I'm really not trying to make waves here. Promise, I'm not! ;) This was an old piece that I came across a few days ago and after much debate, I decided to post it. But it breaks away from the norm. I was a huge fan of MIB, but not really of the movies or comics or series. It was more the entire concept. This should go up pretty fast, because it's already written. Just… please don't think of this as the movies/series/comic version of J and K. Because if you do, you're probably going to hate me by the time this is done.
Okay. Disclaimer. I don't own MIB. I don't own the names. The characters themselves are original, but I don't want to step on ANYONE's toes and get myself sued! LOL So let's just say I own nothing and leave it at that, shall we?
The rating might go up. Haven't decided how much of this story I want to cut out. I know some of it's gonna go. But if this story suddenly disappears, try looking for it under "R". It won't go any higher than that. This chapter's safe for kids.
This right here is a shameless plea for feedback. PLEASE review!!! Flaming is better than nothing.
PROLOGUE
JOSHUA:
The bitter cold stung my face. I had no idea how cold it was, but it had long ago dropped below the twenty-degree mark. I drew in a painful breath and looked up at the snow falling from the sky. It was a blanket of white all around me, the innocence of it was ironic. I knew it would claim my life. I had accepted it, long ago. I wouldn't make it until spring. Not on the iced-over streets of Detroit, Michigan. It was only mid-December. There were three more months of this, and I could already feel my body shutting down, giving up the fight, after two weeks. But I didn't care. I wasn't going back.
It was a decision I'd had to make. How badly did I want out? I knew that I should wait until spring before attempting to run away, but I couldn't. And so I determined that I would rather die than wait. I was going to die. That didn't scare me, but the thought of never feeling warmth again wretched my insides. How much longer did I have to wait? I welcomed death. I was ready to go. If I had money, and was a little older, I would get a gun and end it now.
I considered the thought of staining the pure, white snow surrounding me with the thick, red pain. Who would find it? Maybe a child, hand-in-hand with their mother. Maybe two lovers, huddled together as they walked through the falling snow. Maybe my father. I smiled at the thought. It was the ultimate slap in the face. I could fight back. No matter how much control he had over me, he could never really have me unconditionally. I still controlled whether I would live or die. And I had made my decision. He could read about it in the morning's paper.
I imagined him staring at the TV, drunk off his ass, with a bottle of beer in his grasp. He would hear some slurred description of an unidentified boy found dead. He might see a picture. Then he would know. He'd throw the can of beer, jump to his feet, and then... I didn't know what he'd do. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't punish me if I was dead.
I pulled my knees to my chest and shuddered, my breath coming in a cloud of white fog. I was shivering uncontrollably. Maybe tonight. Maybe it would end tonight. I closed my eyes as a blast of icy air hit the side of my face and burned my skin, stinging like a thousand needles. I turned my face away from it and felt it knot my snow-covered hair.
My eyes flicked over the scene before me. It was quiet, almost 2:00 in the morning. I was sitting in a playground, behind an elementary school, at the top of the slide but faced the wrong way to go down it. A sheet of white prevented me from seeing more than a few feet away from me. Or maybe it was because my eyes didn't want to focus. I had hardly slept since I'd left. How many hours had it been? And what did it really matter? I leaned my head against the ice-cold metal rail and waited for death.
AGENT K:
He was exactly where she said he'd be. I had wondered how she knew, in her dying breath, where to find him. I didn't even know she'd had a son. But it had been the only thing on her mind as she'd given her last ounce of life to her cause. I looked away. I knew that pain: the thought that you'd left behind things, people that needed you. It was more familiar than I cared for it to be.
Once I checked her computer's history, I knew how she'd been able to tell me where he was. She'd been watching him. That also explained why she was so distracted lately. The past few days, she'd been highly emotional. Not surprising if her son was out in the cold, dying.
He was in the same exact place as he'd been every night for the past week. He sat on top of that slide, completely exposed, like he was waiting to die. He was waiting to die. He had to realize that he wasn't going to survive if he didn't find a more sheltered place. For a week, nature had been gracious to him. It never got below twenty-five degrees. But tonight was different. It was already almost five degrees, and the wind was brutal. He wouldn't live until morning.
"Is he there?" the voice in my ear asked.
I leaned against the brick wall of the school building, my hands buried in the pockets of my leather trenchcoat. "Yeah, he's there," I answered.
"How old do you think he is?"
"I dunno," I mumbled into the microphone on my jacket. "Five maybe? He's young."
"What reason would a five-year-old have to run away?"
"What reason would his mother have to ask us to take him in rather than take him back home?"
He said nothing, and I sighed. "Besides, she never said he was a runaway, boss. They might've been homeless and his father died."
"Is that what you think?"
"No."
"Then what do you think happened?"
"I think he's a runaway."
I watched him shake violently, overwhelmed by the cold. "I'm gonna talk to him," I informed. "He won't make it through the night if I don't move now."
"What makes you think he's going to come with you?"
"He'll come."
"You don't know that."
"He'll die if he doesn't."
"Maybe that's his plan."
"I can change the plan," I answered, sure of myself.
"How are you so sure?"
"It's every boy's dream to work for somebody like you, boss," I smiled, well aware that he hated sarcasm.
"He's not working for me until he gets older," he shot back. "And don't you go telling him otherwise."
I pushed off the wall, following the thin trail of stomped down snow that led through the parking lot and to the playground. "I don't think I'm going to have to tell him much of anything," I answered.
I heard nothing but the howling wind as I approached the metal slide with the tiny boy huddled on the top of it. "Hey," I called up to him.
He jumped and threw his hands underneath him, as if he were preparing to run. Then he stopped, frozen. "What are you doin'?" I questioned.
He didn't answer. He didn't move, except for involuntary shudders. "It's kinda cold out here," I mumbled. "And it's late, too."
Being this close to him, I realized he didn't even have a jacket. He was wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt. The shoes he was wearing were huge, a large man's shoes. His long, dark hair was matted and tangled, and his cheeks were sunken into his face. He looked like death personified. "Where are your parents? Aren't they going to be worried about you?"
He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but no sound came out. He turned his face away. "Can you not speak?" I guessed. "Are you mute?"
No reaction. "Why don't you come down?" I suggested. "You look cold."
He remained, unmoving. "If you're lost I can help you get home," I suggested, wondering what kind of reaction that would get.
Nothing. I saw his breath hit the cold air, but was otherwise unsure of his vital signs. I decided to go out on a limb. "You're not lost, are you?" I prodded. "You ran away, right?" He tensed, like a kitten ready to pounce, but didn't look at me. "Is it really worth dying over? Because you won't make it through the..."
All of a sudden, without warning, he leapt from the top of the slide and landed, crouched in the snow. He ran a few steps, but it was futile. The snow was a foot high. He tried though, and I followed him slowly as he lost the shoes and kept going, finally collapsing, face down on the ground.
I approached him carefully and knelt down, pulling my hands out of my pockets. I pulled him up, out of the snow. He was no more than forty, maybe forty-five pounds. I pulled my gloves off and felt for a pulse. He was alive. Barely. "Boss, you there?" I asked.
"Yes, go ahead."
"I've got the boy."
