book it!" Deimos yelled.
"Book it?!"
"BOOK IT!"
Cathy chased after the two in a dead sprint. "H-hey! Are you two okay?!"
A minute later, she found herself with her hands on her knees, bent over. The duo were long gone.
"Since when... were old people this fast?" Cathy said, in-between gasps.
"Here," Hank said, handing Cathy her cone.
Cathy took the cone from his hands, standing upright, "The grandma sounded awfully masculine though…"
She attempted a lick at the ice cream, only to realize half of the scoop was plastered on Hank's shirt. "Huh? Oh. You spilled some of it on yourself."
Cathy removed some wadded napkins from her pocket and deposited them in Hank's half-clenched hand. "Here, take these."
Hank reluctantly dabbed at his shirt. "Thanks, I suppose."
"It's getting dark. Let's go back up the hill, I promise you'll love the view."
"I know-"
Hank found himself speaking to the night. Cathy was ascending the hill, confidently navigating the trail. She turned and beckoned at Hank to follow. He sat down beside her, watching as she looked up to the cloudless sky.
"I used to do this a lot when I was a girl. I always wanted to make sure it was never left alone on nights like these, after all."
"It?" Hank asked.
Cathy pointed upwards, "The moon. It's strange when you think about it. Something so beautiful ends up being so lonely when the stars aren't out."
"I guess."
Cathy's smile faded away, her eyes still fixated on the moon.
"You know, I did promise I wasn't going to ask you any questions like an interview, but… there is something I want to know, just for myself. Is it alright for me to ask?"
Hank shrugged. "If you want."
"How did it feel like to… you know…"
"To what?"
"... End someone's life?"
Guilt washed over the reporter like a tidal wave as the silence that followed stung at her.
"I'm sorry. That was probably insensitive of me to ask."
"Nothing."
Cathy faced the veteran again, "Sorry?"
"You don't feel anything after a while," Hank explained, his eyes distant, "other than the kick of the gun in your hands. The only thing that mattered back then was that you were alive and the other guy wasn't. Does that answer your question?"
Cathy turned away. "Yes. It was just… I wanted to know how my father and brother felt in the war too."
"They were conscripted, I'm guessing."
She nodded slowly. "I knew my father for only the first ten years of my life. Strict, but loving. Busy, yet always full of life. And my brother, Daniel, stuck around for only a little while longer. He was like my father, but he was a bit… troubled. He had a hard time controlling his emotions ever since he was a child, though my father was always there to calm him down."
Cathy looked up. "The reality was, our family was already falling apart from the start. My father's business was failing and the bills seemed to stack to the ceiling. Taxes were mounting higher and higher, so his only option to keep his family in a house was to enlist.
"That's how the AAHW got everyone back then. They'd target all the struggling families and suck out anyone they could for the war effort against quote, 'terrorism,' end quote. The irony was that the only terrorists I could find were the same people who were supposedly protecting us. The same people who took my father and ended up getting him killed for a cause he didn't believe in.
"They say it takes a while for you to get over the loss of a loved one. Looking back, I've come to realize that it really depends. Sometimes, like my mother and I, you find another road in the darkness and you move on. But sometimes, like Daniel… you don't."
The sun was no longer visible in the distance. Fireflies began to light up the field in front of them, appearing one-by-one as if out of thin air.
After a few more seconds of complete silence, Cathy spoke.
"My brother didn't just need a father. His sanity depended on it. At first, Daniel had his usual episodes. Banging the walls, crying, and screaming… every single night, it sounded like someone was being murdered in his room."
"It got so bad that at one point, we had to hold him against his bed. Anything my mother and I said to him didn't seem to matter, because for some reason, his father was the only person he'd listen to. We didn't have the luxury to afford a therapist or anything either, so the cycle just kept going, and going, and going, and going, and going, until… he just stopped."
Cathy stared out into the distance, her focus lost, "Everything changed from then on out. I don't know what happened to my brother, but Daniel was gone. His sympathy and his determination… it was almost as if he had just forgot all of it. He started lashing out, getting in trouble at school, losing touch with everything that mattered."
She shook her head. "I… don't honestly remember much afterwards, but what I can recall was that he had gotten himself arrested one night. My mother must have gotten herself mixed somewhere in the mess, because the next morning, she was bruised and bleeding. The night after, he came back… only to just say goodbye and go off."
"As you'd expect, my mom begged him to stop at the front door. She grabbed at his legs, crying, but Daniel kicked her away. I don't know what they did to him, but… well, the moment I saw him do that, I realized what little that was left of him before was gone. Haven't seen him since."
Cathy straightened her back, sighing. "The rest of the story is pretty generic. I found myself working hard at school and landed myself a great job as a writer for the Nevadan Times a couple of years ago. It's everything I need, nothing more, nothing less. Helps pay off my mother's hospital bills and keeps my mind on other things that matter in the world."
She met Hank's face, putting on her smile once again. "... You know, I think I've said more than enough. Sorry if I got too carried away."
Hank blankly stared at the horizon. "It's fine."
The laden silence felt oppressive, smothering. The sky dimmed, the overcast clouds becoming progressively darker. In a surprising turn of events, Hank was the one to first speak.
"Might I ask you a question?"
Cathy chuckled, "You heard my entire life story and you still have questions?"
"If you don't want to answer, that's fine."
Cathy watched as the fireflies blinked rhythmically in front of her, "I was joking. Ask away."
"Why go through so much trouble in putting my roommates and I in a good light? We were the ones your father and brother fought against. I fail to see the logic."
Cathy gently cupped her hands around one of the glowing insects. The spaces between her fingers glowed.
"The Anti-AAHW had killed a lot of people in the war, that's true. But the AAHW isn't exactly innocent either. If my father and brother had won and came back, they would've been seen not as heroes, but as murderers. Right?"
"AAHW propaganda would have them covered. But I can see your point."
"I've had many years to think about things. I've gotten over the need for revenge once I realized that was what caused all this bloodshed in the first place. I know you three aren't at all like my brother or my father, but it doesn't mean you aren't human. We all suffered during those dark years, and it's changed us."
Cathy opened her hands. They watched as the firefly flew away, gracefully flitting into the sky.
"Even if my articles don't teach people to love again, at the very least it'll get people thinking. And even if I get a few death threats here and there in the mail for believing in that, it's worth it. Because when people take the time in understanding each other… "
Cathy leaned back on the bench, watching the tiny point of light join the others. The bioluminescent multitudes swirled and cavorted in their indigo ocean, each point of light moving individually, yet still remaining close to one another other.
"... the world becomes a really beautiful place."
Hank stared into the bioluminescent vortex in contemplation. It wasn't until Cathy stood up that he had looked back at her.
"Well… it's getting late. I'm going to head home now," She sighed. "Wouldn't want to get myself in another mixup like last time, right?"
"I can accompany you to your place, if you'd like."
"I'll be fine, don't worry. I can handle myself in this light. I'll see you again… hopefully?"
Hank shrugged. She softly laughed.
"If you're interested in meeting up again, well, I left my number on my business card on the bench. It'd be nice if we can keep in touch."
Hank nodded. "Alright."
With a final wave, Cathy walked away. Sanford ducked behind the tree him and Deimos hid behind as she passed them. He focused his attention back on Hank.
"He's just standing there like a tree. Wonder what he's thinking about."
Sanford heard a sniff. He looked beside him, shocked to see Deimos' wiping at his eyes.
"What the-? Are you actually crying?!" Sanford whispered.
Deimos rubbed at his face. "Yo… that girl went through Hell, man."
"Deimos, now's not the time. You already blew our cover once!"
"But… man, it must be so hard for her… I just wanna give her a big ol' hug, or something!"
Sanford grabbed at Deimos before he could dash towards Cathy, holding him back. "Knock it off! The date's over, let's just... hurry up and get out of here!"
Hank still sat on the bench. He looked at the folded business card the reporter left behind. After a few seconds of contemplation, his hand reached out for the business card, fingers curling around it before it would be blown away in the wind.
Hank laid back and examined numbers penned onto the card. Smirking, he pulled out a lighter and set the card ablaze, sending the cloud of fireflies scattering in all directions.
Dropping the smoldering card and flicking out his switchblade, Hank scraped another tally to the oak beside him.
"Fifty-eight..."
(Original) A/N: Okay. 3,600 words. That was a pretty big chapter. Second largest in the whole fanfic so far (the largest was chapter 5 by 100 words). But what can I say? This chapter was meant to be long for the epic-ness. Or, at least if it was epic. Maybe the date part was too short? I don't know. So many thanks for those of you who have been reading this fanfic. Within 5 days, I have gained one review from InvaderASH (who has inspired me to keep writing. Thanks bro!) and an incredible view count. Or is it normal to have lots of views on this kind of fanfic? Ah well, I don't honestly care as long as you guys are enjoying it. R&R whenever and wherever you want. And to those of you who think this is epic, you have no idea. If you think this is dramatic, your heads will explode by the end of this story. Well, I guess this is goodbye for now, and Chapter 11 should be up and running soon.
New A/N: Even though the team and I have edited through ten chapters now, it's still incredibly strange reading my old Author's Note, especially considering how crazy I was over word counts. Nowadays, if I wrote 3,600 words and slapped a chapter title on it, I'd probably get lynched by the readers, lol.
The revised chapter is now 7,200 words; literally double of the original. This is definitely thanks to the fact that the team and I added two more extra scenes; we felt it'd flesh out the characters a bit more and increase the enjoyability factor.
Speaking of additions, here's our changelog. :)
Changelog:
1 - Deimos is knocked out by Sanford immediately after the raid and gets a bullet pulled out of his shoulder by Hank. Poor guy.
2 - Maid-Sanford. While it seems entirely like fanservice, there's more to it than just that, we promise. ;)
3 - Added an intro scene where the head gangster gets caught. Better transitions.
4 - Changed the reporters swarming Hank scene. Works better with his new persona.
5 - Sanford and Deimos stalked Hank on his date. Considering the path this story is going, we think it'd fit the plot better (not to mention, it's incredibly amusing).
6 - Cathy's backstory updated. She's also less of a generic dependent female character, which is always nice (I'm not sexist, I swear).
7 - More description added.
8 - Grammatical errors removed.
9 - Narration and dialogue improved.
10 - Diction enhanced.
11 - The universe is a better place.
Changelog over. Now then, for a very nice update:
After two years of development, our team is proud to say that the first chapter of Hank's Legacy in manga format has been completed! Though the manga should already be out by the time you are all reading this, release will begin on August 13th, 2016 (which is next week from when I'm writing this Author's Note)! The first chapter will have page-by-page updates, however all following chapters will be uploaded in their entirety after the first 7 to 8 pages are out on a two-weekly basis. This is only to slowly introduce the art style and start setting up a more comprehensible schedule for everyone. Links will be available once upload has begun. ;)
We hope you enjoy this renewed chapter of Final Salvation! And again, thank you all for sticking here with us!
~Spirit