(A/N) Hey guys, here is the latest chapter in the X-Ray and Vav saga, written through the combined efforts of the fabulous Maple Alycia Hood and Spoony Azul! Try to guess which parts were written by whom! In this chapter, we finally get the reveal of one of the characters I'm sure you've all been waiting on to make an appearance, and boy, does he come in with a bang. We've had X-Ray and Vav, J-Roll, Iron-Ryan, the Corpirate and Bullet-Beard, now…IT'S MOGAR, BITCHES!
*Coughs* Sorry, not entirely sure what came over me there. Anyway, here we go with the latest chapter. Just want to, once more, remind you all that from the 25th of November (three days away), we'll be opening up our forum to applications for our flagship fic, Phase Two: Betrayal, looking for people willing to write for OCs, 479er, the Counselor, and Agent Washington. Just keep an eye out!
Enjoy!
Chapter Eighteen - Jekyll and Hyde
Dr Michael Jones / Mogar
Written by Maple Alycia Hood & SpoonyAzul
"Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him." - Louis L'Amour
It was dark as dicks when Michael finally came to. He was leaning against something hard and cold, still in the same shirt and jeans he had been wearing when he was first nabbed by...whatever that thing had been. Slowly, but surely, he was getting his bearings. The shifts in gravity and momentum gave him a sense of vertigo, followed by a purring sound from...somewhere.
Something was wrong here.
They- He was moving.
He could remember bits and pieces of his captivity. Being strapped to a gurney, unable to move or break from his bonds, the man who would come up to him every time woke up, asking him how he felt. They- he would feel angry every time he asked that before the man administered some sort of sedative to make Michael fall asleep. It had seemed like an unending cycle before they- he had woken up just now.
Where was they coming from? They would mean there was more than one person, but it was just him. Wait... there was someone here with him. In his head. But that was stupid, surely? Crazy. He had many issues, but a Multiple Personality Disorder was not one of them. Shut the fuck up, I'm about as real as it fucking gets for you, prick. Wow, okay, that was uncalled for. Who had said that? Why had it sounded like... like his own voice? Why was there another voice in his head? What had they done to him back there?
Don't you remember?
The kidnapping. The giant ass wolf, the hospital bed, the person at the door, his sudden uncontrollable anger, what he assumed was some kind of anaesthetic. All of that had happened. Had it triggered his... second personality? It was a possibility. But... he wasn't that sort of a person, was he? He wasn't insane. He was just... Michael. He was just Michael. And me. And him. Whoever he was. That was kind of irritating. Or maybe the other guy was irritated. Whatever.
Back to the first thought. They- He- They were moving. Fine, 'they' then. That didn't change the fact that, although he was still largely confused and out of it, they were bouncing slightly, as if they were in a vehicle. Were they in a vehicle? Michael's vision was still blurry so he couldn't tell. Were the people who had kidnapped him- them, relocating? Had someone discovered them? X-Ray and Vav, maybe? Had they come to save them? No one's coming, asshole. They don't even know we're missing. Here, let me have at it, I'll bust this fucking piece of shit open.
No. No. That was a bad idea. Michael didn't know what the other meant by 'let me have at it', but something told him that was a very bad idea. The anger was still there. The furious, untamed anger that had come from seemingly nowhere and had threatened to take over. He wouldn't risk that. Not when there could be people around.
He'd stay sane for Lindsay.
Where was she? She had to be worried sick. The power would've come back on and she'd try calling again and she'd get no answer. She'd get to the house and open the door and find it wrecked, with a smashed window and broken furniture and claw marks on the walls. He'd be nowhere in sight. She would've called the police. That was sensible. The cops would be looking for him. X-Ray and Vav would be looking for him. Listen, you shithead. They might be coming, but there's nothing to say that they'll find us in time. Something fucking serious is going down, and if we don't get the hell out of here, we're both going to fucking die. It's you and me right now. No one else.
No one else.
Everything changed from a dark blur to a light blur when his vision came back. He realized he was inside a moving van with three men wearing black balaclavas over their heads. One of them, wearing a red uniform with a matching beret, looked down at him with a little fear skirting around the edges. Maybe it was the sedatives making him loopy, but Michael could've sworn he dressed like that one villain from the Street Fighter games. Who was that...M. Bison. Yeah, that's it.
Suddenly the van stopped with a small squeal from the brakes and the back doors opened to the street. The man in red hoisted him up by his arms and tossed him out onto the curb. Michael landed with a grunt on something hard and wet. Concrete. He was on a street somewhere. Then he heard the doors close, then the van sped off down the street with a thunderous roar and a screech from their tires. His vision had cleared enough to allow him get a look at what he had just been in. A white van, with the man in red standing inside, shutting the doors again.
Well, fuck you too. Michael had to agree with that. The cold rain woke him up bit by bit as he picked himself up off the asphalt. He shakily stood on his legs and struggled to walk, using the wall of the nearest building as support. He found himself shivering as his clothes were heavily drenched by the rain. To be honest he had no idea where he was in Achievement City. All he cared about and concentrated on was getting home to Lindsay. It was the only thing keeping him going, besides the barely contained rage that flowed through him. Rain was beating down hard on his back, and he was only wearing a white t-shirt and loose black trousers. He was fucking freezing. He staggered about for a while, coughing, then his head jerked up and he looked around, suddenly paranoid.
He had to get moving. He had to get home. He had to tell Lindsay that he wanted to marry her.
So he started walking. Michael wrapped his arms around himself to try and conserve what little body heat he had left. The other guy was getting pissy, annoyed by how weak his counterpart was. Well if he was so high and mighty, why didn't he come out and deal with this shit? I would if you fucking let me out, dumbass! No. There were people now. Innocent people. He was barely controlling his anger at this point, but he'd be damned if he hurt anyone.
It...scared him. Like before, this wasn't his typical Rage Quit anger that happened when Gavin pulled his usual shit, and Michael had to physically hold himself back from drop-kicking him through a gurney. Because surgeons weren't expected to behave that way during work hours. This...this was real primal rage, the kind that made him want to physically tear something, someone in half. If he ever ran into anyone, he felt like he could do just that, just flat-out murder them.
That terrified Michael to his very core. What would Lindsay think of him if he killed someone? That didn't stop the occasional growl and snap at whoever happened to so much as glance at him in the wrong way. Why were people so stupid? Couldn't they see he could really use a fucking towel here?! Great, now he was having trouble knowing the difference between them. Was that his thought? Was that the other guy's? He didn't know. He didn't care anymore. All he wanted was to get home. And some hot cocoa. That would be nice too.
Michael resorted to having an internal discussion with his new head-mate. Rather than a room-mate. That was a nice thought, right? The guy didn't have anywhere else to go, so he took up residence in his head. There were worse things that could happen. Michael learned pretty quickly that this guy was very easy to anger. Too many questions, shout. Too stupid questions, shout. Too difficult questions, shout. It was an endless cycle. Michael eventually gave up. If he couldn't have peace and quiet in his own head anymore, he would have to make do with the peace and quiet of the real world.
In his sedative-inducing state, and finding it difficult to differentiate between the thoughts in his head, he decided to avoid people as much as possible. He crossed streets, stayed out of streetlights and, against his better judgement, went through several dark secluded alleys to make sure he didn't run into anyone and no one discovered him.
Even using the walls as his supports, Michael lost his footing several times during the trek. While grogginess subsided, it hadn't gone completely away and his legs still felt like jelly. The rage then continued to build, causing him to take a few breaths. He needed to calm down and get to his apartment. He would get home where his girlfriend would waiting for him with open arms, where he could propose to her and spend the rest of his days with her.
He had just cut into a yet another secluded alley when he noticed a Jersey Mike's restaurant up ahead. He remembered that his apartment was just down the street from there and a wave of relief flooded him. He was almost there!
However, he was too focused on his goal, on getting back to Lindsay, to notice that someone was sneaking up behind him. Suddenly, a grimy hand clamped down on his neck and shoved him into a brick wall. A skinny man with sunken eyes and rancid meat breath pinned him with a knife to his kidney.
No...No, not now. I was so close...
"You've picked a bad time to get lost, friend," the man said, his breath offending four of his five senses. Three of his friends appeared behind him, all wearing dirty, moth-eaten clothes that reeked worse than dog shit and the man's breath combined. One of them held a heavy wrench with both hands, another wielded a lead pipe like a baseball bat and the last lifted his hands to show an actual baseball bat.
Michael managed to get out a "Leave me alone," before the muggers just laughed at him at his weak attempt to stave off his attackers. It was then that his anger grew and began to circulate through his veins.
How dare they laugh at him.
"Ain't happenin', you wimp," the mugger said, digging the knife a little further into Michael's skin, threatening to stab him with it, "Now, turn your pockets and hand over your wallet before I gut you like fish."
He could feel the rage trying to flow itself out, but he couldn't contain it. Just let me fuckin' go.
"I don't have my wallet. Please, I just want to go home, whoa," Michael protested before the leader shoved him into a puddle of dirty rainwater with the other men surrounding him. The rage that he held in check continued to grow a powder keg of unhinged fury, ready to explode.
Let me out, you bastard!
The leader of the group then turned to his men, "You must be either drunk or a dumbass to try to cross this alley. Boys, search his pockets. Beat the fuckin' wimp if you have to."
LET ME OUT!
At the sound being called a wimp the second time, fury boiled over and took hold of him as the rain poured down his face and neck. After that, Michael wasn't sure what had happened. One minute, a lead pipe swung at his head. The next, he held said pipe in his hands and had snapped the damn thing in two. The muggers jumped back at the sight, unsure of what to do after that display. After a few seconds, the man with the heavy wrench mustered enough courage to swing his weapon at Michael before he caught the wrench.
Michael glared the wrench man, the mugger's face chalk-white in fear of the surgeon.
"What part..." Michael growled before he bent the man's arm backwards and slammed his fist into his face with a sickening crack, "OF 'LEAVE ME ALONE' YOU NOT GET, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLES!"
"Fuck this noise! I'm out of here," Brass Knuckles immediately stammered. He ran away from the doctor, only to have head bashed in by Michael throwing the wrench at him with one arm.
The disarmed man tried to punch him the stomach, but it was all fruitless when Michael was left unfazed by his blow. The doctor snarled as he clamped down on his jaw in a vice grip and slammed his head into the brick wall. The mugger mumbled in protest with red streaming out his mouth before Michael sunk in head into the bricks again. The poor schmuck's body twitched and jerked before he was let it go and crumpled into a lifeless heap.
Then, he felt something pierce and sink into his midsection. He looked down at the knife with red trickling out. The leader let out a smug smirk, "Got you now, motherfucker."
Michael stumbled for a bit, but quickly caught his footing and still held himself up. The surgeon subconsciously grabbed the handle and fearlessly pulled out the knife, much to the leader's horror, as the stab wound closed on its own. The man stumbled on the ground before looking up at the surgeon who dropped the knife onto the concrete. The mugger's lip quivered as he blurted out, "What the hell are you?! A monster?!
At the mere mention of being called a monster, the now raging doctor grabbed the young man by collar of his shirt and threw him into oncoming traffic. The mugger crashed onto a moving green Cadillac, leaving a noticeable impression on the car and causing a multiple car accident in the street. His blind rage literally made him grew about twice his size. His clothes ripped themselves off as he became bigger and his vision turned blood-red before he headed out into the bewildered street. Confused onlookers stopped from their busy schedules with curiosity at the accident until they tuned their heads at Michael.
The way they looked at him, how they recoiled with fear and confusion. He hated it. He hated everything. In his fury, he let out a primal roar, flipping over several cars and sending them flying.
"I. AM. MOGAR!"
All hell broke loose. Soon, panic and chaos erupted in the neighbourhood as everybody screamed and ran away from him. He let out another roar as he sent a light blue Prius crashing into a nearby apartment building, eliciting more terror as a police car arrived on the scene with the wail of his sirens. Two police officers exited the car with a gun in hand and began firing his weapon at Mich- Mogar.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he bellowed as he flipped over another car in his uncontrollable rage at the two police officers.
They just continued shooting as he slowly lumbered forward, growling at them like a feral wolf. One of the bullets hit Mogar in the shoulder, but the bullet seeped out of the wound and pinged on the ground before it closed completely.
"What the hell?" one of the officers yell out, pointing his now empty gun at Mogar, "How can someone heal that fast? He's a freak of nature!"
First a wimp, then a monster and now he was a 'freak of nature.' He snarled at officers and bellowed out loud roar for everyone to hear, pissed off beyond all reasoning that they had the audacity to call him that.
He wouldn't stop. He couldn't stop when he ripped the engine out of the police car and shattered it in pieces before swatting the first police officer through a storefront window and the second into a telephone booth.
Suddenly a flash of light from the sky temporarily blinded him. It was a news helicopter, the cameraman barely seen outside as his camera was recording him for all of Achievement city to see.
"Why don't you take a picture, assholes!" he screeched at the flying machine before taking a car and hurling it the news crew, "BECAUSE IT'LL LAST FUCKING LONGER, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!"
His aim was true as the luxury car he threw collided with the chopper, taking out its back propeller and causing it to twirl erratically and eventually crash onto the street below in a giant explosion.
Michael, or Mogar – it was getting so hard for him to differentiate between the two – had never thought that would escalate so quickly, but he couldn't control his anger. He just kept raging, throwing cars and insults, destroying traffic lights, cars, buildings, and injuring hundreds of people. He did nothing but leave destruction and mayhem in his wake.
All because he wanted to go home, to go back to Lindsay. All because those muggers had to fuck it up.
Because he had fucked it up.
How would Lindsay speak to him now?