Chapter Eight:
The action of severing the head off the man's shoulders came all to easy for Tyron. It was chilling. A woman sat in the corner of the room, her back pressed against the wall that divided the living room with the kitchen. She stared at her husband, tears streaming down her face.
"Good boy!" Baron said behind him as Tyron morphed his hand back to normal, flexing his fingers. "Now, finish the rest."
Tyron took no hesitation as he stepped forward. The woman begged and pleaded for him to stop, to leave her, but Tyron hardly heard her. He was too focused on what Baron may do if he didn't do a satisfactory job. Who he might rent him out to tonight, how he would punish him.
"Please!" She sobbed, "Please, I–I hav–have kids!! Th–They're too yo–young! Oh, oh, god, no! Don't hurt my babies! Don't hurt m—" Tyron drove his arm blade into the woman's chest. She gasped, trembling, her dark eyes staring into his tainted soul. Tears still falling from the corners of them.
Tyron pulled out the blade and move away, only hearing her dead body collapse to the floor. "Good!" Baron smiled, his yellow-and-golden teeth bared. "Finish off the kids, bring back any pretty ones."
Tyron stared at him, "Ya said jus' the ones that—" Baron wasted not a second shooting him. The bullet landed in his shoulder and Tyron cried out as his body absorbed the impact, and then the metal itself. He hissed, falling to his knees, tears biting his eyes.
Baron walked over, his boots hitting the ground so hard that Tyron could feel it vibrate under him. He stood before Tyron, his gaze piercing, "Playthin's don't talk back," Baron growled. "Unless you want m'to unload this entire clip on your ass."
"N–No, please, I..." Tyron gasped, "I–I'm sorry, I won't — I won't do it 'gain." He shudderingly stood, his body shaking.
Baron smiled at him, gripping his chin in his hands, "That's what I thought." Baron nudged him with the gun, and Tyron slowly stepped forward. He walked towards the hall with the three bedrooms. One was a master — the one the woman and man were in — the others, children rooms, Tyron supposed.
He opened the door, seeing a little girl sitting on a twin-sized bed. She was clutching the sheets and stared at Tyron, her face pale. Her hair was loose and fell down her back, and her blue eyes wide with terror and confusion. "Mister, what're you doin' in my room?" She asked, "Where's my mommy and daddy? What's that red stuffs all over you?"
Tyron choked back a sob. He turned around, to recompose himself, and then turned back to the girl. She looked confused now, and didn't know of her fate. "Brother is still sleepin', don't wake him up! Mommy said he had a bad day at school! The bullies messed with him!"
Tyron went to the side of the little girl's bed, then sat down, staring at her. "What's ya name?"
"Mommy said don't tell ya name to strangers," she argued stubbornly.
"Please."
The girl gave him a strange look, "Sissy. But my reals name is Cecelia! And my brother's name is Fincent. What's yours?"
Tyron tried not to smile, he couldn't allow himself to get attached. "Tyron. M... M'feeling sad, Sissy, would ya mind giving me a hug?"
"Sure!" Cecelia smiled, "Everyone deserves a hug! Mr. Penguin says that! Do you watch the Penguin Show?"
"Nah, but I'll see if I can," Tyron wrapped his arms around her, and she returned the hug, holding tight to him. Tears fell from his eyes and into the girl's blonde hair. "M'so sorry, Cecelia." He told her, his choked voice small, then cut off the girl's head.
Tyron let himself cry and hug the headless body for several moments, before he stood. He knew Baron would be upset if he didn't hurry. He was already going to probably get a punishment for speaking out of turn. No use in making it worse.
Tyron stood from the bed and turned to the other child's room.
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Tyron woke up on the couch, gasping and trembling. He slammed his eyes closed, trying to forget the graphic memory, but it was no use — it would be engrained in his mind forever.
Tyron felt tears fall down his cheeks, and he couldn't help a whimper, if not in pain, but in sorrow. He didn't want to kill anymore children, oh god, he didn't. They... They were so young. Yet, he knew that if he didn't, then they would have to endure a fate like his, if not worse. Death would be more generous than that, yet still. They... They were so young.
Tyron choked sob, trying to wipe at his wet eyes. He didn't want to kill anymore! He didn't want to see them, it... He couldn't stand it!
Tyron could hear the little girl's words in his ears, "Why, mister?" She would ask, "Why'd you hurt me? I thought we were friends!"
"M'sorry," he cried, even though he knew she couldn't hear, "M'so sorry, I didn't—he made me! I–I—"
"Mister Tyron?" JARVIS' voice spoke calmly overhead. "Are you alright? Would you like me to contact Master Stark?"
"No!" Tyron gasped, his eyes wide. Stark couldn't come! He couldn't see him like this! He might find out, and he definitely didn't want him to! "No, don't! I–I'm fine, jus'–jus' don't."
"Are you sure, Mister Tyron? You are showing early symptoms of a panic attack. It would be best to get someone to assist you at the moment."
"No, no, no, no," Tyron wheezed, slamming his eyes shut. "No, please, don't." If he found out that he was trans, they would kill him! They'd treat him just like Baron did! He didn't want to get hurt anymore! He didn't want to kill anymore kids! Oh god, please don't make him! He didn't—he doesn't...
Tyron curled up on the couch, wheezing. Calm the fuck down, he chastised himself angrily. Calm down! Calm down! Calm down! Calm—
"Why did you hurt me?" Cecelia whispered softly in his ear. Tyron went ridged, his blood running ice cold. "Why did you hurt my brother? We were scared, and you killed us. You killed us all, mister."
"Please," he begged. "M'sorry, leave m'alone! 'E would've killed m'if I didn't! M'sorry! I–I—"
A hand settled on his shoulder and Tyron nearly screamed, scrambling away. "Sorry! I'm sorry!" Bruce said immediately, backing away. Tyron stared at him, trying to lower his heart rate, but he could feel the panic building inside him. "Are–Are you okay? JARVIS said that you were having a... A episode, and you needed help." Bruce came closer, but Tyron moved back, nearly falling off the end of the couch.
"Jus–Jus' stay there!" Tyron snapped, running his hands through his hair. Bruce stopped moving, and Tyron breathed.
"Do you need something? Water?" Bruce asked carefully.
"Jus'..." Tyron coughed, stumbling over his own words. "Please, jus'—"
"It's okay, I won't move," he assured, and true to his word, he stood right where he was. "JARVIS, play 'The Playlist'."
"On it, sir," JARVIS responded. Immediately, steady jazz filtered through the overhead speakers. It was slow and calming.
"Thank you," Bruce said. "I–I listen to this whenever I'm having a, uhm, episode. Especially after nightmares. It keeps me from, you know, going green." Tyron was only able to nod, and slowly closed his eyes, despite what his instincts wanted. For nearly an hour, neither of them said anything, and just listened to the music.
Finally, Tyron broke the silence. "Thank you..." He said, in a near whisper. Bruce looked up at him and blinked. "Sorry. I had a real shitty dream, an', it... Yeah... So, thanks."
"Oh, yeah. No–No problem, don't worry about it," Bruce replied quickly.
"Why'd ya come 'ere?" Tyron asked curiously. "I asked JARVIS not to bring anyone."
"Actually, you requested for me not the bring Master Stark, so I did not," JARVIS replied, as Tyron narrowed his eyes.
"Sneaky bastard."
"I cannot be a 'bastard' for I am not human."
Bruce laughed, and Tyron rolled his eyes, pouting slightly. "Well, anyway, would you like to get some breakfast? Stark told me you ate one of his suits, last night, so I don't know if you're hungry or not but—"
"I am," Tyron said, cutting his rambling off short. "Thanks for askin'." Tyron stood, and walked with Bruce, unconsciously standing at least arm's length away from the man.
Tyron and Bruce spent breakfast together, talking about different, menial things. It was strange to Tyron, he couldn't remember the last he had a simple conversation like this. Usually, when he talked to people, it ended in punches being thrown and words turning sour. But now, here they were, a hulk and a mutant, talking about Tony's suits and how Tyron admired them — in sight and in taste. It felt good to talk like that for once.
Oddly enough, Tyron enjoyed it.
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -
The week had gone by all too quickly, and before either of them knew it, it was Friday. Tyron's hands healed well enough for him to be able to flex his fingers a little in every direction, as his wrist was only sore, a would hurt if he moved it too jaggedly or too much. It wasn't a lot, but enough for him to lie that he felt better.
Another plus was that the rain had stopped and it was bright and sunny. Tyron couldn't be more pleased, silently thanking it's warm rays.
Tyron said his goodbyes to Tony and Bruce, since the three others were still out on their mission. Tony asked if he wanted to be dropped off, but Tyron quickly refused. He didn't want Baron knowing he was coming, and riding down in a nice limousine — in the Hood, mind you — would cause a mountain's worth of mistakes. So, Tyron decided to simply walk. It wasn't that far, only a couple hours, and he convinced a lie to the two men that he'd grab a taxi.
Tony did give him two things. One, was money. Nearly three hundred dollars! Tyron stared at it, almost too terrified to even touch such a large sum of money. It took some examining — and some assurance that it was real — for Tyron to accept. Tony made him promise to not use it on anything bad, like drugs — Tyron shot Bruce a glare at the mention of the substance, but he shook his head, innocently. Natasha then?
Tyron promised him that he wouldn't, but it had been a little hard. He hadn't smoked in at least two weeks, a pack of cigarettes would be fine.
The other thing Tony gave him, was a necklace, that held a charm that looked like the Iron Man helmet. Tyron rose an eyebrow, surprised by such a small thing, that also looked homemade, but Tony assured that it was only something for him to remember them by.
Tyron said his goodbyes and left around two PM that day, ready for the two-to-three hour walk it was most likely going to take to get to the 'Yard. He was going to grab a few things, and then head down to the 'Yard in the Bronx. It was a lot smaller than Baron's, but if he played it safe, keeping his identity secure, he should be fine.
With this thought in mind, Tyron hurried down the sidewalk.
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -
Tyron arrived at the 'Yard around six PM, judging by the sun. He was on at the SC, or South Corner, just where he instructed Weed to be. Sure enough, the scrawny man was leaning against the fence, smoking a joint between his fingers. Tyron stepped forward. "Weed!" He hissed, as the man jumped, turning instantly.
"Fuck!" Weed snapped, his face reddened with the sudden surprise, "Ya scared me!"
Tyron rolled his eyes, "M'comin' in, make sure no one's looking."
Tyron placed a foot on the grate, about to climb, when Weed suddenly exclaimed, "N–No! Wait!" Tyron stopped, confused.
"What? I need to hurry!"
"Wait, jus'... I wanted to know where you've been, dat's all," Weed explained, dropping the joint from his lips and twirling it's still burning end between his fingers.
"Oh... Wit' a friend," Tyron said, then began climbing again.
"Stop!" He hissed, "Who's dis friend of ya's?"
"Why do ya wanna know?" Tyron asked, suspicious.
"'Cause if somethin' happens, I–I might wanna go see 'em too. I mean, they let ya crash for a few nights, right? Think they'll let m'stay over too?"
"I don' know," Tyron replied, shrugging. "Look, I gotta hurry, so—"
"Why don' I just git it for ya?" Weed suggested. "Tell m'where it's at an' I'll grab it real quick."
Tyron stared at the man, "Is somethin' wrong?"
"What? Why would somethin' be wrong?" Weed replied, rolling his red-rimmed eyes. "Jus' tell me—"
"Don't fuckin' lie to me, Weed!" Tyron snapped, glaring at the man. "What the hell did ya do?!"
Weed shifted his gaze, from the ground to behind him, to back at him. His eyes begging, and his boney hands trembling. "H–He was gonna kick m'out, man. I–I had to—" Tyron reached past the fence and grabbed the man, the other hand clenching the metal wire, absorbing it. Weed's face pressed against the fence, making him gasp.
"Did ya tell Baron!?" He hissed, his tone brimming with panic.
"'E was gonna kick me out! I 'ad no fuckin' choice!" Weed tried to reason. Tyron let go, stepping back, his eye wide. His heart was racing.
Tyron turned, ready to run, only to see three familiar broad shouldered men stood before him. Tyron stepped back, but the metal fence literally fenced him in. The only place he could run was into the forest, but he didn't think he could outrun these three.
"Boss wants to see you," one of them growled, reaching out for Tyron. He panicked, his power reacting, turning his hand into a blade. When the man reached out, Tyron waved his bladed hand. Immediately, two out of five of the man's fingers were amputated.
He injured man cried out, holding his hand and hissing in pain. The two others saw him and took out their guns. Immediately, they both unloaded their clips on him.
The feeling of tens of bullets pelting him made him scream in pain. He fell to his knees, his hands instinctively covering his head. The men didn't stop for another five minutes. Tears streamed down his face and he struggled to move. The first man grabbed his arms, holding him out for the one with three remaining fingers to beat.
Boots drove into his side and chest. They kicked him between his legs, brought him up to punch him in the face, and made him grovel into the ground. Tyron tried to curl into himself, protectively, but the men wouldn't allow it. They laughed at Tyron's cries in pain, groping sensitive areas, but thankfully leaving his clothes on.
Tyron reached out for the fence, trying to get some metal in order to turn the fight around. Three-Fingers noticed and shot him in the hand. Tyron screamed, old sores and pains rising again. The man laughed, grinding his boot in his head, kicking him several times as well. Tyron could feel his gaze go blurry, and the light and darkness before him seemed to blend.
The men picked him up, and Tyron's body sagged, not even able to support his own weight. Together, they dragged him to the front gates, Tyron's head hanging, and warm tears still dripping down his chin that mixed with his darker than normal blood. His heart plummeted when he saw Baron waiting inside the 'Yard for him, his mouth turned into a smile. Like a dangerous predator being brought his prey. Like a prideful king being fed grapes.
"Hello pet," Baron mused, "I see you've found your way back home."
"Fuck... You," Tyron said, his voice gravel. His lip was swollen and eyes probably blacken and bruised, however he still managed to insult the man, making his cocky smirk slide off his face.
"Tie him up and take him to one of the rooms. I have a line of renters waiting to get their chance with you," Baron said, waving his hand.
The men continued to the men dragged him down one of the paths that stood a shady motel, which was also on the 'Yard's land. Dangerous memories resurfaced in his mind and Tyron panicked. He jolted and moved, trying to get away, only to have the men beside him hit him across the face.
"'Et go of me!!" He screamed, trying to jerk his bruised arms oh of the men's grasp. "No! No! Don't! Please!!" He was sobbing now, hysteria rising in his voice. "Please! Kill me! Don't let them—" the butt of a gun found it's target on his skull, effectively knocking him unconscious.
- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -
Two weeks later, Steve, Natasha, and Clint finally arrived back from their mission. Surprisingly, it took longer to complete their mission than they had planned. Especially with the few... Setbacks that occurred.
Steve decided it would be best to check on Tyron immediately. He had been worried for the boy, especially after the few encounters they had. With the information shared through Natasha and Tony, something was definitely wrong with this teenager, and he wanted to find out what. So, he was very surprised when Tony informed him that Tyron was gone.
"You just let him go?" Steve said, surprised.
"He said he was better," Tony reasoned. "Nat told you he made plans to meet up with one of his 'buddies', some guy named Weed, apparently. He needed to grab some things from his old place, and then he'd be set."
"Do you know where he is?" Tony rolled his eyes.
"Of course, I put a tracker on him. Gave him a necklace before he left, and some cash to get him started. He should be fine for a while."
Steve still didn't look convinced, "Where is he?" Tony sighed, sitting up in his recliner.
"JARVIS, bring up a hologram of Tyron's location."
"Yes sir." A hologram appeared between Steve and Tony. With much effort, Tony stood, zooming in.
"This is where he was Friday morning," Tony explained, zoomed in on the Avengers Tower, the time stamp in the corner showing the date and time. "Here he was that night, when he left." Tony was elsewhere, somewhere in Brooklyn around six PM, nearby a private scrapyard. "And here he is now," Again, it was the location of the scrapyard.
Stew rose an eyebrow, "He hasn't moved locations in two weeks?"
"Maybe, if he deliberately left his necklace there. Doesn't matter though — I put a tracker all the clothes I gave him too." Tony moved to a nearby computer and typed a few codes in. Then, more notifications appeared on the hologram, all in the same place.
Tony rose an eyebrow, "Maybe he got new clothes?"
"Or he could be in serious trouble," Steve frowned. "Why don't we pay him a visit?"
"He made it quite clear that he didn't want me pulling up in a shiny limo in front of his friends," Tony said, rolling his eyes at the familiar memory.
"Then, go in cover," Steve replied. "Best case scenario is that he won't be in any trouble and we just bruised his ego. Worst case. he needs help."
"Fine," Tony grumbled. "Let me get ready."