AN:
While browsing old fanfiction on this site, and reading old books, and watching movies, I've found something interesting. (Okay, I find it interesting. You probably don't.) In a long story, if the main character is cannon and male, they will be maimed at least once, most likely more, during the course of the plot. Why does this happen? I have a theory. By having the main character put through a terrible situation, like being beaten to a bloody pulp, the story teller creates some kind of emotional bond between character and the audience, so as the character slowly recovers the audience sticks around to finish the story.
Anyway, enough of me rambling. Thank you Blazichu for the nice, long review. I'm going to read back through after I post chapter five and try to fix mistakes, so if anyone does see any, let me know so they get fixed.
Now, on with the chapter!
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Mission no. 1 part 2
As an acrobat, Raz had always considered his small stature and light build to be a blessing. Combined with his natural agility, it was what allowed him to waltz, sometimes quite literally, across tightropes, fly through the air on the trapeze, and scramble up the sides of cliffs. He could reach places other people couldn't dream of easily, and even if he wasn't the strongest person, he could run circles around his enemies without breaking a sweat. When it came time for someone to break into a building during a mission, he was the one to do it. If there was a vent that needed to be climbed through, he did that too. He could hold his own in a fight if he needed to, and usually neutralize his opponent.
Now, as he was tossed around like rag doll caught in a hurricane, he was beginning to wish that he weighed just a little more. It wouldn't have mattered, but the thought made him feel better for some twisted reason. His attacker was the best telekinetic Raz had ever seen, as even his tutor at the academy (Raz was very bad at TK. Not the basic mechanics of it, like pushing and pulling and throwing, but he lack the finesse necessary for fine manipulation.) couldn't keep so many objects moving at once, and there was an increasingly alarming variety of knives rushing past Raz as he was thrown, repeatedly, into the wall behind him. Not thrown hard enough to cause any serious damage, mind, but it still hurt. Worse yet, it effectively destroyed his ability to concentrate. That meant no psyblasts, no confusion grenades, no pyrokinesis, and no way to fight back.
This entire thing would have embarrassing for an older, more experienced agent. Especially Dave. But because of his time at Whispering Rock, Raz fully understood that, despite his amazing talent, he would come across people who were better than he was at certain things, like Milka and her invisibility. He had just hoped they wouldn't be trying to kill him.
Finally, after a good slam into the ground that knocked the wind out of him, Raz came to a stop, pinned to a wall a few feet off the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his jacket, which had somehow come off, lying on the ground by the van. His emergency transmitter was in the pocket, maybe it tripped...
Still smiling, the man walked right up to Raz, who flinched when the man ruffled his hair.
"Get away from me, you sicko!" Raz spat, hopping that someone, anyone, would hear him. The man, ignoring his cries of protest, leaned forward.
"Let me introduce myself. I'm Rupert de Locke, master of telekinesis and all thing sharp and deadly. Now, this is nothing personal, kid, but I was hired to send a message to Mr. Zanotto. A message in blood, if you know what I mean." The man- An assassin?- dropped his smile. "I'm going to cut you into so many pieces they'll never find all of you."
With that, Rupert leapt backward, stopping exactly in the middle of the alley. A single, small blade, possibly a pen knife, shot past Raz's face, cutting his cheek just below his eye. Rupert was just toying with him, Raz knew, like a cat toys with a mouse before striking the death blow.
(Now, it must be understood that, for some reason as of yet unknown to modern scientists, being telekinetically picked up prevents most psychics from using their powers. There are certain techniques that allow someone to use a basic psychic powers while they are being picked up, like, say, a psyblast. As part of the mandatory training, which Raz had received upon joining the Psychonauts despite his amazing skills, Raz had learned a few of them.)
Clenching his eyes shut, Raz forced his aggressive mental energy into a single, unstable point. Creating a psyblast like this was extremely dangerous: it could easily backfire, which would probably kill him instantly, but it was the only way he was getting out of this in one piece. Besides, blowing his own head off was a better way to go than being chopped to bits, right?
Thanks to a combination of sheer will power, luck, and the spirits of desperation, Raz managed to get the shot off without killing himself, actually hitting his intended target square in the chest.
Unfortunately, the blast was much weaker than normal, dealing negligible damage to Rupert, who didn't even fall over. All it did was make him angry. The force pining Raz to the walk suddenly increased in strength. Raz couldn't breathe now, and he could have sworn that that creaking noise he had just heard was his ribs.
"Nice trick. It's been awhile since I've seen someone do that. You've had the advanced training, am I right?" Rupert snarled.
Raz could now only watch in terror as particularly large, serrated blade plunged into his arm. It tore through his shirt sleeve and ripped through his flesh, right to the bone. Blood poured out of the six inch gash, and the sight of it seemed to, in some sick, twisted way, put Rupert back into a good mood.
Rupert started laughing. It wasn't harsh, maniacal, cackling, cold, or any of those sounds you would normally associate with a person who's obviously an evil bastard. Instead, it was musical, warm, almost friendly; the kind of thing one hears when they're at the park on and someone's just told a really funny joke. It was one of the most frightening things Raz had ever heard in context, like catching a glimpse of something terrible through a crack in a facade.
Then there was a sickening crack. A brick had flown out of nowhere struck the assassin's arm. With a cry of pain Rupert fell to his knees, and, with his concentration broken, the knives dropped out of the air and fell to the ground with a clatter.
The force pinning Raz to the wall let up enough so that he could breathe, and he did, greedily sucking air into his burning lungs.
"HEY! Yes, I'm talking to you, loon." A voice shouted from the entrance of the alley. Raz herd the click of a gun cocking. "I'm giving you five seconds to leave. You've seen how good my aim is with a brick; I'm not going to miss."
The assassin seemed surprised. In an instant he had gathered his knives and was climbing up a fire escape, one arm held tightly to his chest. Raz managed, barely, to land on his feat when the last of the telekinetic bonds faded, but his legs wouldn't take his weight and he collapsed into a heap at the foot of the wall.
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Raz watched the pool of blood slowly spreading across the grimy pavement. It was so warm, so very red even in the dim light. He was still in too much shock to register the pain, but he knew he had been hurt. Badly.
Footsteps. His rescuer carefully rolled him over. Raz could here the distinct sound of ripping fabric, and his arm was quickly bandaged with what he suspected was part of his jacket.
"About how much do you weigh?" A familiar voice asked. Had one of Raz's teammates come back to help him? "Between 36 and 40 kilograms?"
Raz couldn't speak. He was begging to feel the pain, and it was intense. His arm felt like it was on fire, and it was taking all of his concentration not to pass out. He also didn't know how much he weighed in kilograms off the top of his head.
"Grah... Nod if you weigh in between eighty and ninety pounds."
Raz gritted his teeth and nodded. Something stabbed him in the shoulder, and almost immediately the pain started to faded away.
"Thank you." Raz groaned as he was helped into a sitting position.
At first Raz didn't recognize the short man. Gone were the fish lips and the blotchy skin. His eyes were no longer as bulging, and the cataracts which nearly blinded them had been removed. His hair had been dyed at some point, changing it from a light blue to a dark brown color, and was obviously being cleaned more regularly. The orderly uniform somehow worn over a strait jacket had been replaced with a white polo and a pair of old jeans. A messenger bag, the same kind that Raz had, in fact, was slung over the man's shoulder.
But Raz recognized the oversized forehead and sour expression within seconds.
"Hey! You're Crispin!" He said in surprise.
"How observant. You're Razputin, I'm Crispin." Crispin Whytehead, former fake head orderly and sidekick to the deranged Dr. Loboto, said in an annoyed voice. "Anything else?"
There were so many questions whirling around in his head, Raz couldn't decide what to ask first. Was Loboto still alive? Where had they been for the past two years? Why had Crispin saved him from the guy trying to kill him? What the hell had he just been injected with? Why was Crispin even here?
Unfortunately, the only thing he was able to get out was "What happened to your face?".
Crispin looked like he had just bitten into a lemon. More so than usual, at least.
"I'd shoot you for asking that, but the gun's not loaded." He said, shoving the weapon into his messenger bag. "Do you have a first aid kit in your van?"
"Yes." Raz said, carefully standing up. Whatever he'd been injected with seemed to have given him a boost of energy, and he didn't feel sick or dizzy or anything.
"Do you know where it is?"
"It's in the foot locker against the back wall. There's bandages and stuff in there." Raz said as Crispin helped walk towards the van.
The doors to the back of the van swung open before they reached them. Then, much to Raz's alarm, Raz found himself being lifted off the ground. At first he thought that the guy with the knives had come back to finish the job, and began to panic accordingly. Crispin rolled his eyes and smirked.
"Don't struggle, unless you want me to drop you. I can't imagine you climbing into the van on your own, not with your arm like that. The effort would increase the bleeding, and you'd pass out and die." Crispin said in his most patronizing voice, the one that he normally reserved for Fred.
"So, let me get this strait." Raz said as he watched Crispin jump into the van. "You have psychic powers-"
"Yes. How do you think I threw the brick?" Crispin's voice sounded slightly muffled from inside the van.
"- and you're very skilled with them-"
"Yes."
"- and you didn't let anyone, not even Dr. Loboto know you had them-
"Wrong. He knows."
"You told him?"
"He tricked me into using them while he was around. It was a brilliant plan, really; the Doctor has a talent for manipulating people."
"But no one else knows?"
"Look. A good number, if not the majority, of inmates at Thorny Towers had psychic powers. Why do you think they fireproofed everything? Boyd has them. It was probably his inability to control his clairvoyance that made him insane in the first place. And the pyrokenisis, why, it only made him dangerous. They shipped insane psychics there from miles around, and most of the residents from the community.... Well, after living on top of a huge deposit of that rock..." The lights flicked inside the van. "... Your friends have no taste."
"What?" Raz said.
"There's a shag rug in here. An indigo and yellow polka dot shag rug."
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Raz soon found himself sitting on top of said shag rug, Crispin winding sterile dressings over his wounds. This was definitely one of the weirdest days he'd ever had.
"So... you still didn't answer my question." Raz said in attempted to restart the conversation.
"Little twerp..." Crispin grumbled. "Us 'normal' inmates, the people who the staff didn't know about, wanted to keep it that way. Otherwise, they had special solitary confinement cells for us upstairs, all tightly sealed with funny angles inside. Boyd ended up in one during that last year. Had a fit and tried to set fire to the commons, or something like that. He was screaming for days; I could here him from my cell. Didn't sleep a wink for two nights."
"So, why are you here?" Raz decided against pressing the psychic powers topic. It seemed to make Crispin irritable.
"My employer asked to deliver a message." Crispin said as he started to dig through his bag.
"Aha! I knew Loboto was- Ow!-" In his excitement, Raz had attempted to point at Crispin with his injured arm. "-alive! Erm... How long does the stuff you gave me last?"
Crispin fixed Raz with a surprisingly effective death glare.
"It lasts about half an hour. The stimulates will wear off first, then the pain killers. The Doctor gave it to me incase I was injured and I needed to get away quickly. I only had one dose, so don't make me regret giving it to you." Crispin returned to digging through his bag. "And of course The Doctor is still alive, I was talking in present tense. Didn't you notice?" Crispin handed Raz a small envelope. "Just read this quickly so I can stop wasting my time here and get going."
Raz cautiously accepted the envelope from Crispin. It was normal looking: small, white, square, with that funny pattern on the lining that prevented you from looking at whatever was inside. He carefully tore it open, and pulled out a neatly folded piece of heavy-duty, cream-colored stationary. With far more caution than was needed, he unfolded the piece of paper, half expecting it to explode in his hands.
'Oh, God. He even rambles when he's writing...' Crossed Raz's mind as he started reading.
Dear Razputin Aquato,
If you're reading this, Razputin, then Crispin managed to find you. Do you like the stationary? It's brand new!
(If you aren't who this letter has been addressed to, then why are you reading this? Don't you know it's rude to read other people's mail? Let alone pry it from the cold and dead fingers of the person who was supposed to deliver it, because I trust Crispin wouldn't just let you have it.)
How has your precious brain been lately? Have you been having strange headaches that won't seem to go away? Or hallucinating, mood swings, split personality, schizophrenia, anything?
The shell that protects your delicate, orderly mind is much thicker than they usually are, and it seems to repair itself when I try to pry it open. You're brain must be a very nice one, isn't it? I'd love to examine them both (your brain and your mind), but sadly you have prevented me from doing either so far. So I think it's about time we had a talk face to face. You can schedule an appointment for whenever you want next time you see me! That might be a few days, though. I've been running some very delicate experiments.
Dr. Caligosto Loboto, DDS
P.S.- I hope I didn't cause too much damage a few nights ago. I want to look at your headmeats while they're relatively intact.
As soon as Raz finished reading the letter, Crispin plucked it out of his hands. Raz stared blankly for a few moments, before finally reacting for it. Crispin held the letter well out of Raz' reach, and Raz didn't have the energy to stand up and make a grab for it..
"I think I want to keep that." Raz said.
"And use it to prove that The Doctor is still alive? I don't think so. I have to be going now..." Crispin stood up, but Raz used TK to pull Crispin's legs out from under him, earning a second death glare, after Crispin face-planted onto the rug.
"Before you leave, could you get my jacket, or what's left of it? I have an emergency transmitter in the pocket. It's standard issue, inca-" Raz started to say before Crispin stood up again. "You don't want me to bleed to death before someone finds me, do you?"
Crispin let out a sigh, and, with an air of irritation about him, jumped out of the back of the van, returning moments later with a small black plastic box. Raz took it and pushed the button on the side. Nothing. Frowning, Raz flipped it over and opened the battery compartment, only to find it empty.
The two stared at the obviously sabotaged piece of equipment for some time.
"I think we're going to have to use the radio..." Raz finally said, setting the useless transmitter aside. Crispin pulled off Raz's goggles and plunked the headset on Raz's head. Raz picked up his goggles, and, to his horror, discovered that both lenses were broken.
"Oh, come on! I just got these things fixed!"
"Don't you have another pair?" Crispin asked as he began to fiddle with the radio controls.
"Yes, but they're kind of attached to my helmet."
"Mmmhmmm... What frequency do you use?"
"Ten. So you're just going to leave after you call them? Can't you stick around until they're actually back here and I'm not in any danger?" Raz was beginning to feel the drugs wearing off, and he did not want to be left alone right now.
"I don't want to be arrested. If I find out you're just trying to delay me, well... It's not going to be pleasant."
The radio hissed to life and Crispin stopped mid-threat. At first nothing but static could be heard, but then an unfamiliar voice crackled on.
"Did you see that! That girl's mini was caught in her belt and she didn't even notice! She just kept right on walking, with her thong showing and everything!" It was saying. Raz could picture some teenager drooling. How had he gotten on a secure radio channel? Unless...
Crispin, who had been listening with the other headset, turned one of the dials. There was more static, and then a loud crunching, smacking noise, like the sound of someone eating heard by someone else on the phone with them. Actually, now that Raz thought about it, that was exactly what they were hearing.
"Gandhi! Stop eating and stay focussed!" No doubt about it; that was Dave's voice.
"Stop! That's the right channel!" Raz said before switching on the mike.
"Hey, can any one here me?" Raz said. His voice was starting to waiver, and he felt nauseous, like he had just drank lemonade and eaten ice cream at the same time. He had to wait for a good minute or two before getting a response.
"Aquato?! Why are you on the radio! Do you want to blow our cover?! You're supposed to be-"
"Hey, someone just tried to kill me! I need emergency medical assistance ASAP, S-s-ss-o-"
With that Raz fell over onto the shag rug with a "fwump". The drugs had completely worn off, and it was as if the dam which had held back all of the pain had burst, and now it was flooding through his system. It wasn't as bad as before, but it was debilitating.
Crispin took the opportunity to leave. On the way out, he knelt by Raz and hissed "I didn't save you, a random passerby heard your screams for help and tried to shoot the loon, understood?" before hopping out of the van.
Raz didn't respond. Instead, he curled up into a little ball of agony and waited, helpless, for someone to come for him.
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He wasn't aware of how much time had passed before he heard frantic voices outside in the alley. They were too muffled for him to make anything out, but he recognized them.
Then, suddenly, he was surrounded by people, all of whom were bombarding him with questions.
"What happened?!"
Thomas.
"Are you all right?"
Lana.
"Of course he isn't!"
Thomas again.
"Raz, that puddle out there- is that yours?"
Asok.
"That can't be his! There must have been a thug, Aquato must have psyblasted him-"
Dave. Even with his mind clouded by pain, Raz sensed something was wrong with Dave's thoughts. Raz just didn't know what.
"Dammit, Razputin, say something!"
Thomas again again. Raz had to say something before they started shaking him. That would hurt.
"H-hi." Raz mumbled. "It hurts."
"I think I could fix that..." Asoks said as he place his hands on either side of Raz's head. The pain suddenly stopped, but Raz still felt groggy and weak.
"Can you tell us what happened?" Lana asked Raz.
"Uhhhg. I was out there, and this guy, a psychic assassin or something, caught me off guard. He had all of these knives and tried to- to-" It suddenly dawned on Raz just how close to dyeing he had come. Crispin's sudden appearance and use of psychic powers had kept Raz from thinking about it, but-
"AND YOU'RE STILL ALIVE?!!" Dave cried, the color draining from his face as a look of alarm came across it.
Thomas gritted his teeth.
"Raz, did the man who attacked you tell you his name?" He said, slowly closing his eyes, as if he were bracing himself for an answer he already knew and dreaded.
"Yes." Raz said, confused. Did they know something he didn't? "He said he was Rupert de Locke."
"God be damned.... He's back." Thomas was visibly shaking as he said it.
"After three years of inactivity?" Lana said, looking very sick.
"Let's just get Raz to a hospital. I'm calling for backup. Gandhi, keep him stable until we arrive." Dave was as white as a sheet, speaking slowly instead of barking like he usually did. As far as Raz could tell, Dave had clamped down on his emotions completely, and the anomaly in his thoughts that Raz had detected earlier was gone.
Raz spent a long time thinking about that as they rushed to the nearest hospital. The weird thought he'd thought he'd detected were probably just a product of him being delirious.
Right?