Chapter Twenty
Supergenesis
The security footage flashed by again, showing off image after image of carnage and despair that permeated the halls of Maellard's corporate offices. In it, it showed Pops and Tim, laughing about something and approaching the elevator in order to go up and meet with Benson's father. They press the button and idly chit-chat while the compartment slowly comes down toward them. The doors open a few seconds later. Though it's never seen, it was obvious that it was already inside the elevator as made apparent by the shocked and horrified expressions on both Pops and Tim.
Benson watched on in horror as the soundless reel rolled on. The image of Pops being dragged into the elevator, kicking and screaming, haunted his mind and put him on edge no matter how many times he watched it. Tim hesitated at first, but eventually pulled out his pistol and fired a few shots into the elevator, only to have one of the repulsive hands come upon him an instant later. It lifted him up the neck, and with another appendage, took the arm with his gun, and ripped it cleaned off. Benson could hardly stand that sight, nearly vomiting into a trash can the first time he saw it. But Maellard was unmoved by it, only his hands shaking as he watched Bad News rip muscle, tissue, and bone with nothing but it's own strength. The amount of blood that came out of him was frightening. The black and white television didn't do it enough justice, as the darkened life blood of Timothy spilled all over the floor, before he was dropped to the ground like a rock. The creature took his arm as a trophy and brought it back into the elevator, which then closed with Pops still inside.
At first, Benson thought this was the end of the tape. But it kept going. The elevator was moving up. He asked why the security cameras in the elevator weren't working, and was only told that they had only just recently gone out. It was Benson's first clue telling him that this entire thing was obviously planned.
He watched the footage of the elevator ascending its vertical pathway, going higher and higher. And then, just like that, the elevator plummeted down back to its starting point, crushing the compartment completely. When the paramedics and police men were finally able to pry the door open, there was nothing inside.
Both Benson and Maellard watched the footage loop on end for at least an hour, until finally, they just couldn't take the images anymore. It was somewhere between four and five in the morning, and both of them felt like death, not only due thanks to their exhaustion, but also to the utter and absolute feeling of dread and noir that hung over their heads more so then any storm cloud ever could.
They returned to Maellard's office, alone. The right people were taking care of things already, and Maellard needed to get away from the watchful eye of the media as it was. He had no doubt he was going to hear it from Connor Wong tomorrow, and what's worse, it wasn't just about Pops he was going to hear about.
"I don't understand," Benson replied, shaking his head in bewilderment.
"I think you do," Maellard said back to him. "And I think you know what that means for us as well." He reached for a notepad on his desk and threw it toward the gumball machine.
Benson caught it and read the bold pen message on it. He felt his eye twitch in fright. It was a message from the hospital earlier. Don never made it back. For that matter, neither did Ploddevize or the nurse that was accompanying them. Most of the message was written insinuating that Don must have done something to them and ran off. His sanity was still in question by the rest of the hospital staff. But both Benson and Maellard knew Don would never do anything hurtful to those people. They simply disappeared, just as much as Pops did.
"Don and Dr. Ploddevize too?" Benson muttered.
"That poor nurse too," Maellard added. "It's truly a shame."
"This can't be happening," the gumball machine added.
The more he thought about it, the more that evening began to make a creepy sort of sense. It took Don, and it took Pops. And then Benson saw it watching him and Margaret. Was it planning on abducting them as well? If it did, why didn't it just snatch them when it had the chance. Both he and Margaret were alone at the time – it would have been perfect. Benson was sure that it was hunting them down, but he just wasn't sure as to why.
"Mr. Maellard," Benson began, "you're sure that you've never seen anything like Bad News before in your life?"
Maellard sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but it does seem familiar. I feel like I may have met it before, but… I don't think I've actually seen anything as violent and malicious as 'that'."
"But you know you've met it at some point?"
The crusty old man stood from his seat and looked around his office. "It's vague, but I remember a business party from a few decades ago. It was a party for some new and upcoming business that's worth who knows how much today. All I know is that it's more successful and profitable than this company could ever become." He looked down fondly at a framed photo on his desk, and picked it up. "Pops was a child then, and with his mother passing around the time, I always had to keep him nearby. It's vague, but there..."
His lips quivered as he looked at the photo. "I remember bright lights, lots of friends, holiday music, and a general sense of laughter and good merriment about the room. Pops and I were enjoying the festivities, seeing as it was our first winter holiday without his mother. He met and played with all the little children of both my friends and enemies, sang along to all the usual holiday songs, danced and danced and danced, and smiled so much it hurt him the next day. Seeing him so happy made me smile a little too."
"You see, his mother died when he was very young, so the only memories of her he had were of this wonderful, beautiful, and compassionate woman. And really, she was. Pops resembles her so much, it's hard for me to look at him sometimes without being reminded of her last few days in life."
Benson wanted to interrupt him, and try to get him back on track, but Maellard's expression was so nostalgic and peaceful, that it almost seemed like a crime to break it. He had never seen Maellard act like this.
"After she died, I was so afraid that Pops might die as well that I just kept him at my side at all times. I suppose that's why he's a bit of a daddy's boy. I regret being over protective of him, but at the time, I was too heartbroken to care either way. He'd come with me to work, to meetings, to on site projects, everything. So it surprised me to see him be so happy at that party without me."
"But that feeling that I told you about, Benson… it came from someone. I can vaguely remember the face, but only a little. It was a man… a chinchilla anthropamorph, I believe. I only got a few small glimpses at him, but he seemed sickly at the time. I remember he carried an oxygen tank around, and that people were concerned for him because clumps of his fur were coming off. He had a cancer of some sort, though I couldn't tell you which one. But that feeling; that feeling of dread and anger that's soaked into every inch of this building and the park… it's the exact same I know it."
Benson tried to picture it in his mind: A room lit in a golden light fluttered into his head, filled with faceless people, save for a younger Maellard and a child Pops. He did his best to add in the sick chinchilla into the crowd, and found the right image for him. He then removed all the people, leaving only Maellard and the potential Bad News in the room. Maellard mentioned that it was a new and upcoming company that was worth more than Maellard ever could be.
"Mr. Maellard," Benson interrupted, "do you know the name of the company that the chinchilla was part of."
His boss shook his head and put the photo down on his desk. "I'm afraid I don't. I was invited more so as an enemy than an acquaintance, and I honestly believed at the time that the company he was working for would go down in under a year. I can only imagine the look on my face when their stock surpassed mine."
Benson raised in eyebrow in confusion. "So you know the stock surpassed your own, but you don't know the name of the company?"
"It changed its name sometime in the 60s. It was originally called Febrile or something to that nature," Maellard answered. "What does any of that have to with my son's abduction?"
"Because we might be able to figure out why all of this is happening," Benson announced. "Think about it, sir. If we can figure out what that company was originally, we might be able to figure out who that chinchilla guy is and figure out why he has a grudge against you… if that thing even is the chinchilla person."
"That's all conjecture though, Benson," Maellard quipped. "It's a wild goose chase. Like it or not, that person I saw at the party is long dead. I can guarantee you that myself."
Benson stood up and leaned forward against the desk. "It's worth a shot though, no matter how asinine it is."
Maellard thought about it. He didn't care about Bad News at the moment, or his past, or some random chinchilla that he barely remembered as it was. He worried his company and the damage it was going to receive from this incoming controversy. He worried about his bodyguard, now armless and in the hospital in critical condition. But most of all, he worried deathly for his son, and prayed the worst had not happened yet. Maellard couldn't care about anything else beyond that.
"Why the sudden interest?" he asked the gumball machine, with renewed interest. "Where is all of this coming from?"
Benson sighed and tapped his fingers on the desk. His head fell low and part of him wondered that himself. "Earlier this evening," he began, "I saw Bad News spying on Margaret and I, but it didn't attack us. It just watched us and ran away. Then, a few hours later, both Don, the doc and nurse, and Pops go missing, and Tim is thrown in the hospital. I don't know about you, but this all just seems too convenient."
Maellard, of course, agreed with him. There definitely was something in the air that made it all seemed planned out. "It all seems so sudden though," he whispered. "Why did it decide to take them now, and not earlier?"
"That's what I want to know," Benson answered. "That's why I want to look into anything that might have a connection with Bad News. Maybe there's something we're missing altogether. Or maybe I'm just leading us in the wrong direction."
The lolliman let out a tired grunt and sat back down into his chair. "Whatever you do Benson, I suggest you do it fast. Something is telling me that they aren't going to be the last ones that that creature decides to take."
Benson nodded, and began to leave. "Are you going to be alright by yourself, sir?"
"I'll be fine, Benson," he said leaning back into his comfortable desk chair. "Thank you for the concern, but I will be fine."
Benson nodded once more, and exited the room. He kept his head in for a while longer to watch Maellard sit in silence. When he closed the door, and the old men was left into seclusion, the old man's head slumped onto his desk, and his arm draped over his head to protect himself from the outside. From there on, he cried.
Benson heard the sobs from the other side of the door, and felt like having a bit of a breakdown himself, but had other things that needed to be done first. He could cry later, he thought to himself. He walked over to the assistant's desk and picked up the phone. His fingers glided over the numbers as he tried to remember all seven digits. After one failed attempt, he tried again, and successfully got a voice he was hoping to get in touch of.
"Hello?" Skips groggily answered.
Benson smiled at his friend's raspy voice. Even if he sounded tired and still half asleep, the yeti's voice was a calming factor to the gumball machine. "Skips? It's Benson…"
"Do you know what time it is?" Skips asked, with some slight annoyance. "What do you want?"
For some reason, hearing Skips gruff voice, Benson found his body begin to shake and shiver all over. He clutched at the phone with all of his strength, as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. "Can I come over?" he requested, trying to keep composure in his voice.
"What, right now?" Skips asked. "Why do you want to come over at this time of night? Did something happen?"
Benson wanted to explain everything over the phone, but it just wouldn't feel the same. He felt alone and watched at all times now. He looked around the room for any wandering black sludge that might be watching him like a hawk. It seemed like he was always under scrutiny.
"Can I please come over?" he asked again to the yeti.
The frustration in his voice was a clear sign to Skips that something had happened. Whatever it was, it was affecting Benson pretty bad.
"Benson, what's wrong?"
"Please, let me come over," Benson nearly screamed. He sealed his mouth with his hand and tried breathing slowly into his nose.
There was silence on the other end for a time, until finally there was a grunt, a quick, "come on over." Benson thanked him, and hung up the phone. He shakily made his way toward the stairwell and down the abyss of stairs.
Everything in the world seemed to blend together. His exhaustion and restlessness had finally begun to really attack his senses, making everything around him seem threatening and unsavory. All those around him looked like monsters, ready to attack him at any moment for any sudden movement here or there. Tentacles, fangs, and claws lashed out at him but pulled back the last second, sending bits of fright and anguish through his body.
He ran as fast as he could down the streets, constantly looking over his shoulder for anything that might be out of place or following him. It could have been his imagination, but he was sure that the brooding ooze was chasing him, millions of eyes all on him, knowing his every movement and where about. They examined every inch of his body, inside and out, raping and disfiguring him with their eyes, and filling his brain with still portraits of his gears and glass scattered everywhere. He would die alone in some secluded alley way, and some outline of a chinchilla walked away with a smirk, and thousands of eyes and claws protruding out of its shadowy body.
Benson wanted out. He thought maybe he could run to the border of the city and catch a bus to somewhere far away. His mind thought of Bonnibelle: a woman who actually seemed generally sympathetic of him. He wondered where she was, and if, perhaps, she wouldn't mind taking him in. Such a thought was selfish in nature. But the pink girl dissolved into that of a woman of red feathers. What of her in this situation? Was she too on the list for eventual capture? Benson couldn't bare with that thought. He couldn't bare the thought of all of them being taken away. What if that was the plan? What if he was next?
The creatures… the very thought of them planted terrible visions of the future that seemed to stretch on from the beginning of time to the days in which only Skips would remain, if he survived Bad News. How old was the monster? Was Bad News even around before Skips? Was it a creature that shared favor with Death? Too many questions, and no answers to any of them. Everything was wrong unless proven right. His head hurt so much. It throbbed and beat with his heart, causing his gears to erupt into an utter pain that could be felt not only physically, but mentally.
He wanted it to stop…
He wanted it to stop…
He wanted it to stop…
The world seemed so sideways now. Nothing was standing up like it was supposed to, like he was used to. Why was everything turning so quickly, and so unfamiliar? The world was no longer what he formally knew. Everything had changed so gradually that he didn't realize the difference until it was too late. Now he wished he could go back to the rut he had learned to hate. At least then he knew what to expect and wasn't afraid of what was coming that day. Then, he would know exactly what to do when those instances came up. They may have been a little different everyday, but he could handle it at least.
This was different though. He couldn't handle this slow and steady build: how it crept upon the staff and attacked them so mercilessly and without regret. And it never let up. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and the problems just kept on stacking. He wanted to scream for it to stop, but knew the world wouldn't listen.
He found himself curled up on the grass in the middle of the park, just about thirty or so feet from Skips' little shack. He couldn't control the fear inside himself, feeling his senses numb and distort. Everything was too different and unknown. It was unrecognizable. It had finally come down on top of him.
The stress and anger that he had been doing his best to hold in because of the park, because of Bad News, because of Maellard, and the play, and the dance contest, and the fundraiser, and Margaret, and Skips, and everything. Why did it have to happen all at once? Why was it all barreling down onto him like a monsoon with nothing for him to hold on to?
His voice convulsed, letting out some whimpered gasp that held no real significance besides letting the world know he was still alive. He prayed that some one heard him at least. The world was nothing to him now – just another blur of bizarre circumstances.
He looked up, and saw a heavenly light shining down on him. It scared him. Was it his time to finally go? An angel reached it's hands down and took him in close, picking him up from the malformed watercolors that swirled around him, and held him close. It spoke in some distant tongue Benson didn't understand, but relaxed him nonetheless. It sounded so warm and romantic, almost like a ballad. He felt his body move with the currents of the wind, and nuzzled himself into the angel's shoulder. It was soft and cozy. He held on tight, and let the angelic being take him away toward blinding salvation.
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He focused on the picture of the angel hanging on the wall: A single angel, surrounded by glorious trumpets and golden light shining all around her. In her arms held a child, behind her a yellow dog looked up in anticipation and joy, while to her side – waiting in the clouds – were various women, all dressed in white, blue, and shades of violet, rejoicing at the angel carrying the child. The calendar image was far from religious, but did its best to convey that tone. It helped him focus off of his begrudging father, and perfectionist mother. This phone call just felt like it wouldn't end.
"I know mom," Benson sighed into receiver. "Yeah, I know… I don't think I'm gonna let my hair grow back this time, mom… the ponytail reminded me too much of Dave… well the long hair and Veronica… look, I just don't want to grow it out, okay?" He tapped his foot impatiently and grunted.
He stared out the back door into the park and watched the snow flurries flutter down, only to melt on the warm grassy lawn. He shivered at the thought of even going outside.
"Huh? Yes mom, I'm disappointed too," he lied to his mother, "but I think you and dad can have good a holiday without me… I know… I know… I know… look, I gotta get going, I still have some chores to do… I know, mom… yeah… love you too… bye." He hung up the phone, and began to massage the bridge of his nose. He was happy he rarely talked to his parents. Too much time with them was a sure fire way to cause insanity.
He didn't like lying to them about coming home, but he couldn't stand them around the holidays. Plus, Maellard was offering him extra pay if he stayed and worked through the season, and Benson wasn't going to turn down additional money. Besides, Skips was going to be there too, so he wasn't going to be completely alone. This was going to be Benson's first winter that he was going to stay at the park. The yeti, on the other hand, had remained there every year from Halloween through New Years. Benson thought it might be a good idea to give Skips some company, as well as make an extra buck or two by helping out.
What Benson didn't count on was the cold. He didn't have the proper clothing for this particular winter, which reports had said was the coldest in about a decade. This put Benson at a disadvantage when he stepped outside, practically halving his strength and making it almost dangerous for him to be out there. The cold stuck to him like a bee to honey, and every moment he was out there his body temperature would keep dropping.
Perhaps that's why he was relegated to working places with heat nearby, such as chores in the house, or the snack bar, or any inside holiday events that the park had been rented out for. It drastically limited what he could do, but he couldn't change who he was. He had the same problems when it was too hot. Metal absorbs temperature. He couldn't change anything about that.
The house was perfectly spick and span. He had cleaned every single nook and cranny of the place. There was no dirt anywhere anymore, and yet he still felt bored out of his mind. There were no other jobs to do where there was heat, which left Skips to do everything. The new hires, Muscle Man and High Five Ghost, didn't start till after New Years. Benson couldn't wait for the extra help.
This was insane. He was too bored just standing there doing nothing. He walked over to the coat closet, pulled out his jacket, and approached the front door. A few moments helping Skips couldn't hurt that bad. He just needed to take extra breaks was all. He opened the door and stepped out into the freezing world.
Already he could tell this was a bad idea, but he gritted through it. He remembered that Skips was working on something near the park fountain so he slowly made his way there. It only took about five minutes for the cold to penetrate and spread through out his body, forcing him to go weak and fragile. But he kept on pressing forward, wanting to help somehow. When he made it to the fountain, he found no signs of the yeti. The fountain looked drained and dry, save for the few snow flakes that were accumulating on the freezing stone. Benson looked in, and wondered where Skips could have gone to.
Benson's hands were beginning to shake wildly, and his body was going numb. He had only been out for about ten minutes, and already he was wishing he had stayed in the house. He needed someplace to get out of the cold and looked around for some indoor area. Off in the distance, there was a little vacant shack that no one really used. Pops mentioned that it was for a park custodian, but they never ended up hiring one up until Benson and Skips. It seemed to be a safe bet. He made his way toward it, determined to stay in there until he got some feeling back so he could make his way back towards the house. Luckily, the door was open, and he hopped on in.
He shivered and moaned in anguish as warm air hit his body. What luck, the place was heated. Pops and Maellard must not have bothered to turn off the utilities for it. He turned around to get a good look at the empty little shack, and was surprised to find his coworker in a corner, staring back at him.
"Hey, Benson," he said, closing what looked like a photo album and sticking it to the side. "Why are you here?"
"I was getting really bored being all cooped up in the house with nothing to do, so I came out here to help you," Benson replied. There was still some cold in his voice, and he could barely feel his mouth moving.
"The way you are?" Skips said in a questioning tone. "I'm surprised you even made it this far." The yeti then giggled a bit and then began to dust the bridge of his nose. "You got some, uh…"
Benson watched him in confusion, but picked up on what he meant. He rubbed the snow off his nose and laughed at himself a bit. "I'm a lot tougher than you think, Skips," he laughed approaching the yeti. "I was able to stay out there a whole ten minutes before my body started giving out on me."
"Well congrats on that," Skips beamed. "I'd say we got ourselves a new park strong man here. I respectfully surrender my title."
Benson put his chin up triumphantly and flexed his stringy arms. They both laughed when they realized how ridiculous he looked trying to impress the yeti.
"You're such a kid," Skips laughed.
"Nothing wrong with that every so often," Benson replied. "I've been more worried about work lately, so playing around isn't so bad every now and then."
"You got that right."
They both huffed in content and sat back against the wall and relaxed.
"Taking a break?" Benson asked.
Skips shrugged and continued to grin at the gumball machine. "I just finished cleaning out the fountain for the winter, so I think I deserved some sort of reward for having to swallow some of that sewage."
Benson chuckled at the thought of Skips having to siphon water from the fountain with a hose – ice cold water at that. God knows the crap he had to clean up from the bottom of it.
"Did you find anything interesting?" Benson wondered.
"Just three dollars in coin," Skips answered.
The machine nodded and went along with it. He unzipped his coat and removed it from his body. He wanted the heat to hit him completely and speed the process along a bit. "I can't believe this place has utilities. It's kind of nice."
Skips agreed. "I was thinking about moving in here actually."
Benson turned to him in surprise and leaned forward. "Really?"
"Yeah… that way you can have the bed all you want without us having to alternate every day." Skips thought it might be a nice gesture to let his coworker have a constant place of relaxation, instead of having it one night and then getting the slightly lumpy couch the next. He expected gratitude, but was given laughter instead. "What's so funny?" he asked the machine.
"It's just that I finally get the bed to myself," Benson started, "and I'm moving out too."
"You too?"
Benson nodded enthusiastically to him and continued: "I got a lease down on an apartment across town. It's kind of a weird place, but the utilities are paid for, and the rent isn't too bad. Besides, the new hires will probably need a place to stay until they can get on their feet. I think it would be kind of rude if we hog the house to ourselves."
"I don't think that'll work though, Benson," Skips commented.
"And why do you say that?"
"Because I hear the new hires are actually bringing their own home into the park. Maellard and Pops are giving them a piece of the park somewhere in the corner so their can have a place to put their trailer."
"Well that's crazy," Benson added. "So I guess… Pops is gonna be by himself for a while, huh."
"I guess so."
The mood in the room seemed a little heavy all of a sudden. Benson wasn't sure why that was, but attributed it to the idea of them not living in the same home anymore.
"It's gonna be weird not living together anymore," he said, his mind stuck in memory.
"Maybe just a little," Skips said as he wrapped his arm around Benson's neck. The gumball machine looked at it questionably, and then to Skips with the same expression. "What?" Skips blurted. "You looked cold."
"I'm always cold, remember?"
"Colder than… usual… I guess." Skips sighed and let his fingers caress Benson's shoulder lazily.
The younger of the two noticed immediately. "What are you doing?"
His answer was to pull Benson in closer to him, enveloping the machine in white fur and strong embrace. It shocked Benson at first, being drug in with such strength. He trusted Skips for all the time they had known each other, but this seemed strange even for the yeti.
"Let me have this," Skips muttered to the gumball machine. He leaned down slightly and nuzzled his head against the glassy dome. "I'm feeling… really… lonely, right now, and I just don't want to feel… that way… right now."
Eventually, the yeti's other arm came around and brought Benson in closer to the embrace. The yeti kept one arm around Benson's waste, but let the other cradle his head into his chest. Benson felt like he should say something, anything, but could feel the desperation coming from his coworker. He didn't hug back at first, and just let the beast tighten his grip. But after a minute, he gave in and wrapped his freezing arms around the yeti the best he could. In the corner of his eye, Benson could see the photo album. A piece of newspaper clipping hung out lazily, describing the obituary of someone who died of illness. Perhaps it was a relative of Skips?
He could feel Skips fingers curl uncomfortable against his head, and his other arm grazing along the bottom of his chassis. Benson was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure where this was all coming from, and frankly, the less said about it the better.
"I need it," Skips whispered, his face dangerously close to Benson's. "I need it… but…" His grip loosened on his coworker, and he eventually backed away. His face was sad and wanting, but eventually returned to his usual monotone and expressionless façade. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get overly emotional on you."
"Um, it's okay," Benson rasped out. He was still feeling uncomfortable. "Are you going to be okay…?"
Skips began to nod at first, but stopped and looked toward the photo album. "No," he said. "No, I'm not going to be alright. But thanks for asking."
The two sat there, quiet, unfeeling, and still. Neither could understand what the other must have been feeling, and that disquieting mood just added to the frustration.
Right then, Skips took the photo album in his hand and hurled it across the room in a fit of rage. He gritted his teeth and stood up from his place, turning around and punching a hole in the wall. He skipped over to another wall and kicked it as hard as he could, also leaving a sizeable hole. He took in some deep breaths and let out as loud of a scream as he possible could, flushing as much negativity out of his system as his body and soul would possibly allow him. The room echoed and shook with his distraught feelings as he whirled around the room, punching, kicking, and attacking anything in sight.
Benson backed away as far as he could to a corner, and prayed the yeti stayed away from him. He had never really been terrified of Skips before, but this outburst was out of control. He didn't he know why he was going as crazy as he was.
"THEY DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!" Skips screamed at the empty room. He snatched up the photo album again and chucked it right out the window, shattering glass and panes. "WHY DID THEY HAVE TO BE PUNISHED!"
He took in a few more shuttered breaths, and knelt onto the floor. His eyes looked into the distance that wasn't there, though he was actually looking back at the past. He stared over to the frightened gumball machine in the corner and tried to think of something to make him feel better. "I didn't… I don't want… You won't…" The words he wanted to say weren't coming out. He simply stared at Benson, asking for something the gumball machine didn't understand. Finally, the yeti gave up and collapsed on himself.
"I want to be left alone," he said to Benson. "I'll be back at the house in a little while, but I wanna be left alone for a bit."
Benson didn't argue. He thought it strange considering only a few moments ago Skips was saying how lonely he was, but knew he shouldn't meddle. He was up and out the door in a matter of seconds, leaving Skips to battle his own mind.
Before he went back to the house though, he snuck around to the back of the shed near the now broken window. He looked down at the photo album, and quietly knelt down. He hoped Skips didn't hear him as he took a quick peek inside. Pictures of people as well as news articles, letters, and bits of mementos lined the pages of the book. It wasn't a photo album, but a scrapbook.
He didn't know these people, but Skips certainly did. But there was something that caught his eye though. One picture in particular with the date for 1902 scribbled on it. At first, Benson thought it might have been an old relative of Skips. But there was no doubt in his mind that the person in the photo was Skips. It was only then that Benson became aware of Skips immortality.
The book was a memorial for the dead.
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Warm sunlight fluttered in through the window above where he lay. He opened his eyes to the quiet morning rays and shuffled in the comfortably large bed. But something was wrong. This wasn't his bed. These weren't his sheets or his pillow. This wasn't even his room. He sat up and quickly looked around his surroundings, his heart pounding away like a jackhammer. It settled back slowly when he realized he was just at Skips' shack.
He fell back unto the bed and looked up at the ceiling. The last thing he remembered was something picking him up and carrying him away. In his sleep deprived state, he imagined the creature as an angel come to give him peace from his tired life at long last. No doubt it was probably just Skips, finding him on the ground in front of the shack and bringing him inside. Dreamless sleep must have over taken him some time after that, with the rest of the previous night a seemingly tired blur.
Benson turned onto his side and found the titular resident of the shack deep in slumber himself. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the rim of the bed, quietly snoozing away. Benson wondered what time it was and looked for a clock somewhere in the room. Nothing was hanging on the wall or nearby so that was out of the question. By the looks of things outside, it must have been at least noon, if not later.
A knock came from the front door, rapping itself three times. "How convenient," Benson chuckled. He threw the sheets off and jumped out of the bed, feeling well adjusted and rested.
Skips muttered something and reached up his paws to wipe the sleep away. Benson noticed and wished him, "good morning." The yeti waved his greeting away and continued to grumble unhappily.
Benson opened the door and greeted the stranger outside.
"What are you doing here?" Benson asked with a grin.
Margaret stepped inside with her usual graceful smile and winked at the gumball machine. "Skips called me late last night. He said something big happened, and thought you could really use a friend right now. So, I got Eileen to cover my shift and took today off." She observed the way he stood and the exhaustion still slowly phasing out of his eyes. "Did I wake you guys up?"
"Not me, just Skips," Benson mentioned to her.
She apologized to the yeti, who continued to wave away any discussion projected in his direction. He eventually stood up, only to hop onto the side of the bed.
"So what's going on?" Margaret asked. "He said you were looking really bad when he found you: shivering, and jumpy, and crazy, and all of that."
Benson scratched an itch on his shoulder and let out a waking yawn. "Guess…"
Margaret's smile disappeared as soon as he said that. There was only one thing currently that could have gotten Benson in such desire straights. "Bad News?"
"Literally on every accord," he sighed. "Pops and Don have been kidnapped by that thing."
"You're serious?" Margaret gasped.
The man nodded and stretched out his arms and legs. "Tim lost an arm too. Took the doc and his nurse too."
Her wing fell over her beak. She had no idea that Bad News would take things that far. "Is Tim okay? Is he in the hospital right now?"
Benson nodded. "They rushed him there. He'll be alright for now."
"Not from what I heard," Skips finally spoke.
Both Benson and Margaret looked over to him with a sudden look of worry.
"What are you talking about, Skips?" Benson asked him.
The yeti moaned as he rose from the bed and stretched out his arms, protruding his abs and puffing out his chest. "When I found you, I gave Maellard a call and he caught me up with everything that happened. I guess between the time you left and got here, something happened to Tim in the hospital."
Benson felt something troubling forming in his throat and tried to swallow it.
"According to the doctor's," Skips went on, "the doors and windows slammed shut and something attacked the room. When they finally got in there, the place had been ransacked – black ooze and blood everywhere. They found a couple of fingers in the mix as well." He shook his head and looked toward the park through the window. "Bad News is taking out everyone connected with Maellard. And I've been thinking… if he's going after the ones closest to him… then that would probably mean…"
"Skips, stop!" Margaret yelled. "We don't know what it's doing yet. It just may be attacking random people it's met." As she thought about it, she realized she too could be a target under that reasoning.
"Anyone of us could be next," Benson said. He looked over to Skips, who didn't look too sure about that. He shook it off and continued: "Anyways, I think I might have a lead on someone who might know about Bad News. I'm gonna need your help on this, Skips."
"Why me?"
"Because you know someone who might be able to tell us who this chinchilla person Maellard told me about was," he said with some commitment. "And knowing who you know… you aren't going to like getting in touch with them." He followed it up feigning a smile.
Skips wasn't sure who he was talking about at first, but when the pieces started coming together he groaned with annoyance. "You'll need to give me some time to call him."
Benson thanked him, right on time for the door to knock again.
"I'll get it," Margaret said, still recovering from her own thoughts. She opened the door, and frowned angrily at the person in front of her.
"Hey Margaret," Mordecai said with a wave. He was having trouble looking at her, choosing to look down or to the side in shame. "I saw you come in here, and I just… wanted to talk to you about last night."
She held firm her grip on the door, ready to slam it into his beak, but didn't want to end up looking like the lesser woman. She looked to Benson sympathetically.
"Go on," he said to her. "Skips and I can take care of things here."
"But I really want to help you guys!" she argued.
"Margaret," Benson continued, "Skips and I can take care of things for now. You got the day off anyways, you should spend it how you want."
"And I want to spend it helping you!"
"Please, Margaret!" Mordecai pleaded. "I wanna make it up to you. I acted like a real hole the other night, and I really just want to try and make amends for it. I want to talk about things… um… if it's okay with…?"
"Take the day off, slacker," Benson grunted. He thought about it and stopped for a second. "Tell Rigby to take the day off too, but to call Maellard as soon as possible. It's about Don."
"What about Don?" Mordecai said, suddenly worried, "What happened?"
"I'll explain outside," Margaret sighed.
"So you're coming with me, then?" the blue jay asked.
"I guess I am," she responded with no excitement in her voice. "I want to talk about things too. So c'mon, let's go." She pushed the boy out the door and looked back to Benson one more time. "Both of you be careful, okay?"
"We'll be fine," Benson reassured her.
"I trust you," she said before leaving with the blue jay.
The door clicked shut, leaving a concerned gumball machine, and a yeti who was growing more fearful by the second. Benson turned around to look at him. For some reason, he didn't like the look on Skips face.
Supergenesis – The Mountain Goats
Author's Notes
So this is the chapter where it all starts getting really crazy and everywhere. The length of this chapter is nothing compared to next one as well as some of the later ones. So hold on tight and just enjoy the show because it goes nuts from here on in, especially in the next chapter. So I hope you all enjoy everything as usual!
So Until Next Chapter...
Adieu...