Chapter 22 – First Attack a First?
Fans roared in excitement, jumping up and down and pumping their fists in the air. On the sidelines, cheerleaders shouted with passion without pausing in their choreographed routines. The scoreboard read "Guest: 7 Nimitz High: 10" in the second quarter. The game was rough; bodies were tackling each other at full force, passes were being intercepted, and running backs would dodge a couple safeties as if they were traffic cones only to be brought down by a massive linebacker. It had been tight, but for now Nimitz High had the upper edge.
It was officially October, and it seemed like a change in the calendar brought with it a change in the weather as well. It instantly cooled from the spikes of heat that September could reach. It was a comfortable jeans-and-t-shirt temperature during the day, and at night it required a light jacket. The trees surrounding the football field were beginning to turn the brilliant colors of fall: yellow, orange, red, brown. They were like splashes of color in the dark night, beautifully illuminated by the large stadium lights. The scent of roasting hot dogs, sugar, and sweat wafted through the air.
Fang sat in the top corner of the furthermost stand from the field with a sketchpad balanced on his lap. He was working on a drawing of the entire stadium, capturing the physicality of the game, the enthusiasm in the crowd from both sides. He wished he could capture the other endearing senses that came along with the scene such as the smell and the constant hum of the crowd, but whoever saw the piece could probably imagine it themselves.
It was refreshing to see the school in high spirits, he thought with melancholy. Ever since Principal Reinhard had introduced the new security guards at school, they had been bossing around students to the point where they were afraid to laugh in the hallways. The sound of secretive gossip was replaced by the hollow echoes of footsteps and the metallic clang of closing lockers. Even though Fang wasn't the particularly friendly type, it was reassuring and somehow more… school-like to walk through the halls with the chatter of classmates filling the small area. Now it was more like a prison, and it wasn't right.
Dr. Martinez had told him to enjoy his school experience while the opportunity was still around, so that was the only reason he had come to the Homecoming football game. He wasn't going to the dance tomorrow night, which was open for all students, and he didn't want to either. Besides, it was more fun watching the manly sport anyway, America's sport supposedly, next to baseball. He even decided to show a little school pride by wearing a navy army jacket that buttoned up to his throat and dark gray jeans. He reclined back against the plastic seat and went back to his sketch.
He wasn't sure why, but he wished Max was here. Maybe because Principal Reinhard had made part of her punishment being unable to attend the game, he felt bad for her. It would have been nice to have someone to joke with about the fat kids with their shirts off, with CNHS painted on their stomachs, or watching the admiral mascot doing the moonwalk on the sidelines. There would be more football games in the future, he knew, but nothing topped the excitement of Homecoming weekend.
Nimitz's quarterback took the snap out of shotgun, shuffled on the balls of his feet for a couple seconds then fired the ball down the field. It whistled over all players' heads in a perfect spiral, just missing the outstretched arms of a corner back and into the hands of a receiver. He sprinted past the last-ditch efforts of the corner back to tackle him and raced down the field into the end zone. A sea of students dressed in navy shot to their feet and cheered, while the opponent's fans all groaned in disappointment. The receiver spiked the ball and his teammates swarmed him for the touchdown. The special's team quickly ran on the field and converted the extra point field kick.
The referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of the quarter. It was halftime with the scoreboard reporting "Guest: 7 Nimitz High: 17".
Fang placed his sketchpad in his backpack and slipped it over his shoulder. He rose from the seat and stretched, feeling the bones in his shoulders crack with stiffness. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but he hadn't really worked his muscles too hard for a while until he moved in with the Martinez's.
A crowd of adults started walking down the aisle steps, making their way out of the field area to the concession stands. The students lingered and wandered toward the middle set of bleachers to get a great view of the field. Some kids wheeled a small make-shift stage on the turf. Tonight they were supposed to announce the nominees for Homecoming King and Queen. Fang didn't want to watch, and feeling his stomach growl unsteadily, he wanted to get something to eat. He followed the crowd that headed for ground level.
On the other side of the bleachers looked like the Promise Land to him. Stands of food lined the edge of a chain link fence and one stand sold the high school's merchandise. He was hungry for just about everything, so went to the emptiest line first. That one was on the other side of the walkway, selling fried classics of hot dogs, French fries, pierogies, mozzarella sticks, and basically every other food item that you could cook by sticking in grease. It wasn't the healthiest, but he'd had authentic Mexican dishes for the past month and wanted to splurge on the "American classics".
After purchasing an order of just about everything on their menu, he took his food to benches scattered on a patch of grass opposite the stands. They were mostly filled up but he was lucky to find one that was empty. He sat and ate his food greedily.
As he pulled the lanky mozzarella cheese from the breaded shell with his teeth, he felt his body go rigid. He whirled his torso to search tothe source of what caused the warning signs to go off. Across the strip, near where he'd exited the stands, was a burly man wearing a suit with sunglasses and a headset. Despite his eyes being covered, it seemed as though he was staring straight at Fang. The teen eyed him wearily.
Fang suddenly felt threatened, despite tons of people being around. His senses spiked as he was hyperawareof every noise being made around him. A deep male's laugh, hushed whispers, men talking on cell phones. Every little detail made his heart race at an alarming rate. He wanted to make a full-on sprint to the fence and go home. But he was experienced; he knew he had to be secretive.
He finished off the last of his French fries and rubbed the grease and salt off on his jeans. His gaze casually swept over everyone in the area, only to see the guard still looking in his direction. His only goal now was to escape. But this was Fang, after all, and he was going to play it cool. No one ever saw him freak out.
After throwing away his garbage, he strode at a normal pace to the bathroom. Once inside, he spotted only a couple men at a sink. All he had to do was wait until they left. He walked up to the open sink next to them and washed his hands purposefully. They left quickly, and giving the bathroom a look-over, he took a breath and became invisible. It had been over two weeks since he'd started, and the more he did it the easier it was to blend in with his surroundings. The only flaw in the skill was if he, like, ran into someone or something. Then keeping silent was the hardest part.
He ran out the entrance, grateful that it was the door-less kind, and ran for the gate as if his life depended on it. Which it probably did.
"Striker, what's your report on subject 2075?" A deep, scratchy voice appeared in Striker's headset.
He had just watched the mentioned subject walk into the bathroom and it hadn't come out in over two minutes. Pressing the button on his earpiece, he spoke in the lovely, genetically enhanced voice. "Subject 2075 walked into a building two minutes ago, but I haven't seen him since, Simon."
There was a slight pause before Simon continued. "According to Boss, the subject was set to spontaneously mutate at around this age. Switch your shades to the infrared setting to look for any heat source that you haven't seen previously. Do you copy?"
"Copy, Sir." The headset clicked off with a slight beep. Striker casually looked around at the humans swarming within a thirty-foot radius of him. They were all small, weak, and fragile. However, the one advantage they had that he didn't was the word of mouth. If anyone happened to be suspicious of what he actually was, it could make the world headlines in an hour. He had to be cautious for Itex's sake. Every nerve ending in his body told him to chase after that mutant freak that was hiding, to rip its throat out from its neck, play with it like it was a chew toy. Because in the end, that's all those subjects really were – play things for him and his colleagues to enjoy and learn how to hunt on. It was a pathetic excuse for a human, no matter what type of DNA were planted in those little genetic freaks that Itex were so worked up about. Especially this one. He didn't understand why.
They were nowhere on the same level as Striker was. He was the perfect combination of scientific ingenuity. The way he could effortlessly transform was like a work of art. It was seamless now, the way he could shift from his human façade to his true self, unlike when he was just a pup learning the ropes – back then it was painful to change. He was the complete work of design, with his strength, speed, senses, and everything else about him. He was by no means on the same level as the freak they were chasing.
Knowing he had to stick with the program before Simon would ram him to death, he pressed a button on the temple of his sunglasses. After random numerals scrolled down the small screed in the lenses, his vision shifted from normal to red, everything around him appearing in various shades of the color as well as other shades determined by their body heat. He scanned around, looking for something abnormal. In the bathroom where the subject had entered, he couldn't detect any life forms. He sucked in a breath as a hiss, hoping that he hadn't lost track of it or else he would be up for extermination. Frantically looking around for irregular sources of heat, he watched the crowd again.
There, thirty feet away, he spotted blobs of yellow and orange on his screen, without seeing any apparent body to the source. It was moving quickly away from him. Invisibility? That was a clever mutation to develop, even if Itex hadn't prepared for all possibilities.
He clicked his headset again. "Simon, an unidentified source of heat is on the opposite side of the promenade. Possibly subject 2075. Think we should check it out?"
"Yes, but don't follow it directly, Striker," Simon said in his gruff voice. "It knows what you look like. Walk around the stadium and I'll meet you outside." He paused, and when he spoke again Striker could hear a smile in his voice. "This is it, Striker. What we've been training for will now be put to use. Let's go catch a mutant."
Fang snuck a glance over his shoulder one last time and sighed in relief. He didn't know why he was acting so paranoid, but something about that guard reminded him of something he'd seen before. All of his senses screamed "run" once he caught sight of the large man, and he wasn't going to go against what his instincts told him to do.
He was running up the less populated part of town, starting to see countless acres of farmland. It was pretty to travel through, if he had really been paying attention to thescenery, but was horrible to breathe in. After living on a farm he wasn't sure if he could ever get his face unstuck from its permanent scrunched up position. The smell of manure was sure to be embedded on his body for a while.
Judging by the streets he was only a few blocks from the Martinez's home. Taking a quick sweep of the area, and deeming that it was free of civilians, he uncloaked himself from invisibility. If he ran like that all the way home, he probably would have passed out, he assumed. He wasn't willing to risk it. He turned down a corner on a single-lane road, hoping to escape any oncoming traffic.
Then he wheeled to a stop.
Down the street, about a hundred feet away, was a large hunk of mass standing erect on the concrete. Fang's eyesight was able to make out the shape in perfect detail. It was a large, heavily muscled man that, from a distance with human eyesight, would have looked like a giant block of marble or rock. The man was bald, veins popping out of his forehead and neck. A scowl that looked permanent was plastered on his face. Fang took a couple steps back only to feel another presence behind him. He whirled and was met by the gaze of the guard he had seen at the football game.
Fang kept his stance low and guarded, standing on the edge of the road so that he could see both of them out of the corner of his eyes. His first reaction was to run, but where would he run to? He would just lead them to Max and the Martinez's, and he didn't want to put them at danger. Plus, two would be able to catch him with more ease than only one. He needed to fight, or at least distract them enough for him to run away, but jeez, they had to be fast to catch up to him.
"Where do you think you're going?" the large one farthest away asked, approaching Fang and the guard. He loosened his arms from where they'd been crossed on his chest and cracked his knuckles. "We just want to talk."
Fang, true to his nature, kept silent and shot deathly glares at the two men that would normally make people run screaming for their lives. It was obvious they weren't fully human.
"Simon, I don't think he talks," the guard said, unbuttoning his sports coat and throwing it to the ground. "It must have been a defect in his design. Isn't that right, Mutant?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Fang said honestly. His muscles clenched in preparation – he was ready to fight. He went to roll up his sleeves when he realized he was wearing his favorite jacket. He suppressed a groan in exasperation; he didn't want it to get ruined. He removed it swiftly and left it with his backpack on the ground behind him – he was hoping to get it later, if he could make it out this time.
"He's trying to play the innocent card," the guard said with feigned disappointment. "He acts like he doesn't know what he is."
"Maybe we should teach him a lesson," the other, Simon, interjected. "Remind him that he isn't like everyone else."
Fang made sure his face didn't betray his true emotions. His heart was racing, and every second the two were closing in on him. He didn't know what they were talking about. The invisibility? His good vision? Those were his only characteristic he ever noticed that made him different.
"Bring it," he said, eyeing the two with sheer determination.
The guard grinned, only it wasn't a regular human grin. Large fangs poked out of his gums, cutting into his lower lip. His eyes gleamed red as the rest of his slowly began to change. His body bulked up considerably, hair sprouting in excess over his arms, neck, and face. Tearing sounds shredded through the silent street, whether it was the clothing or the guard's body, Fang wasn't sure. In a matter of seconds, a huge, wolf-like creature was standing where the guard had been. It was easily seven feet tall, standing on its two hind legs, with large dagger-like claws and dripping fangs. It's slimy tongue licked its lips as it gave Fang a wolfy grin.
He took a step back, terror and recognition marking his features. He wasn't sure how, but he knew he'd seen a creature like this before.
"Starting to remember?" Simon asked. Out of the corner of Fang's eye, he saw the other man begin to transform, too, only his was very different from the other's shift. It appeared as though the hair on his arms receded into his skin, and that the skin was expanding considerably, turning a sickly gray color. His body began to look coarser and dry, the epidermis looking dry and cracking in long lines down the expanse of his bare-chested body. He grew in size, too, reaching a height taller than the wolf creature. A large spike poked from where his nose had been as his face wrinkled and grayed over. When he was finished, he appeared to be a human-like rhinoceros. He had to weigh a ton at least. How was Fang supposed to fight him, let alone both of them?
The rhino man roared loudly, pounding his heavy feet against the cement as he charged, his head ducked so his horn was the first thing that would make contact. Fang patiently waited, but was concerned about the advance of the wolf from his other side. Once the rhino was close, Fang sidestepped what would have surely been a painful blow, and went to punch the large man. The shot only sent a wave of pain radiating through his fist, making everything from his fingers to his elbow feeling like Jell-O. He gritted his teeth to keep from yelling out in pain.
The wolf came up from behind him quickly, and all Fang could do in defense was raise the gelatin arm to protect his face. He gasped as he felt the skin on his arm tear off, but was quick not to let the pain make him vulnerable. He jump-kicked the wolf, catching it in the throat. A strangled cry escaped from its lips.
Fang backed off to access the scene – the wolf was momentarily doubled over and he rhino was rearing to charge again. He snuck a glance at his forearm and saw four long lines had been ranked down the side, blood oozing from the wound.
Simon-as-rhino ran at Fang again, the ground shaking under his immense weight. Fang looked behind him to see a rock wall just to his left. He took a quick step over and back. It was such a subtle move, but it made a huge difference to Simon. He had to change the angle of his advance, which in turn slowed him down. Fang noticed him slow and scowled. He needed the rhino to go faster. He backed up all the way until the sharp stone edges cut into his back. The rhino got closer, picking up speed, and was inches away from Fang when the teen jumped out of the way. It was so close that he felt the edge of Simon's horn cut the sleeve of his shirt.
Simon didn't have time to stop and ran horn-first into the stone wall. It shuddered with the impact and he just completely stopped, the strike making his brain rattle painfully. Loose rocks from the top of the wall rolled off and landed on his head, which he couldn't even throw his hands up to protect himself. He fell backwards like a sack of potatoes and was out cold.
Fang ducked away from the falling stones and ran back to the center of the street. The wolf was growling at him, fangs exposed, frothing at the mouth. The teen had gained even more confidence from outsmarting the rhino and was ready to face the wolf head on.
"C'mon, you overgrown, flea-ridden mongrel," Fang taunted. "Attack me."
The wolf howled, and in the distance dogs barked angrily. "You're the freak, not me!" it growled, but its words were garbled by the fangs. It had learned from Simon and wasn't going to attack unless Fang initiated it.
Fang, suddenly feeling the loss of blood catching up on him, realized that he needed to end this soon. He could feel the warm, sticky liquid from his arm staining his jeans. At least his jacket wasn't ruined, he thought with some humor. He sighed, knowing that he had to fight the creature. And he didn't like being called a freak, especially since he wasn't the one that was a crazed animal.
At first he acted like he wasn't going to move, then he feinted to the side and ran full speed at the wolf. It jumped out of the way and swiped at his chest but missed. He landed a punch on the wolf's chest, since it was so much taller than him, with his good hand. The blow pushed the wolf back and inch, but then kicked at Fangs head, sending him to the ground. He rolled over and jumped back to his feet quickly.
"Is that the best you can do?" Fang asked trying to get it so worked up that it fought off of rage as opposed to its head.
"I was wondering the same about you," it growled in response. He leaped at the teen, punching him in the face. Fang's head snapped to the side painfully. He tasted the coppery blood in his mouth. He spit it at the wolf's face and it snarled at the disrespectful action. It swiped at his face and left a line of scarlet in wake of where his claws had been. The teen held his face and grimaced, sucking in a breath as a hiss.
"Finally, Boss will be pleased when I capture you," it said proudly. "You are prized in their eyes, which I don't understand. You're just a screw up of an experiment. Look how good you turned out."
An earsplitting crack sounded as Fang jumped to jab the wolf below the jaw. He grimaced, feeling like something snapp in his hand, but still magaged to land lightly on his feet. He watched with grim satisfaction as the wolf fell to the side and struggled to get up, but couldn't.
Fang looked around, both inhuman creatures still on the ground. He hoped more weren't coming, seeing how hard it was to fight these two. He quickly grabbed his jacket and backpack, heading for the Martinez's as fast as he could, coming up with a logical explanation for the injuries and hoping he wouldn't pass out before he got there.
I got a little carried away this chapter. :P Haha, sorry for the length although that might be a good thing. I think I write better from Fang's pov, but sorry the next one is Max again. I thinkI found mojo, but it's hard to tell. I'll let you know later. So as most people guessed, Erasers came in this chapter. I mean, what good MR story doesn't have Erasers? However I changed things up a bit by making a different kind of Eraser, aka the Rhino-dude. I think I might make even more varieties, but I'm not sure yet. The traditional wolf ones are awesome!
NITESIDE, I knew what OOC meant before, but honestly I didn't know what the difference between that and OC was, so I looked it up for the both of us! OOC means "out of character", and OC means "original character", like if you write a story that you created a main character and they meet the ones from a story or something. Also AU means "alternate universe", in case you're wondering, cause I didn't know that either. Meemz94, yeah, it's predictable, but I thought I'd make it a little more original. :) cloudNrain, hopefully your mojowill serve you well. :D Anara, thanks, :) But I always feel better when Mojo is by my side. Mo, didn't Max say before that you don't call Fang adorable??? Haha, jk. I didn't mean to put that in originally, but I thought she should get some kind of hint that he likes her.
To put more light on the story, there will be at least one more story, possibly a third one. So if things are going kind of slow, that's because it doesn't have to be rushed. *cough cough* :D I sort of know what will happen in a second one, but I don't have it completely planned. Also, I decided to keep the poll up since it is, like, practically even. 25-24??? Argh! I mean, I could do the story either way, but I want like a clear runaway, which I probably won't get.
Please review!!!!!!!!