I don't own anything. Of any kind. Or any sort. At all. Just this idea.
Here is the next addition to the 'Order' story.
Thanks to all of you who have spent time to read this over-dramatic and – let's be frank – rubbish fic, and more thanks to you who have spent time reviewing it. I shall try my best to make this story as best I can. Just keep your wits about you. Time in this fic is not always linear, kinda like out of Catch-22.
So, here we go!
&&&&&&
There was the sound of sirens crying out into the night. A car passed in the street in front of McIllvanney. He looked down at the pavement, and spat, watching the spittle hit the concrete five stories below. He smirked, his teeth scraping his lips.
He jumped from a crouching position, landing on the building across the road. Super-human strength, he said to himself, was quite handy. He rubbed his nose with the back of his arm, and looked up at the sky. Rain was still splattering across his body, large, fat, grey droplets. He smiled, and opened his mouth. Never again would he underestimate water.
He walked over to the edge of the building he was, and saw a dimly-lit seven-eleven across the street. He looked down both ways of the streets, and - seeing no-one - leapt from the roof to the street, smashing a small crater into the pavement with his weight. He got up, slowly, then walked across the flooded streets, and opened the door to the store.
The young man at the counter looked at McIllvanney in a bored fashion, then turned back to the radio that was playing out some music. Another man was browsing through the magazines at the front door. Neither of them seemed extremely interested in him. McIllvanney walked towards the snack sections, and grabbed a pack of cookies and some chips. Another man entered the shop – an elderly, doddery old soul – who got a newspaper and went over to the counter. McIllvanney snatched a small can of soda, and walked up to the counter.
"Did you hear what's going on in the town?"
McIllvanney blinked in sudden surprise, thinking that the question was being directed to the kid behind the counter, but the old man was looking towards him. "Uh, no. What?"
The man made a sharp tutting sound. "There was some sort of a hoo-ha down at the local hospital. Apparently-" he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "-a mutant was involved in it. Two people dead."
MCIllvanney pursed his lips, but couldn't keep a smirk twist his eyes. "Wow! We'd better be careful."
The man nodded his head in an exaggerated fashion. "Indeed. It makes you think what on earth the government's going to do about it." He paid for his paper, and looked at the headlines. "Perhaps this Senator Kelly's got the right idea..."
MCIllvanney shrugged. That seemed to satisfy the old man, who promptly left the building with a doddering walk. MCIllvanney placed his messages on the counter, and watched the man pass the scanner over each one of the objects in a bored fashion.
"Excuse me," McIllvanney started. The man ignored him. MCIllvanney cleared his throat. The kid looked at him with a bored expression. "Whaddyawan'?"
"I was just wondering, do you sell any stationary?" The kid looked at him blankly. "Any paper and pencils?" The boy gestured towards the back of the shop sharply with a thumb. McIllvanney walked over and got a notepad and a pack of pens while the kid finished scanning the other goods. McIllvanney threw the stationary onto the pile of food on the counter, and thumbed through some cash, generously donated by the late Dr. Brown.
The man packed the goods in a bag, and McIllvanney handed the money over, leaving before he was handed any change. He passed the magazine-reader, and exited into the black and dreary streets.
The rain was continuing its relentless 'pitter-patter' dance on the pavement and windows. McIllvanney drew his shoulders into himself, trying to keep dry, and failing. His hair fell into his eyes, temporarily blocking his sight. He brushed it out of his eyes with a snort of annoyance. Water pooled around his boots and sped towards a couple of cars. McIllvanney looked at them, and smirked.
He walked to the first car, and looked it over. To say it was in a state of disrepair would be the same as saying that nuclear missiles weren't that destructive. He kicked the side of it, and looked on with something bordering on pity as a hubcap detached itself, and rolled into the gutter.
The second car looked more promising. It was a truck of some sort, with a Confederacy sticker on the rear bumper. McIllvanney sighed, and pulled it off, throwing it into the road. His hand tightened around the door handle.
There was a sudden blur of movement, and a dog was snarling at him through the window. McIllvanney jumped back in shock, then composed himself. A poor man's security system, he thought disparagingly. He looked at the baying hound, and then punched his fist through the truck's window, catching the creature around the neck. There was a brief, wet snap. McIllvanney pulled what was left of the dog out the window, and threw it onto the pavement.
He pulled the locking mechanism off of the steering wheel, and tore open the steering column, exposing the wires like the guts of a disembowelled computer. He quickly stripped two wires, and connected them together. There were a few sparks, then the engine coughed into life. He leaned back in the seat, and sighed. He pulled out the pens and paper he had just bought, and leaned the pad against the wheel. There was writing already at the top of the paper: 'Things to do Today'.
He placed a pen in his mouth, sucking it absent-mindedly. He then shot forward, and wrote: 'Write down things to do today.'
He pursed his lips, and began toying with the pen between his fingers. He then breathed in heavily, and added: 'Kill Piter.', then: 'Kill Dean.'.
He ended, as a type of an afterthought with: 'Buy new socks.'
He looked down at what he had written, then nodded curtly. He flicked the indicator of the car, and pulled out of the parking space, leaving only broken glass and the corpse of the dog in his wake.
&&&&&&
Five hours earlier...
Dr. Brown nodded at the leaving nurse, and then turned back to the now inebriated blonde-haired man. Strange... she thought. For a man, he's very feminine-looking, but the teeth... the teeth... She pulled back a lip, revealing them in all of their shark-sharp glory. They were, frankly unnerving. They had been sharpened, quite crudely, to razor-points. If he smiled, she said to herself, he'd cause children to cry in fear.
There was a brief crackle, and she heard the tannoy: "Would Dr. Brown please report to the main desk, Dr. Brown, please report to the main desk."
She sighed and got up to the door. She paused in the doorway and looked back at the sleeping man. She then walked out the door, and headed towards the main desk.
The corridor outside the man's room was empty. Only the flickering of the fluorescent lights illuminating the hospital caused a noise. Then, at the faintest realms of hearing, there was a tune being whistled.
The whistling grew. If the man was awake, he might've recognised it as the fabled opera tune, 'The Drinking Song'. However, this was not the case. Then, coming around from the corridor's corner, came the most eccentric- looking individual possible.
His long, muddy-black hair had been intricately braided with a variety of coloured beads. His eyes seemed wide and past sanity. His dark skin was decorated with eye-watering tattoos of a celtic design. However, it was his teeth that got the most attention. He had no front teeth.
He walked outside of the man's room, looked at the room number, then – whistling double-time – looked at a piece of paper he had in his pocket.
He opened the door, and stopped whistling when he saw the man on the gurney. His eyes seemed to glint with a hunger, but this was quickly replaced with a slight dazed look. He walked over to the bed, and put his ear to the man's chest. He waited, then stood back up, and looked down at the blonde-haired man with a calculating look.
"Well," he began, "I never thought I'd see you like this, McIllvanney." The toothless man grinned. "The invulnerable and unstoppable Road Virus humbled by some quick thinking. I am in awe of those two." The man reached into his pocket, and drew out a small syringe. "As a fare-thee- well, my staunch ally, I have been told to give you the good old 'Potassium Chloride bump-off', by Bosshog."
He held the syringe up to his eyes, then looked back down at the sleeping man. "There's no need to go off in a huff about it, Virus," he frowned slightly, "if we were in each others shoes, I know you'd do the same thing as me, and I wouldn't blame you. The lady can make your life a living hell, and I say that without a trace of hyperbole."
He reached forward with the syringe, then an electronic tune of 'Mission Impossible' broke out suddenly. The man jumped, then quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out a mobile phone.
"Yeah, this is Whistler."
"Whistler... I presume that you are at the hospital, na ja?"
Whistler smiled, feeling the cold air blow through his gap in his grin. "Uh-huh, as a matter of interest, I'm over McIllvanney right now."
"Good. Leave the hospital."
"What?"
"Leave McIllvanney as he is, and leave."
"Why?"
"Are you questioning my orders, Whistler?"
"No, ma'am, I'm merely trying to see the logic behind them."
"You always were slippery, Whistler."
Whistler smirked. "Well, I had a good teacher."
There was some dry laughter on the other end of the phone. "Most droll, Whistler. Don't get too smart, now."
"Yes, ma'am. It's just that if we let Virus live, he'll go after those two with a vengeance."
"Precisely. We have had little luck in locating them, but then again, we-" the voice took on a sneering tone "-don't have the right incentives. McIllvanney, on the other hand, wants them both dead. Can you think of a better motivation to find a person then that?"
"No ma'am."
"We'll just observe him, make him our pet bloodhound, let him go into a little death frenzy trying to find those two, then, when he finds them, we take them back for ourselves."
"I don't think McIllvanney will be particularly keen in letting us save them from his wrath, ma'am."
"If worse comes to worse, we'll kill him afterwards."
"Kill him?"
"Certainly. To be perfectly honest, McIllvanney is a muscle-minded tank- brain. He's a thug and a murderer. He has no sense of subtlety or deception. He is simple and destructive. Getting the two boys back will be worth much more than him."
Whistler looked at the man with a raised eye. "I hear that, ma'am. Goodbye." He switched the phone off.
He walked to the door, then turned back to the blonde-haired man. He pointed his finger towards him, and whispered; "Bang!", then he left.
He was like a small boy who deals death with his imaginary pistol.
&&&&&&
Read and Review, please. I'm begging you here.
Thanks to all of you who have spent time to read this over-dramatic and – let's be frank – rubbish fic, and more thanks to you who have spent time reviewing it. I shall try my best to make this story as best I can. Just keep your wits about you. Time in this fic is not always linear, kinda like out of Catch-22.
So, here we go!
&&&&&&
There was the sound of sirens crying out into the night. A car passed in the street in front of McIllvanney. He looked down at the pavement, and spat, watching the spittle hit the concrete five stories below. He smirked, his teeth scraping his lips.
He jumped from a crouching position, landing on the building across the road. Super-human strength, he said to himself, was quite handy. He rubbed his nose with the back of his arm, and looked up at the sky. Rain was still splattering across his body, large, fat, grey droplets. He smiled, and opened his mouth. Never again would he underestimate water.
He walked over to the edge of the building he was, and saw a dimly-lit seven-eleven across the street. He looked down both ways of the streets, and - seeing no-one - leapt from the roof to the street, smashing a small crater into the pavement with his weight. He got up, slowly, then walked across the flooded streets, and opened the door to the store.
The young man at the counter looked at McIllvanney in a bored fashion, then turned back to the radio that was playing out some music. Another man was browsing through the magazines at the front door. Neither of them seemed extremely interested in him. McIllvanney walked towards the snack sections, and grabbed a pack of cookies and some chips. Another man entered the shop – an elderly, doddery old soul – who got a newspaper and went over to the counter. McIllvanney snatched a small can of soda, and walked up to the counter.
"Did you hear what's going on in the town?"
McIllvanney blinked in sudden surprise, thinking that the question was being directed to the kid behind the counter, but the old man was looking towards him. "Uh, no. What?"
The man made a sharp tutting sound. "There was some sort of a hoo-ha down at the local hospital. Apparently-" he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "-a mutant was involved in it. Two people dead."
MCIllvanney pursed his lips, but couldn't keep a smirk twist his eyes. "Wow! We'd better be careful."
The man nodded his head in an exaggerated fashion. "Indeed. It makes you think what on earth the government's going to do about it." He paid for his paper, and looked at the headlines. "Perhaps this Senator Kelly's got the right idea..."
MCIllvanney shrugged. That seemed to satisfy the old man, who promptly left the building with a doddering walk. MCIllvanney placed his messages on the counter, and watched the man pass the scanner over each one of the objects in a bored fashion.
"Excuse me," McIllvanney started. The man ignored him. MCIllvanney cleared his throat. The kid looked at him with a bored expression. "Whaddyawan'?"
"I was just wondering, do you sell any stationary?" The kid looked at him blankly. "Any paper and pencils?" The boy gestured towards the back of the shop sharply with a thumb. McIllvanney walked over and got a notepad and a pack of pens while the kid finished scanning the other goods. McIllvanney threw the stationary onto the pile of food on the counter, and thumbed through some cash, generously donated by the late Dr. Brown.
The man packed the goods in a bag, and McIllvanney handed the money over, leaving before he was handed any change. He passed the magazine-reader, and exited into the black and dreary streets.
The rain was continuing its relentless 'pitter-patter' dance on the pavement and windows. McIllvanney drew his shoulders into himself, trying to keep dry, and failing. His hair fell into his eyes, temporarily blocking his sight. He brushed it out of his eyes with a snort of annoyance. Water pooled around his boots and sped towards a couple of cars. McIllvanney looked at them, and smirked.
He walked to the first car, and looked it over. To say it was in a state of disrepair would be the same as saying that nuclear missiles weren't that destructive. He kicked the side of it, and looked on with something bordering on pity as a hubcap detached itself, and rolled into the gutter.
The second car looked more promising. It was a truck of some sort, with a Confederacy sticker on the rear bumper. McIllvanney sighed, and pulled it off, throwing it into the road. His hand tightened around the door handle.
There was a sudden blur of movement, and a dog was snarling at him through the window. McIllvanney jumped back in shock, then composed himself. A poor man's security system, he thought disparagingly. He looked at the baying hound, and then punched his fist through the truck's window, catching the creature around the neck. There was a brief, wet snap. McIllvanney pulled what was left of the dog out the window, and threw it onto the pavement.
He pulled the locking mechanism off of the steering wheel, and tore open the steering column, exposing the wires like the guts of a disembowelled computer. He quickly stripped two wires, and connected them together. There were a few sparks, then the engine coughed into life. He leaned back in the seat, and sighed. He pulled out the pens and paper he had just bought, and leaned the pad against the wheel. There was writing already at the top of the paper: 'Things to do Today'.
He placed a pen in his mouth, sucking it absent-mindedly. He then shot forward, and wrote: 'Write down things to do today.'
He pursed his lips, and began toying with the pen between his fingers. He then breathed in heavily, and added: 'Kill Piter.', then: 'Kill Dean.'.
He ended, as a type of an afterthought with: 'Buy new socks.'
He looked down at what he had written, then nodded curtly. He flicked the indicator of the car, and pulled out of the parking space, leaving only broken glass and the corpse of the dog in his wake.
&&&&&&
Five hours earlier...
Dr. Brown nodded at the leaving nurse, and then turned back to the now inebriated blonde-haired man. Strange... she thought. For a man, he's very feminine-looking, but the teeth... the teeth... She pulled back a lip, revealing them in all of their shark-sharp glory. They were, frankly unnerving. They had been sharpened, quite crudely, to razor-points. If he smiled, she said to herself, he'd cause children to cry in fear.
There was a brief crackle, and she heard the tannoy: "Would Dr. Brown please report to the main desk, Dr. Brown, please report to the main desk."
She sighed and got up to the door. She paused in the doorway and looked back at the sleeping man. She then walked out the door, and headed towards the main desk.
The corridor outside the man's room was empty. Only the flickering of the fluorescent lights illuminating the hospital caused a noise. Then, at the faintest realms of hearing, there was a tune being whistled.
The whistling grew. If the man was awake, he might've recognised it as the fabled opera tune, 'The Drinking Song'. However, this was not the case. Then, coming around from the corridor's corner, came the most eccentric- looking individual possible.
His long, muddy-black hair had been intricately braided with a variety of coloured beads. His eyes seemed wide and past sanity. His dark skin was decorated with eye-watering tattoos of a celtic design. However, it was his teeth that got the most attention. He had no front teeth.
He walked outside of the man's room, looked at the room number, then – whistling double-time – looked at a piece of paper he had in his pocket.
He opened the door, and stopped whistling when he saw the man on the gurney. His eyes seemed to glint with a hunger, but this was quickly replaced with a slight dazed look. He walked over to the bed, and put his ear to the man's chest. He waited, then stood back up, and looked down at the blonde-haired man with a calculating look.
"Well," he began, "I never thought I'd see you like this, McIllvanney." The toothless man grinned. "The invulnerable and unstoppable Road Virus humbled by some quick thinking. I am in awe of those two." The man reached into his pocket, and drew out a small syringe. "As a fare-thee- well, my staunch ally, I have been told to give you the good old 'Potassium Chloride bump-off', by Bosshog."
He held the syringe up to his eyes, then looked back down at the sleeping man. "There's no need to go off in a huff about it, Virus," he frowned slightly, "if we were in each others shoes, I know you'd do the same thing as me, and I wouldn't blame you. The lady can make your life a living hell, and I say that without a trace of hyperbole."
He reached forward with the syringe, then an electronic tune of 'Mission Impossible' broke out suddenly. The man jumped, then quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out a mobile phone.
"Yeah, this is Whistler."
"Whistler... I presume that you are at the hospital, na ja?"
Whistler smiled, feeling the cold air blow through his gap in his grin. "Uh-huh, as a matter of interest, I'm over McIllvanney right now."
"Good. Leave the hospital."
"What?"
"Leave McIllvanney as he is, and leave."
"Why?"
"Are you questioning my orders, Whistler?"
"No, ma'am, I'm merely trying to see the logic behind them."
"You always were slippery, Whistler."
Whistler smirked. "Well, I had a good teacher."
There was some dry laughter on the other end of the phone. "Most droll, Whistler. Don't get too smart, now."
"Yes, ma'am. It's just that if we let Virus live, he'll go after those two with a vengeance."
"Precisely. We have had little luck in locating them, but then again, we-" the voice took on a sneering tone "-don't have the right incentives. McIllvanney, on the other hand, wants them both dead. Can you think of a better motivation to find a person then that?"
"No ma'am."
"We'll just observe him, make him our pet bloodhound, let him go into a little death frenzy trying to find those two, then, when he finds them, we take them back for ourselves."
"I don't think McIllvanney will be particularly keen in letting us save them from his wrath, ma'am."
"If worse comes to worse, we'll kill him afterwards."
"Kill him?"
"Certainly. To be perfectly honest, McIllvanney is a muscle-minded tank- brain. He's a thug and a murderer. He has no sense of subtlety or deception. He is simple and destructive. Getting the two boys back will be worth much more than him."
Whistler looked at the man with a raised eye. "I hear that, ma'am. Goodbye." He switched the phone off.
He walked to the door, then turned back to the blonde-haired man. He pointed his finger towards him, and whispered; "Bang!", then he left.
He was like a small boy who deals death with his imaginary pistol.
&&&&&&
Read and Review, please. I'm begging you here.