Cigarette smoke lingered in the air as Léon entered the bar, one of his favorite meet-up places. Neon blue letters, spelling 4 Non-Blondes, glowed on a small sign above the door; the 4, L, N, and D flickering off and on repetitively, making it look as if it was saying No Bones. The interior left much to be desired as far as cleanliness went, though it was far from drab. Its once gray walls had lewd murals of women with metal prosthetics covering every inch of the bar. Cables dangled loosely from the low ceiling. The lightbulbs from the fixtures radiated a dim magenta, tinting Léon's silver hair the same shade.
Working the bar was a humanoid machine. An eerily realistic face sat plastered over a metal skull; black neck tendons and wires were visible, connecting him to the rest of his artificial body. Everyone there just called him AL. Man, were his conversations with the everyday customer weird. Although not as weird as they were the day he was first shipped to the 4 Non-Blondes to replace an older model than even him.
Léon would never forget it; shit was hilarious. A simple request for whiskey sent the robot into a tizzy of painfully off-topic tangents, the likes of which were pure gibberish. That was nothing new with A.I.s. Since they'd slowly begun to replace the working class centuries ago, programmers made strides to adjust them to learn to adapt to their relatively new surroundings quite quickly.
AL was an older model, but with time he'd learned to grow a personality (as well as learn how to talk regularly without derailing basic conversations with off-the-wall statements) beginning with the basic patterns programmed into his positronic brain. It's like he was a child riddled with curiosity only a few years ago, now harnessing the matured mind of an adult. This varied between all functioning bots with positronic brains, however. It was always interesting how they operated, to Tenmei especially.
Léon took his seat at the bar, slumping over the counter. All this action had him parched. After departing the building where he defeated Gamma Ray, he made a point to remove the other sleeve of his jacket. It pained him to destroy it, but upon seeing his reflection on the window of an old shop that had gone out of business, the style admittedly was beginning to grow on him. He had nodded, giving himself a not bad look. "Yeahhh, I can make this work."
Before entering the bar, he'd made a mental note to stop by the local pharmacy and pick up a few things: bandages, ointment, and — of all things — a gray beanie hat to help conceal his identity. Not solely because of the news report from earlier that night, but because he was bordering territory that belonged to the rival gang, Motorhead. It'd be just his luck he ran into them. God forbid. Whilst standing in line waiting to purchase his items, a revelation dawned on him, making it seem as though his heart stopped. His eyes widened in terror as a single thought radiated in his mind — he'd given his UDC drive to his mother, leaving him without a single current to his name. The solution he came to left a nauseating taste in his mouth, but what other choice did he have? Slipping to the back of the store, he held open his jacket and jammed the beanie in the pit of his arm. Then stuck the bandages and ointment between his arm and ribs. In an attempt to avoid looking suspicious, he clasped a hand over his clay-coated arm and made way for the door, wandering outside with a heavy guilt weighing on him.
Resting his arms over the counter, with the beanie snugly wrapped around his head as well as a bandaged arm, his eyes moved over to robotic fingers and an olive green sleeve. AL had placed his hand on the bar and flashed Léon a welcoming grin.
"My circuits tell me you are in need of the usual ."
Léon chuckled. "Something like that."
"Not a problem." AL turned and walked mechanically to the other end of the bar to make his drink. "A bit late to be out, don't you think?"
"Heh! Not you patronizing me."
AL's legs whirred quietly with each step as he returned with Léon's drink. "I only mean that human minds require shutting down and recharging."
Léon sipped it and placed it down. "Believe me. I'd like to shut down for the night, but…" He looked over his shoulder, catching a person or two eyeing him but nothing too unsettling or suspicious. It was just one of those things where people are gathered in a small place and happen to unintentionally make eye contact. Saying too much out loud could grab unwanted attention and make its way back around to some loudmouth. He brought his voice to a whisper, leaning closer to AL who was all-ears. Or, well, something of the like. "...I think Geil's framed me for murder."
AL rolled his fists and placed them on his hips, letting out a robotic scoff. It always sounded kind of funny when he did it, as he didn't have lungs to push any air out. "Well, isn't that just egregious! You must report him to the police at once, monsieur! "
Léon leaned over the counter, shushing him mid-sentence desperately. Bar-goers in their booths turned their heads in the direction of the bar due to all the commotion. "Fucking hell, keep your voice down, will ya?" he hissed. "I don't have any evidence. Besides, I'm a wanted man. What do you want me to do, stroll into the police station and file a report?" He crossed his arms over the counter and laid his head in them. Lifting his head moments later, he sighed. "If I go to prison, my mother and sister will get evicted and lose everything. I don't know what to do."
AL's eyes lowered. "Oh, no. This just will not do." Metallic fingers rummaged through the pocket of his apron, fishing out a cellular device. Léon watched him incredulously as his index finger swiped along the screen.
What the hell is he doing?
A grid erupted from the screen, the lines dancing along the murals and people's faces, blinking and making a vwoo sound simultaneously every three seconds. Fear kickstarted Léon's heart. "What the hell?! Who are you calling?!"
"There is a movie like this," AL said with a finger raised, "like you, there is a man who is a fugitive running from the law —"
"Do you have to say that so fucking loud?!
"...and he calls a friend to confide in him about his conundrum at the local bar."
Léon rolled his eyes, clapping a hand to his forehead as he let out a heavy sigh. Maybe coming here for a drink was a bad decision. "AL, please…" he pleaded.
"The friend is willing to help him because he knows that he is innocent. With his connections to the underworld, they set out to clear the man's name and save the world from the clutches of evil…"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Scooping up his drink, he took a shot.
"I took the liberty of calling Abbas Avdol for you, because he is the key to clearing your name."
Léon jolted from a slouchy position in his seat, spitting out his drink everywhere. "You what?!"
The grid minimized into the middle of the bar, taking the form of a man's figure. The bright lines dissipated, creating an image that faded in from seemingly nothing. Standing before Léon with tired eyes was a transparent, cyan-tinted Avdol. He glitched, yawning and rubbing one eye with his palm. "Ughhh, Léon, it's 3:30 in the morning…whaddaya want?" Avdol looked to the left. "Wait. Is that…AL? …the hell are you doing at the bar at this hour?"
Léon gestured to AL with his thumb. "Pfft! He's the one that called you! " he rebutted.
Avdol groaned. "This better be important."
"One can assure you, monsieur , this is of the utmost importance!" AL was grinning ear-to-ear with smiling eyes.
Léon shot him a look of warning. "AL…!" he growled through gritted teeth.
"Do you recall that violent film I told you about that was playing on the monitor a few nights back?" AL continued. " Monsieur Polnareff is just like the fugi —"
"Grrr, I am not a fugitive!" He noted the staring eyes from every corner of the room amidst the stunned silence. Shit. How embarrassing. He cringed, sinking his head down into his arms again, this time to hide while the chatter in the bar picked back up.
Avdol sauntered closer. "Look, will someone please tell me what's going on?"
With a heavy sigh, Léon turned to face Avdol. There's no way he could talk to him privately over hologram with this many people around. Too risky. In fact, he wasn't planning on calling him at all due to him being involved himself. If he was going to break the news to him, he had to do so in person. Might as well make the arrangements now that AL's capriciousness had left him no other choice. "Avdol, can you meet me down here?"
"For what?"
"Trust me. I can't talk about this over a call right now. It's way too serious." He paused. "If you only knew what I've been through tonight…" Avdol looked at him, growing more annoyed by the second.
"What's happened?" Avdol asked. He then eyed him suspiciously. "What have you done this time?"
Léon's fist slammed against the counter, startling AL and Avdol both. "For your information, I haven't done a goddamn thing! You haven't even heard what I've had to say and you're already pointing fingers!"
"No, I'm not. I'm only asking because it's pretty strange that every time something goes wrong, you're always part of the reason things escalated in the first place. Remember the streetfight, and how you lost your temper when you didn't win?"
"That guy fucking cheated! He took the money that was going to feed my family! My sister had to eat canned beans for a week because of that!"
"Listen, I'm sorry. I'm under a lot of stress right now when it comes to dealing with gang shit, and trying to take care of my grandfather on top of it, you know?" Avdol's strict gaze softened. "Perhaps I was too judgmental before. Why don't we just —"
"You know what, forget it." Léon interjected. "If you want to blame me like Angus always does, then fine. Blame me. I don't care, I'm done."
"Hey, that's not —" Avdol tried to get in.
"Sorry I asked for help; I'm outta here." He rose from his seat and began to walk away from the bar.
"Monsieur Polnareff!" AL called out, stopping him in his tracks. He looked back, anger still bubbling inside of him. "Hit and runs are not advisable."
It took him a moment to get the gist of what he was saying. Once he did, he sneered and turned to head out the door. "Just call it an IOU." The door shut behind him and he disappeared from sight. The bar seemed less tense with him gone to the other customers. AL stared at the door, creasing his brows. Avdol turned to look at him when he then spoke.
"...what is an IOU?"
.
.
It was no secret that he hated A.I.s for almost entirely replacing the working class — for taking his mother's job at the hospital away from her. AL was the only one he considered to be alright, but with the way he chose to handle delicate situations, especially his own, he was beginning to wonder if giving him a pass was such a smart move in the first place. And then for Avdol to insinuate that he had routinely been up to no good was the icing on the cake. What an asshole. Him and Angus both. Lights of a car moved across his body as it passed him by. His anger begat a number of negative thoughts as he trudged up the street.
I just don't get why Avdol would imply I'm the cause of all this. He never used to be this bad until Angus made him a lieutenant of Quiet Riot. What, so because Angus is a dick you gotta be one, too? His eyes wandered to his reflection in a store window as he slowly walked by. God, I hate ego trips. Fine. I don't need a friend like you, anyway. You or the boss. I can't take anymore people thinking everything goes wrong because of me and me alone. I heard enough of that from my stepdad.
Léon removed the beanie from his head, his hair floofing out as his eyes wandered gloomily to his hands. Hearing the sound of child, he looked in their direction, and what he saw broke his heart. A little boy, wearing dingy, stained clothing and no shoes, was sitting against a wall with whom Léon assumed to be his mother. Their appearance, as well as their mother's told their story. Her hair looked as if she hadn't showered in weeks, dark bags had formed under her droopy eyes.
In a sad voice, the boy said to her, "Maman, when can I get new shoes?"
"Soon, baby," she choked back the emotion building on her tone, "I promise."
Léon looked at the hat in his hands and sauntered over to them, startling the woman. "Sorry, couldn't help but overhear...listen, I know it's not shoes, but you look like you need this more than I do." Leaning down, he showed the hat to the boy with a warm smile on his face. The sinking feeling in his heart elevated, causing a warmth to expand in his chest. He was doing the right thing, he believed, though it wasn't what the boy truly needed. Both the boy and the mother looked up at him, speechless.
Taking a knee, Léon handed the hat to him. "Go ahead, try it on." he said with a smile.
Stunned by his kind gesture, the boy slowly pulled the beanie hat over his head. It was a bit big, but in time would no doubt grow into it.
"Wow! It looks great on you!" Léon complimented. He held up his hand for a high-five, to which the boy returned with a wide-opened, gap-toothed grin.
"Merci!"
Overcome with gratitude, the mother sniffled. "Thank you so much. You're so kind."
Léon pressed a palm to his knee and stood up. "It's the least I could do. Trust me when I say I know how you feel. Living in a place like this and raising a son in these conditions is hard. Anyways, I hope you get what you need soon. Sorry I couldn't be of more help." With that, he walked away, feeling proud for what he'd done. But the feeling of guilt pushed that out of the way, making him feel awful for not having any money on him. If he did, he would have gladly gotten the boy a pair of shoes. The more and more he ruminated on what he could've done, more negative thoughts stirred within the dark pit of his mind: Nothing you do will ever be good enough. You'll always be broke, there's no point in trying.
And finally, to add to the accumulating misery, he remembered Avdol's words back at the bar and who they reminded him of. The bane of his existence.
.
.
Ramone Passado, the bilingual Spaniard who stayed drunk seven days a week, and gambling Léon's mother's hard-earned money away somewhere in between Tuesdays and Saturdays. Well, Léon's also. This same shit-for-brains that waltzed into his family's life and turned everything he ever thought about a father figure upside-down. God, he hated him. From the moment he entered their home to the exact moment he'd died. Léon vaguely recalled how Ramone's first impression was a slick guise to cover up the fact that he was truly apathetic towards kids.
Léon was only six at the time, and still somehow, memories of Ramone's cruel nature suddenly jumping to acts of kindness as his mother walked in never left his mind. Throughout Léon's childhood, his stepfather would beat him for even the most minor mishaps, like spilling his drink by accident. Despite unveiling his true colors to their mother, she made the regrettable decision to stay with him, knowing she had nowhere to go. No place she could afford to rent for the time being. For Léon, showing up for school with a perfect attendance in spite of how ill he felt was the only relief he had.
His sister, of course, had it much easier, as he always stood up for her. He wanted to even if he'd gotten badly beaten in her place. School was fine, but it's also where Léon would explore many facets and take different paths if it meant that he could escape his dreadful home life.
Even if it meant doing the unthinkable.
At the age of fourteen, Léon was running with the wrong crowd, a bunch of punks that would later grow up and form Motorhead. Back then, he'd do whatever they asked if it meant he could be validated and feel that he truly belonged. Not a single Wednesday went by that he wasn't in detention. Hell, if it meant not seeing Ramone's ugly face, he'd gladly be in there until he aced his Baccalaureat. To him, he had nothing to live for. Nothing save for his mother, sister, and finding a group that truly accepted him for who he was; that treated him with the respect that he deserved. In order to do so, he had to fit the mold for who they wanted him to be.
And Léon would never give up. From his point of view, he was one of the boys when it came to the rowdy group he hung around — fully accepted and appreciated. Deep down, though, he could sense that something was amiss. Like he was a puzzle piece being crammed into a spot he didn't belong. Ironically, he was the one doing the cramming. Self-righteous faculty members at the high school were constantly complaining, telling him he was wasting his time. With scores like his, he had a promising future, and they were scared he'd throw it all away. To that, his response was simply fuck off . And that was only the beginning to people harping about who he should've been as opposed to who he was trying to be. Whoever that was. He wouldn't admit this, but even he didn't know. It was an enigma to him, an answer that often eluded him no matter how many times he asked himself the question: Who am I?
It wasn't until he was arrested for the very first time at such a young age that he started to reflect on it. That and the words that bore a hole into his spirit. Ramone's. His gang, the guys he thought had his back, ran out on him the night they got together to put Léon to the test, and see if he'd go through with robbing one of the local stores. So much for placing his trust in the hands of those he believed were his real friends. They left him to take the heat and never looked back.
"What've you done now?!" Ramone's most infamous phrase that Léon heard day in and day out. "Can't say I'm fucking surprised a punk like you is behind bars. You'll never amount to anything but trash, because that's all you are. Just another lost cause in this shithole of a city! You hear me?! Your dad left you because he saw you for what you really are — a mistake. His mistake! So you better wake up and accept it, because that's the reality!"
If Ramone's words weren't enough to accumulate more self-degradation, seeing the horrified look in his mother's eyes surely topped that. Above all, it was the realization that he dishonored her and made her ashamed of him for the first time in his life; that beat any hurtful thing a person could ever say to him. A numbing discomfort surged through his entire body.
Is that true? Is that really who I am? A mistake? With the way his mother looked at him, he'd sooner believe it. Those words echoed in his mind, tearing his heart two ways. Maybe Ramone was right? Maybe the reason things never seemed to go his way was because he attracted mistakes due to being one himself. This newfound belief swept disillusion over him. So, that was that. He never should've been born. All those good times he did have were for nothing; they were a lie, and it was high time he accepted himself for what he was. A mistake.
Guilt. Shame. Confusion. Anger. Self-hatred. That and so much more encompassed his being, creating a cyclone of negative emotions to rend him asunder. And did it ever. His mother couldn't afford to bail him out. Like a perched butterfly causing an unsound tower of stacked cans to topple over, being sent to juvenile jail broke him. Léon lied awake in his cell overcome with the chills. No matter how much he tucked his blanket around his body, he shivered endlessly.
"I deserve this," he said in a wavering, breathy voice, "I deserve this, I deserve this, I deserve this."
Memories of his worst childhood recollections flashed through his mind. Things Ramone had told him all his life.
Goddammit! Look at this fucking mess you made, you little shit!
What the hell has he done now?!
Keep crying, I'll give you something to cry about.
You see this? You see this?! YOU did that!
Get this whiny brat out of here, I'm trying to watch TV!
You'll never amount to anything but trash, because that's all you are. Just another lost cause in this shit-hole of a city! You hear me?! Your dad left you because he saw you for what you really are — a mistake. His mistake!
…his mistake…
"I'm a mistake."
BADUMP
"I'm garbage."
BADUMP
"Who am I?"
BADUMP
"Why the fuck do I exist?!"
Léon's body temperature was climbing. Sweat drenched his bed sheets, but to him he was freezing. " Je veux aider ma mere…je veux rentrer…"
"Shut the fuck up…" his cell mate groaned, pulling the blanket over his head.
"J'essai erai de faire mieux la prochaine fois…"
The cell mate grit his teeth and climbed out of bed. Not to Léon's knowledge, he had a toothbrush shaved down to a fine point. "I told you to shut the fuck up, visage de merde! "
"Je suis meilleur que ça."
"Shut up!"
The same sentiments were hurled back at Léon's cellmate, echoing up the hall. Other juveniles were highly unappreciative of him disrupting their good night's sleep.
Who am I? Am I really worthless? Am I nobody? Am I a mistake?
You are that which you choose to be. It was a voice he swore he was thinking to himself, but those thoughts — those words — weren't his per se.
Who are you?
I am that which is also you.
What?
The answer.
The answer…? So, my answer to who I am is…
Gripping his makeshift shiv, the cellmate proceeded to strike Léon in the temple. And he did - successfully.
The cellmate grinned, but something was off. His smile quickly dropped to an aghast grimace. Léon's head wasn't his head anymore, it was like clay. The toothbrush sunk down into the goopy mass, and when he pulled it back out, parts of Léon were attached to it. He sat up from his bed and procured the toothbrush from the astonished cellmate's hand. All he could do was just stand there and gawk at him in absolute fright. Léon extracted bits of himself from the toothbrush and mashed them against his disfigured temple.
Rebel Yell restored his face to normal, as if the toothbrush never penetrated his skull in the first place. Léon blinked his eyes and yawned. With a sleepy gaze, he pointed at his cellmate with the shiv. "...I am whoever the fuck I wanna be."
The cellmate let out a bloodcurdling scream, scrambling over his mattress and against the wall, where he began sobbing uncontrollably. This caused the other delinquents to spout off in an uproar that summoned the authorities. From that moment on, the cellmate did whatever Léon requested, no matter how senseless or unreasonable it was. Over time, he grew more curious about Rebel Yell and the many ways he could utilize its gift. Being the little imp he was, he'd decided to use it to his advantage. As a result, the other delinquents kept their distance from him, terrified at his power.
Two years whisked by. JDC released Léon from juvie for finally completing his sentence. He couldn't quite place the unusual feeling of looking back at his fellow inmates in the prison yard. It was…bittersweet? Almost? He'd made their life a living hell, and now it was over. Too bad; he'd miss terrorizing them. The least he gave them was a casual wave as they called out goodbye to him. What a ride and what a discovery. Not only did that refer to the awakening of Rebel Yell, but to something about himself he wished he'd learned as a kid.
Léon stood proudly atop a building, watching as the morning sun painted the horizon in pink, purple, blue, and a sliver of yellow. Morning light shone across Skid Row, making even the shittiest place in the world seem beautiful in some aspect. Léon's shoulder-length, silver hair danced on a light breeze as he smiled, taking in the splendor all around him. Rebel Yell materialized, hovering by his shoulder.
"You know something?" he said to his stand, as if it was a close friend sharing the moment with him. "Starting right now, I'm gonna do whatever it takes to support my family. Maman has never given up on me, so I'm not giving up on her either." He stretched his weary bones, letting out a yawn. "Whatever it takes, I'll do it. I don't give a damn what the consequences will be. I'm their only hope of getting out of this hell someday."
Léon turned around, smiling at Rebel Yell. "You'll see. I'll make maman proud of me again. That is who I choose to be from this moment on. I'll be the best son and brother they could have ever asked for. However others choose to view me isn't in my hands to decide, but I can decide to believe it if I want. Sorry, stepdad . Your opinion of me is moot." He spun around, striking a pose in the ray of sunlight that made the thin outline of his body beam. The entire front of him was cast in shadow as he did so.
"How's that for amounting to nothing?"
