It started on June twelfth. His sixteenth birthday. That was supposed to be important. Karkat was sure one of the Midnight Crew would make a big deal of it. Maybe Boxcars, he was a huge softy. Droog was too suave for a party, and would most likely hand him a twenty dollar bill along with a nod of approval for living another year. Deuce would plan a huge event if he had the memory for it, so Karkat could expect a rushed gift and an embarrassed, "I forgot." And Slick… Well, Slick was shit at emotional stuff. Although his new girlfriend had a typical housewife look to her. Maybe she'd make a cake? Who knows.
Truth be told, Karkat didn't feel special. It was just another day. Kankri was home now that his classes were over, and he was an official college graduate. He was doing everything in his power to get a decent job and move out. Karkat couldn't blame him. If Kankri didn't have a tendency to be an annoying asshole, he'd ask to move out with him.
Karkat glanced at the clock, absentmindedly pulling his pen along his paper in haphazard lines. He had fifteen minutes before the day was over. He was in the final stretch of his sophomore year. One more week, during which all of his tests would be crammed into five days, and he'd be done for the school year.
His gaze moved to the seat next to him. He went to school with a few of his friends. Nepeta was one of them, and his only class with her was their final period, history. Neither of them had a particular affinity for it. Thankfully, they had Kanaya, who excelled at all things school related. She was taking all AP classes, and both Nepeta and Karkat thanked her on a daily basis for putting aside the time to help them. And then there was Sollux, but he was an asshole.
Just kidding. He was just no use in history. But if they needed help on math, or science, or anything computer related, he was the guy to call.
Nepeta leaned over and tapped Karkat's desk with her pencil. He glanced at their teacher, who seemed to be watching the clock with just as much anticipation as Karkat had been earlier, before turning to face her. 'What?' he mouthed.
"Oh calm down Karkitty, we're allowed to do group work." She looked to their teacher for approval, and he merely nodded.
"Quit calling me that dumbass name. What is it?"
"I drew a cat!"
"Wow, fucking shocking."
"Do you wanna see it?"
"Is that even a question? Of course I want to see it." He took her sketchbook from her hands, looking at her latest drawing. Nepeta was an aspiring artist, and Karkat knew that support was the only way to encourage her talent. His Dad told him that when he was younger and first met Nepeta. His Dad was nice like that. "It looks adorable." The good part was, after years of practice on Nepeta's part, Karkat no longer had to lie about the quality of her sketches. It was adorable.
"Thanks! One day, I'll make a cartoon about cats."
"Fuck! That is so surprising. Shit, Nepeta, never in a thousand fucking years would I have guessed that? Any more bombs you'd like to drop on my unsuspecting head?"
"Language, Mr. Slick," their teacher chided. Nepeta giggled and Karkat scowled. Being a mutant blood was bad, even if the hemocaste was fading. But being a Vantas, with his father's actions, was fatal. That's not an exaggeration, either. A few weeks before his father died, a man with the last name Vantas was beaten to death by highbloods. There was no relation, the man wasn't even a mutant, but a yellowblood. As soon as his father was shot, Slick adopted the Vantas brothers and formally changed them to the Slick brothers.
"Maybe you should listen to Equius when he tells you to quit cursing as much."
"Yeah, well that sh-," a sharp look from their teacher changed Karkat's tune, "-sweat stain is a prick."
"Be nice," Nepeta said. "He's my best friend."
"Well what the hell am I, the next door neighbor?"
"Technically?"
"Shut up."
Loud laughter burst from behind them. Two humans and a troll, and laughing over the latest Snapchat filter or whatever the hell it was. "I'd like to remind everyone that they should be working until the bell rings! Ten more minutes, please!" their teacher said. Karkat snickered, and their teacher said, "That includes you, Slick. Keep working."
"Twice in about as many minutes. That's impressive." Karkat stuck his tongue out at Nepeta, who laughed and turned to her work. To their credit, they worked until the final moment of class. Then the bell rang and Nepeta jumped out of her chair and ran. She had too much energy, in Karkat's opinion. It wasn't hard to see why olivebloods had been the best hunters back in Alternia. Also in Karkat's opinion, close to five hundred years of being on an entirely different planet, coexisting with multiple other species, should have erased any feral instincts by now.
Karkat left the classroom, trying to walk fast. The bus didn't go to his house, which was far out of the school district. The only reason Karkat was allowed to go to his school, Cocksuckers Central (his name for it), was because Spades had 'persuaded' the people in charge to let him in. And of course, that was code for threatening to stab them, carve out their livers, and then shove the aforementioned organ where the sun don't shine.
The walk was close to an hour. If he had cash, he could call for a cab, which was the safer option. Hate towards mutants still was high amongst trolls. Then, of course, there was violence against trolls, commonly done by humans. At least it went both ways.
But alas, he was poor as shit, and would have to risk the walk. It's not like anything dangerous was likely to happen. Besides, every member of the Midnight Crew had instilled their one piece of useful advice on him from day one: keep a goddamn weapon on you. Karkat's sickle was in his back, where it was hidden. It wasn't in reach, but he'd be suspended if he was caught with a weapon on school grounds.
As he trudged along, Karkat's thoughts wandered to his Dad again. He never really got over his death. Although, what kid could? He never admitted it, and he was past the worst stages of grief, but his father was on his mind nearly all the time. He was the only adult who never was exasperated with Karkat's behavior. His Dad knew what to say, how to comfort him.
He would've made a big deal out of his birthday. He couldn't cook for shit (a trait all Vantases carried, along with unmanageable hair), but they would've went out to a high end restaurant. It would've been nice. After three years, these thoughts flitted in and out of his head. But he wasn't a thirteen year old brat anymore. He could admit his grief, to an extent.
Tears were prickling at his eyes. Thirteen year old brat. That Karkat was angrier. His father's temper was glacial. It was huge, cold, though he was capable of holding a grudge until years after his death. Karkat was the opposite, especially then. His anger was volcanic; short, hot, and coming in quick unpredictable bursts. He had gotten into a rare argument with his Dad over something irrelevant, something he couldn't even remember. It also led to the longest grudge he ever held, lasting a full four days. Then his Dad died.
He was tired now. He was angry, but also tired. Short bursts would appear with those who annoyed him, but it would be small compared to his previous piss baby flip shit moments. The exhaustion he felt was almost suffocating. He had went from sleeping maybe an hour a night to close to eleven a day. And he wasn't sure which was healthier.
Loud, clunky footsteps behind him threw him off his train of thought. Nervousness flooded over him, though he couldn't explain why. He stopped and pretended to check his phone. The person behind him stopped too, and didn't resume walking until Karkat started again.
Karkat picked up the pace, thinking rapidly. He wasn't too far from his home, but it was a long run. He wasn't even that fast. It wasn't impossible to use his sickle as defense, but he was shit with it, and it might take too long to take out.
Whoever was behind him started walking faster. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Throwing caution to the wind, Karkat broke into a run, as did the person behind him. Within a few strides, a hand grabbed his shirt and tugged him back. "Give me your bag!"
"Suck my bulge!" Karkat, ever the diplomat, retorted.
Whoever was behind him growled. Shit. A troll. Probably a big one. Humans could be heartless, but trolls were fucking brutal. Karkat turned around, the fabric of his shirt twisting around his neck uncomfortably. A big troll, highblood from the looks of it, with scars across his face and neck and tangled black hair obscuring the bottom of large, curved horns. Without thinking, as he tended to do while making his best decisions, Karkat kicked him in the shin. He yelped, letting go of Karkat's shirt. He bolted away, urged on by the shout of rage and the pounding footsteps. Karkat turned left, leaping through a broken window of the abandoned mansion he passed while walking to school. As he was making his way further into the hallways, ducking into a room to hide, there was a loud crash. He assumed the highblood had kicked down a door, as he looked too big to fit through the window.
"I know you're in here, you piece of shit! Get out now! Maybe I won't kill you!" A loud laugh rang through, then footsteps, then nothing. He was gone.
Karkat sighed. Shit. There went his only route home. Maybe he could ask to borrow Kankri's car from here on out. He was going out for his permit soon, it wasn't unlikely.
"Pardon me. What are you doing in my house?"
"Your house looks like shit," Karkat said before turning to face the resident of this degenerate fuck hole.
"I can't fault you there." It was another mutant. Not a mutant blood, as far as Karkat could tell. His skin was pure white, he was bald, and his horns were barely visible. His eyes were translucent, his nose barely defined, and he had a small mouth. His head was round, like a cue ball.
"I'm sorry. I'll leave."
"No, please, be my guest. I so rarely get company anymore." Shit. It was wrong to judge a book by its cover, but he looked like he was probably a pedophile.
"Really, I should get going. Dad's probably worried."
"And for a good reason. Gang violence is at an all time high. I'm guessing the other intruder was an PA?"
"A what?" Karkat asked. He was educated on most things gang related. For his lack of school smarts, he was good at remembering gangs, turfs, feuds, and symbols. But he had never heard of PA.
"They're new. Small. Protectors of Alternia. Mostly highbloods who want to kill the humans and carapaces, and reinstate the hemocaste," he explained. "I only noticed them about a month ago. But I believe this gang has been in the works for years." He took Karkat's silence as interest, which wasn't entirely wrong. Slick didn't want him in the gang, but would never turn away an informant. "Have you noticed how more officials in this city are trolls? Remember the earlier years, when nearly every official was a human, when they were thought to be more responsible and less violent."
"That's still the idea."
"Absolutely right, young man! So what changed? Why has a human mayor not been elected? What about DA? Sheriff? Officers and prosecutors, all those with authority are trolls."
"So the gang is in charge?"
"I believe so. Or the gang is made up of highblood politicians. It's not just happening here. Do you ever watch the news?" Karkat shook his head. "You should. Useful information, my boy. Very useful indeed. Maybe PA has been around for centuries, and only now is becoming formidable. Similar to the Italian Mafia in human history. Dormant for years before suddenly becoming powerful."
The man went silent as he thought, sitting in one of the chairs. Karkat looked around. The room wasn't as bad as the rest of the mansion, though the wallpaper was peeling and the ceiling seemed a bit leaky. Otherwise, the chairs and table in the center of the room looked expensive and comfortable. On one side of the room, the entire wall was dedicated to maps, news articles, pictures, and the like.
"You're like a crackpot conspiracy theorist," Karkat muttered.
"I heard that, boy." Fuck. Karkat stammered out an apology as the man looked closer. "What's your name."
"Karkat."
"Karkat what?"
"Slick. Karkat Slick."
"Not a traditional troll name."
"I was adopted." The man got up and walked closer, observing Karkat's face. Karkat was about to flee from the (most likely a) pedophile before he said, "You bear a striking resemblance to The Signless."
That dumb nickname. He hated it. "Really?"
The man walked to his wall, taking a picture down. He brought it to Karkat, holding it next to him.
"Why, I say you might even be his son!" He grinned. "Don't look that scared, I won't kill you. I have important information you might like to hear."
"What?"
"I know who killed your father."
"So does everyone. Leonid Brots, or something. It was all over the news."
"He was a member of The Knights." The Knights were unorganized and scattered around the city. Most of the members were homeless guys looking to have a somewhat stable source of income and not afraid of being thrown in jail. "He was hired."
"No shit. By who?"
"'I don't know." The man sighed. "Have you heard of The Felt." The Felt. Ah yes, the rival gang and constant stick up Slick's ass.
"Yeah. Why?"
"I was an informant for them once. A long time ago. Just before your father was killed. By then, I wanted out. My two children had been taken from me and thrown into the gang. But you can't just quit. My home was destroyed. I faked my death, young man. But I got out. And I know things that could get us both killed. The leader, Lord English, hired Leonid. He was doing a favor for someone. Find out who."
"How the fuck am I supposed to do that?" Karkat asked.
The man smiled ruefully and wandered back to his chair. "I don't know. It might be impossible. But I foresee your success."
Karkat wanted to groan and yell more, but he doubted the effectiveness of that. He decided to dwell on it more once he got home, and settled for asking, "What's your name?"
"A name. It doesn't matter anymore. But to The Felt, I was Doc Scratch."