The boy with the thorn in his side
Behind the hatred there lies
A murderous desire for love
How can they look into my eyes
And still they don't believe me?
How can they hear me say those words
Still they don't believe me?
And if they don't believe me now
Will they ever believe me?
And if they don't believe me now
Will they ever, they ever, believe me?
The boy with the thorn in his side- The Smiths
Rock blinked at his surroundings, turning full circle and seeing only the infuriatingly familiar dreamscape. Dead grass, dark sky, crumbling house. It was completely silent. He growled low in his throat, annoyed beyond belief.
"Why?!" he cried out to the empty sky, arms flung out to the sides, "Why do I end up here every time I sleep!?"
There was no answer from the dead world. Not so much as a breeze stirred the brittle grass.
The house stood enticingly, as usual, but Rock no longer felt like cooperation and turned in the opposite direction, setting off at a march. He walked in a straight line for what seemed like hours, pleased to see the house vanish in the distance when he looked back. The brittle yellow grass swished and crunched beneath his feet, creating the only sound in the world, and the sky never shifted hues.
On the horizon, a dark blot appeared. Rock gave a cry of joy at something new, breaking into a run. His feet pounded through the breaking grass and his heart pounded heavily in his ears. His panting became a moan of despair as he got closer.
It was the same house.
He flopped to the ground in the battered plants, trying to catch his breath. That wasn't possible. How could you come full circle while walking a straight line?
Once the pounding of his heart had lessened, Rock picked himself up. He stared at the sky.
"Wake up!" he screamed, but nobody heard, and he still stood in the chaff, "Why can't I get out?!"
Frustrated, he swung his fist sideways into the house. The boards clattered in a satisfying way. Rock sighed and resigned himself to the inevitable, walking to the sagging porch and opening the door. Just as always, there was nothing there but bare floor.
Ignoring the room, he went for the stairs. Standing at the foot, He remembered their crumbling beneath him, sending him plummeting through the air. He placed one foot on the first stair, listening to the loud creak. Rock steeled himself, wincing, and ran up the stairs at top speed.
They creaked and swayed under him, and several steps gave way. Rock scrambled and pulled his feet free from the rotting wood, letting him fall on his hands and knees at the top landing. He rested a moment, breathless, then stuck his head over the edge- at that moment there was a mighty crash-
Rock looked down on the wreckage of the steps, all scattered on the floor below. They'd completely fallen apart. He stood, edging back from the hole. Turning around, he saw a dark hallway lined with doors. Rock had the eerie feeling that he was not alone.
"H... hello?" he said into the dimness, "is someone there?"
"I am."
Rock jumped and spun, unable to muffle a cry. "Where are you?!"
"Follow the sound."
"But," he said, "where-?"
"Follow. Don't stop."
Rock, with many misgivings, followed the voice past the innumerable doors, everything getting steadily darker. Getting panicked, Rock slowed, and, ignoring the warning, refused to go farther.
"Why are you not moving?"
"It's dark," he said, afraid, "and why should I trust you?"
"Why not?"
"You shouldn't listen to the voices in your head..." Rock murmured, realizing the sheer surreality of the situation, not for the first time.
"You shouldn't stop here. It is darkening."
Rock cocked his head to the side. "Darkening? Why should I be afraid of the dark?"
"You think it's not aware of you?"
He took a step back.
"It?"
He felt something brush his ankle and yelped, turning to see tendrils oozing from beneath a door to his left. They were so dark they seemed to absorb light, and left inky stains where they rested. Suddenly they shot forward, encircling his ankles.
Rock screamed. "Get them off!" He kicked at them as they wrapped him tighter. He fell as his legs were bound, still screaming incoherently. The door flew open revealing blackness, and the tendrils wrapped his wrists in immobility.
"Ah," said the voice as the things oozed their way up Rock's chest, "I told you not to stop."
"Help me!" Rock screamed, thrashing, then his screams were cut off by the tendrils binding his mouth. His panicked eyes sought refuge and found nothing.
"Too late," said the voice, taking no pleasure in the situation, "You can always try again."
Rock paid no attention, as at that moment he was lifted bodily by the things, drawing him, mindless with panic, into the roiling darkness.
Rock jerked up in the cramped chair, gasping and shuddering. He was never going to sleep again. Never. Looking around the barren cell, he got a curious sort of comfort from austere reality.
He gasped and winced, momentarily distracted by cramps in immobile legs and pooled blood rushing painfully back from numb hands, reminding him of unpleasant reality. Rock ached all over. His face stung, and he could almost feel the purpled stains spreading like spilt wine. Half-heartedly trying to free his hands from their chains, Rock was rewarded only with agonizing pins and needles. The feeling eased slowly as he fought not to move.
The pain creeping back to numbness, the nightmare images came rushing back. A bodiless voice- hearing voices wasn't a sign of sanity, even in dreams- The voice called and he'd followed, hearing an echo of his own soul. Rock shuddered, determined to stay conscious. Dark and cold and-
He shook his head. No more thinking about that. No.
Absolutely not.
No...
(Darkcoldholdingbindingdrowning-)
Rock whimpered as a faint memory made itself known- a vague impression of pain and dark and imprisonment, going on and on and on- and then rescue. Duke Red... No, Father- had saved him, taking him from the dark and out into the light he so vaguely remembered, life under the sun, like everyone else-
Then threw him back, drowning in the dark with only an occasional breath of light and so much dark water.
It's- true... Rock thought to himself about his captors, what they said- nobody wants me, nobody ever wanted me- I could help them, but-
No. Nononononono, don't listen to them. Don't help them. Don't help the enemy. Father, don't hate me- Don't leave me here-Please...
As the new day dawned, Duke Red watched the sun rise over Metropolis, tainting the city with blood. He leaned on the windowsill, one hand to the glass, uncertain.
He sighed, more troubled than he'd been in a long time. Exhausted, the Duke swept a hand through his pale blond hair. He'd not slept the last night, actually worrying about Rock. It wasn't like him to stay out, and Duke Red had, quite against his will, begun to care about the teenager.
At first certain that Rock would return in an hour or so, the minutes ticked by. They added and added to the nineteen hours already passed and the weight on his mind. What had happened to the boy? The last time he'd been out so long was-
No.
Duke Red shook his head at the memory. It had been when Rock had dragged himself in, bloody and defeated, delivering the news of Tima's death. The nine year old told him, haltingly, how it had happened- Tima had wanted to explore Zone one, somewhere Duke Red had never let her set foot. Rock had shown her all the places he remembered only vaguely, not sensing the danger until it was too late- A cleaner robot, an Albert II (not out of its zone, for such distinctions hadn't yet been made) obviously malfunctioning, spitting sparks and blue-black smoke. They cleaned the alleys, and this one decided Tima was in need of being picked up.
She'd screamed as she was lifted and Rock had panicked, pulling his gun and firing wildly as the thing crushed her in its iron grip. The bullets pinged off, ricocheting into walls, and Rock cried out as Tima's face began to turn blue from lack of oxygen. He aimed carefully at the thing's eye, firing once and watching circuits explode out the back of the thing's head.
The Steel claws convulsed once, and Tima's rib cage was crushed. She dropped to the ground as the thing's macabre hand clenched open and shut. Rock tried to reach her but was hit and thrown by its arms, flailing wildly in artificial pain.
His head cracked into a wall, and by the time he'd gotten up again...
The robot was still and Tima was dead.
Duke Red had never forgiven him.
The Duke's hand clenched into a fist on the cool glass, and he kept watching the crimson sky, fading to flame at the edges. Oddly, he no longer felt the familiar searing, red-hot anger at Rock, only a dull, sad ache. His little girl was gone forever, and he realized for the first time that it wasn't entirely Rock's fault.
Duke Red rested his forehead on the window, looking down at the people scurrying like ants below. Was any of it worth the trouble? Leading the city- was it something that mattered or simply a way to lose himself, forgetting about the pain?
Duke Red straightened. In any case, he knew what he had to do. Go to the police, and find Rock.Confined to the apartment, Kenichi occupied himself as best he could. (Myth had warned him against leaving alone) he'd tried to sit still, but soon found himself wandering aimlessly from place to place. His second day within the same four walls had brought with it restless energy which he used up trying to clean the messy apartment. With Myth's sheer volume of junk, he wasn't making much progress.
Lifting an unusually heavy bundle of cloth onto a shelf, something wrapped inside clinked and tumbled out. The metal things hit the ground with heavy thumps. Kenichi looked down at the things by his feet, three or four metal ovals, an inch high and fairly rusted. Tima, curled up and staring blankly from a chair in the corner, focused on Kenichi for a moment.
"Myth," he called, bewildered, "what are these things?"
"I'm busy," yelled back Myth, voice muffled by a room and two walls, "wait a second."
Kenichi decided it was easier just to go to him, so he picked up a metal thing and followed Myth's voice to Atlas' room. Tima's eyes trailed him out.
"Um," said Kenichi, sticking his head around the door frame, "Myth, I picked up some cloth, and some things fell-" he paused, "... what are you doing?"
Myth looked up from where Atlas was cradled in his lap, one hand tilting Atlas' head up and the other setting a bowl down on the battered table beside the bed. He selected a glass of water with his free hand, carefully lifting it to Atlas' lips. A thin trickle was poured in, and Myth gently massaged his throat until the unconscious man swallowed automatically.
"I've got to feed him, don't I?" said Myth, finally answering, "can't let him just starve to death." He sighed, looking weary. "What'd you want?"
Kenichi held up the thing. "I picked up a bundle of cloth, and a bunch of these metal things fell out. They look pretty old- what are they?"
Myth reached out and plucked it from his hands, examining the dingy metal from all angles. He turned it upside down, squinting at miniscule writing. Finally Myth handed it back to Kenichi, nodding.
"A land mine, it looks like."
"Wh-" Kenichi nearly dropped it, "what?!"
"I wouldn't worry," said Myth, gently brushing Atlas's hair out of his eyes, "see how rusty it is? The mechanism's probably rusted out too. That thing wouldn't compress if a truck drove over it."
Kenichi held the mine away from him gingerly. "A- are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
Kenichi stared at him. He turned to leave, took a few steps, then stopped as something occurred to him. "Wait a minute," he said, facing Myth, "why do you have mines in your spare bedroom?"
"There wasn't room in the kitchen, of course."
Kenichi blinked. "Are you serious?"
"Of course not," laughed Myth, "they're just leftovers from the rebellion. The MLF didn't need 'em, I figured I could rig something up- But they were too rusted out to even open. Should get rid of them, really... I put them in storage and forgot about it."
"Oh," was all Kenichi found to say, "I'll... just go then..."
Kenichi left, closing the door behind him. Myth eased Atlas down and got up, kneeling down beside the bed. He rested his head by Atlas'.
"I don't know what to do anymore, Atlas," he whispered, "it's not like when you were here. We- Theo doesn't run it like you did, it's become..." He looked away. "Are we terrorists now?"
Myth paused, sad, then continued even more softly. "You've been gone only a few months, and we're already some kind of criminal organization. It's not about freedom anymore, only power- Theo's begun "taking prisoners" as he calls it. The rest of us call it kidnapping, even if it is just a Marduk."
Myth's face suddenly darkened. "I'm that creature's interrogator. He's the Marduk leader. Duke Red's son." Myth twisted the name, spitting it like an epithet. "I saw him that day, you collapsed in the snow and he didn't give you a second glance. I'm glad Theo at least caught someone who deserved it."
Myth was silent, watching the steady rise and fall of Atlas' breathing, his intense face relaxed by sleep. "We need you," he continued, barely audible, "we need you, big brother."
A cry came from another room, and Myth jerked up. "Tima!" the voice called, "Put it down!"
Myth opened the door, ran out and stopped dead. That odd gold-haired girl was standing in the center of the room, examining a mine in her hands. Myth breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh stop worrying, Kenichi. They're impossible to trigger. Rusted out, remember?"
Kenichi still looked nervous and anxious. "But... What if-"
There was a strange sound, and they both turned to stare at Tima shaking the thing up and down, an expression of curiosity on her face. She stopped, stared at it, then flipped it over and began pushing the pressure pad with her thumbs.
"Er..." said Myth, while Kenichi just looked afraid, "maybe you shouldn't try to make the thing explode." Tima didn't respond, only pushed harder.
"It's impossible to-" he began, then stopped with his mouth open at a sudden grating noise and flakes of rust falling to the floor. Now he truly looked worried. "Don't push that any farther!" he said, and took a step toward her, intending to take the mine. He didn't get even halfway across the room when the plate slid into place with a dull clunk. Myth gaped.
"But- you- you can't have- No!" he cried as Tima made to drop it, disinterested, "don't let go! mines are triggered when the plate pops back up!"
Tima held it up for closer inspection as Myth and Kenichi held their breath. Suddenly, she tossed it away. It hit the wall and rolled to a stop at Myth's feet- he jumped out of the way-
Nothing happened.
Carefully, Myth picked the thing up and turned it over. His expression turned from fear to incredulity as he stared from the thing to Tima and back again, unable to believe his eyes.
"Wh- what are you looking at?" queried Kenichi, voice shaking.
Myth said nothing, only turned the mine to Kenichi. Deeply bent into the thick metal were five slender finger-shaped dents.
"Kenichi," he said, "I think you have some explaining to do."