A/N: This is just a teaser of the story I'm going to write in conjuction to In A Box, when I finally finsish WSL and Killing the Daisies. A completely new writing style and genre, I won't be happy until I've traversed every known genre in the writing universe!!!
eh...
This is actually based on an idea I had for a comic book...mmm...you don't care.
Summary: In a radical future Spinelli is the enigmatic bounty hunter Bandit with no apparent past. That is, until a name she never expected to see again shows up on the fugitives list.
Hmmm........You have a choice, do or don't...ENJOY!
Prologue: Interlude of War
A catalyst. A void in space. A tower, upon a void. A mentor, broken, once whimsical. A hero, his last stand, upon a catalyst, surrounded by darkness. Fleeing. They're all fleeing.
"An interesting escape plan, boy," the sneer of a tyrant. The hero, a child, of flesh and blood and bone and broken gazes. A youth, once smiling, laughing, now glowering, pouting; dark eyes depicting a darker end to darker means.
"This ends here," a hero's daring whisper.
"Right you are." A smirk, a confident smirk, on scarred lips. A villain's victory. A rock, falling down to cataclysm, a dead end. The fall, laid out for the hero. "Isn't it beautiful?" Rhetorical. "My future. My...my school. My beautiful, beautiful, school. A system of authority that no one can object to. Behold me, boy, for I am God."
"You're crazy." Accusation? No, statement. Detestable. Spat like fire and brimstone from the volcano's lips. "You won't get away with it. No one will follow you..."
"Look around, boy!" a cry, a triumphant shout, "Who else will they follow? Lost lambs..."
"They'll fight you, they'll fight your stupid idea...you're stupid school...I'll fight you." Laughter, echoing through the clouds and empty air, reverberating sounds waves of supersonic loathe.
"Give me what I want," an exchange? No. A demand? No. A command.
"Never," whispering defiance, "I will fight you until I can't fight any longer...and then others will come and fight you...and others...and others...you'll never win. You'll always lose. Because you're evil, and I'm good. Good always triumphs over evil."
"Foolish ideals. Foolish, petty, ideals. My ways are not evil. My ways are law."
"Not if I have anything to do with it."
"But that's the beauty of it all. You, my dear, foolish, heroic child, are not a part of it," warning, seething warning. Movement, forward movement, a sudden attack, "For you see, I'm afraid you've been expelled." The hero falls, slips into the abyss...
"Teej! Noooooo!"
Eyes wide, heart pounding, surveying the room. Wires. Wires. Wires. Wires attached to skin, beneath skin, connected to pores and burrowed holes. Silence. Everything was silence. Everything was noise. Everything was static. Drip. Drip. Drip. Beep. Beep. Beep. IV, secreting liquid drugs, sustenance, vitamins. Monitors, machines, glowing, scanning, monitoring. Vitals are good.
Escape. A word. Words. Sounds, noises, light. Panic. Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe. Sweating, droplets falling across tender flesh. Weak tendons. Can't move. Can move. Have to move.
Time. A clock nearby ticks the time. Tick. Tick. Tick. Harsh, ragged eyes. Out of focus, why is everything out of focus? Concentrate. Have to escape. A word. Where? Escape where? No. Wrong words. Escape from where? There has to be a where.
Concentrate. Drip. Drip. Clack. Clack. Clack. Ears perked. Walking. Someone was walking. No. Not someone. Too...too...inhuman. Too metallic. Something was walking. Quick. Take in the room. A bed, lying on a bed. Heart monitor, brain wave monitor, to the far wall. IV drop, balanced on spindly legs to the side, beside bed. Blankets, no, too thin, must be sheets, white. Clothes. Cloth shirt, gray, cloth pants, gray. Mirror, up above. Smeared, useless, broken. Sink, silver faucet, brass, rusted. Doesn't work? Possible. Jacket, black, nametag, reads "Carter". Someone's been there, in the room. When? Who? Door, brown, heavy. Slit of a window over golden brass knob. Unlocked? No lock. Chair, swivel chair, housed under Carter's jacket. Rolls. Vent. Vent!
Think. Hold back excitement. Glance to window. Nothing to see. Can't see. Red. Red light shining in. An eye, a red eye. Stop moving. Breathe. Close eyes, fall back. Sleep. Can't sleep. Must be alert. Pretend. Like a child. Was a child, not anymore. When? How long?
Gone. The red light is gone. Sit up. Can't sit up. Can sit up. Have to sit up. Muscles, tired, weary, worn, unused. Settled. They've settled. Focus. Concentrate. Take in the room. Paper. What do they say? Read? Can't read. Can read. Have to read. Move. Can't move. Please move. Arms willing. Pull. Up. On feet. On the ground. Can't stand. Won't try again. Escape. Where to escape? Escape from where? Where? Where? Where?
Eyes wide, heart pounding, moving, on the move. Wires. Wires. Wires. Tugging. Rip them from flesh. Pull them out, discard them. Useless. Drip. Drip. Drip. BEEEEEP! Alarm? Move faster. Vent. Pull, tug, must reach. Fingers, sore, finding crevices, lifting up. Red light. Red eye. Doorknob turning. Heart pounding. Badum. Badum. Badum.
Machine? Robot? Horrific. Clashing metal, black, yellow, red eye, twisting turning, giant orb on hull. Mouth gaping. Horrified. Badum. Badum. Badum.
Concentrate. Slow moving. Fast moving. Pulling, tugging. Bleeding. Fingers bleeding. Burning. Muscles, skin, fingers, eyes, chest, burning.
Would you be a martyr, boy?
Yes. Air. Sweet, cool, calming air. Grasp. No. Must escape. Metal into flesh, cutting into flesh. Blood. Spilling on metal. Cry for pain. Cry for strength. Anguish. Will not fail. Refuse to fail. Into the vent. Freedom. Gnashing, crushing. Not free. Not yet.
Push on; pull forward. Trail of blood, left behind. Through the vents. Nausea. Lightheaded. Malnutrition? No. Inaction. Lack of sun. Lack of movement. Ripping. Metal ripping metal. Glance back. Shredding through the vent. Incapable of fitting. Safe? No. Far from safe. Pull onward. Exit. There must be an exit. Pause.
Wind. Air. Noise, red light. Sounds. Talking. Shhh...quiet. Listen.
"Who was supposed to be watching him?" a man. Glasses on nub of nose. Balding head. Don't recognize.
"The hall monitors were running rounds," a woman. Short, black, fat, stubble fingers. Don't recognize.
"Call them off. They'll kill him. We want him alive. He'll want him alive." Another woman. Blonde, glasses, thick, bottle-cap. Don't recognize. "Newman, call him. He'll want to know."
"Carter, that's who was supposed to be watching him." The black woman again. Newman, nub nose, gone. Carter's jacket. Carter, shirking duties. Failure.
"Sinclair will want an answer," blondie.
"Sinclair will want the boy," another voice, can't see him. Don't recognize.
"Then you better find him," black woman again. Seems to be in charge.
"I'll call off the hall monitors," blondie now. Black woman frowns, shakes head. Disapproves of idea.
"Leave them. They'll smoke him out if we're lucky," she says.
"Where will he go though? He doesn't know the city...he doesn't know how things work," non-visible man again.
"Doesn't matter. The Hookies, or the Dropouts will find him; use him as a bargaining piece for power. What do we do?" the black woman once more. Newman's back.
"He's in the vents. Hall Monitor 3254 tracked him there. Thought you'd like to know. I've got to go call the Principle, inform him what's going on." Newman, gone again.
"What if someone else finds him? Or worse, what if he finds his way to the Playground?" non-visible man. Playground? Playground. Slides, swings, sandbox, cheese box, jungle gym, black top, kids, playing.
"He has to escape from here first. And if you just stand there gabbing, that's exactly what will happen," black woman, screeching now. Have to move. They're gone. Have to move. Shuffling, dragging. Pain. Light, up ahead. Exit? Turn the bend. Going where? No idea? Playground. Sounds promising. A clear exit. A door, no guard. Drop to ground. Fall, more like it. Pain, shooting up muscles. Good. Still working. Grab door; pull up. Strain, aching pain. Giving in. Can't give up. Door swings open. Light outside. A playground? No. A street. Fall forward, search for sanctuary. There must be sanctuary. Playground. Someone must know where it is. Run. Can't run. Can run. Have to run.
-0-0-
Ring. Ring. Clack. Beep.
"What is it?"
"Principle...sir..."
"Newman? It's late. What the hell do you want?"
"He's awake, sir."
"Who? Who's awake?"
"Um...the boy, sir. The one with the knowledge...the thing...in his head...you know, the thing you want?"
"Eight years ago, you told me he would sleep forever."
"I know, sir, but..."
"It's good that I decided to wait. To keep him alive where you so eagerly wanted to grant him a mercy death."
"Yes, you're very right, sir."
"I'm coming down there. Prepare him for my..."
"But, sir...um...ulp...he's...he's...gone."
"What do you mean he's gone?"
"He escaped, sir...Carter was supposed to be..."
"He escaped. Send Carter to Detention."
"Yes."
"I want him found. It doesn't matter what it takes. I want him found."
"Understood...I'll get right on that, sir..."
"And Newman."
"Yes, sir."
"Fail me, and you will join Carter in Detention."
"Yes...sir..."
END A/N: Confused? Yeah, the whole story won't be written in this manner, just so you know.
I just had to get this out of my system. Sometimes, in my writing, I need a change of scenery. I promise, I'm going straight to work on my other stories, whose heartwrenching endings are coming soon...
Now, REVIEW, so I know what you think or feel towards this story. Like it? Hate it? Fill me in.
Hmmm.........please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.
THANKS for READING.