Monsters, cold-blooded and evil, without an ounce of guilt or remorse, people you’d hesitate to call humans—the usual descriptions of my kind. This was mostly due to the media’s tendency to sensationalize everything. Movies, TV shows, and books depicted only the most extreme of us. In the news, criminals committing heinous acts of brutality were often labelled as my kind even if it was hardly the case.
Take ownership of your own shortcomings, normal people. Don’t push it on us.
It wasn’t like we didn’t know how to distinguish between good and evil, or at least what society considered as such. We did. We just didn’t care for it. But that didn’t mean we were evil. That we were full of malice. Nothing could be further from the truth. There was no voice in our head egging us on to do evil deeds. Come to think of it, our lack of empathy oftentimes prevented us from being intentionally malicious.
We did what was beneficial for us and avoided things that were bad for us.
Just like everyone else.
Taking advantage of others? Not caring for others? Wasn’t that normal human behavior?
I’d argue it’s actually worse in the case of normal people. They felt guilty about doing the wrong thing, for going against their morals and values, their conscience supposedly restricts them, they wrestle with a voice inside their head telling them not to do this or that…because it’s bad...because it's evil…
…yet, they still do it anyway.
Personally, I considered those people were more dangerous than my kind.
And it wasn’t as if my kind were devoid of morals or values. Each of us had our own Rules, some more concrete than others. And I was proud that my Rules, for the most part, coincided with peacefully integrating in society.
In my own assessment, I was a pretty considerate and well-mannered individual—I had Rule #4, for example. I didn’t go out of my way to be a cunt to others. I didn’t take advantage of anyone unless necessary…or if I was bored—but that rarely happened. Give me a pass on that one. If someone helped me, I generally repaid them in one way or another even if there was no incentive for me to do so.
I was proud of my efforts to be a ‘decent’ person in the eyes of society.
Applause please.
Vanessa helped me. Big time. There was next to no chance I would’ve gotten out of the maze of tunnels alive if she didn’t take me into her group. I wasn’t an ungrateful bitch to just forget about that.
I unscrewed the cap of the red five-liter fuel can I found in the trunk of Rob’s getaway vehicle. It was packed along with canned goods, bottled water, medicine, a tent, and other survival tools. Even though he was dead, I had to commend Rob’s preparedness. I wrinkled my nose as the sharp stench of gasoline filled the air, but it was soon wafted out of the open garage door by the billowing air of the cold, early morning. Poised to pour gasoline over the dead bodies of two of the heroes that helped me, I stared at them for one last time, burning their memories in my heart before I burned them for real.
I never forgot those who helped me.
Vanessa’s dead eyes stared at the ceiling of the garage. Literally dead eyes. Blood flowed from the bullet hole right above her nose bridge, down her left cheek, and to the grubby floor. A red pool collected behind her head, forming almost sort of a halo. An angel of blood.
Beautiful.
It turned out shooting between the eyes did result in instant death. I’d seen it a few times in movies and I’ve read about it too. I thought it was only for dramatic effect, or maybe for a cool line…shoot between the eyes. But in one episode of a true crime series Mom loved, it was explained by an expert that while people sometimes survived headshots, shooting between the eyes guaranteed a kill. The brain stem was there and other important brain stuff, whatever. The victim wouldn’t even know they were dying; the last thing that would register in their mind would be the sight of the barrel.
A quick and painless death—the least I could do for Vanessa.
Well…it was also within my interests that she died quickly, without any opportunity to regenerate or use any more powers she was hiding. But…shhhh…let’s just go along with the reason I wanted her to die painlessly as a sign of gratitude.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the same for Dominic. I wasn’t sure I could accurately hit his brain stem through the headrest of the driver’s seat. To hold his head in place before I shot, I stabbed his neck with a screwdriver I found in drawer, hopefully also damaging his spine in the process. He had a rough time dying from the looks of it. I laid him face down on the floor beside Vanessa so I wouldn’t see his expression frozen in agony. Sorry, Dominic, I tried my best.
I poured the gasoline over my two friends.
Yes, I’ll award them the distinction of being considered my friends for their bravery and self-sacrifice.
Involuntary self-sacrifice…if one wanted to get all technical about it. I appreciated it nonetheless.
“Oops, shit. Oh my god, Vanessa.” I accidentally splashed gasoline over her wide-open eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I knelt down beside her and tried to close her eyes. They wouldn’t stay closed. “This wasn’t like the movies at all,” I murmured. I tried a few more times but her eyelids were insistent on staying half-open, like she was very sleepy. “Fine, just stay that way.”
After I emptied the contents of the fuel can, another idea popped in my head. I searched all over the garage shop for flammable materials. Cardboard boxes, a wooden table and cabinet I ripped apart with my bared hands, and stacks of yellowing papers, probably receipts and documents of this shop when it was still operational. I covered the bodies of Vanessa and Dominic with them, making sort of a funeral pyre. I removed Dominic’s coat and placed it on top of him, murmuring thanks.
I felt like I did something wrong...I probably should've made the pyre first and poured the gasoline after, not the other way around.
Oh well, it looked cool. Satisfied with my work—which they also would’ve liked if they weren’t, you know, dead—I lit up a wad of crumpled paper using Dominic’s lighter attached to his keychain and tossed it to the pile. I slowly backed away, smiling fondly at the flame that was growing.
The fire crept over the paper and cardboard, curling them, turning them black. Suddenly, a fireball erupted and the small flame consumed the whole pyre.
"Fucking shit!" I exclaimed, holding my hands up to cover my face, running backward out of the garage. The skin on my arms were a bit singed, but they were healing. The ends of my hair were also burned. It wasn't regenerating; I supposed dead cells like hair wouldn't regenerate. Did I pour too much gas?
The roaring fire licked the brittle wood until it succumbed to the heat. Flames danced higher and higher, reaching the ceiling of the garage, enveloping Vanessa and Dominic. Their clothes started to crumple. The fire swept through the thin film of gasoline covering the puddle of blood beneath their corpses.
A fiery blood angel.
Very beautiful.
“You guys really made me rack my brains thinking how to kill all of you,” I said as the heat of the growing fire splashed my haggard face. Without Dominic’s coat, I started to feel cold. I held out my hands to warm them over the flames.
Disposing of Fred was such a sheer stroke of genius on my part that I wanted to award myself a gold medal. I was about ninety percent certain Fred didn’t have a tracker on him. Like Vanessa said, Fred made it all the way to us without getting attacked by a Skitter. I had no idea why Skitters kept on finding us though.
Getting rid of Rob was a bit more problematic. I was selling to him the idea of using the diamond bracelet as armor. I’d encountered the factoid that diamond was the hardest material on earth, but I hadn’t heard of a diamond armor.
Why was that?
After our encounters with the Skitters, I noticed that Rob’s armor made out of the special metal bar was deformed, the impact of the bullets left pockmarks on its surface, or mini craters more like. I doubted a diamond armor could absorb impact like that. Hadn’t seen a diamond get dented after getting hit, only chipped. A diamond armor could probably survive a few hits, but it would shatter under continuous gunfire. That was the key to killing Rob.
Timing it would be very difficult. We had to be near the exit when Rob died because of a faulty armor. I also needed to kill Dominic and Vanessa while escaping the Skitter that would kill Rob.
In the end, I didn't even follow the tricking-Rob-into-using-a-diamond-armor plan. What actually happened wasn’t as I envisioned it.
But, hey, everything worked out in the end.
The skin of the corpses started to break, like a sausage splitting, its casing opening when cooked, revealing the bloody flesh beneath. The fire pounced on the exposed flesh, fueling itself to grow larger with human fat. I walked further away. The garage itself was burning.
Death…with the brain destroyed, the connection to the Adumbrae severed, powers gone…this was the closest they could get to returning to human.
Wow, that is fucking poetic. Almost made myself tear up.
“I wish there was some other way,” I said. “But I had no choice.” If I didn’t kill them and they were able to contact the criminal organization led by the 2Ms, then the latter would find out I wasn’t one of them and would try to find me. The 2Ms would have even more reason to search for, and maybe even kill me, when they realized I was the same person they kidnapped on the same day their base at the docks was destroyed.
Up to this day I still had no clue why the 2Ms had kidnapped me. That was the main reason I went to live with Deen and was sort of helping Dario’s group. They probably targeted me because of my connection with Dario’s group. But no one should’ve known about it…unless there was a traitor in their…oh, sorry, I mean our group. And that was another reason I joined them; they already knew who I was anyway, so might as well get close to find if one of them was working with the 2Ms.
I also didn’t want the 2Ms piecing together that I was the giant wolf Adumbrae that attacked the docks. From what I gathered from the conversation of Rob and the others, the 2Ms had plenty of enemies. They might’ve assumed it was an enemy organization that attacked the docks.
However, once they knew I was also here in the club at the same time the wolf Adumbrae made another appearance, it would click that I was at least connected with it, even if they didn’t know the truth that I was actually that giant werewolf.
I would’ve stood there for a longer time, but I had to go. I had no issue looking at the burning bodies. They were my friends, after all. Getting grossed out by their cremation was disrespectful. The smell though…it was causing me to gag. I didn't want to make a disgusted face in front of them.
“Bye guys,” I said, stepping in the car.
Arms of darkness welcomed me as I drove out into the street. The only sources of illumination beside the headlights of the car were the puny lightbulb and friendly bonfire inside the garage. And now that I left behind its warmth, the cold caressed my skin through my torn and ragged clothes. Beyond this tiny island of light was a sea of black.
There were no stars in the sky. Was it just cloudy or was it because the heavy smoke from the detonation of the Greaves reactor of the two BID agents rolled high above the city?
The light pole outside the garage wasn’t working. It was slightly bent. Broken glass was at its base. The two-story building the next door over also suffered some damage. Its sign had fallen down on the sidewalk and its display windows completely shattered. Must’ve been due to the shockwave of the explosion reaching here.
The street was weirdly empty. Even with the advisory from the city mass message system to stay indoors, people would’ve been out in the streets after that explosion.
Rob did mention this was in the northern part of Clover Heights. I recalled this was a sort of a neglected portion of the neighborhood, the southern area being the lively part full of thriving business. From the little I could see with the headlights of the car shining down the road, I spotted other closed or abandoned shops similar to the one Rob bought.
Because there was no one around, I decided to park the car along the curb to continue watching the last moments of my friends. “Ugh, I suck at parking so much,” I said. Fortunately, there were no other parked cars so I didn’t hit anything.
I opened one of the bottled waters Rob packed as supplies. Would’ve been better if I had liquor, but I didn’t like to drink anyway so this would suffice. The water felt so good running down my parched throat. Only now did my thirstiness hit me after fighting and running around the entire night.
I drank about half of the water in the bottle then poured the rest on the street.
“Libations for my friends! Ten-over-ten rating. Would make friends with you again.” I didn’t have any flowers or anything to make into a cool funeral for them but then I remembered pouring liquor on the ground was a thing. In fact, the ancient Egyptians used water as libations, the holy Nile river and all that, so this was fine.
I wasn’t doing this sarcastically. I did consider them as my friends. I didn’t even eat their brains even though that was my initial plan joining the fight in the arena beneath the club.
Why did I want to eat brains?
Rofirio said he ate the brain of one of the mutants because it would stop him from losing himself. I assumed he meant that he should eat the brains of people with power, be it mutant or Adumbrae, so he would maintain his sanity and not lose his mind to the Adumbrae giving him powers.
That was it.
Only an assumption.
Why did I assume that though? I had no concrete evidence to back it up. The 2Ms did seem to use mutants in some way to maintain the sanity of their clients. The mustache guy in the arena who found out I wasn’t one of their clients said they processed the brains of the mutants. Made sense. There was probably something in the brains of people who failed to become an Adumbrae that they used with scientific hocus-pocus to turn it into something to stabilize the brains of their clients against the interdimensional encroachment of malevolent entities.
I actually never saw their clients eating brains. Like, you know, right out of the skull. When someone won in the arena, a drone came to pick up the head of the mutant they defeated like some kind of prize.
Where the fuck was I getting the impulse to eat brains?
Know what I saw actually eating brains?
That weird Cocoon that popped out of nowhere.
Even Rob and the others were puzzled by it. The BID agents deemed it dangerous enough they sacrificed themselves and the lives of who knows how many people above ground just to stop it.
Hmmm…did SpookyErind have a hand in this?
That bitch!
Something crashed, interrupting my musings. I jerked and looked around for the source of the noise. It was just the ceiling of the garage falling apart. The fire had reached up the walls and ceilings and was slowly burning it down.
Time to go.
While driving, I stared at the diamond bracelet on my wrist. I'll keep this to remember you, Vanessa.
As I left the ghost town portion of Clover Heights, I came to witness the destruction wreaked by the detonation of the Greaves reactor. I drove past fallen trees, street lights, telephone poles. There was so much broken glass. Windows of cars, of houses, of shops, of buildings. Some buildings were on fire.
People were on the streets, running this way and that. Some with injuries. Others trying to find help for the injured.
But there was no help.
No ambulances, no firetrucks. I did hear sirens somewhere far off. It had been about two years since I last drove a car, so I was a bit tense navigating the streets full of panicked people. I nearly ran over a guy who was trying to flag me down. He probably wanted a ride to the hospital for his injured wife and kid waiting on the sidewalk.
I ignored him. Sorry, I’m just hurrying to have a shower.
After exiting Route 42 and jumping to the highway, I finally saw the center of the explosion in the distance. A tall pillar of smoke rose out of the ground, rivalling the height of surrounding skyscrapers. The area around it glowed a distinct orange. Helicopters floated above.
Most of the city’s ambulances and firetrucks were probably at that place. The police too. I wondered how many cops that accompanied the raid died. Probably all of them.
There were no cops in the streets to enforce the curfew. Despite the advisories, there were plenty of cars driving along the highway with me. People rushing to the hospital. People rushing to help their friends and families.
I checked my phone. The city still hadn’t lifted the signal lock. Only messages and calls to emergency numbers allowed. This contributed to the general panic and mayhem in the city.
“Where should I go?” I wondered out loud. Back to my apartment? Or to Deen’s house? Wait a minute… I slammed the steering wheel upon remembering something important. “Shit! Bianca got Deen.”
Did I remember it correctly? My memory from when I was in my giant beast form was muddy, but I recalled Xazary, Bianca’s bodyguard, saving Deen in the arena. Best case scenario, Bianca just dropped off Deen at her house and went away to mind her own business, maybe hide or prepare to be investigated by the BID. Or she took Deen to hide with her—meaning she still hadn’t figured out Deen wasn’t one of them. Worst case scenario, Bianca already discovered Deen's secret and she delivered her to the 2Ms.
They’d torture her to spill our identities and they were going to hunt us. Killing Vanessa and Dominic would’ve had no point. Damn.
Ok, ok, let’s tackle this one at a time.
I’ll check Deen’s house first. Most likely she wasn’t there. Take a shower while thinking of a plan. Try to look for Dario and the rest, if they were still alive. Then figure out a way to find Bianca and Deen. Rescue Deen and maybe kill Bianca. Game.
It was already 3am when I reached Deen’s house. I parked the car out in the front.
“Shit, I’m a mess,” I said, looking down. “Shower, shower, shower,” I sang as I prance across Deen’s lawn. “Key, do I still have a key? Yes!”
All the lights were off. Deen’s sister always stayed late at her boyfriend’s house. She probably didn’t try to come home after the curfew was in place.
Sounds.
Voices talking.
The TV was on?
A hand touched my shoulder and my heart stopped.
It was a firm grip; I couldn’t get away unless I used my inhuman strength. Which I didn’t want to do. I glanced at the hand. I knew this person.
“To the living room, please.”
“Alright, Xazary.”
Beautiful, silver-haired Bianca was sitting on the far end of the couch watching the TV while munching on popcorn. Deen was lying on the couch with her head on Bianca’s lap. Zachary stood at attention behind the couch.
Bianca’s face lit up upon seeing me. “Are you seeing this?” She gestured to the TV. It was news about the explosion. The news helicopter hovered above a gigantic crater where the club along with several buildings, once were. "This is crazy."
“Is she dead? Deen?”
Bianca shook her head. “Just sleeping.” She brushed crumbs of popcorn off Deen's face. “I have her knocked out.”
"Is she a hostage? Am I a hostage too?"
"Nope to both. Have a seat first so we can talk."
Xazary brought me a seat. And I reluctantly sat down. Xazary was right behind me, her hand on my shoulder. How fast would she be able to react to my transformation? Pretty fast I would say. I knew she could blow up my head the moment I summoned the mask.
“Relax, Erind Hartwell. Or should I say Madame Blanchette.”
I raised my brow.
“Don't be afraid. We have much to talk about. You see...I’d want us to be on the same side.”
Monsters, cold-blooded and evil, without an ounce of guilt or remorse, people you’d hesitate to call humans—the usual descriptions of my kind. This was mostly due to the media’s tendency to sensationalize everything. Movies, TV shows, and books depicted only the most extreme of us. In the news, criminals committing heinous acts of brutality were often labelled as my kind even if it was hardly the case.
Take ownership of your own shortcomings, normal people. Don’t push it on us.
It wasn’t like we didn’t know how to distinguish between good and evil, or at least what society considered as such. We did. We just didn’t care for it. But that didn’t mean we were evil. That we were full of malice. Nothing could be further from the truth. There was no voice in our head egging us on to do evil deeds. Come to think of it, our lack of empathy oftentimes prevented us from being intentionally malicious.
We did what was beneficial for us and avoided things that were bad for us.
Just like everyone else.
Taking advantage of others? Not caring for others? Wasn’t that normal human behavior?
I’d argue it’s actually worse in the case of normal people. They felt guilty about doing the wrong thing, for going against their morals and values, their conscience supposedly restricts them, they wrestle with a voice inside their head telling them not to do this or that…because it’s bad...because it's evil…
…yet, they still do it anyway.
Personally, I considered those people were more dangerous than my kind.
And it wasn’t as if my kind were devoid of morals or values. Each of us had our own Rules, some more concrete than others. And I was proud that my Rules, for the most part, coincided with peacefully integrating in society.
In my own assessment, I was a pretty considerate and well-mannered individual—I had Rule #4, for example. I didn’t go out of my way to be a cunt to others. I didn’t take advantage of anyone unless necessary…or if I was bored—but that rarely happened. Give me a pass on that one. If someone helped me, I generally repaid them in one way or another even if there was no incentive for me to do so.
I was proud of my efforts to be a ‘decent’ person in the eyes of society.
Applause please.
Vanessa helped me. Big time. There was next to no chance I would’ve gotten out of the maze of tunnels alive if she didn’t take me into her group. I wasn’t an ungrateful bitch to just forget about that.
I unscrewed the cap of the red five-liter fuel can I found in the trunk of Rob’s getaway vehicle. It was packed along with canned goods, bottled water, medicine, a tent, and other survival tools. Even though he was dead, I had to commend Rob’s preparedness. I wrinkled my nose as the sharp stench of gasoline filled the air, but it was soon wafted out of the open garage door by the billowing air of the cold, early morning. Poised to pour gasoline over the dead bodies of two of the heroes that helped me, I stared at them for one last time, burning their memories in my heart before I burned them for real.
I never forgot those who helped me.
Vanessa’s dead eyes stared at the ceiling of the garage. Literally dead eyes. Blood flowed from the bullet hole right above her nose bridge, down her left cheek, and to the grubby floor. A red pool collected behind her head, forming almost sort of a halo. An angel of blood.
Beautiful.
It turned out shooting between the eyes did result in instant death. I’d seen it a few times in movies and I’ve read about it too. I thought it was only for dramatic effect, or maybe for a cool line…shoot between the eyes. But in one episode of a true crime series Mom loved, it was explained by an expert that while people sometimes survived headshots, shooting between the eyes guaranteed a kill. The brain stem was there and other important brain stuff, whatever. The victim wouldn’t even know they were dying; the last thing that would register in their mind would be the sight of the barrel.
A quick and painless death—the least I could do for Vanessa.
Well…it was also within my interests that she died quickly, without any opportunity to regenerate or use any more powers she was hiding. But…shhhh…let’s just go along with the reason I wanted her to die painlessly as a sign of gratitude.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t do the same for Dominic. I wasn’t sure I could accurately hit his brain stem through the headrest of the driver’s seat. To hold his head in place before I shot, I stabbed his neck with a screwdriver I found in drawer, hopefully also damaging his spine in the process. He had a rough time dying from the looks of it. I laid him face down on the floor beside Vanessa so I wouldn’t see his expression frozen in agony. Sorry, Dominic, I tried my best.
I poured the gasoline over my two friends.
Yes, I’ll award them the distinction of being considered my friends for their bravery and self-sacrifice.
Involuntary self-sacrifice…if one wanted to get all technical about it. I appreciated it nonetheless.
“Oops, shit. Oh my god, Vanessa.” I accidentally splashed gasoline over her wide-open eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I knelt down beside her and tried to close her eyes. They wouldn’t stay closed. “This wasn’t like the movies at all,” I murmured. I tried a few more times but her eyelids were insistent on staying half-open, like she was very sleepy. “Fine, just stay that way.”
After I emptied the contents of the fuel can, another idea popped in my head. I searched all over the garage shop for flammable materials. Cardboard boxes, a wooden table and cabinet I ripped apart with my bared hands, and stacks of yellowing papers, probably receipts and documents of this shop when it was still operational. I covered the bodies of Vanessa and Dominic with them, making sort of a funeral pyre. I removed Dominic’s coat and placed it on top of him, murmuring thanks.
I felt like I did something wrong...I probably should've made the pyre first and poured the gasoline after, not the other way around.
Oh well, it looked cool. Satisfied with my work—which they also would’ve liked if they weren’t, you know, dead—I lit up a wad of crumpled paper using Dominic’s lighter attached to his keychain and tossed it to the pile. I slowly backed away, smiling fondly at the flame that was growing.
The fire crept over the paper and cardboard, curling them, turning them black. Suddenly, a fireball erupted and the small flame consumed the whole pyre.
"Fucking shit!" I exclaimed, holding my hands up to cover my face, running backward out of the garage. The skin on my arms were a bit singed, but they were healing. The ends of my hair were also burned. It wasn't regenerating; I supposed dead cells like hair wouldn't regenerate. Did I pour too much gas?
The roaring fire licked the brittle wood until it succumbed to the heat. Flames danced higher and higher, reaching the ceiling of the garage, enveloping Vanessa and Dominic. Their clothes started to crumple. The fire swept through the thin film of gasoline covering the puddle of blood beneath their corpses.
A fiery blood angel.
Very beautiful.
“You guys really made me rack my brains thinking how to kill all of you,” I said as the heat of the growing fire splashed my haggard face. Without Dominic’s coat, I started to feel cold. I held out my hands to warm them over the flames.
Disposing of Fred was such a sheer stroke of genius on my part that I wanted to award myself a gold medal. I was about ninety percent certain Fred didn’t have a tracker on him. Like Vanessa said, Fred made it all the way to us without getting attacked by a Skitter. I had no idea why Skitters kept on finding us though.
Getting rid of Rob was a bit more problematic. I was selling to him the idea of using the diamond bracelet as armor. I’d encountered the factoid that diamond was the hardest material on earth, but I hadn’t heard of a diamond armor.
Why was that?
After our encounters with the Skitters, I noticed that Rob’s armor made out of the special metal bar was deformed, the impact of the bullets left pockmarks on its surface, or mini craters more like. I doubted a diamond armor could absorb impact like that. Hadn’t seen a diamond get dented after getting hit, only chipped. A diamond armor could probably survive a few hits, but it would shatter under continuous gunfire. That was the key to killing Rob.
Timing it would be very difficult. We had to be near the exit when Rob died because of a faulty armor. I also needed to kill Dominic and Vanessa while escaping the Skitter that would kill Rob.
In the end, I didn't even follow the tricking-Rob-into-using-a-diamond-armor plan. What actually happened wasn’t as I envisioned it.
But, hey, everything worked out in the end.
The skin of the corpses started to break, like a sausage splitting, its casing opening when cooked, revealing the bloody flesh beneath. The fire pounced on the exposed flesh, fueling itself to grow larger with human fat. I walked further away. The garage itself was burning.
Death…with the brain destroyed, the connection to the Adumbrae severed, powers gone…this was the closest they could get to returning to human.
Wow, that is fucking poetic. Almost made myself tear up.
“I wish there was some other way,” I said. “But I had no choice.” If I didn’t kill them and they were able to contact the criminal organization led by the 2Ms, then the latter would find out I wasn’t one of them and would try to find me. The 2Ms would have even more reason to search for, and maybe even kill me, when they realized I was the same person they kidnapped on the same day their base at the docks was destroyed.
Up to this day I still had no clue why the 2Ms had kidnapped me. That was the main reason I went to live with Deen and was sort of helping Dario’s group. They probably targeted me because of my connection with Dario’s group. But no one should’ve known about it…unless there was a traitor in their…oh, sorry, I mean our group. And that was another reason I joined them; they already knew who I was anyway, so might as well get close to find if one of them was working with the 2Ms.
I also didn’t want the 2Ms piecing together that I was the giant wolf Adumbrae that attacked the docks. From what I gathered from the conversation of Rob and the others, the 2Ms had plenty of enemies. They might’ve assumed it was an enemy organization that attacked the docks.
However, once they knew I was also here in the club at the same time the wolf Adumbrae made another appearance, it would click that I was at least connected with it, even if they didn’t know the truth that I was actually that giant werewolf.
I would’ve stood there for a longer time, but I had to go. I had no issue looking at the burning bodies. They were my friends, after all. Getting grossed out by their cremation was disrespectful. The smell though…it was causing me to gag. I didn't want to make a disgusted face in front of them.
“Bye guys,” I said, stepping in the car.
Arms of darkness welcomed me as I drove out into the street. The only sources of illumination beside the headlights of the car were the puny lightbulb and friendly bonfire inside the garage. And now that I left behind its warmth, the cold caressed my skin through my torn and ragged clothes. Beyond this tiny island of light was a sea of black.
There were no stars in the sky. Was it just cloudy or was it because the heavy smoke from the detonation of the Greaves reactor of the two BID agents rolled high above the city?
The light pole outside the garage wasn’t working. It was slightly bent. Broken glass was at its base. The two-story building the next door over also suffered some damage. Its sign had fallen down on the sidewalk and its display windows completely shattered. Must’ve been due to the shockwave of the explosion reaching here.
The street was weirdly empty. Even with the advisory from the city mass message system to stay indoors, people would’ve been out in the streets after that explosion.
Rob did mention this was in the northern part of Clover Heights. I recalled this was a sort of a neglected portion of the neighborhood, the southern area being the lively part full of thriving business. From the little I could see with the headlights of the car shining down the road, I spotted other closed or abandoned shops similar to the one Rob bought.
Because there was no one around, I decided to park the car along the curb to continue watching the last moments of my friends. “Ugh, I suck at parking so much,” I said. Fortunately, there were no other parked cars so I didn’t hit anything.
I opened one of the bottled waters Rob packed as supplies. Would’ve been better if I had liquor, but I didn’t like to drink anyway so this would suffice. The water felt so good running down my parched throat. Only now did my thirstiness hit me after fighting and running around the entire night.
I drank about half of the water in the bottle then poured the rest on the street.
“Libations for my friends! Ten-over-ten rating. Would make friends with you again.” I didn’t have any flowers or anything to make into a cool funeral for them but then I remembered pouring liquor on the ground was a thing. In fact, the ancient Egyptians used water as libations, the holy Nile river and all that, so this was fine.
I wasn’t doing this sarcastically. I did consider them as my friends. I didn’t even eat their brains even though that was my initial plan joining the fight in the arena beneath the club.
Why did I want to eat brains?
Rofirio said he ate the brain of one of the mutants because it would stop him from losing himself. I assumed he meant that he should eat the brains of people with power, be it mutant or Adumbrae, so he would maintain his sanity and not lose his mind to the Adumbrae giving him powers.
That was it.
Only an assumption.
Why did I assume that though? I had no concrete evidence to back it up. The 2Ms did seem to use mutants in some way to maintain the sanity of their clients. The mustache guy in the arena who found out I wasn’t one of their clients said they processed the brains of the mutants. Made sense. There was probably something in the brains of people who failed to become an Adumbrae that they used with scientific hocus-pocus to turn it into something to stabilize the brains of their clients against the interdimensional encroachment of malevolent entities.
I actually never saw their clients eating brains. Like, you know, right out of the skull. When someone won in the arena, a drone came to pick up the head of the mutant they defeated like some kind of prize.
Where the fuck was I getting the impulse to eat brains?
Know what I saw actually eating brains?
That weird Cocoon that popped out of nowhere.
Even Rob and the others were puzzled by it. The BID agents deemed it dangerous enough they sacrificed themselves and the lives of who knows how many people above ground just to stop it.
Hmmm…did SpookyErind have a hand in this?
That bitch!
Something crashed, interrupting my musings. I jerked and looked around for the source of the noise. It was just the ceiling of the garage falling apart. The fire had reached up the walls and ceilings and was slowly burning it down.
Time to go.
While driving, I stared at the diamond bracelet on my wrist. I'll keep this to remember you, Vanessa.
As I left the ghost town portion of Clover Heights, I came to witness the destruction wreaked by the detonation of the Greaves reactor. I drove past fallen trees, street lights, telephone poles. There was so much broken glass. Windows of cars, of houses, of shops, of buildings. Some buildings were on fire.
People were on the streets, running this way and that. Some with injuries. Others trying to find help for the injured.
But there was no help.
No ambulances, no firetrucks. I did hear sirens somewhere far off. It had been about two years since I last drove a car, so I was a bit tense navigating the streets full of panicked people. I nearly ran over a guy who was trying to flag me down. He probably wanted a ride to the hospital for his injured wife and kid waiting on the sidewalk.
I ignored him. Sorry, I’m just hurrying to have a shower.
After exiting Route 42 and jumping to the highway, I finally saw the center of the explosion in the distance. A tall pillar of smoke rose out of the ground, rivalling the height of surrounding skyscrapers. The area around it glowed a distinct orange. Helicopters floated above.
Most of the city’s ambulances and firetrucks were probably at that place. The police too. I wondered how many cops that accompanied the raid died. Probably all of them.
There were no cops in the streets to enforce the curfew. Despite the advisories, there were plenty of cars driving along the highway with me. People rushing to the hospital. People rushing to help their friends and families.
I checked my phone. The city still hadn’t lifted the signal lock. Only messages and calls to emergency numbers allowed. This contributed to the general panic and mayhem in the city.
“Where should I go?” I wondered out loud. Back to my apartment? Or to Deen’s house? Wait a minute… I slammed the steering wheel upon remembering something important. “Shit! Bianca got Deen.”
Did I remember it correctly? My memory from when I was in my giant beast form was muddy, but I recalled Xazary, Bianca’s bodyguard, saving Deen in the arena. Best case scenario, Bianca just dropped off Deen at her house and went away to mind her own business, maybe hide or prepare to be investigated by the BID. Or she took Deen to hide with her—meaning she still hadn’t figured out Deen wasn’t one of them. Worst case scenario, Bianca already discovered Deen's secret and she delivered her to the 2Ms.
They’d torture her to spill our identities and they were going to hunt us. Killing Vanessa and Dominic would’ve had no point. Damn.
Ok, ok, let’s tackle this one at a time.
I’ll check Deen’s house first. Most likely she wasn’t there. Take a shower while thinking of a plan. Try to look for Dario and the rest, if they were still alive. Then figure out a way to find Bianca and Deen. Rescue Deen and maybe kill Bianca. Game.
It was already 3am when I reached Deen’s house. I parked the car out in the front.
“Shit, I’m a mess,” I said, looking down. “Shower, shower, shower,” I sang as I prance across Deen’s lawn. “Key, do I still have a key? Yes!”
All the lights were off. Deen’s sister always stayed late at her boyfriend’s house. She probably didn’t try to come home after the curfew was in place.
Sounds.
Voices talking.
The TV was on?
A hand touched my shoulder and my heart stopped.
It was a firm grip; I couldn’t get away unless I used my inhuman strength. Which I didn’t want to do. I glanced at the hand. I knew this person.
“To the living room, please.”
“Alright, Xazary.”
Beautiful, silver-haired Bianca was sitting on the far end of the couch watching the TV while munching on popcorn. Deen was lying on the couch with her head on Bianca’s lap. Zachary stood at attention behind the couch.
Bianca’s face lit up upon seeing me. “Are you seeing this?” She gestured to the TV. It was news about the explosion. The news helicopter hovered above a gigantic crater where the club along with several buildings, once were. "This is crazy."
“Is she dead? Deen?”
Bianca shook her head. “Just sleeping.” She brushed crumbs of popcorn off Deen's face. “I have her knocked out.”
"Is she a hostage? Am I a hostage too?"
"Nope to both. Have a seat first so we can talk."
Xazary brought me a seat. And I reluctantly sat down. Xazary was right behind me, her hand on my shoulder. How fast would she be able to react to my transformation? Pretty fast I would say. I knew she could blow up my head the moment I summoned the mask.
“Relax, Erind Hartwell. Or should I say Madame Blanchette.”
I raised my brow.
“Don't be afraid. We have much to talk about. You see...I’d want us to be on the same side.”
