The club was about as noisy and crowded as he always remembered it being.
Slipping between the thick throng of bodies with no small amount of difficulty and trying his best to ignore the booming cacophony of sounds that made everything within him rattle, he steadily made his way over to the wooden bar-stand situated on the opposite side of the cramped room, the deafening music and flashing lights quickly becoming dizzying, nauseating and highly disorienting. However, they weren't anything he wasn't already used to, and as luck would have it they also served to his advantage as they somewhat masked his appearance, even though he'd done his best to disguise himself already.
Regardless of his efforts to appear as unassuming and as only mildly attractive as possible, several pairs of appreciative eyes still followed his moving form as he cautiously wove between the dancing bodies and he barely managed to dodge several advances, from men and women alike, smiling somewhat sheepishly as he did so, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. This was one of the reasons why he disliked visiting virus clubs so much. Though rarely hostile, they tended to be much more upfront and bold and casual about their advancements than all the blood cells and germs in Frank City combined. And, given their natural sturdy physique and incredible physical strength that often superseded those of other cells, it was much more difficult to shove your way past them.
But at the same time... he had an appointment to make. It had taken him a lot of effort to convince her to meet up with him tonight, and he would rather put up with the annoyance of suggestive invitations than disappoint her.
The barkeep sent him a sideways glance as he just barely managed to take a seat at the crowded stand and the cell shook his head at him, signaling that he did not yet wish to order any drinks. Fortunately him though, the other must have figured out that he was waiting for someone and so did not immediately chase him away from the bar in favor of the other patrons who were all fighting over a spot, apparently willing to allow his supposed date a few minutes to catch up. Flashing the other man a quick, grateful smile, Jones promptly turned away from him, body tilting in its seat and neck craning as he looked around, searching the dark crowds for the familiar face.
The razor sharp claw suddenly pressing against his throat surprised him.
"Weeeeeell, what do we have here?" A voice, cruel and almost predatory, whispered with unconcealed viciousness into a straining ear, low and painfully familiar. "An officer of Frank's finest~... Wanderin' so far from home... Don't cha know how dangerous it is fer yer kind ta stumble in 'ere?"
A crooked smile stretched across his blue face. "I missed ya too, Nia."
An amused huff left unseen lips and just as suddenly as he was grabbed, he was being released, the sharp edge of the claw abandoning his jugular without so much as a scratch as the person came up to stand next to him instead, leaning heavily against the smooth surface of the membrane barstand.
Even though it had barely been a few months since Ozzy had last seen her, he was still just as struck by her almost alien sort of beauty as he had been during their first introduction, openly gaping at the woman as she came to stand next to him, an amused twinkle dancing within her beautiful, light emerald eyes.
She was shorter than him, but only just, lithe and muscular in a way that only accentuated her femininity rather than served to erase it. The ultramarine shower of long dreads cascading over her narrow and deceptively delicate-looking shoulders seemed to glow softly in the flickering lights of the dancefloor, turning the sapphire hue of her lipid envelope into a deep purple color. Even her poison green eyes, brilliant as they already were, seemed to become several times brighter in the dim light of the virus nightclub, glittering in an almost enchanting sort of way in the neon flashes like microscopic gemstones. Only her choice of clothes, in fact, seemed to shatter the angelic spell of her natural appearance, the pitch black biker outfit, complete with tight leggings and a motorcycle jacket, serving as a wordless warning to those foolish enough to try and jump her. Not that there were many of those who were dumb enough to mess with a virus of all people in the first place, of course, but it was a nice additional incentive not to to be an idiot nevertheless.
Didn't mean that he wouldn't totally make fun of it though.
"What is it with ya viruses and black clothing?" He asked and nearly laughed at the way her expression almost instantly soured, the woman sending him an irate look as she slowly came up to sit on a neighboring stool. Perhaps some part of her had been waiting for a compliment from him. Whoops.
"Ever the gentleman, aren'tcha, Oz?" She griped, but he could see the way her lips quirked in an amused smirk regardless, baring the sharp tip of one of her fanged teeth.
Osmosis couldn't stop himself from grinning as well if he tried. "Hey, ya know me. Always a hit with the ladies."
An ungraceful snort left his companion's lips at those words, green eyes flickering briefly and almost teasingly in his direction. "Suuuuure. Whateva' helps ya sleep at night, Ozzy."
"'Ey! Not cool, man, not cool."
Rolling her eyes in an overly exaggerated manner, the Measles virus turned in her uncomfortable-looking chair to face him fully, watching him closely from beneath half-hooded eyes. The cop had to admit to himself, he quite hated when she did that, silently scrutinizing him and everything he said, making him feel as if he were being flayed completely open and examined like some extraordinary specimen.
But he was just as adept at reading her, as she was at him.
By the faint, brief glimmer within her eyes, the blood cell could pinpoint the exact moment when Nia understood why he had asked her to meet him here today, knew what he truly wanted to talk about and was apparently not at all pleased by the knowledge she had discovered, even though she did not outright refuse him.
Jerking his head in the direction of the exit, he signaled for her to follow him, cautiously weaving back through the dark crowd and watching from the corner of his eyes as she followed suit after him, not without rolling her eyes first, of course.
Rather surprisingly, it didn't take them as long to find themselves outside the crowded building as they had expected, the silence of the outside street a stark contrast to the almost deafening music booming within the nightclub they had just vacated. The change was disorienting, but both Ozzy and his companion had long since gotten used to such transitions, and so were able to adjust to it in a short enough amount of time, striding down the darkened alleyway of one of the many Renal columns of Frank City.
Offering his childhood friend a single arm, a soft smile flickered briefly over the cop's face as Nia accepted it with an arched eyebrow, the blood cell flashing her a confident grin even as she demonstratively turned away from him, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. Though that amusement, unfortunately, soon proved to be rather short-lived.
"Ya wanted ta talk to me, Oz?"
Heaving a heavy, almost sheepish sigh, the white blood cell nodded quietly, pointedly avoiding her searching, brilliant gaze. "Yeah, I-uh... I did. Fo' a while now, actually, but it was kinda difficult ta get a hold of ya, well, fo' obvious reasons. Anyway, remember that virus I told'cha 'bout a while back? Yeah, well, I uh wanted to talk to ya 'bout.. 'bout him an' what he's uh... going through."
"No."
Ozzy sharply looked up at the abrupt interjection, shock visibly coloring his features despite the deep night shadows that had long since fallen upon Frank City, noting the way the woman was suddenly looking away from him, the sapphire claws wrapped around his arm tightening slightly in their already rather strong grip. "No?"
" No , I will not speak with him, if that's indeed what ya were about ta ask. And I can almost guarantee ya that everyun in our community's gonna do the same. None of us want anythin' ta do with him."
"B-but.. why? Nia, ya know that ya and the others are the only ones who could possibly 'elp him with this!"
"Yea, trust me, I do . But... Look, Oz..." Here Nia drew in a heavy breath, finally mustering enough strength to look up at her long-term friend and meet his eyes, the look on her face almost disturbingly grim. "My heart bleeds fer 'im, man, it really does. No virus deserves to be crippled against their will this way, no matter the circumstances, an' I know perhaps better than anyone else jus' how excruciatingly painful the transition to bein' a Clipped like us really is, but... Look, all I'm sayin' 'ere is that... Well, he's made his own choices in life, an' I've made mine."
"I won't lie to ya, bein' born a virus ain't easy. That much 's true. S'pecially if ya used ta be a blood cell befo' getting yerself infected. People always seem ta hate ya from the start fer jus' being what ya are. Some may even try to kill ya befo' ya can start actually hurtin' anyun, befo' ya've even done anythin'. Shunned by everyun, ya eventually resort ta livin' wherever ya can, scrounging fer whatever ya can, hopin' against hope that yer luck 'olds up an' ya don't bump into the wrong guy while being completely and utterly defenseless. So, when a virus family, usually the same kind as you, extends a helpin' hand to ya out of the blue, ya're naturally grateful ta them right? They take ya in, show ya the ropes, teach ya how to defend yerself and let's be real, anyun would feel indebted in that kinda situation, right? Anyun would wanna prove themselves to be worth the... the investment , if ya will, ta make 'em feel proud ta have ya on their team. But that still don't mean ya're backed into a corner, man. It don't mean that ya don't got no choice."
Ozzy remained silent for the duration of the quiet speech, choosing to say nothing, his dark eyes never leaving the virus's face. He could already guess where she was going with this, of course, understood what she was trying to tell him, but that didn't mean that he still did not disagree with her on her decision, regardless of whether or not he got where she was coming from.
Despite his almost stony and cold silence, Nia continued.
"Take ma family an' your grandpapy fer instance. I was jus' a kid when ma dad an' I came 'ere ta infect Frank. Yer grandpa caught on ta us befo' we could cause any real damage, and he coulda killed us, Oz, an done so easily. But instead he gave us a chance ta build a life 'ere instead. Opened his doors to us. An' we ultimately chose ta accept his offer. An' now look at us. Livin' peacefully in a body, free ta do whateva' we want without anyun lookin' over our shoulders, without us bein' forced ta kill just ta survive . No longer riskin' our lives for people we barely know jus' to keep ourselves in the virus family race, watchin' instead from the sidelines as those cutthroat bastards betray an' kill each other just to prove their power an' lethality. It's a great life, Oz. It really is. One we neva' thought we'd eva' be able ta have just cuz of who we were. In fact, we're so grateful fer being given the opportunity of leavin' all o' that mess behind, that ma daddy still sometimes visits yer grandpapy's grave, thankin' 'im fer what he did fer us."
A heavy sigh left the virus's lips, her green eyes clouding in what could almost be called sadness.
"This Roja guy, Thrax ya called 'im? This may sound cruel ta ya, Oz, an' I understand if ya get upset at me for this, but ya kind of.. reap what you sow, yanno? I'm not condonin' what happened ta him. Definitely not. I do feel sorry for 'im and what he's going through, and genuinely hope that ya manage ta put the git who mutilated 'im behind bars, but... Ya can't deny that he made 'is own choices that probably lead him here. Like it or not, he is responsible fer his current fate, even if partially. Try ta get where I'm comin' from 'ere, man. I, along with all the viruses currently livin' in Frank City have made the choice ta walk away by becomin' Clipped. Thrax, on the other hand, chose ta keep killin'. Truth is, we're on different paths with him, and that probably won't eva' change, even if he can't hurt nobody no more. An' so, none o' us really want anythin' ta do with 'im. He knew what he was gettin' into, what he was doin' . He knew the risks, and it honestly ain't that surprising that the consequences finally came back ta bite 'im in the ass."
The cop remained quiet for a long time after those words, the two of them simply walking in an uncomfortable silence down the deserted streets of the Kidney district, the sounds of the night city surrounding them by far the only noises breaking the almost deafening pause that had fallen between them. When the white blood cell finally spoke up again, his voice was soft, gentle, almost barely audible.
"Yeah... I guess I... can sorta understand what ya're gettin' at. Even if I would neva' be able ta be as cold in yo' place."
Nia's lips quirked in a small smile. "Well.. ya have always been quite the bleedin' heart when compared ta me, ya know." Despite the pejorative term, there was no malice in her voice, no real derision. If anything, her mannerisms could almost be called affectionate, playful even.
A quiet chuckle left the cop's lips and he turned to glance at her from the corner of his eyes, shoulders shaking in barely contained mirth. "Guess I have."
The two shared a mutual laugh, the Measles virus shaking her head softly before settling it lightly on the blood cell's shoulder, leaning comfortably against him as they walked. He allowed her to do as she pleased, quite comfortable in her presence. Even the sharp claws now wrapped around his arm failed to put him on edge. Unlike Thrax's.
Somewhat sobering after their brief bout of laughter, the woman suddenly pulled away from him again and looked up, her eyes meeting his once more and he was again struck by the quiet intelligence glittering within them, the silent thought. "Howeva'.. ya're also my friend and that don't mean that I won't give ya some pointers on how ta best go about this. My advice? Don't mention his injury under any circumstances unless completely necessary and make sure ta keep a few cards up yer sleeve. Don't tell 'im every single thing ya discover. Cuz I bet ya he ain't gonna be completely honest with ya either."
Jones shot her a sharp look at that, brows pulling into a confused frown. "Ya're tellin' me ta lie ta him? But why? And what'd ya mean he won't be honest? He wants ta find the guy as much as we do!"
" Exactly . And he don't want ya findin' the bastard before he can get his claws on him. Ya gotta understand, Oz, this guy ain't planning on survivin' this no more. He's strictly on a suicide mission now. The only way out fer viruses like 'im 's death, an' he knows it. It's either die with dignity while doin' what he does best, or live in eternal disgrace, forever shunned and shamed, laughed at and pushed around by other virals takin' his place. There ain't no in-between. An' for guys like him who thrive and revel in infamy and fear, livin' like that is a fate far worse than death, trust me. Now that he's lost his claw and so his pride, the only way he sees ta clear 'is name is ta kill the guy who did this ta him an' then die himself. Or perhaps perish while fightin' him. An' you may very well get in the way o' that. Truth is, the only reason he even agreed ta work with ya in the first place, is cuz he figured that through cooperatin' with ya he'd get easy access ta first-hand information. So ya can bet yer ass that he's gonna fight ya on every turn, feed ya half-truths in order ta try an' confuse ya in any way he possibly can just ta get ahead."
The woman looked away, sighing.
"Take everythin' he says with a grain o' salt, Oz. And expect that for every little detail he actually shares with ya, there's at least ten others that he ain't tellin'."
Osmosis let out a thoughtful hum, his gaze dropping to the cracked and scorched pavement beneath them as they walked down the poorly lit street, the corners of his lips turning downwards in a small frown. "Do ya... Really believe that he don't want to live no mo'?" He asked her quietly at last, his voice barely more than a whisper and Nia shot him a sad look from the corner of her eyes, her claws clenching a little tighter around the offered arm. "I mean, he did almost starve 'imself back at the hospital, but I just thought... Yanno, that he was adjustin' . That he was just trying ta come ta terms with what happened ta him. In his own way. That's all. The guy strikes me as being too much in love with 'imself ta resort ta suicide, an' I just... Find it extremely hard ta believe that he would ever choose ta go out by his own hand."
The measles virus beside him sighed again, her purple dreads swaying softly from side to side as she shook her head, her green eyes seeming to dim. "It's that or live in disgrace foreva', Jones. His pride and dignity as a killer virus is more important ta him than actually livin'. Takin' his claw against his will, his very pride and purpose, an' turning him inta a cripple was a direct insult not only ta him, but the virus family he represents. He believes it's his duty now not only ta avenge his mutilation, but also uphold the Roja family honor. Otherwise, it will be completely eaten alive out there by other viruses, those who have smelled weakness, and never manage ta get it's name inta the medical books. Judgin' by the fact that he's still unknown, it's clear that the family he came from is fairly new and rather small. Which makes it all the more vulnerable to already established diseases who are jealously defendin' their positions and actively takin' out the competition."
"Ya mean there are more viruses like Thrax out there?" Jones visibly paled at the very idea, his throat flexing in a nervous swallow. "They ain't gonna all suddenly show up here ta help him, right? I don't think we're in any condition ta fend 'em alloff."
Nia barked out a laugh at that, as if what he'd said was the funniest thing in the world, the virus waving a clawed hand in easy dismission, a small chuckle leaving her thin lips. "Naw, you needn't be worried about that, I assure ya. Virus families don't usually help their own when they get inta trouble. Sure, they show the new guys the ropes, but that's about it. They don't care much what happens to them after that, beside their acquired kill count. Trust me, in the eyes of the Roja family, Thrax got himself inta this mess and he can very well get himself out of it. Preferably by finding the guy responsible and killin' him as revenge. He's on his own."
Jones gave a low, surprised whistle, his black eyes going wide. " Man , I just feel the love an' support for him there."
Nia laughed again.
"Yes, well, that's about how most virus families are. It's all about power in order ta survive in the cruel world they live in and hidin' the weaknesses from others. An' I bet ya that Thrax knows it too."
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
The small apartment was dark and silent when he finally mustered up enough courage to enter it, almost entirely void of any signs of life, the cell's trembling fingers fumbling with the lock for a few seconds before he managed to steady himself and unlock it, a muffled curse leaving his blue lips at his own weakness. He didn't know why the mere thought of walking in there and coming face to face with Thrax again made him so nervous. It wasn't like the virus was currently in any physical condition to yet stand a chance against him should he suddenly resort to violence, and he had made sure to lock away anything that could be used as a weapon before leaving him to his own devices. But despite that knowledge Jones could already feel the anxiety eating away at him, his hand subconsciously straying to the comforting shape of the gun holster strapped tightly to his waist, thumb softly tracing the cool metal there.
The memory of Thrax choking him flashed before his eyes once more.
He hadn't had his gun with him then, but he did have it with him now. If it ever came down to a fight, he would be fine. Ozzy was sure of it.
A dark shape met the blood cell's eyes almost the instant he stepped into the dimly lit living room, the already familiar form of the crimson virus sitting comfortably at the bar table of Ozzy's open kitchen, hunching over the mess of reports and photographs from the two crime scenes they had so far and yellow eyes narrowing in deep thought. He didn't look up as the cop approached. Didn't so much as twitch as Ozzy strode past him on his way to the tiny coffee machine, seemingly completely oblivious to or uncaring of Jones' presence, his dark claws tapping thoughtfully against the report he was apparently invested in now.
It was the exact same position Osmosis had left him in when he'd departed for his meeting with Nia several hours earlier. Thrax had clearly not budged an inch in that time at all.
Clearing his throat and feeling slightly awkward, the man turned to glance minutely at the other over his shoulder, black eyes quickly raking over the virus' hunched form. "Hey, man, uh did you eat?" There was no reply, and some part of him hadn't really expected there to be one anyway, the blood cell briefly opening the tiny fridge and scanning its contents, shoulders sagging in a heavy sigh at the sight. "Apparently not." Turning back to the tiny coffee machine, he glanced at it in a considering manner before turning to peer at the other again, brows furrowing in a small frown. "Ya want coffee?" Only silence reigned supreme again after his quiet inquiry, and Ozzy stifled a frustrated sigh, fishing out two cups from the overhead wall cabinet and setting them on the slightly stained counter. "I'll take that as a yes."
Thrax barely reacted when the cop finally came over to join him at the tiny bar table, but accepted the hot cup of steaming coffee nonetheless when he was offered it, his long claws slowly wrapping around the delicate handle and bringing it up to his lips, his yellow eyes never leaving the papers placed in front of him. Despite trying to pretend he was busying himself with the reports as well, Osmosis did not quite miss the faint grimace that briefly flickered over the other's angular features at the bitter taste. Funny. And here he'd thought the virus definitely took his coffee as black as his soul.
"Find anything?" He asked after a little while, pulling a few discarded papers to himself as well, his dark eyes raking over the already familiar contents. Thrax let out an irritated growl.
"He's intelligent," he said at last, his arms crossing over the broad expanse of his chest and crimson brow ridges furrowing in a dark frown that bordered on a glare, sharp claws tapping restlessly against his lipid envelope as he leaned back, studying the papers intently. Ozzy did not miss the flash of a white bandage now wrapped tightly around Thrax's left wrist, conveniently placed right over the incision mark. Well, that definitely wasn't there before. "He has a good understanding of virus anatomy and he is methodical. He somehow managed to capture and keep me hidden for what must have been at least six months, which demonstrates extraordinary planning and a familiarity with how to avoid detection from local law enforcement. And yet..." He pulled up a photo of Chill's crime scene from the small stack of others, unceremoniously dumping it between the two of them in a manner that could almost be described as frustrated, his yellow eyes narrowing into tiny slits of anger. "He shows complete disorganization here. Everything about this is haphazard. Almost as if this was perpetrated by a different person."
"Naw, it's definitely the same guy." Jones said, pulling the photo closer to himself and trying his best to push down the nausea that instantly welled inside him at the sight of the bloodied, motionless form of the virus there, quickly setting down his cup of coffee beforeit could set off his gag reflex. "We neva' released the info about the wrist slash to the press, so it ain't a copycat. We figured he was just spooked before he could quite do a proper job." Keep a few cards up yer sleeve,Nia's words once again sounded in his ear, and Ozzy bit his cheek before he could mention anything else, his blue fingers almost imperceptibly clenching tighter around the smooth paper. Cuz I bet ya he ain't gonna be completely honest with ya either.
Thrax sent him a condescending look.
"Riiiiight... So he had the brains and confidence ta keep me prisoner fo' several months in a secure location without bein' smoked out, an' yet on his second go he decides ta do it in plain sight an' act clumsy 'nough to be noticed?" The sarcasm in that smooth baritone was practically palpable.
Ozzy scowled at him from across the tiny bar table.
"Ya'd be surprised what kinda mistakes overconfidence causes these guys ta make." He retorted, shooting him a pointed look, and Thrax's claws clenched a fraction tighter around his arms, crooked teeth peeking out from beneath his lip in an angered snarl. "Perhaps it ain't that surprising that he over judged his own capabilities an' got himself noticed." He tactfully neglected to mention how it was this exact arrogance that had gotten Thrax detected in the first place, but the implicationwas still there. One that the virus seemed to catch on to very well.
The virus glared at him. "Or more likely," he began, his voice low and dangerous, sending shivers running down the cop's spine, and Ozzy's fingers twitched of their own accord in a subconscious itch to reach for his gun, the cell barely stopping himself from pulling it out in defense, "there is something ya're just neglectin' ta tell me. Got anything ta get offa' yo' chest, Jones ?"
Silently steeling himself, Osmosis met the other's piercingly yellow eyes in a matching glare, his shoulders squaring beneath the thin material of his white t-shirt.
" No ." He growled, his voice firm and mouth pulling into a thin line, hoping against hope that his anger would conceal the notes of anxiety traitorously invading his vocals. "What point would there be to? Chill was a pal of mine, an' trust me, I want ta catch this guy 'bout as much as ya do befo' he can cause even more pain and sufferin' than he already has. Why the hell would I lie ta ya when ya and I both have the same goal?"
Jones thought he could still see a glimmer of suspicion burning within those yellow eyes, could tell that Thrax didn't quite believe him, not entirely, but thankfully the virus chose not to pursue the issue, instead returning his attention to the reports strewn all over the thin table between them.
"Sure. Whateva' ya say, baby."
Osmosis could only hope that the other hadn't caught his quiet sigh of relief as he, too, returned to his work. But try as he might - it soon became obvious that he couldn't focus. Something kept bugging him, and even though he knew it was an extremely bad idea to mention it to an already irate Thrax, he simply couldn't keep it to himself. Not in good conscience. Not when it could help the other to deal with his new... condition.
"I, uh, I spoke to the other Clippeds today, by the way," he ventured cautiously after a little while, voice almost nonchalant and unassuming, his black eyes watching the taller form sitting opposite of him closely. The virus didn't reply, as if intent on ignoring him as much as possible, but Jones caught the tension now bleeding into the other's posture, those dark claws almost imperceptibly clenching around the specific document Thrax was perusing through now. "They uh... They won't speak ta ya directly. Fo' obvious reasons. But they did give some pointers on how ta handle the uh... Yanno." Slowly reaching into his pocket he withdrew a small slip of crumpled paper, dropping it on the already cluttered surface of the table between them. Thrax didn't even glance at it. "I wrote them down fo' ya. In the event that... ya'd find the advice useful... Maybe."
"I don't need help, Jones." The virus drawled in a condescending and almost bored manner, but there was an undeniable hiss invading his words, his yellow eyes flickering in his direction, soon returning to the report held tightly within his clawed hands. "Especially from weaklings who couldn't cut it in the virus world and so chose ta hide their pathetic hides in bodies ta live the easy life of ya cells. I can handle it myself juuust fine." Despite not expecting any praise for his efforts, or any nice comments about the clipped viral community in Frank City, the blood cell couldn't help but feel hurt and offended on Nia's behalf, his features darkening in a fierce glare once more.
"They ain't weak ," he growled and Thrax shot him an amused look over the white edges of his coffee cup, crimson brow ridges rising in mock interest and indulgence. "They're stronger fo' walking away when they did, unlike ya. And ya would do well to take whateva' help ya can get at this point. 'Specially from people who have gone through something like this befo'. Like it or not, ya're gonna need help. This ain't somethin' ya can easily overcome on yo' own."
"Watch me." Thrax scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in his direction and putting his now empty coffee cup back on the smooth surface of the kitchen table, finally looking up at the cop sitting opposite of him, his piercing, yellow eyes meeting black. "Oh and Jones?"
"Yeah?" The cop asked reluctantly and let out a startled yelp as sharp claws suddenly shot across the smooth expanse of the silver table, roughly grabbing him by the front of the shirt and yanking him forward, causing him to sprawl forward ungracefully, the startled blood cell abruptly finding himself face to face with a certain, extremely pissed off crimson virus.
"Call me a Clipped again," Thrax spat, his yellow eyes glowing ominously in the darkness that had long since fallen upon the small living room and Osmosis swallowed heavily, his fingers subconsciously trailing to his gun holster once more, "and I willshow ya just how deadly my other claws are. Am I clear, baby?"
"Crystal clear," Ozzy wheezed, and the virus released him just as suddenly as he had grabbed him, calmly returning to his work, his gaze once again falling upon the mess of photos and witness accounts lying between them.
"Good."
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
In the end they didn't manage to find any more clues. A fact that seemed to frustrate Thrax greatly, if his irritated growls and restlessly tapping claws were anything to go by, the virus visibly reluctant to abandon his research and retire for the night. Fortunately for the cop, however, he didn't need to spend as much time as he had expected convincing the other to leave it for a few hours as common sense won over in the end, and he was able to successfully guide his new charge to the guest room he would now be staying in, nearly buckling beneath the virus' weight as he did so. Thrax, being the sadistic, cruel bastard that he was, found this quite amusing.
Lingering in the doorway for several moments longer than was probably strictly necessary and watching as the other slowly got acquainted with his new room, Jones visibly hesitated, his fingers clenching around the membrane handle of the bedroom door, and cleared his throat, feeling overwhelmingly awkward for the second time that night.
"Hey, man, I uh... I gotta lock ya in fo' the night. Precautions and all that stuff..." There had been no specific instructions for him to keep the other locked up, but there was just simply no way Jones was letting the virus roam free while he was asleep. Even if they were supposedly working together now, he still wouldn't quite put it past the other to try and murder him while he was at his most vulnerable.
However, Thrax didn't even glance at him at those quiet words, obviously disinterested in his warning, and merely waved another dismissive hand, silently telling him to just do what he had to do and be done with it. Taking a deep breath, Jones slid the door shut behind him as he stepped back into the darkened hallway, fumbling for a few seconds with the key before managing to insert it in the lock, the comforting, quiet click almost instantly putting him at ease.
Of course, he would undoubtedly be a naive fool to believe that Thrax wouldn't be able to get out if he really wanted to, but somehow the knowledge that he was locked inside made Ozzy feel better nonetheless. Even so, he still hesitated to remove the gun holster from his waist upon reaching his own bed, his jaw clenching in frustration as he twirled the small firearm within his blue hands, torn on what to do with it. In the end he gave up and slipped it under the soft material of his pillow, a heavy sigh leaving his lips at his own weakness as he did so.
Some cop he was. Couldn't even have enough trust in his own abilities to be able to fend off any attacks and sleep without a gun nearby as additional protection. Jeez what a disgrace. Great-great-grandpapy Jones would be ashamed of him. He was certain of it.
Back in the guest room Thrax didn't even react as the door slid shut behind his new caretaker, barely noticed the quiet click as the lock was turned, his thoughts already directed elsewhere.
Dim street light filtered weakly through the small window of the guest bedroom and he slowly strode over to it, looking down onto the cracked streets below, yellow gaze staring at nothing in particular. A soft sound of crinkling paper permeated the silence that had fallen upon the cop's apartment as he slowly withdrew a photo from the pocket of his jeans, having slipped it in when they were leaving the kitchen without Jones noticing, the virus bringing the small image up to his eyes.
The elegant, angular mark drawn in Chill's cytoplasm was barely there, hardly noticeable even to a trained eye. It was crude, almost unrecognizable when compared to the one he knew so well. Thrax knew that it could very well be an illusion, thanks to the angle at which the image was taken. Knew it could very well be accidental, coincidental . Because surely hecouldn't be here. Thrax hadn't seen or heard from him in years . And the body they were currently traipsing around in was quite far from his usual hunting grounds.
He simply couldn't be here. But something told him that the proof now laid out before him, however weak it actually was, was undeniable.
The photo crumpling within his clawed hands with terrifying ease, the virus suddenly spun around in one fluid motion, viciously throwing it at the opposite wall in a fit of rage, his lips curling in a snarl of absolute fury and growing despair.
But, then again, what had Thrax expected exactly? He had warned him that they would meet again someday. When he least expected it. When his back was turned. When his arrogance had finally got the better of him. When he would be most vulnerable. No matter how long it took, he would be coming back for him.
And he would be taking back what had rightfully belonged to him.
His claws slamming against the membrane windowsill of the guest bedroom in overwhelming fury, the crimson virus leaned heavily against it, suddenly finding it very difficult for him to be able to stand, to breathe, his chest heaving as if it were being suddenly constricted by some powerful, unseen force.
He should've known it would be him.
Jones couldn't know who they were dealing with now. That much was for certain. The virus hadn't planned on including the white blood cell in the hunt anyway, knowing that the fool would only get underfoot, but now it was even more paramount that he stayed clear of Thrax's way. This was his fight, and his alone.
He should've killed that bastard a long time ago.
It only became too clear to him now why he had been left alive. It was a question that had been bugging him ever since he had woken in that accursed hospital, and learned of his new condition. If his attacker had been smart enough, had been strong enough to keep him hidden for months on end without being detected, keep hurting him without being heard, whywould he suddenly leave him in an open alleyway like that, almost guaranteeing that he would be found, whether by random passerby or law enforcement routinely patrolling the half-destroyed streets? It hadn't made sense to him then. But it did make sense to him now.
Ya want ta play a game with me, baby? Thrax thought to himself, his crooked teeth clenching in a fierce growl and yellow eyes narrowing into tiny slits of near scorching rage.
All right... Let's play.
=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
The call came in at about four in the morning.
Groping sleepily at the nearby nightstand, Jones clumsily grasped the vibrating phone, blinking blearily at the flashing screen and barely managing to press the green button in time, bringing the small gadget up to his ear, unable to stifle a loud yawn.
"Chiefy Weefy, what's uuuup?"
"Don't 'Chiefy Weefy' me!" The familiar gruff voice of his boss snapped in unconcealed irritation, and the cell chuckled lowly, sitting up in bed and rubbing exhaustedly at his eyes, picking up his watch from the same nightstand as he did so, and checking the time, nearly groaning at the numbers displayed there.
"All right, all right, ma 'pologies, sir. But it's four in the morning, and I'm not supposed ta come by the precinct until eight, which means that ya're callin' fo' something important. Has there been a break in the case or somethin'?"
"You... Could say that." The voice over the phone seemed to hesitate, the chief sighing heavily, and Ozzy could practically imagine the other rubbing tiredly at his eyes with one enormous hand, sagging exhaustedly in his undersized office chair. "Another body has been found in the eleventh Renal Pyramid district, commonly known for its dense virus population. One... Nia Morbillivirus from the Measles family. I was told you were familiar with her."
The phone slipped limply from his grasp.