Chapter Sixteen:
Turn Off the Lights
Wes stumbled into the subway, breathing heavily. He'd gotten hit by a rubber bullet and a standard one, courtesy of No Snitching. People were already running when they saw him, for he had his pistol in his hand, with a silencer accessory on it. The lights of the subway began to flicker and then suddenly went off. He stared but before he could move forward he was knocked to the ground. He turned around, groaning, blood dripping from his forehead and mouth. Strika grabbed his gun, throwing it out of reach as he stood over him. He spat out the blood.
"Ay so…you got me," Wes griped, clapping sarcastically, "Whatchu gon' do now, nigga?"
Strika grabbed him by the collar and dragged him. He threw him over the turnstile before hopping over. He pulled him to the platform, slamming him on the ground.
"Nigga," Strika hissed, his eyes glowing blue, "You the snitch. Yo ass leaked shit so you could have an excuse to move into Los Lados, bump off the local niggas and traffic yo shit here."
Wes grinned as Strika pinned him, "Iight."
"And you tryna pin this shit on Peaches," Strika snapped, "Cuz she's a mon."
"Congrats, you figured it out…dumbass," Wes snarled, "If you only fuckin' killed that fat Weezin' fuck, you coulda been fine. Nah…you wanna stab me in the back. You wanna disobey me. Fuck you nigga! Shoulda killt you when I saw you hesitatin' to burn that fuckin' thief. You soft and you ain't shit!"
"I ain't so soft that I can't murk yo stupid ass," Strika growled, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him down the platform. He forced him to his feet and repeatedly bashed his head against the stone wall that divided the platform from the upper levels. After three bashes, Wes was falling unconscious, bleeding profusely.
"F-fuck you…t-that's why…that…kid…is watchin…" Wes hissed before completely losing consciousness. Strika turned around to see Jazmin standing on the platform, staring at him. He looked back at Wes.
"Yeah. She lookin," he said bashing his head a final time, bursting it against the wall. All that was left brain, blood and skull fragments. The headless corpse slid down, tumbling on the platform. He sighed as Jazmin gawked, speechless.
"S-Strika?" She squeaked.
"Hi Jazzy," he grumbled, flicking his hands free of Wes' blood. He turned around completely, giving her a tired look.
"W-who was t-that?"
Strika took a deep breath and walked over to his sister, "A fuck nigga." Jazmin was not sure if she wanted to hug him or run from him and so, she started crying. After a minute of crying she finally hugged him, sobbing into his chest. He hugged her back, holding back his own tears. He walked out the subway with her, seeing that everything was on fire and war was happening right in front of them. Before he could leave Jazmin behind though, Lakeda had sped up to him. He stared at her, startled at her sudden appearance, but then smiled a bit, albeit sheepishly. She grabbed and hugged him, bawling as she did. Strika hugged her back and Jazmin, hugged them both. However, their reunion was interrupted by a helicopter soaring over downtown Scion City, with cops on megaphones, demanding that everyone cease and desist. Jasper zipped up to them.
"Ayo, can y'all hug somewhere else… they bout to—"
They began dropping large canisters filled with chloroform mixed with knockout gas. People began running again, shrieking. Some people were dropping in midstride, falling unconscious from the combination of gas. Jasper covered his face and Strika as well. But Jazmin was not as vigilant and inhaled some. She collapsed.
"JAZMIN!" Lakeda cried out, covering her nose and mouth. She looked up and saw Talon high above the miasma. He spotted them and flew down. He had his hoodie pulled over his nose and mouth. He picked up Jazmin, giving a reassuring look to Lakeda and took to the air, already gone. Lakeda's face was wet with tears as she zipped through smoke clouds. The gas seemed to have no effect on poison types from what she observed. Jasper was behind her but Strika took off in the other direction. Lakeda saw him leave, wanting to call out his name, but if she did, she would inhale the gas and faint. She began crying as she ran towards Mateo and X-Large, who were protected from the gas by his Safeguard. When she was in the Safeguard, she allowed herself to breathe and then she cried out.
"Strika!" She yelled, sobbing. Mateo rubbed her hand and stood up, to hug and comfort her. X-Large was half conscious, but he understood was happening. Jasper sighed, placing an uneasy hand on Lakeda's shoulder. He looked out at the world before them and saw the helicopter was struck out the sky by someone's Hyper Beam. The helicopter swirled around and landed in the street, catching on fire. The people inside retreated as it exploded, sending shrapnel flying in all directions. This no doubt harmed a lot of people. Lakeda wiped her eyes, grabbed Mateo's scarf and wrapped it around bottom half of her face. She then darted from behind the Safeguard.
"LAKEDA!" All three of the men shouted in unison.
She rushed into the fray, screaming. The lights were just started to come back on, which meant specialized weaponry was back online. But she didn't care. All she think about was her older brother. He was out here. He was brave. I'm brave too, nigga! She leapt over an advancing line of riot cops, using her speed to catapult her forward. She landed on her feet and clenched her fists tightly. Her eyes turned a blinding gold as she gathered up electrical energy. She began shooting lightning bolts out of her hands, aiming for armored vans. She aimed for their turrets and their gun-mounts on top of their cars. She was moving so fast her afterimage was confusing the fuck out of the riot police who tried advancing on her. She let out another charge of electricity. Thunder! Lightning rained down from the heavens, exploding more of their weapons and vehicles, showering the street with sparks and bolts. Mateo was observing from his vantage point, his eyes wide. Jasper didn't look surprised. Perfect IVs, he knew. He covered his face darted out into the skirmish to offer his support. He gathered up electrical energy as well and spun rapidly, releasing bolts of lightning in all directions. It exploded cop cars, disabled their EMP machines, fried their radars and scorched their SWAT vans. Lakeda looked around, noticing she and Jasper had created an electric terrain. The knockout gas had no effect now. She removed the scarf from her face and looked at Jasper. He smiled at her and they darted away from the riot police.
Talon flew Jazmin to Section-77, hovering outside her room. Festival opened the window for him and he entered, placing Jazmin in her bed. He sighed tiredly.
"Thanks Fes," he said, flopping on the bed next to Jazmin. He kicked off his shoes, took off his coat and went straight to sleep. He was so exhausted. Festival shut the window, sitting at the foot of the bed, yawning, falling asleep as well. As they slept, Strika stood outside the housing projects, looking up at them.
I love you, Jazzy Jolt, he thought, I love you ma. He took a deep shuddering breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. Don't look back. He raced off, disappearing before Lakeda could arrive. He zoomed onto the freeway, heading back into Las Aires. When Lakeda arrived home, she'd smelled that she'd just missed Strika. Mateo had taken X-Large back to his house in his Honda while Jasper ran with Lakeda, arriving mere seconds after her. She went inside, set down her keys and took off her coat. She kicked off her sneakers and set them aside, plopping down on the couch, emotionally and physically exhausted. Jasper lit a cigarette and sat next to her. She was starting to weep. Jasper sighed, hugging her as she cried and cried. The television played in the background. The reporters talked about how bloody and vicious the riots were. It was now confirmed thirty-seven dead, one hundred and three injured. Jasper turned off the TV and let go of Lakeda, heading back into Strika's room. She fell asleep on the couch, tired from everything. After a while, she started smiling in her sleep. You can go if you want to. You're alive. You're strong. You'll be alright. I'll be alright. We'll be alright. She sighed, feeling a weight in her heart lifted.
As she slept, Strika reached the Neon District in about ten minutes with his superspeed. He made his way to the motel and entered through the narrow front. The receptionist was there again, giving him a nod as he walked by. He went to room 340, knocking on the door. The door opened up and it was Aliyah. She looked shocked for a brief moment and then, overjoyed and relieved. Peaches was happy too, taking a drag of her cigarette, smiling at Strika as he closed the door and kissed Aliyah, relieved to be alive.
"So…since yo ass back alive," Peaches said, "…Is that nigga…?"
Strika nodded, sighing. He went to the bathroom to wash the blood off his hands and clean under his fingernails. Aliyah walked in the bathroom with him, rubbing his shoulders. Strika dried his hands on the towel placed on the sink and wiped the tears ebbing from the sides of his eyes. He walked out the bathroom and sat on the bed. Peaches sat next to him.
"He was the one leakin," Strika said, sighing. Peaches looked surprised, but not impressed.
"How you figure?"
"I put two n' two together, fam," he said, "How the fuck this nigga know where to hit, where to be, who be doin' shit…unless it was him leakin' info to other niggas, giving him an excuse push up on X's turf."
"…He…tried pinnin' it on me," Peaches scowled, angrily chomping down on her cigarette, "That fuck nigga! Why the fuck he do that? Nigga what the fuck I ever did to that bitch! Ol' perm head headass, dumbass accent too…"
"He said cuz you's a mon," Strika sighed, "So I guess…pinnin' it on you…would've been like…more believable."
"…Fuckin' speciest bitch nigga! Ol' fuck boy wanna do some dumb shit now he got killt."
There was a bit of silence and Aliyah spoke.
"We can go home now," she said to Strika. He nodded, smiling at her. But then he groaned when he realized he was basically out of a job.
"Yeah, it startin' to hit you too, ain't it?" Peaches said, "Jobless."
"Fuck…" Strika laid back in the bed, "The fuck I'm supposed to do?"
"Ion know…get a decent legal job?" Aliyah offered, folding her arms.
"Like what bih," Strika grumbled, "Runnin' straps brought in good money. Fuck…why Wes had to be complete fuckin' tool and ruin my set up."
"You can…work at the convenience store," Aliyah said, "We could rotate shifts. With both of us, we'd pull in enough to be comfortable."
Strika sat up, looking at her. She smiled a bit. Peaches took a drag of her cigarette, letting out a puff of smoke.
"I...think I can do that," Strika mused. He looked at Peaches, "Whachu gon' do?"
"Eh," Peaches shrugged, "Head back to my sister's. Chill there for a bit. Ion know about makin' a life here. I usually just try to blow through.'
Strika nodded, "Yeah…I feel ya."
"I saw you at them riots on my newsfeed," Aliyah said, "This nigga really tried killin' y'all at a fuckin' riot."
Total disregard for other nigga's lives, Strika thought. The amount of causalities that had been wracked up during that riot, which was now being dubbed, Red Riot on social media, was greatly in part of Wes' carelessness. Strika shook his head, trying to not to dwell on it. There was more silence and Aliyah swallowed deeply. She walked over to Strika, gently touching his face. She kissed him as she reached into her pants pocket. When she broke the kiss, she showed him something. He looked down at her hand.
It was a pregnancy test and it was positive. His eyes grew wide as Aliyah placed it on the nightstand. The gears in Strika's head began to turn at the speed of light. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Wait, I saved up enough tho, I can do this….and if we both work…we can take care of it…is she gon' keep this? Is this kid gon be a mon or a human? Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
"Whatchu thinkin'?" Aliyah said softly, worried about his reaction. Strika cleared his throat and cleared his mind. He got up to kiss Aliyah.
"I'm thinkin', damn bih, I'ma about to be someone's pops. Shit, imagine what my moms would say… 'Strika, you triflin' motherfucker, I told yo dumbass to wrap it up.'"
Both Aliyah and Peaches laughed at his impression of Lakeda. He hugged Aliyah, being gentle with her.
"Either way," he began, "I think I'ma be fine. I think you'll be fine too, A."
She hummed in his embrace, relieved and happy.
By the next morning, Talon had gone back to the trap while Jazmin simply stayed in bed with Festival. Lakeda had brought them birthday cake pancakes for their breakfast in bed and informed them she'd be ordering pizza later tonight. A little comfort food wouldn't hurt anyone and Lakeda, being exhausted, went back to bed to simply relax. It was snowing again and it was nice to just be in bed while it snowed. #RedRiot had been trending all morning and Jazmin munched down on her pancakes as she scrolled through the phone. The images were brutal, but strangely…triumphant, in many ways. #ElectricTerrain was also trending. A small news blurb was written about the importance of Perfect IV mons, who could use their natural stat and abilities to their greatest potential. She saw photos of Andre Pom, who'd she remembered was a chill pothead that was cool with Talon and Naz just last year. Now he was an A student in a decent college, active in his community and out there in the frontlines, protesting for what was right. She watched a video of him tossing a brick at a cop. One thing Andre should have done was play football, Jazmin always thought. He had a great arm for one and his tail-hands could also throw like a motherfucker. On top of that, little things like bricks and bottles did a lot more damage when he threw it, due to his natural ability, Technician. Said ability boosted the power of things that would otherwise be weak, such as slaps and small projectiles. She scrolled through her newsfeed and saw pictures of teachers from Los Lados High at these protests. She smiled a bit. It gave her some hope about that school.
Her smile faded as she thought about Strika, however. Mom says he'll be okay, Jazmin thought. A pang of sadness went through her heart as she thought about the prospect of never seeing Strika again. She couldn't help but think of her mother…losing her husband and now her son. But did…she really lose him? She wondered. She felt a few tears roll down her face. But then she smiled to herself as she realized he would ultimately be alright. He can take care of himself. And as long as he's alive…I'ma be okay. Lightning is in our hearts. We can survive anything. She sighed, wiping her eyes. I'll see you again soon, bro.
She picked up her phone again, texting Talon in the middle of breakfast.
Jaz: u ok?
In a few minutes, he texted back. Jazmin set aside her tray to look.
Talon: yea I'm ok
Alto not tho
Jaz: wat's wrong
Talon: Gale
Talon set the phone down and patted Alto's shoulder. He'd been crying all morning but now he sat silently, taking a bong rip. Crystal looked a bit sad too, although she said nothing. Taheha was in the other room, watching her shows. We used to be friends, Talon thought, but we grew apart…shit ain't ever easy. He looked away from Alto, making sure nobody saw the few tears that fell down his face. Funerals, funerals, funerals, Talon thought. Keisha, Laquan, Infra…Gale. These were young lives snuffed out unfairly. Talon sighed. Dwelling on this was not necessary anymore. We gotta just…keep pushin'. Talon wiped his eyes and sighed, patting Alto's shoulder some more.
As Alto smoked up, Talon looked around. He had to fix this place up—making a proper house instead of a traphouse. The wallpaper would have to be torn out and the walls repainted. Talon looked down at the filthy carpet. He would have to get those ripped up in favor for some hardwood floors. The singed parts of the wall would need to be repaired and painted over. He and Crystal had cleaned the kitchen to some degree, picking up the trash that used to be scattered all over the place and discarding it. A new stove, he thought, observing how rusted out and old it looked. And perhaps…he could go to Poke Depot and get a new sink. This would be an expensive overhaul, but if he saved up enough from his retail job, he could do it. Speakin' of which, I better start to get ready, he thought. Maybe one day, he could afford a bedframe instead of having mattresses on the floor and some actual furniture other than one kitchen table and cardboard boxes.
"Hey," Alto said, wiping his eyes, "I-I think I'ma just…get a job."
"Yeah," Talon mentioned, "Whatchu got in mind?"
Alto shrugged, "Uh…maybe work at Glendy's or somethin'. Heard they hirin'."
"Good choice," Talon said, "How yo gran?"
"She iight," Alto said, "She chillin' watching TV right now. So I better head back before she start wanderin' into the street."
"Iight bro," Talon said, giving him a dap, "Peace."
Alto packed up his bong in his bag and put on his coat. But before he left, he scrolled through his phone.
"Damn near err'body from X's crew got wrecked," Alto said, "I think his shit done."
"Who knows nigga. X be findin' ways around shit," Talon said.
"Truuuuuuuuuuuuueeeee," Alto said, "Iight, later."
Talon shut the door behind him and put on the chain lock. He walked over to Crystal, giving her an optimistic smile.
"What?" She asked.
"So…you gon' go cold turkey?"
"Pfft, fuck no," she said, lighting her crack pipe. Talon sighed but after she took a pull she relented.
"I'ma help yo ass renovate tho," she said, "Ya know…make this place look like an actual fuckin' house."
Talon gave her a surprised look.
"Nigga I see you inspectin'," Crystal said, "I notice shit."
"Hm," Talon nodded, sitting around the kitchen table, "So what kinda wallpaper then?"
"None," she said, knowing what Talon wanted, "We gon' buy paint and paint over the walls, yeah?"
"Glad you and me is on the same page," Talon said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag, "And…bedframes."
"Good. Sandy's dumbass never wanted to get a fuckin' bedframe. Cheap nigga. Who the fuck wanna be sleepin' on a mattress on the floor."
"Not me or Taheha…" Talon said, taking another drag, "Oh…damn. I was thinkin'…Taheha old enough to be goin' to school, yeah?"
"Yeah. She is."
"That mean you can work," Talon said, grinning at her. Crystal gave him a contemptuous look.
"Nigga…I smoke crack. Where the fuck I'ma be workin' at?"
"A place that don't do drug tests," Talon said, "And I know a couple." He scrolled through his phone as he smoked, "There's Glendy's…McDewgonalds…Burger Kingler…Popplio's…."
"Hmph," Crystal snorted, taking another hit of her pipe.
"Yeah…if we gon' renovate, I'ma need help…since ya know, this ain't gon' be a traphouse no more."
"I feel ya," Crystal said, "Burger Kingler…does got cute uniforms…"
"And they pay decently," Talon reassured her.
Crystal shrugged, taking another hit, feeling the high settle in on her, "Yeah—I can dig it."
"Hmm…and some better lightin'…" Talon mused.
"And a couch," Crystal added, "Don't forget that shit, nigga."
"Maybe some actual curtains…instead of fuckin dishtowels." He got up and stretched, "Well…I'ma get ready."
"Iight. I'ma take Taheha with me to go shoppin'," she said, "Gon' get some food."
Talon nodded, heading to the other room to put on his uniform. He put out his cigarette as he did.
X laid in his bed, smoking a cigarette in his boxers, his stomach wrapped up with bandages. Although showers were okay for rock and ground types, blasts of water were not it. Direct hit from the hose could be caustic—would peel his skin off if he hadn't been wearing clothes. He took another drag, thinking about all his decisions. Be better than me, he said, sighing as he put out his cigarette, thinking of his son. He scrolled through his phone. 26 dead and 43 injured at deadly mall shootout, a headline read. He watched the video attached to the article. It was submitted by a bystander who was hiding behind the counter of a makeup store. He was filming the late Isaac Intel snipe people from on top of a makeup stand and then get shot himself. The man was shaking his phone. Be better than me, Danny. He thought, sighing as he saw the names of those who died in the shootout and their photos. He ended up lighting another cigarette. He saw Lil Thorny's picture in that the sea of photos. He took another drag. Gale was another one he saw. He kept scrolling, seeing videos from bystanders being posted all over social media. One was filming Wes' men shoot into a crowd of people in an attempt to kill one of his guys. The bullets caught a mother and her daughter, an old mon and an employer. The man shooting was eventually killed by No Snitching, who shot him multiple times in the torso. The last he remembered, No Snitching was black bagged and thrown in the back of a van. He let the cigarette hang out his mouth as he got dressed. He put on jeans, timberlands and a sweater that his mother gave him. He took another puff as he went to make himself some tea. As the water boiled, he scrolled through the phone some more. Three men dead in deadly gas leak, another headline read. It was Glacy's and it was no gas leak. Big Smoke had hit them with the Poison Gas. And at close range, that move was lethal. He then looked at the riot videos. He saw Lakeda in one of them, shooting electricity at every opposing weapon. He didn't have to watch the video to know this—he witnessed this firsthand. She and her brother created an electric terrain to nullify the knockout gas. He smiled a bit. She was beautiful and strong. And she deserved Mateo. Mateo had kept him safe and brought him home, bandaged him up and gave him his best wishes. Damn. He a real nigga, X thought, strangely amused, but also a tad sad and a bit…relieved. When the tea finished, he sprinkled some sugar in it and then some lemon. He set his cigarette aside and sipped it, feeling it revitalize him. He kept sipping as he scrolled through his newsfeed some more. Claw was taken in during the riots and he saw his picture without his bandana mask. It was an interesting mug-shot. Be better than me, Danny. He sipped his tea and his ear twitched as heard cars pull up. He set his cup down and inhaled deeply, letting the air out slow. He heard knocking and he walked over. He unlocked the chain and opened the door. Outside were the feds and several other standard issue cops. The officer at the door showed him his badge.
"Clarence Lycanlarge," they said, "You're under arrest. You've been charged with drug trafficking, arson, illegal use, possession and sale of narcotics, first degree murder, second degree murder, third degree murder, illegal possession of a deadly weapon, extortion, illegal battle hosting, racketeering, illegal acquisition of contraband, including but not limited to Z-crystals, stat boosting medicine, choice bands, focus sashes, choice specs and so and so on." They took a breath, "As well as manslaughter, reckless endangerment, illegal boosting, human and mon trafficking including prostitution and tax evasion. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you."
He nodded as the other cops handcuffed, using tungsten cuffs to compensate for his incredible strength. They blindfolded him also, escorting him to the back of an all-black cop car. They took off, with X sitting in the back, sighing softly to himself.
Be better than me, Danny. He thought.
The cars reached an intersection and the turned left, heading onto the freeway that was half a mile off. The snow gently fell on the roads, giving a fresh coat of white.
As he thought about his son, he couldn't help but a smile a bit.