Chapter 7: Force Addiction

"So, Brian, let me get this straight...You seriously don't think a single one of Lucio's songs are any good? I know he sucks, but 'Minuano' is just fantastic."

"Dude, all he did was slow down the tempo and toss in some rejected acoustic guitar licks from a San Fran dumpster. J.D. Cronise is an artist, Lucio is an earless retard that records two omnics jacking each other on and puts it to a beat, the stupid retard."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize they just unfroze you from the twenties, Grandpa. Look he sucks, I'm willing to admit this, but even sucky musicians have at least one good song in them."

"This discussion is over, he sucks and we're already at the place, let's just grab some burritos and bounce."

It had been two days since Brian had been released into the care of Alejandra's small family, and four since he had woken up from death. He was still unsure how they had convinced the staff of Hernandez General to let him go considering his obvious status as a runaway, but the intricacies of Mexican healthcare law were very much not his forte. The only possible deciding factor that made sense to the would-be hero was his socializing with Alejandra. The many talks they had between his many tests and therapy sessions during his recovery must have made him appear far more sane than he had during his overview the Benedicto. Whatever the case, he was past the point of needing further medication, everything from this point could be handled naturally and he was more than happy to be free of the hospital.

The two hopeful heroes had become fast friends in this brief amount of time and likely would have even without a meeting as exhilarating as they had. Even so, this was the first time Brian had been so loose with his language in front of Alejandra, though he seemed to not notice this in the heat of the argument. By contrast, she had very much taken note of his lazy choice of words, though she took little offense at them. Brian had often held back his more colorful language around her, for reasons she could only assume were based on his heroic aspirations. She planned to press him on that later, for now she was more interested as to why this of all things brought out his vulgarity. The only other times he had been this passionate in his speech was when he spoke of his day of glory at the museum and of Overwatch in general, this was something worth following up on.

For now, however, food was the greater concern at the moment. Brian's dullness of taste had still not subsided and it likely never would, so he thought it best to roll with the punches and start adjusting one meal at a time. Alejandra was more than happy to aid him in this not only as an opportunity to spend to time with the heroic young man, but also for a chance at a meal not wrapped in the bakery's bread for once to sate her hunger. El Macho Taco, despite its less than classy name, was one of the finer local restaurants available to those on the same rung of the economic ladder as the pair.

"What wrong with eating here? It's nice out for once, I kind of just want to relax," she told the oddly impatient boy.

"Hey, I've had enough of just lying around. Never liked it before and I ain't looking to do more after all that time in the hospital," he replied.

"Well, where else did you plan to go? You said you already did your rounds while I was at school,"

"Always more and if there ain't, I'd just exercise or something."

"...Do you ever do anything that's not work?"

"...Not recently, no."

"Well, that's all the more reason to take our time. You need to relax for once in your life."

"How's that relaxing? Doing nothing ain't relaxing."

"Hey, it's better than work."

"No it ain't. Something being not bad and something being good ain't the same."

"What ki-" glancing away, Alejandra realized they had already reached the counter, "Oh, sorry, two beefy bean burritos for here, please," she politely ordered as she fumbled for her wallet.

"Three," Brian interjected as he pulled out a two hundred peso bill and turned it over to the cashier. "To go."

Alejandra pouted at the sight, both for what she saw as him infantilizing her and his stitchwork on his sweatshirt's arm. During her impromptu role as a sewing teacher, Brian had followed her instruction intently and performed to the best of his ability in all but one instance. He had been unwilling to wait for her to search for the proper shade of cobalt blue thread to match his prized article and instead used the much closer spool of ultramarine blue. "Hey, blue is blue," he had said when she first protested. Even now, the mismatch in color was aggravating to her, but much like his coverage of their lunch, she could not keep that anger in her heart for long as she knew he meant no ill by it. After a few awkward glances, the employee simply shrugged and rang up the order of the only one offering payment.

Finally retrieving her wallet while Brian gathered his change and the receipt, Alejandra drew a fifty bill and a ten coin. As they stepped out of the line, she handed them over with a subtle insistent twitch of the eyebrow. The edge of Brian's still lips twinged in understanding, and he accepted the payment with not so much as a sound.

"What kind of logic is that?" Alejandra continued where she left off, "How is not feeling bad not better than feeling bad?"

"That's not...Okay, for me, just sitting around is a bad feeling. When I get tired on my bike, I don't stop, I slow down. Cause when you stop, that's when the pain hits you and you won't want to keep going 'cause that'll just make it worse."

"...That explains a lot about you, actually."

Desperate to avoid the questions he could feel coming, Brian quickly changed the subject. "That's why I could never get into Hearthstone. Too much waiting with nothing to do." Alejandra wanted nothing more than to break down his facade and learn just why he left his home behind, but a headlong assault would be pointless. Instead, she played along with his obvious misdirection, it was the first time he had been the one to start a topic not related to his heroic path.

"What do you mean? You're supposed to be planning your next turn during your opponent's. That's what keeps it from being boring." While she had been hoping for an opportunity to ask him about his odd reaction to her musical question, it could wait for later, he offered this topic up freely for a reason.

"That don't make sense," Brian continued, "you come in with a plan and you always plan for that plan to work. Only time it can't work should be down to bad luck. Can't plan for that."

"...You play Hunter, don't you?"

"Some reason why I shouldn't have?"

"Yeah, there is. It ta- You know what, let's find a seat, this is gonna take a while."

"Why? Our stuff's gonna be ready in a few minutes, might as well stay here for it."

"Hey, grab and go if you want, but I'm eating here."

"Come on, you know I'm not gonna just leave you alone."

"Well, then help me find a seat so I can lay some wisdom down on you while we're waiting."

For most, being forced into such an option would be beyond frustrating, but in this particular instance, Brian couldn't help but smile as she turned her back to begin their search. Ever since their first meeting at the hospital, the would-be hero was worried by her timid speech, expecting her to be an obsessive sycophant by this introduction. Their conversation afterward of her past encounter with Inigo and her feelings surrounding what Brian had shown her emotionally in his interference only furthered his anxiety, knowing those feeling all too well himself and what they led to. Regardless of how petty this argument was, he was glad he had judged her wrong. Weaving past several unoccupied seats within the building, Alejandra pointed out an unshaded table outside and staked a claim.

"It takes the fun out of the game," she continued as they took their seats on barely padded black metal chairs, "the whole point is to win with strategic thinking and having an actual plan. Going face every turn just kills all of that, for both players."

"Hey, if it works, it's a good strategy. Besides, I don't make enough to spend a thousand bucks on a sixty-year-old game just to play one half-decent deck."

"Oh come on, it only takes like four hundred pesos to get enough dust to get a good mid-game deck."

"Yeah, but it's free to play, why would I spend money when I don't have to?"

"Why shouldn't you spend money on it? People worked hard on it, so they expect some compensation."

"What people? Everyone who worked on the game is dead by now."

"Well...Yeah, but-"

"And besides, this is a pointless argument. I only played the game for like four or five hours before going back to Starcraft 6, a strategy game that's actually good."

"Starcraft 6 is a good game? Is that really one you want to keep that one on the record?"

"Well not the story mode, obviously, but multiplayer's not too bad anymore and custom maps are still great."

"Still not better than 5."

"Hey, no argument there, but you don't gotta wait ten minutes to get a match in 6."

"That's not exactly the game's fault."

"Kind of is. Toss weren't exactly fun to play or play against in 5."

"Toss were only boring if you only went for Photon Cheese, play anything else and they're way more fun. Besides, if you can zerg rush right, you can shut that down before it starts."

"You think I bought this Hoodie on the off chance it'd ever drop below seventy back home?"

"...Please don't tell me you're a hellrusher."

"No way dude, everyone sees that one coming. You gotta put everything into Siege Tanks and Marines and maybe some Warhounds if it goes that long, zone them out of camps, then surround their main base and start shelling and sending in Medivacs at their line when they try to charge the tanks."

"And...how is that less cheese than Photon Rush?"

"'Cause not everyone does it." "Okay, now you're jus-"

"Order 37!" the cashier announced. Only just managing to hear it over the bustle of fellow customers within the store, Alejandra left her seat.

"You better come up with a real argument by the time I'm back." she told Brian only semi-sarcastically as she went to collect their reason for coming.

"Alright." Brian replied with a slight chuckle under each syllable.

It was an utterly pointless argument and the two of them knew it, but beyond the words, each found a deeper meaning. Alejandra valued the small glances into his personality and his growing familiarity with her, while Brian was still simply glad that she was willing to challenge him. Despite his rising respect for the girl, his plan had not changed. He still had every intention of returning to the road once he was medically well enough for it. Begrudged as he was to admit it to himself, the doctors were very much correct with their judgment that he would not be able to leave the city limits without risking death. Even during his return to his regular early morning courier work, he felt a stinging headache where he once felt only mild fatigue. All he could now is work through it with time and effort and with an all too familiar call, an opportunity for the latter presented itself.

"Hey, white boy!" shouted an angered and purposeful, but cracking voice.

His body tensing and tingling in preparation, Brian turned his head to size up his soon to be opponent. To his mild disappointment, the would-be hero saw a boy closer to Alejandra's age than his own clad in simple, albeit thuggish, clothing of loose fit and dull color. His hair was short and styled to fit his low-class style of clothing, but unfortunately for him, his still maturing face was very much at odds with this style.

"You the cracker that shot that Muertos?" another voice of similar cadence inquired as its owner entered Brian's sight.

This one was noticeably older and more importantly, taller and better built than his counterpart. Though the duo matched in style, the elder one clearly being a better fit for it, neither wore the colors and insignia of the gang that ruled these streets.

Brian understood their purpose almost immediately, he had run into many cut from the same cloth not long after his name made the news after the Museum. While the near-universal revilement of Talon kept him free of harassment from the many gangs of Oakland, the occasional hooligan trying to make a name for themselves tried their hand against his. It was no different here, the two thugs clearly intended to trade his hide for a place of power in Los Muertos. Their choice to attack him in such a public place, coincidence or otherwise, worked into this plan as it left more than enough witnesses to corroborate their story to the underground.

Their boldness in picking their fight with him here surprised Brian, even if it did have its advantages for them. On his road from Dogtown to Dorado every other criminal he had faced, in self-defense or otherwise, had the common sense to commit their ills in seclusion. Turning a brief glance to El Macho Taco's interior, the courier could tell that even the locals found this a strange sight, though not strange enough for them to scramble to phone the police or even pause their meals. "Just like home…" Brian thought, "Shit like this happens every day. Not like it matters, I'll be beating their asses either way." He slowly stood to face the two challenges a put on a facade that fit his self-appointed role.

"Depends on who's asking," he said with atypical smugness and bravado. "Might as well make this thing official."

"The badasses that're gonna put your ass in the ground!" the short one proclaimed in an attempt to top the would-be heroes' forced boasting.

"You sure this pissboy's even the real deal?" questioned the taller one.

"He's a white boy in a hoodie, that's what the story was, right? Even if he's not, we might as well beat his ass anyway," the short thug retorted.

A stiff wind blew down the street and across Brian's face, letting his bangs flutter and dispelling the duo's doubts.

"Look at that, Raf!", the short one chimed in as he pointed at the distinctive mark of a bullet scar on Brian's forehead. "This is definitely the prick got those three in the clink!"

"Friends of yours?" Brian continued putting on his front.

"Oh, they're about to be!" the short one approached menacingly as he began to redundantly explain their plans. "We're gonna be sitting pretty after we bring in your faggo-"

A swift punch put an end to the short thug's latest insult and likely his entire ability to speak. The courier's fist forced the thug's jaw shut at a most inopportune time for the latter party, letting a pincer of teeth sever a section of his tongue. As stifled screams and gushing blood left the short one's mouth, Brian silently congratulated himself for his expert timing in the immeasurably short time in between his next strike. A chopping elbow directly onto his left ear forced the thug to his knees and his jaw open, sending a splatter of blood against Brian's pant legs. The sounds of pain let the courier know his opponent still managed to grip onto consciousness and quick stomp to the head brought an end to his pain. It was over in barely more than a second, but the rush of battle still flowed through the would-be hero.

"Marco!" the thug named Raf shouted in worry once Brian's quick work was done.

"He should have watched his tongue," Brian quipped, relishing the fact he finally had an opportunity to use that line after 2 months of waiting.

"You just killed my brother!" Raf raged.

"What? He's not dead. That wasn't enough for that, right?"

In a brief moment of doubt and panic, Brian broke the illusion and shot to the ground to confirm what he hoped to be true. To his relief, Marco was still breathing through the bleeding had only grown worse.

"Right. He's fine." Brian assured as he pulled a fistful of napkins from his table's dispenser and placed it on the severed section of Marco's tongue. "But you won't be," he threatened as he assumed his persona once more.

"That's my line, shitstain!" The tall thug challenged as the blade of his folding knife sprung out with a flick of his thumb.

This did little to phase Brian, he would have been more surprised if one of the duo wasn't carrying a knife. Growing up in the first American state to ban guns within its borders since the Armstrong Act, Brian was used to seeing a wide variety of knives in the hands of every miscreant on the street, including his own at times. From broken glass wrapped in duct tape to imported ballistic knives, edged weaponry was such a common threat that basic self-defense against it was tied into his middle school curriculum.

As the thug assumed an underhanded grip with an open-palmed defensive stance, he continued his threats, "I'm gonna cut you up, you white ass cocksucker!"

Brian easily kept his cool in the face of another verbal assault, knowing from experience that these attempts at intimidation meant that his attacker was the one that doubted their chances at success. Brian walked from the near motionless body of Marco and back to the table, stopping within arms reach of one of the chairs and uttered a threat of his own.

"Then come get me."

The thug paused at this boast, angered but not foolish enough to be blind to the courier's plan. He had already forsaken the knife's great advantage of surprise in a fit of anger, he could not afford to make another mistake and he knew it. Inching forward, he attempted a boast of his own, "Nah, you step up first, pussyboy!" "I'm not the one with something to prove," Brian lied as he gestured behind himself to the crowd he did not need to see to know was there. Caught between his pride and a hard place, the thug's own persona of confidence began to crack and he was forced into action by the former.

Tightening his grip, he shouted "Fine! I'll prove how much of a bitch you are!" before charging forward with killing intent.

Brian couldn't contain his satisfaction at things turning out just as planned. He took the nearby chair in his hands with flashing teeth and used the reach of its legs to his advantage. The metal legs collided with the thug's left arm long before the knife was anywhere near its desired range and the blow was so fierce that the thug had staggered to the ground, but to Brian's shock, it had not stopped him. Although Raf was surprised by the strength of the half-sized hero, he had braced himself for the attack well enough to remain composed for a counter attack. Rising from his semi-grounded position, he thrust his blade at Brian's stomach. Jumping back as soon as he had mentally registered the failure of his plan, Brian only just managed to dodge the lethal stab at the cost of a tear in the pocket of his hoodie. The steel chair made a wretched squeal as it dragged across the concrete to follow its wielder even as it left his grip.

Gritting his teeth at his failure, the thug switched to a reverse icepick grip and slashed at Brian's chest. Narrowly dodging the steel once again, Brian thought back to a basic principle of knife defense, the GUN method. As his opponent's arm bent back for another stab, Brian swiftly evaded to his back and grabbed him by the wrist and forearm, keeping the threat in check. Wasting no time, he followed with a powerful knee strike to his upper thigh and repeated kicks to the backs of his knees to rob him of balance. Once he had submitted to the pain and began to topple, Brian slammed his body into the table, the shock undoing the weapon from his grasp. Taking the knife in his hands to keep the thug from reclaiming it, Brian still struggled to keep his enemy in control regardless. Responding to the repeated kicks to the shins and toes with skull bashes with the knife's handle did little in the face of the thug's persistence. After the unmistakable pain of his big toenail splitting apart bolted its way up his leg, Brian thought it more than permissible to use the weapon's business end.

The blade plunged down, penetrating the bone and sinew of the thug's hand and slipping through a conveniently placed hole in the table's mesh design. Retaliation ceased as the thug cried out in pain, only to be silenced once the would-be hero took the napkin dispenser and sent it crashing into his nose. Unrelenting, Brian struck once again at his forehead with the crude weapon and again with a sharp elbow to the back of his neck and again with a brutal knee to the genitals. The once boastful thug had grown too tired and bruised to do more than moan in his agony as he hung pinned to the table. Satisfied with his work, Brian pulled out the blade with a subtle twist of spite and Raf fell to the ground.

Brian didn't know when it had begun or who had been one to start it off while he lumbered in the haze of fading adrenaline, but there was no mistake the sound of cheering. Not every customer of El Macho Taco came to the windows to witness his latest glory, but all who had, many of them children his brother's age, added to the thunder in his honor. It was only natural for heroism to be rewarded with admiration, but receiving it was still a strange feeling to Brian. Even when he was nothing more than another courier, he never understood why he should get special praise simply for doing his job, though he could not deny he enjoyed the strokes to his ego. However, in the context of his actions, this praise seemed almost like an insult. He had not come here to right any sort of wrong, he was assaulted while going about his day and merely defended himself. Worse still was that his audience had been just that, an audience. When the duo had first approached, they barely paid any notice to him being harassed and threatened, only taking notice once the encounter grew entertaining for them. "Pricks.", Brian thought, "Real classy to sit there and film instead of helping."

However, it was one among them that didn't praise him that upset him the most. Alejandra simply stood there with a bag of their greasy order in hand, staring with horror in her eyes. Brian didn't understand what he could have done to make her act this way, "Maybe things got a little bloody, but they were asking for it. She's lived here forever and she did shoot that one guy, shouldn't she be used to this?" Folding the knife closed, he placed it in his pants pocket and reached for the dispenser once more. Taking another handful of napkins, he placed them in the thug's wounded palm and yet another handful over the back of his hand. Taking one more to clean his own hands, he looked back to Alejandra, pleased to see her odd look of repugnance had faded ever so slightly along with the applause.

Walking back toward her, he tried to brighten her bizarrely diminished spirits.

"Well, you were right. I do need backup plans."

His weak jest only worsened her mood, even if it was by but a twinge of her face. Moving the conversation forward with an awkward cough, he tried once again.

"Did, uh, anyone call the cops or anything yet?"

"I think so…" she finally spoke in the meek tone Brian despised.

"It's not like I did anything wrong," he wanted to say but stopped himself just short of it, for nothing more than his instincts telling him not to upset her further.

"Hey, it'll be fine. Look on the bright side, you got what you wanted, now we have to stay."

"W-what? Why?"

"Well, they're gonna track us down to ask questions anyway, just like the hospital, might as well get it over with."

"I guess so…"

"Hey, come on, it's not like they're anywhere close to dead. Let's get a new seat, how 'bout that one?" He pointed to an unoccupied table on the opposite end of the courtyard. Silently and reluctantly, she nodded her head and followed.

Taking a seat once again, Brian dove into the bag, retrieving some much-needed energy. Alejandra, despite her self-confessed hunger beforehand, didn't so much as look at the bag. Her attention was fixed on Brian, still with the same look of repulsion. Feeling the eyes on him, he turned his own attention, forcing her to change hers over to his fallen enemies. Brian still hadn't the faintest idea of why she would be reacting this way, he was well within his rights to do what he had, legally and morally, as far as he was concerned. For once, he was the one who wanted to press her on her feelings but now was clearly not the time. With a slight sigh, he took a bite of his well-earned meal. The juices flowed, the texture was rich and the spice had its kick, but the taste was just not the same.