Part One Finding the Fork
It was dark in the alley, and the smell was absolutely nauseating. He tried to hold his breath, calming down his heartbeat as he hid himself in the shadows. There was very little time left and he was desperate to succeed.
The police sirens blared as the cars themselves sped past the alley. He hugged himself deeper into the shadows, bearing the stench and deciding he definitely needed a shower later. The brick wall dug into his back, clinging to his ragged clothes.
He wasn't a thief. Not really. He hadn't wanted to resort to this. But he had no choice. The moon peered out from a cloud and he listened closely for activity.
Was he safe yet? He waited for the sound of Static and Gear's passing but heard nothing. Had they found him? Were they watching even now and just waiting for him to make his move?
He wasn't sure. He pulled his coat closer, wincing as it scratched against the brick wall. He kept the object held tightly under his cloak, hidden from sight. He didn't think Static could track it, given the precautions he'd taken, but really, there was no way to know precisely what the limitations were on Static's abilities.
He stood up slowly, still having heard nothing. He peered out from behind the dumpster, seeing a red sports scar whiz past. There was a couple dining across the street at a cozy café, but they paid him no attention. A pair of young teenage girls were giggling and wandering down the street, backs to him. A few various people were leaving the shops as they closed, moving to enter their cars and probably go home. He could see nothing suspicious, but still, he hesitated.
This was dangerous, staying in one place. If there was hard target searching, there was the likelihood that eventually, they would come across his alley. However, there was also the dangerous possibility that he would be found in transit. He shrank back into the shadows a bit, until the most of the customers had driven off with their cars, leaving the street nearly deserted. It was late and the street lamps were dim. He crept with care out of the alley, knowing he should strive to look casual, but unable to stop himself from constantly scanning the street for suspicious persons.
The further he walked down the street, the more he straightened his hunched shoulders. He was beginning to feel more confident at the lack of reaction, believing that he had perhaps finally eluded his pursuers.
He wanted to break into a run, didn't want to take this slow pace, but he couldn't take the chance of being noticed. Still, he knew that there was very little time left. He had to get back before it was too late.
He wasn't far now, merely blocks away. He could almost taste the victory. Just a few more blocks home and everything would be all right again…
He couldn't help it, he broke into a jog when there were only two blocks left. The streets were organized now, lined with traditional houses, complete with clipped lawns and immaculately trimmed gardens. Some had trees and all had cars parked in the driveways. It was green and dim, given that many of the street lamps were out on the streets, sidewalks only partially illuminated. He raced past them all, trying and failing to maintain a slower, steadier pace on his way to the house.
Excitement, against all odds, was brimming low and deep inside him and he resisted the urge to shout a little in exultation. He pulled the keys out of his trench coat pocket, unlocking the door as he entered the house.
"Honey?" he called out in a quiet voice. He knew it was late but she always waited up for him. He especially knew she would have tonight. "Sweetie?"
He clicked the door shut behind him.
"Hello?"
~*BREAK*~
The world spun and spun into the silence, deafening.
Everything seemed to freeze, people held their breath, attention captured and focused on the blood spilling onto the cracked cement floor.
The moment refused to end, and in the silence, the only sound was the dull thud of slowly stopping heartbeats.
Broken glasses, one lens missing, the other cracked in an outward fractal pattern, pieces mixed with the crimson blood.
The small body, broken on the bloodied floor, breathed in one final gasp of air, heart pumped one final time and lay still.
Silent.
The deep quiet of terror before the onset of the breaking storm.
Virgil screamed, the sound shattering the glassy silence. It pulled from the depths of his soul, extolling his angry agony, his grief and fear.
The force of the electric blitzkrieg simultaneously accompanying that sound blew apart the windows and everything glass in a twenty yard radius.
Virgil's sanity seemed to snap and with a final rush of electric energy, he finally freed himself from Hotstreak's firm grip, burning the teen's arms and blasting him into the door behind him.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you, Whiteout!"
Whiteout smiled, but it was a smile without joy, filled only with a vindictive bitterness. "Fair is fair, Static. A life for a life," he murmured, knowing that Static wouldn't hear, was beyond listening.
Static Shock ran straight off of the rail to reach Whiteout, standing twenty feet below, using the electric current to guide his fall. Whiteout released a white cloud, meeting Static's attack without fear. The electricity struck true, staggering Whiteout to his knees, but the white cloud did its job, muffling the blow.
Static fell into the cloud without hesitation, heading straight for Whiteout's position. His vision, hearing and other senses disappeared, leaving him in a cloud of sensory deprivation—but Static knew Whiteout's location and that the bolt he'd sent would hold the villain in place. He continued forward, fearless, fueled entirely by the fury roiling through his body.
Whiteout stumbled to the side, weakened by the electric surge but determined still to survive and to escape. Static's punch clipped his shoulder, spinning Whiteout's body around with the force of the blow and pummeling that shoulder into the warehouse floor. The cement cracked further, a mini-earthquake shattering the foundations. Whiteout allowed a scream of pain to escape; he knew a bone must cracked, if not broken. He rolled over his good shoulder, landing on his knees.
In the whiteout cloud, it should have been impossible for Static to sense him, but somehow, he homed in on Whiteout's location. Clasping both hands together, Static brought a double fist down on Whiteout's back, collapsing him to the ground once more. Static kicked at the fallen body, feeling nothing, but driven beyond pain into a berserk rage that ignored logic.
Whiteout curled into a ball, feeling each blow with a stutter of electricity behind it shiver through his system. Static kicked into Whiteout's back several times. He succeeded in cracking several ribs before Whiteout flattened and rolled forward, out of Static's reach. Static still kicked forward, flailing his limbs and not knowing whether or not his attacks made contact. Electricity surged around him like an aura covering his skin. His eyes seemed to glow, even in the cloud.
Whiteout rolled to his feet and stared dispassionately at Static's useless rage. He took a few stumbling steps, smoothing his gait with each further step, and snagged a water hose off the floor. He expanded the cloud slightly and turned the nozzle to release the water. He sprayed Static from a nice, safe distance, letting the water react to his aura for several seconds before dropping the cloud so that Static could feel the pain.
Static screamed like a banshee and his skin flared and burned through the water. He sank to his knees and scraped his throat raw with screams. Finally, logic penetrated his berserker status and he turned the edge off his power. He leapt to his feet and charged Whiteout. Instantly, Whiteout turned his cloud back on and dodged the angry charge by stepping to the side and punching him in the face. A split second before the punch, he released the cloud—so Static could feel the pain—and turned it back on two or three seconds after. He hooked a foot around Static's ankle and shoved the teen superhero backwards to the floor.
Whiteout kicked him several times, making sure to hit his face at least once. Static was still twitching and attempting to move, but without the sense of touch, it was impossible to reorient himself. Whiteout laughed mockingly at the child on the floor.
"This is punishment for what you've done and what you've caused," he whispered. It didn't matter that Static couldn't hear, the words still needed to be said.
Abruptly, he turned off the cloud, in response to the faint, acrid smell of smoke.
During his fight with Static, who was currently vomiting blood and attempting to get to his feet, Hotstreak had apparently torched Whiteout's minions in a rage and set the warehouse on fire. Whiteout decided it was time to leave. He had accomplished what he came for and it was time to take the prize. Grasping Static's hair, he kneed him in the stomach then gave a final punch in the face, knocking him to the ground again.
Hotstreak was already on the ground floor and was rushing towards them at a dead run.
Whiteout laughed grimly, but with amusement. "Come, rescue your precious hero, Hotstreak. There's nothing more I need from him." He turned and sprinted—as much as he was able—to the body lying on the floor. He hoisted the body of the blond teen to his shoulders headed past the flames.
"Whiteout!" Hotstreak shouted at him. "This isn't over yet!"
Whiteout turned back slightly to see Hotstreak standing not so far away, hands aflame. "You think you're ready to face me boy? I'm almost killed two of you today. What makes you think one of you can touch me?"
"Cuz all I have to do is set you on fire!" He flared the flames, taking several slow steps forward.
Whiteout laughed. "I think your friend there gives you a much greater vulnerability, seeing as he's already half-dead. Perhaps you should focus on saving his life rather than getting him killed. But if you really want me to kill him, don't think I'll complain."
Hotstreak howled in frustration and shot the flames in streaks at Whiteout.
Whiteout did some swift dodges while pulling the handy grenade in his pocket and tossing towards Static. "Always carry useful weapons not power related." Whiteout smiled without pleasure. He turned to exit the building, getting into the car waiting just outside.
This time, he did smile with pleasure as the car pulled out, building exploding behind him. His success here had been unparalleled.
He had the body. Step Two of the Plan was ready to begin.
Author's Note: If you're all wondering who Whiteout is... well, you'll see. If you're also wondering how this is about virgil and richie when richie just died.... well, you'll see about that too. Also, I haven't exactly decided whether to make this slashy. I mean it probably will be, but I'll be honest, it won't be that graphic cuz for some reason, vxr yaoi makes me just a bit squicky. Anyway, I'm the kinda person who likes to start in the middle and work backwards and forwards at the same time. so, eventually, you'll figure out how we got to this point and by then it'll be time for part two (which believe me, you won't see coming). however, it's part three that i'm /really/ looking forward to. here's hoping both you and i stick around long enough to get there. thanks for reading!