Title: Voices in the Dark
Author: The Dragoness (aka Cupcake/Regan)
Notes: Thankee so much to my one and only (Beta. XP) Shia for putting up with all the whining I did while writing this thing. *snickers* But people asked for more, so I wrote some! Shows you what happens when you review! *hint hint* Seriously though, I formally proclaim this chapter to be the bitchiest thing I have ever written in my life. Yay. Someone go find an ribbon. ^ ^
Disclaimer: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac is copyrighted by Jhonen Vasquez. And stuff. Yay. =^_^=
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chapter Two:
Pawns of the Immortal
Silence. Beautiful silence and deathly stillness hung around him like wet tissue paper, thickly blotting out any sign of life, thoughts of the past, or cares of the future in one smoldering, never-ending moment.
God, he loved it. If only it could stay that way forever.
But a bright flash of light put that wish to rest. Bright flashes always meant trouble, such as the onslaught of monsters or parents. Ah well, it couldn't last forever, Squee thought to himself as the silence was shattered, and random snatches of outside noise filtered in around him like the noisy tinkling of jagged glass. The space nearby began to materialize into gray-toned vision, and he couldn't quite repress a jolt of fear. Where would he end up? Heaven? Hell? He could find himself just about anywhere, couldn't he?
But the world rearranged himself, and in a matter of minutes Squee found himself staring around a low-roofed, dusty attic. Closer examination revealed a large amount of random objects: books, silverware, lip gloss. The sixth sense in the back of his mind tingled, and he realized that the small room was practically overflowing with unseen presences and telepathic murmurs being tossed about. Catching a clear phrase or two was tough though; anything that got through to him was barely louder than a whisper and by and large unintelligible.
But even if he couldn't hear clearly, he could see each of the voice's forms once the dark room finally materialized completely. There weren't many though, thirty total perhaps. Back as a seven-year-old, Shmee had told him in lue of a bedtime story of the large bands of Guardians and Voices encircling the earth, defending nice little people like him against evil and chaos in an ongoing battle. A battle that, if the number of representatives here meant anything, they were probably losing.
Squee. Are you okay?
Squee glanced up to recognize his old friend and guardian, Shmee, positioned in the center of the room. A wave of relief washed over him. Shmee! Yeah, I'm fine I guess. But the weirdest thing just happened right before I came here... Oh, by the way, where is here? And why am I here? I know I'm rambling a bit, but I'm a little disoriented. Sorry. Um, do you have any idea what's going on?
Silence echoed around the room. Squee felt an uneasy chill run through him as he waited for his guardian's reply. But the silence stretched on, growing longer and thinner like the old brown toffee on the bottom of his shoe. After a few more moments Squee was about to repeat the question when Shmee finally raised his voice.
Yes. We do. But then he stopped again, supplying an answer that was anything but. It was a familiar tactic that Squee recognized from whenever Shmee was either uncomfortable or angry. Not a good sign in either case.
Well... that's good; I sort of thought you might. After all, you were there, weren't you? Right before it happened, I was carrying you with me... He glanced down at his hands to indicate where he'd been holding Shmee's tangible form earlier. But instead of seeing flesh, fingers, and blood, his eyes met with only the dirty wooden floor below him. He tilted his line of sigh further down. Still nothing. Just empty space below. As though plunged into a bucket of ice water, Squee realized with a shock that he had no body to speak of. He was gone. He didn't exist. No form. Nothing. Numbed by the knowledge, Squee's defenses dropped and he allowed himself to do something he hadn't done in years.
He began to scream.
Every guardian in the room immediately tensed and mentally clamped their hands down on their ears, trying to block out the long, connected shrieks that pierced through their minds. Damn if that wasn't powerful. Spurred by either the confusion or the nice toasty feel of being ripped apart, the Voices each began to shout out their own commands and advice, becoming louder and louder as each tried to make himself heard, merely succeeding in adding to the chaos. Finally with a hiss of determination, Shmee linked to Squee's mind directly and raised his voice above the din. Squee, stop it now! Listen to me: you're dead, all right?
Abruptly the screams stopped. However, Squee still stood with his mouth open, slack jawed as he slowly rolled his head to one side. "...Oh."
You were killed in that alley on the way to school.
"...Oh."
And... look... now that you're dead we need you for something special, Squee. We need you to become an immortal Voice like us so that you can help us fight.
"...Oh." Squee offered nothing more than the one-word response, trying to collect his shaky thoughts. I will not cry. I will not. I willnotwillnotwillnotwillnot... He'd already screamed like a child in front of everybody; he most certainly wouldn't degrade himself a second time. Besides, he'd decided many years ago that whether you cried for help or not, the monster lurking nearby would always come. Or in this case ever-lasting torment.
Torment. The word choice was prompted by Shmee's term "Immortal Voice." Which translated into no rest, no departure from Earth into the afterlife, and certainly no break from being exposed to horrors incarnate. And heaven? Forget it. Long ago, hadn't Nny said something about heaven being a world for the content? Nothing but nothing for eternity. Just sit in a nice wooden chair in the middle of a cloud, and lose yourself in a sea of relaxation.
But not for him. Never for him. That path was for normal people with normal lives and normal deaths.
His life had been bad enough; why should he expect the afterlife to be any different? As far as he could tell there was just some unseen force out there, God perhaps, making sure that he got hit with everything he didn't deserve. Whatever. Deal with it. Your body's gone, and you need to get over it. You'll live. He mentally snickered and nearly burst into tears again. Wait, no you won't.
Something else still irked Squee in the back of his mind though: namely the fact that he'd been murdered in the first place. After all, hadn't Shmee's job been to guard against that kind of evil? Squee had trusted him, and in return Shmee had kept him safe. Then when that wasn't enough, the bear had channeled those horrific frequencies through him like a radio tower from hell just so that he could be even more safe. And Squee had put up with it, all of it, just so that he could stay alive.
He sighed and asked in a small voice, You let it happen, didn't you? You handed me over to them?
Shmee flinched. It was true, every word of it. He deserved every last accusation and insult anyone could muster. In fact, he welcomed blows as opposed to this muted quiet.
You wanted me to die?
Yet years of experience with Squee told him that all he could expect would be sad silence from his ward... no, former ward. Definitely former and nothing more. He'd resigned from his Guardian duty ever since the thought of Squee's physical death had crossed his mind. No doubt Squee'd picked up more than enough insults and vulgar language over his years of unpleasant experiences, but the child had always naturally repressed the desire to use such things. The cards had been laid out; boundaries were broken and walls were tumbled, and still he refused to use any of those devices for his own satisfaction. Refused to do something for himself.
It was almost sad.
Enny cleared her throat. Well, if Shmee wasn't going to speak up, she wouldn't let everything go on its merry little way to hell. I'm not going to pretend that you don't know what we've been fighting; you've had a first hand experience in it before. There aren't many of us left, and consequently we're losing the battle. It's going to be hard, but with someone as young and strong as you are, we might be able to pull though. Let me explain-
It's all right; you don't have to. I'll do it.
Enny and Shmee exchanged a glance. Just like that? Are you sure?
Yes... I don't want to be any trouble, and you need help. At Enny and Shmee's shocked looks he continued. Besides, I've already told Shmee once that the people you despise so much can't really help what they do. If I clear their minds of this garbage... perhaps it'll help them a bit. He gave a weak smile.
Enny nodded slowly. It was so simple. Perfect. Thank you. After all, that's why we chose you. For your clear sight and purity.
Squee shrugged. Thanks... I guess. He blinked, paused, and licked his lips. Um, excuse me...
She turned. So polite. Yes, Squee?
Could you explain one thing? It's... kind of strange... and a little stupid. He glanced down at the floor, studying the ruts that ran through the ancient wood. I mean, I know I don't have a real body. I know I can't move. But I still... well... think I can. Like my mouth. I know I'm not moving my mouth. But I think of it that way! And it's as if I can see your forms moving. That's... wrong, isn't it? He dropped his eyes to the ground again.
The other Voices peered at him curiously, muttering among one another with interest. The small container of lip gloss hopped off the shelf, clapped her lid shut and stared up at Enny. Shmee may have been their fiery leader, but Enny was the oldest Voice, not to mention the most sensible. If anyone would know, she would.
Well, she began, her voice slow and thick with a tinge of amusement that both piqued Squee's curiosity and vaguely bothered him. I can't quite say... it's never happened to any of us before. But you are an exception. None of us have ever been truly alive, but you have. The best guess I can make is that your mind just chooses to associate those mental frequencies for expression, movement, and emotion with a familiar visual image. And if it makes adjusting easier for you, then go right ahead.
Everyone else found this remarkably interesting as they nodded in solemn agreement. Squee himself was quite relieved to learn that this actions weren't anything out of the ordinary. Er... at least in a disembodied spirit/voice/guardian sort of way. He sighed and lifted his left hand to scratch the back of his head before pausing.
Oh boy...
*~*~*~*~*~~*~*
Chaos turned and glided over cities, land, and hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye, moving with a careless grace known only to the powerful and the immortal. It preferred it this way, existing as a single consciousness rather than splitting off into minute, pathetic versions of itself, bestowing its greatness upon the actions of Parasites, murderers, and whims of society. Better to live as the awe-inspiring whale rather than the puny, minute skin cell. Both are of the same creature, yet the difference is astounding in the abilities and power each wields. For collective power was what chaos desired, and power is what it would have.
Sometimes, when the situation presented itself, chaos chose to take a tangible form and emerge into the world of the living. At that time, it would allow instinct would take over, and one single, pulsating desire would rise to the surface as it always did. Seek and destroy. Hunt and feed. Seek out the pure and innocent, corrupt them, devour them, and hunt and hunt and hunt and hunt and hunt to satisfy that raging hunger.
To find food for the immortal.
But Chaos was never satisfied, never sated even after it had dissolved its tangible form away to become a boundless invisible blanket over the living again.
It was never like this in the old days, the ancient days before humans had polluted the earth with their waste. But change is good. Change is very good, Chaos reasoned. Deliciously good. Without change, the Earth would not have become a virtual breeding ground for its next meal. Its parasitical children would not have had their playgrounds of mortal minds to run free in. In fact, it was only after millennia of involvement with these free-thinking maggots that Chaos could even make decisions to start with. Before it was just that pounding instinct to eat. But now... Chaos gave a shriek of delight as it bounded around a back alley way, close on the trail of its next victim... Now it could revel in destruction, and most importantly decide what move to play next.
Powerful girl... young.... pretty... bad, but good... strength... delicious... Chaos stampeded down the alley, moving far too fast for the eye to see before imparting its will unto a tall red-headed man smoking a cigarette nearby. The blonde twelve year old passed by without giving him a glance and the man grinned, the several piercing adorning his face catching the light as they moved. Chaos screeched again in amusement, and a sudden burst of wind ripped down the alleyway as the girl shuddered, moving on. The man signaled and his group of five companions began to follow her, their footsteps ricocheting off of the wet bricks and slimy walls, only interrupted by the quiet drip of water and the scurry of rats. Closer they moved until they were near enough to actually touch her. But suddenly the man caught sight of the girl's wrist watch, its face in the shape of a dog's head. The black eyes glared back at them, and the man pulled up mid-stride. He stayed there, curiously watching the girl turn a corner and disappear out of sight. The rest followed suit.
Meanwhile, Chaos bellowed with rage around them, fueling their own angry curiosity as to why they'd just let her get away. Curse those Guardians. Curse them! Curse them to deny Chaos its desires. By themselves they were nothing to it, mere dust in the wind, easily defeated, but too strong for such minions as these. Never send a servant to do the master's bidding.
Yes, Chaos could decide what moves to play next; sometimes they were wrong, but most of the time they were perfect. Before if could think, Chaos had never immerged in its tangible form as Itself before (Itself was the title to use, not The Wall Monster as those idiotic Guardians called it. Chaos hated that name, hated the fact that it had been captured at one point and allowed Itself to be spoken of that way.). But, using the ability to plan and reason, Chaos had decided upon being released from that wall and from the watch of the slave that kept it that it should not only be the most powerful entity roaming the planet, but the only one. Which required that it Itself emerge in the world occasionally to feed.
Chaos bounded forward again and quickly switched to its visible form, its many heads and arms thrusting themselves out into vision, startling the failure of a group into a fit of screams and cries. Chaos liked it like that. But it had wanted that girl though. Curse it... These meal tickets weren't nearly as good and pure as she was; they didn't hold much ability at all. But it was better than nothing. And hearing them shriek was enjoyable.
Chaos's central head grinned wickedly, exposing its long rows of sharp, pointed teeth. I am your master, Chaos, it screamed into their minds. Answer me:
Always the questions. Chaos loved the questions.
Who is the master of this worthless planet?
The females in the group wailed in horror and threw themselves at their respective boyfriends who in turn pushed them away, trying to hide behind one another.
Who is the master of this worthless planet! Chaos gnashed its teeth, waiting impatiently for the reply.
The group redoubled its shrieks. Finally, the man with the piercings, his cigarette long-forgotten, pointed at the creature in front of him. "Ch... Ch... Chaos....?" He visibly shook with fear.
And who owns all of your worthless lives?
"Ch... Chaos?"
And who is more powerful than life?
"Chaos?"
And who is more powerful than Chaos?
The man stood for a moment, his finger still outstretched, his companions finally silent, broken only by the occasional sob as they stared up in awe at the monster. Chaos's many heads grinned simultaneously. Correct, it replied, before whipping its claws forward to feed.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Enny thought that Squee had taken the news rather well. Extremely well considering the circumstances. Oddly enough, it seemed to be in his nature to simply accept the situation and make the best of it, even in the face of death, betrayal, and change. In any case, it made the job easier for them.
She glanced back over at Shmee to find that he'd retreated into some mental corner. Guilt pangs, she figured. Ironic really, coming from such a cut and dry cynic. But he did what he had to do for the group, so she'd try to reason with him later. First thing's first. Squee, to make it easier to have contact with the rest of us as well as mortals, you ought to chose a form.
A form? He glanced from Shmee's stuffed ears to Enny's textured pages. A form, he muttered to himself again. Such a decision required some careful thought. He should pick something practical. Something useful. And perhaps something with a bit of symbolism on the side? That would be nice. His mind flicked though objects he'd encountered in his fifteen year lifespan, over items associated with school, his parents, aliens, Nny- He paused and the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight smile. Yes, something that could be helpful if used in the right way. A little creepy- his inner voice softening slightly- but no more so than whatever Shmee had turned him into. He swiftly formed the picture in his head of precisely what he wanted: a long slender knife, all black, even the blade. The sole exception was the design on the far edge of the handle, two eyes painted in reflective purple hues. After all, he had always seen what most weren't meant to ever experience. He took a deep breath. Finally, a choice that he was in control of.
I've decided.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Chaos howled once and the Parasites came. They always did. Perhaps not in body, but the minds of the minions always retreated back to their master.
Occasionally Chaos considered destroying the Parasites all together. They were pathetic, even in numbers. Pathetic when compared to Itself at least. No such accumulation of maggots, mortal or immortal, could ever stand up to its greatness. And while the Parasites were useful and did speed things up, Chaos just got sick of looking at them sometimes.
Now was not one of them.
The Guardians, Chaos began, not bothering to decrease the natural magnitude of its voice, Believe that they have acquired a new tool.
The child? Chaos recognized Sickness's voice, broken and alone. Perhaps she believed that it would rescue her mutilated body from the clutches of the human who had turned the tables to enslave her once future master. It would never happen though. She was a failure, and must be punished.
Yes. Not one of my minions ever did touch him. I asked for him, but never received him. And now he is beyond my grasp as a Voice. A soon to be very powerful Voice that they think they can use against me. I am not happy.
A timid question broke the frightened quiet that followed. But surely they're still no match for you?
OF COURSE THEY AREN'T, Chaos bellowed in amusement. But they are gaining more allies in new ways. And I think we ourselves should take advantage of such knowledge. Mutters of agreement followed.
Remind me once again, children. Who is more powerful that Chaos?
Silence ensued in reply. Correct. No go.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Without warning, the steady hum of mental whispers exploded into a roar, crackling and swelling to a rise as Squee's death-grip on his sanity threatened to break. Now with an inanimate form to assist him, what had once been unintelliable speak was now overpowering, magnified by the sheer quantity of voices he was picking up. Not only thoughts from the Guardians flew through his mind at breakneck speeds, but random musings and petty complaints from mortals as well.
Like, I hope he asks me out.
God, I hate my boss.
Perhaps nobody will notice if I-
Squee? Squee, can you hear me? Enny's voice resounded painfully in his ears. He shut his eyes. Squee, you need to filter out the background noise. You're picking up everything, every thought coming from miles around, not just us.
Wow, she's hot!
Oh. My. Gawd. Purple is SO not her color!
HOLY MOTHER! Look at my hips! They're, like, so freaking huge!
He squeezed his eyes tighter. It's too loud! He felt the voices flinch in response, and he felt another pang of guilt at that too. Okay, Squee, you can do this. Think filter. Think filter. Filter like a... um... fish tank. Yeah, that's right. Be the fish tank. Be the fish tank. He blinked. Jeez, the noise must be driving him insane. Better go faster. Shmee said you were picked because you were special, and Nny always thought so too. So prove it.
Squee gritted his teeth (no, not teeth, he sternly reminded himself). He repeated his determined phrase over and over in his head, trying to blot out everything else that was colliding with his own personal thoughts. Slowly, very slowly, the noise pollution diminished, fading into static in the background of his mind. White noise. Carefully, he allowed himself to peer around and open his ears to the outside world again.
He didn't hear any congratulations or praise though. Not that he expected any, considering his audience.
Squee settled on the ground, blinking a few times to clear his head of the dim echo still ringing in the space between where his ears once were. The minor crisis over, the Voices sat enveloped in silence again. Squee figured that they were each immersed in their own thoughts, but he dared not attempt to tap them out of both respectful courtesy and fear that he might set forth another avalanche of sound. Squee wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to be thinking about really. He tried just sitting still with his ideas, but he found it difficult to keep a straight thought in his head. He figured he'd grow used to it; the other Voices sucked up any rest time that wafted their way like a much-needed meal. Starving for a break from the insanity, he supposed. Not that it would take much getting used to for him.
Well, he'd have to ask someone what was going on. His vision crossed over Shmee's stuffed form. No, he didn't want to ask Shmee. Not quite yet. He wasn't mad... Squee figured that it wasn't very nice to be mad at an old friend, even if he was responsible for his death... but he just didn't feel like confronting him just yet. Give it time. He turned toward Enny. So... um... what do we do now?
Now we go up against Chaos in a battle of mental strength and willpower.
Squee sighed softly to himself. Guardians. If they knew the answer to a question, it was incomprehensible to them that the asker wouldn't know it as well. Smart-allecs as well, the lot of them. Perhaps that was some sort of requirement for the job, or a specification on the blueprint when they were created. Either that or someone up in the afterlife just felt like screwing with people's minds. Probably the latter.
Um, okay. Just like that? We go out and find Chaos right now?
What? No... no, of course not. We're not nearly strong enough to match a primeval force head on, and that is precisely what we are up against. In fact, we'll never be strong enough to eradicate it completely. We'd never stand a chance.
Squee blanched. Then what's the point? What are we-
Shmee's voice droned out from his corner. We don't plan on eradicating it. We intend to weaken it enough to keep it at bay in order to lessen its impact on mortals.
Enny nodded. Ideally, our plan is to imprison it in its tangible form again, and force it to become the Wall Monster once more.
Wall Monster?
A casual term someone invented a long time ago when it still applied. Years ago when Chaos made known its plans for supreme domination, it was forced to take on a temporary tangible form in order to assert itself to any reasonable degree in this world. Usually it would just infiltrate its victim's soul and manifest itself and all it stood for there. Sometimes though, in extreme cases out of hunger and greed, it would destroy its prey entirely. Not a pretty sight. At this Squee shuddered. Thus, it began striking out against mortals and guardians in mass quantities, and sadly it worked too. We were unable to make up for the difference and maintain the balance, and the result is basically what you see today. Filth is all around us. Greed is almost touchable. Materials, wants, whims, desires, and hatred can be seen in every club, alley, and school you enter.
So... then all of this filth is not completely humanity's fault? Squee asked hesitantly, the last word rising in a hopeful question.
If that's what you want to think. But it's not true. Squee's shoulders sagged. Chaos may be a primeval force, but it is no less a part of you than your own anger is. It is not individual emotions per say, but rather the collective consensus of all of humanity's waste and pettiness, its intensity directly proportional to that of your race. So of course humans naturally went along with Chaos's intentions, since in a way they were their own. Once Chaos could actually think for itself in the way that we and the Parasites do, it found that it could manipulate and magnify that greed and hatred, commanding its own creators.
But you said that you imprisoned it?
Shmee gave a short bark of laughter. Oh yes, a long time ago back when there were many more Guardians than you see now. Chaos is much weaker in its tangible form. Still strong as hell, but it tilts the balance in our favor. It had overestimated its abilities, and we had managed to temporarily weaken and capture the monster. Its prison for all purposes was a wall and its keeper an angst-ridden psycho.
Nny?
Enny blinked. Do you know him?
Yeah... he was my neighbor. Kinda a friend I guess. No wonder he looked so troubled. Smelt of such evil and grime and chaos. He probably hadn't asked for the position either. Once again, a cruel world. Once again, not fair.
Shmee continued. Unfortunately, we hadn't weakened Chaos enough to keep it permanently under control. The wall was just something we hastily put up to stall for time. The keeper would feed it blood and fear, keeping it sated until we could think of something better.
Enny snorted. Which we didn't.
Is that my fault?
No. It just means we've got to do it again, better, and with less allies.
In other words, we need a new tactic, Squee muttered.
Precisely. Shmee moved forward to praise Squee's quick thinking, but caught himself. He backed into the corner again and continued. Precisely. We need more allies who can oppose him in its touchable form. We have a new immortal soul. We need our first mortal.
But wait, Squee interjected. Won't that be dangerous who whoever we chose?
Undoubtedly. Flesh and bone don't stand up nearly as well as mind and psyche. But hey, that's the way the cheerleader tumbles.
Unseen brown eyes blinked. But that's not really fair. Why should they put their lives on the line if we ourselves run no risk?
Shmee paused and continued a moment later, his voice low and steady. What makes you think our existences can't be snuffed out as well? I said we were supposed to be immortal, not unkillible.
...Oh.
Even so, we still need a mortal to do our bidding- Squee raised an eyebrow. Okay. We need a mortal to help us.
And who better to team up with, Enny broke in, Than someone we all know is hard to break and has had extensive experience with these kinds of forces before, if not the most experience of any human on this planet?
Grunting noises could audibly be heard.
Shmee, please don't grind your teeth.
What's so bad about the choice? Squee asked. Sure, Nny had a downfall or two. Well, downfalls. Plural. A couple of basements full. Despite how much Nny had traumatized him in his younger years and even through high school, the man with the spiky hair and possessed brown eyes had been the only living person who had had ever put faith in him as an individual. So he may have scarred him for life in the process (such as a lesson on how to properly electrocute someone, or a birthday present consisting of a brand new "self defense" weapon, illegal in fifteen states, not including Puerto Rico). But he deserved some credit... right? What's so bad? Squee repeated.
Nothing... Shmee narrowed his eyes. It's just that I.. hate- his voice curved thickly around the emphasized word- that mortal. Hate him, hate him, hate him.
Enny smirked. Hate that he can tap your frequency and hear every word you say, you mean?
No. Hate how all of that potential has to be found within a foul-mouthed, ranting, raving lunatic who pokes people's eyes out on the weekends.
It's a phase. You'll get over it.
Hardly.
