WARRIORS HIGH
ISLAND OF THE LOST
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JAGGEDSTORM
"I've made myself clear," snarled the shirtless man, "I want nothing to do with your petty ass."
"Listen, Jag. I know we've had our differences but thousands of lives are at stake."
"You know, in the five years since my brother died, you've gotten awful worse at acting like you care. Don't call this number again."
Jaggedstorm hung up, blocking the number and throwing it across the room onto the leather-furnished couch cushion. Furious, he slumped down on the couch, turning his WWE NXT replay up to three-quarters volume.
"Who was that, hon?" said a very beautiful woman, leaning against the wall in her bra, jacket and ripped jeans.
"No one."
"Mhm. How's Coalstrike doing?"
"I'm not even gonna question how you know."
"Rarely seen you this mad over the phone. I know only three people that get under your skin. I'm one of them and the other's dead."
Jaggedstorm smirked, muting the television. "Ain't that sweet of you to say."
The woman sauntered over to Jaggedstorm, slipping into his grasp and wrapping her arms around his back. "Yeah, aren't you just the luckiest guy in the world."
They kissed, Jaggedstorm falling back into a seated position on the couch as they made out for a couple minutes. Though the clothes stayed on, it wasn't hard to discern the passionate affection the two had for each other.
"Mm," murmured Jaggedstorm, "We're out of milk again, aren't we?"
"And chicken," whispered the woman still seated on Jaggedstorm's lap, "I'm craving chicken tonight."
"That's what I thought," Jaggedstorm smirked, buttoning his shirt over his ripped, sweat-drenched chest, "Be good, hon."
"Always am," said Marblestrike, changing the channel and running a hand on her mildly bloated belly as Jaggedstorm went outside. It was a perfect day, not a cloud in the sky, but the 103-degree heat of the Texas air bore down on his skin like an oven cooking a pizza. Wiping an arm over his brow, the man slipped into his truck, let the engine run to get the sweet AC flowing and drove off into town.
He and Marblestrike lived in a pretty big shack just a couple miles outside of town. While the label of "mysterious farmboy" placed on his shoulders by the kids around town pissed him off in secret, he enjoyed the chunk of land and stacked wood house he called home. It wasn't big enough to be called luxurious, but it was comfortable enough for him and his wife of six months to settle into nicely. And while the drive could get a bit tedious, on days like these, the blue sky hanging over the dusty planes like a lampshade gave a nice sensation of comfort.
This was his home and he loved it here. He was still quite confused as to why he even moved away in the first place.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the small town of Wendell, a small town just under a hundred miles from the Mexico border. Jaggedstorm had moved in a year and a half after Trump set ICE in and around the once ghost town as a hub for catching illegal immigrants until he was impeached and Pence took office. Nowadays, almost half of the town's population was Hispanic, forcing Jagged to struggle to learn Spanish. He could probably re-enroll in high school and pass Spanish I with a C+ with where he was now.
Jaggedstorm pulled the truck to a stop, put a quarter in the rusty parking meter and walked to the corner store, which was owned by a white man by the name of Austin. He was very popular after he agreed to shelter border-hoppers in his shop while customs exploited the precinct, and his reward was his business becoming the most popular in the district. It didn't take long before he and Jaggedstorm became close friends.
"I see your wife drained the 2% again," said Austin with a smile as Jaggedstorm walked in, "What's next on the pregnant woman's eating escapades?"
"She said chicken tonight," he said, grabbing a carton of milk from the freezer, "We just pray it's breaded and not rotisserie."
"You're just like my mother!" said the cashier a wide grin beneath his trimmed mustache, "Father always used to tell me that when she was pregnant with me, all she wanted was rotisserie. Problem was, he hated the smell!"
"To think that they dedicate a heated counter to them at Cub Foods!" said Jaggedstorm, snagging a pack of chicken and jelly beans, "Got a pack?"
"On the house!" Austin called, tossing a green Marlboro pack over the counter. As he checked out his things, Jaggedstorm noticed some spray paint covering a wall of the gas station across the street.
"I see Ernesto got raided again."
"Yeah," said Austin in sympathetic irritation, "Bunch of white kids who think racism is the new cool. Retards probably would've committed fraud to vote for Trump twice."
"Ever tell you how glad I am that I hate politics?"
"Not enough, you lucky bastard," said the cashier, handing him the bag, "Have a nice day."
Bag in hand, Jaggedstorm stepped outside and grabbed his weed, taking a hit as he observed the graffiti. The gas station was the unfortunate epicenter of the vandalism attacks since Ernesto, the owner, worked his ass off to paint over it. Most times it was dumb shit, like "Trump 2024" or "Build the wall." Sometimes, it would go to racial slurs, which made everyone uncomfortable.
But Jaggedstorm was glad that he wasn't politically involved. He had always seen politics as cannon fodder for useless arguments, and he was very okay holding his peace in one of the most politically divided counties in Texas. Means he could sleep in on election day and watch boxing. That was a much better way to spend your time than putting your ideals on paper so you could be just another insignificant placed into a majority that probably wasn't going to win anyway. The only time he would consider voting is if Austin decided to sell his shop and run for sheriff.
Until then, he was content driving into town every day to pick up whatever meal his woman was craving that day. That was just fine by him.
But today, the graffiti said something strange. Instead of its usual bombastic pastel smearings, the text was very neat. Almost as if it were text on a page.
The writing read: "Nos sunt, et omnes hostias de dolo de Luna."
Sounded fancy. Latin, perhaps. Maybe the vandalists were finally getting an education.
Regardless, Jaggedstorm paid no attention to it any longer, crushing the used cigar under his heel and walking back to the truck to enjoy a lovely dinner with his wife.
But that night, the bad dreams came.
Cliche as that sounded, these nightmares rocked Jaggedstorm. He squirmed around under his thin sheet, rolling around as gunfire rocked his brain. Images of blood and gore burned behind his eyelids. Voices long gone crackled in his ears like firecrackers.
When he was pulled back into consciousness, he gasped awake. Sweat dampened his brow and his heart hammered recklessly in his chest. Hands shaking, he got up from his resting place beside Marblestrike and hurried to the bathroom.
As he covered his face in a cold washcloth, he tried to come to terms with what he had seen. It had been a while since he had a PTSD attack, let alone one of that magnitude, but it seemed to be the same old things he saw. Just...more vibrant.
His instinct led his arm to the medicine cabinet behind the window, but his mind stopped him from opening and downing the white unmarked bottle of pills. He felt the familiar knot in his stomach twist in disgust as he stared down the container.
The container was full of paroxetine, which helped suppress the nightmares that would haunt him on a spontaneous basis. Jaggedstorm had no problem with the pills themselves, as they worked wonders every time, but rather the knowledge of where he got them from.
Specifically, the knowledge that Coalstrike was addicted to these same kinds of pills.
God, he hated the man. Jaggedstorm wasn't his number one fan, especially due to his recklessness and lack of coherent professionalism, but it all got out of hand when that recklessness led to the death of his brother, Jetstorm.
Five years ago, Jetstorm, Ambercloud and Dustleap were caught up in a house fire that Coalstrike's psychotic stalker, Inferno, had set. Dustleap had been the only survivor, and while there were no other bodies found, it would take the wackiest and most insane of conspiracy theorists to even think that they had survived. There was no chance.
And it was all Coalstrike's fault. Inferno had been chasing him down for years and Coalstrike had just been avoiding him for the same amount of time.
That was all it took for Jaggedstorm and Coalstrike, once on the same deployment team in Iraq under Bush, to have a disastrous fallout. Even holding the same pills he knew he also took regularly made Jaggedstorm's blood boil.
But relief was more important the respecting a longstanding grudge, so he swallowed his pride with the three pills and the glass of water he took thirty seconds later.
Jaggedstorm stared at his shirtless figure, trying to silently convince himself that he would get through this. His child was well on the way and he knew that he needed to be strong. He couldn't let his PTSD, grief of his brother or his hatred of Coalstrike stand in his way.
There was too much for him to lose.
So with a deep breath and a silent oath that he would try his best to keep, Jaggedstorm shut off the bathroom light and returned to bed, snuggling up close to his peacefully-sleeping wife.
"I will protect you to my dying days," he whispered in her ear as he drifted off to sleep once more.
But not for long.
THUMP.
Immediately the couple was up and alert, sitting up and turning on the light as they listened for another noise.
THUMP.
"Robber?" asked Marblestrike, on edge.
"Lock the door." said Jaggedstorm, grabbing a pair of shorts from the floor and heading out quickly, "I'll be back soon."
Making sure to be very quiet, Jaggedstorm snuck downstairs to the main floor and to a rather ugly painting of a school of fish in a lake. He took down the painting and set it aside, revealing a safe.
Behind the safe was a Magnum .357 and six packs of bullets. This was Jaggedstorm's favorite pistol and his go-to for emergency situations. He loaded the chamber and swept the house, ready for a confrontation with a teenager who had to have grown a set of titanium balls to even step on his property.
But after a search through the main floor, he couldn't find any signs of life or a robbery. Everything seemed to be intact. Calling a false alarm, Jaggedstorm lowered his gun and took a sigh of relief.
"Getting a little rusty, aren't we, Jaggedstorm?"
The man whipped around to see a figure draped in shadow, hands laced behind his back calmly. Though most of his face was obscured, he could see a confident smirk glowing in the man's green eyes.
Jaggedstorm didn't hesitate, cocking the gun and aiming it right at his head. "You better have a good fucking reason for even daring to step foot in my house."
"Woah, woah, woah," said the man in black, holding his hands up as he inched closer and closer, "No need for violence. I just want to talk."
"And I just want to put twenty bullets through your thick skull right now. So get the fuck out of my house and I just might reconsider."
The man's face soured.
"I'm afraid that's not gonna happen."
Jaggedstorm fired, cocking to reload only to see that the man was still standing and smirking. It took a glance to see that the bullet had not hit.
But a second glance told him the the bullet was at rest in midair, a good foot away from it's target.
"What the fuck?!" shouted Jaggedstorm in shock.
"Neat trick, eh?" said the man, pulling something out of his pocket, "Now then, down to business."
Before Jaggedstorm could pull the trigger, the man whipped out what looked to be an old-fashioned pocket watch. He flinched, blinking in confusion as he pressed the button on top and releasing the second hand.
Tick, tick, tick went the watch as Jaggedstorm watched with confusion. As the seconds ticked by, he noticed that he couldn't look away. Something about this item was entrancing him, pulling him in.
Faster and faster went the second-hand until it spun like a top, now a thin blur as the minute and hours were pulled along by the change in speed. The sensation pulled him in further and further. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to now.
Finally, the clock slowed to a halt. Jaggedstorm watched as the watch slowed to its satisfying conclusion at midnight, the final seconds ticking away.
The moment the watch struck midnight, Jaggedstorm blinked and returned to sentience.
He was back on his bed, still clothed and surrounded by observers. He could pick out Marblestrike, who was extremely tense, and two police officers standing over him.
"Thank God you're alright!" said his wife, hugging him tightly as he blinked in confusion, "I thought we lost you!"
"What...what happened?" said Jaggedstorm, who felt like he had woken up from the world's longest nap.
"Miss Marblestrike here called us in for a break-in," said one of the officers, "She found you unconscious on the floor and bleeding from the arm."
He gestured to his right arm, which was bandaged and stained with dry blood. Jaggedstorm blinked several times. He didn't remember getting that.
"Can you remember anything from last night?" said the second officer.
Jaggedstorm tried to recall. He remembered taking the dream suppressant and hearing the break-in. He remembered grabbing the gun from its hideaway and sweeping the house, but then…
Nothing. He couldn't recall anything about the attack or what the assailant even looked like.
"No…" said Jaggedstorm quietly. It was like a part of his memory had been surgically removed from his brain.
The two officers nodded and pulled a distraught Marblestrike aside, likely giving their phone numbers if something like that happened again. Jaggedstorm turned his attention to his bandaged arm, running a finger along the gauze covering the separated skin.
Yet for a couple of moments, he swore he could see a faint blue glow beneath the bandage.
But when he blinked again, it was gone, as if it had been an illusion this whole time.
Who is this mysterious masked man?
Someone very important for later.
Sorry for the wait. Waiting on the sidelines, as cool as it seems, can get me restless. This is a chapter I pulled together just so I didn't seem like I was on hiatus, and it also introduces two new characters you'll be seeing a lot more of.
Jaggedstorm, in fact, is not my OC. All credit goes to Daggerstorm of Riverclan, who read over and pre-approved this chapter. So no need to get on my case for sneaky theft.
Hope you enjoyed this bonus chapter. I'll be back soon with one of my most anticipated chapters yet. Personally, I think it's gonna blow your mind...
Best,
~Res