Dread (Martin)

He was walking the city. Expanding knowledge, a small black beetle he must be for those looking down one of the skyscrapers, those high rises that seemed to house so many businesses that the economic situation of the country could be judged based on the vacancy rates of those bureaus above him. What might those people up there be doing, thinking? Would they look down or up? He decided, that he would have to get in one of those another day, when the shadows were not as deep and the lights in the windows were not dwindling. Yes he was a beetle, but one growing steadily.

Shadows, shadows so deep were falling – he stood by, as the shadows of the buildings made their way across the street, moving towards him, covering his feet, himself. It all happened so fast.-
A simple lapses this was, but none so easily taken, as he barely noticed. Blink. The sun was replaced by the neon lights of the lanterns above his head.

He continued his walk.

He had picked himself a simple target. For today and it were not the high rises. He wanted to see into the back alleys of those streets around him and would not be deterred right now. How would the city look from that perspective? Stone to the left, stone and concrete to the right, the space in between barely 3 meters and yet the New Yorkers seemed intent on narrowing it down a little more and had placed all sorts of obstacles in his way. Trash bins and waste from the former being the most common. He looked up and the sky was only a thin line above, the walls of the houses looming over him, ready to crash down.

„My what have we found here? Looks like someones dropped us a present.“

A female voice caught his attention, as the apparent speaker rose from behind a trash bin, which seemed to be a fitting place for her in his eyes. She was wearing something that looked like a good attempt at what was supposedly female clothing of the day, the few straps of cloth barely covering her most intimate regions, yet doing so in such clinging manner, as though they were not there. She flexed her naked arms and started to walk up to him, hips swaying.

„Mymy, such a pretty surprise.“

As she came closer, tapping her finger at her chin, he gave her the most icy stare for ruining his tour of these fascinating wormholes. On the other hand she obviously was part of the tour. The thought made a small smile appear on his face. Taking a few swaying steps more the girl was within, what most people would not describe as comfortable distance any more. And she kept coming closer, her steps barely audible. The little bits of light, that were still falling on his path illuminated eyes with alarmingly dilated pupils, much to much so even for this darkened spot. Even though she tried to make up for it with what could be best described as humming sounds, a cold chill went down his spine. He did not move his head an inch, as her hand extended towards it, nor any other part of his body.

„Oh delicious you. The stiff ones are best, once loosened up.“

Before her hands made contact with his face, one of his gloved hands shot up and grabbed her wrist tightly,. His smile had turned into a snarl, while her expression was slow to change. It was as if she needed a few seconds to realize, that she was not touching his skin, but that her hand was in the very uncomfortable position of being held hostage. Her eyes – he was surprised to fiund, that that was even possible- widened with shock.

„You are despicable.“

These words were the only ones this „Lady“ would get from him, while he changed his grip slightly, avoiding the hand she shot up at his face. Her legs had shifted position for her furious attempt at getting the hostage freed, so her position was perfect and the movement came on his own accord. Before he himself realized it, he had tossed her with one fluid motion he sent her body, where her mind already was. An Uchi Mata had her flying, without him even having to use any force.

She was much lighter, then he had expected.

Looking at him from the ground she sent him a puzzled look, that changed into fury over several steps including disbelief and lust. At last she started wailing in a high pitched sound, that somehow pierced its way through to his heart. This poor girl was wasting her life and he had just made it worse. He had even reinforced her needs and desires, her insecurity that ever drove her into seeking more safety, where she could not get some. It was all plain and clearly written before his eyes. He turned around and fled the alley, out into the streets without looking back once. The sound followed him.

The fact, that someone was following him, did not elude his senses. Even in his present condition, especially in his condition, being on guard was invaluable for survival. Why do I always have to stay guarded? Why? Somehow that thought only made matters worse, as he walked a brisk pace. He was not running from the thing behind him. He would not run. Why run anyways? It was all so senseless. Another alleyways deep shadows were his destined point of arrival now. He could not go further, because doing so seemed only to increase the weight of the lump in his intestines.

So he hid in the shadows behind some nose of the wall. Carefully watching the street. Its senseless. Stop fighting it. I cant.

As a white haired girl went by, face full of horror, hands covered in greasy black he was surprised. Such a small girl would follow a man potentially dangerous to her. He had to admire her courage even if she might have more skill then met the eye. Those white hairs were fascinating indeed.

The piercing wail. The pain in those eyes. Maybe a little touch could have helped her. The touch of a friendly hand, a helping hand. He looked at his gloves. His own almost did not belong to him any more. They were prostheses, some other persons hands he had stolen.

The girl was almost gone from his view, when he managed to scramble out of the alleyway onto the brightly lid street, clothes covered in the same grime that had befouled the girls hands.

“I believe you are looking for me?”

His voice was loud and carrying. Steadfast and strong. Unlike his insides, where worms were slowly eating away. Tears were beginning to fall from his eyes. He wasn't so secure after all. Here was a thirty year old man crying on the streets. The fact that he looked younger did not make it easier on him at all.

Somewhere else a street worker was searching his assigned streets. If you wanted to call them streets anyways. The wail and the strange appearance of a girl had put him on DEFCON 1. If something made a girl stand this much on edge he would have to find out what it was.

Shortly after he found something lying tossed in a heap of rubbish.

“Cindy, what happened?”

The humming of the dialing tone continued forever in his ears. Even when a nice female voice greeted him, the tone seemed intent on continuing. The female voice spoke. He replied. She spoke and he replied yet again. It was not really him, that was talking there. It was not real, what he was seeing here. He fell on his knees and the wetness on the ground did not bother him. It was warm and friendly. And not real for sure. If it were real then Cindy was gone. Another little mark in some statistic. So he sat in a puddle of Blood as the heavens began to voice their anger. Anger. This was the emotion that would be sufficient to fil the numbness inside him. Just a the first bits of lightning begean to strike the ground, a nameless streetworker turned into an embodyment of the celestrial fury. Only one thing in mind. Kill. Kill the Killer.

Connection terminated.

Martin moved a few steps in the general direction of Ghost. Not too much, as he did not want to seem to threaten her. He looked at her fingers again, and then at his own. The black was real. Light that was flashing overhead got ready for the crescendo it seemed and with an all drowning boom for a pickup the first hair fine strands of plasma got on their way to connect heaven and earth and-if only for a heartbeat, an offbeat- succeeded.

The Ghostly light revealed the horror in the girls face. The horror he was feeling so simply expressed, yet that it was stuck somewhere between his head and his gut for him. And seemingly not ready to budge an inch at all. But the tears kept coming and he was glad to feel moisture on his skin. Moisture not sand.

Yes, what was wrong with him. It had been for quite a while now. But could this wrong be righted? Or more importantly: Should it be righted? His head began spinning, as his world kept turning itself. The lights blurred in his vision and soon he knelt on the ground, for he had nothing to lean on.

“I condemned a girl to death.”

His answer was barely a whisper.

The touch of her hand was warm on his shoulder. Her face, having suddenly appeared amidst the blur, had conflicting emotions written all over it. Those things that still lay cramped in his lap. She was sad and angry, scared and brave, warm and cold. Yet she was not confused like him and showed it openly. Her presence was reassuring in so many ways. He just wanted to be a little longer right now. Here was someone, not afraid of him. Here was someone who cared for him even though he was both unknown and dangerous. And yet she still asked, whether he was alright.

The cannon shots from the sky continued without any sign of notice of the scenes below. Why would they not continue anyways? They even rose in intensity. The air filled with static charge, making every hair on his body stand on edge, while the faint smell of ozone entered his nose as there now was nearly continuous lighting from above.

This warmth of her hand.

Hand.... on..... Shoulder?

As his mind had slowly processed the implications of that warm feeling he finally got to realize something.

Her hand was on his shoulder. On his shoulder!

He pulled himself together completely and suddenly, his world sliding back together in a split second. The blur in his vision was still there, but it started to disappear, as he blinked it away, while a hand, that awful hand, not his hand, just a hand, had already gotten a tight grip on hers. Right now it didn't matter whether he harmed her physically; his focus was crystal clear. All that mattered was getting that hand away. Out. It was far too close to him for safety. She had almost touched his skin. And that would -with his bad luck- not ended well for both of them.

His eyes were Ice now, glittering with the last remnants of tears. He had a responsibility. For himself, for her. And that one was greater then petty things like the lives of drug addicted teenagers. He wanted to say I'm sorry. He wanted to spill all those awful worms out of him. The worms of 10 years. He wanted it so badly it almost hurt physically. And there he stood, her hand in a tight grip, ready to throw her. He was disgusted and yet this was the only thing he could do.

“Don't touch me!”

It was not a whisper, it was not a strong male voice. It was a voice full of fear that spoke from somewhere. Why was there wind blowing into his mouth now. That had not been him, right? Oh no. It had been him.

He could feel time pass in slow seconds, drawn out by him intentionally, to regain control of himself yet a little more -Control was what he needed now to stop this pathetic show of weakness, emotions, distress-, when he heard the voice of a man in brooming sounds.

>>Iii thoooouught youuuu weerree juuust leeeavingggg? Ooorr waaas one victiiim not eeeenoughhh forrr oneee niiiight? <<

A different voice it was now, a male speaking into the night. More of a disco right now though, for the stroboscope lights were still flashing overhead and the basses booming. All with a certain laziness that came with prolonged time of their existence. But he now had almost constant light.
It was the content of those words, that made his already racing heart miss a beat. Yes, victim. But three people on one night? He was really having horrible luck. Well he was horrible anyways, so his luck just went with it it seemed.

He spun around instantly, well he tried. He still had not released his grip on the girls arm as she spoke her calming words. They were but a whisper in his ear, but a wisp of such reassurance, that he could easily pick it out from the background noise. A warm feeling was creeping about in his stomach, where previously the worms had been digging around. It was pure kindness he was experiencing here, and he was grateful for it. Now that he had somewhat compose himself again, his thoughts started working in their normal pathways again. It was as if he awakened from a dream, slowly pulling back into the waking world.

rm, well where was that arm anyways? And where was his hand? He could not feel it any longer, a strange sensation it is, when something that does not even belong to you rightfully suddenly disappears. It still is a loss that is noticeable, maybe even more so, because it is not your own that is lost. It was there again quickly, yet something had changed. The hand, that it had held formerly, was now gone and again in tight control by its actual owner.

A mutant owner this had to be, otherwise this would not have been possible. His grip was not strong, but that kind of numbness did not come out of nowhere. So why did she not do anything during the next events, but become palpable? There was no one here, who would notice her using her power, but him. Though he was unsure, what her powers were at all. Maybe they did not work for fighting. That had to be it. She had to know best herself. And apparently she did, as she easily disarmed him.

And so did he for himself. When the guy knocked her away from him, he wanted to step in.

But a lady in the gutter? Murder? This was getting a whole lot worse then he had expected. Murder was beyond him. He had killed people in ways other people might not see as such, yes. He had killed people in accidents with his powers, yes... -Well driven them insane at least- But he had never committed one murder in his entire lifetime. Another missed heartbeat this was.

She obviously knew her way around fighting much better then he did, so he let her be for a second or two more. This little time was enough for the man to kick Ghosts side, and the girl went on the ground in another instant.

Well crept would be a better word from his viewpoint. Times progression was almost nonexistent. This was his way to fight. It was a little bit like a chess game, where you had a certain time to think about your moves, and then make them, while your better opponent gets less time for him to think. Just evening out the chances it was. His think time was the time from the beginning of one move, to its completion. And there he went, before Ghosts body had even hit the ground his mind was made up.

“Look: I don't know, what you are talking about, but if you want to fight, choose someone your size.”

His taunt was ironic really, for his very scrawny self was no match for the officer, that was probably in top physical condition. While he completed his words, the last steps in front of the girl were taken. For his action he got a confused look first. This was just so wrong. So very wrong.

“Looks like you're resisting a police officer. Oh I will get you good, scum.”

His words dripped with the self confidence of an experienced officer. This one was absolutely sure, that he was right and even more so about his own superiority. He was so sure, that he would probably be blind for anything that did not fit into his view of their guilt anyways. One more reason to get this done with. This man was almost maddened by the thought of an arrest. But this time there would truly be resistance.

And so the game began with a classical opening. In the light of a flash, one could see the officer starting to charge at the opponent to try to get a good hold on him. At least that was, what the officer was trying. But somehow, where he had focused on gripping the felon, there was only thin air. The criminal had ducked away from him and had started an attack of his own. A gloved hand gotten hold on the outstretched arm, that had been so intent on clinging to anything in its wake, but it was from below and to the wrist. Making sure his grip was tight for a split second, Martin then pulled at it with all his physical strength, leaning forward in the process. This was a heavy guy and he needed ll his own strength, plus all of his weight, but finally he made it work.

And in a moment, that had not even lasted the time between two flashes, the officer was lying on the ground for the first time in the fight. It had been both of them standing there, then only one, that was crouched on the ground and the other lying. Sadly the officer got back on his feet all too soon. He was truly determined to get them.

So the fight went on as the officer got back to his feet, just to charge him again probably, his eyes those of a beast fixed on its prey. He would be on his feet again, much too soon. I am not prey Martin thought. Just the flick of my hand, thats all it would take. Oh this was really getting ugly if he had he just thought that. Did he? He must have.

He heard a voice from below, that was accompanied, by a constraining feeling around his ankle. What the hack had happened there? Was that officer a mutant? He looked down on his feet. He blinked. And then he blinked again. It did take some time, before the image presented to him could sink in. That girl was really just touching his ankle? She was touching him?
There were several solutions for such a problem, that he had thought about. Several possible scenarios, that would all lead to both persons safety. But being presented with that desperate grip around his leg made every scenario seem like a bad dream.

If it just were one.

He did not scream. He did not whisper. The words from his mouth -spoken is a modest volume- were full of such icy calm, that it unleashed a Blizzard in Ghosts direction. They snapped right through thunder and sirens, cut through obstacles. Even their little problem seemed forgotten for a while. He just stared at her.

“Don't. Touch. Me.”

The hand was gone almost instantly. He would have to explain it to her sometime.
Behind him the officer had gotten to his feet again, and began, what was predicted.
But then the he stopped dead in his tracks, because the girl he had punched to the ground was gripping tightly to his feet, too. She was really a touchy one, wasn't she? Flinging herself at him just like that.

Her words of reason were not going unheard by him, but judging by the facial expression of that one, they would really have to incapacitate him, before anything bad happened. This being of instinctive rage was not controlled by a rational mind any more. But the longer the grip lasted, the less feral these eyes became. With every flash of light there entered tiredness into them it seemed. So she was doing something to him after all. And it worked well, for he was coughing as soon as her hand left him.

The area was now bathed in red and blue light, a flashing counterpart to the light above. Doors were banging and voices shouting, as people stormed out of cars on the street. The cough had finally subsided and the man was getting ready for his final attack, when a scream echoed over the street.

“Freeze!”

The police would rescue them, yes? They would help them and get rid of that awful officer here. They probably weren't. He was one of theirs and would probably get both of them in big trouble. More then they were already in, quite possibly. So while standing, arms raised behind his head, he mouthed to the girl:

“Can you make sure he doesn't talk?”

His question was answered by the fact, that she asked him to cooperate and promptly making an example of herself. The way she did though, was quite odd, as he heard her words in a cold touch of a hand in his hair, that was soon gone like the wind, that carried it. So this was what she could do. Making herself a Martyr would be the better word to describe her action probably.

The police, your friendly neighborhood guardians, swooped in on them like some heroes from the sky, to rescue one of their own. The hands of the obese officer that was assigned to handling him were sweaty with anxiety and fumbling as if unsure where to go to next. They didn't deem him a threat, yes? Good. The clicking closing and a yank of cuffs on his wrists brought him out of his thoughts again. Officers were rushing all over the place as in a stirred hive, all walking brisk paces many directions. He saw one rummaging through the clothes of his earlier helper. His teeth clenched on their own volition and a certain grinding sound was heard by the officer.

“Hey there loverboy. Your eyes on me.”

Another sharp yank on the cuffs. That one was certainly manhandling him. And had he really just called him “Loverboy”? That one really was nuts. Loverboy.... tz. And why was he smiling in that weird way. Why did that smile make him shiver?

He was lead to a car separate from her, as he was only able to shoot glances at the girl in passing, prompting the smile of the officer to broaden. He just hoped she could see him. And he hoped her prediction was right, but he knew his hope to be unreal, more like a faint dream.

The drive to the police station was quite short actually -or was it long? It did not seem to last a second- And soon he was lead into a room, where he was to be processed. Fingerprinted for example, which presented a certain problem. It was a plain table with the big ball of person behind it and some papers on it. The grin had not yet vanished from the face of that... Person. He extended his hands in an inviting way toward an ink pad on the table. And there still were the four watching eyes him, he could hear the breathing of an officer besides the door. He had no way of resisting, but he had to try, lest they do... He raised his still gloved hands away from the table. The smile did not vanish.

“Now quit toying with us and get your hands on the table. Or do you want us to make you put them there?”

It was futile, he had known. Slowly and deliberately he removed the cover from his hands. They were white as snow and the blue of the blood vessels showed clearly underneath the thin skin. These hands never saw the sunlight. They were pale enough to be a ghosts. They were a ghosts really. “Don't like the sunlight, do you?” The words were met with an icy stare. Now there was only one chance left and he did not like to take it. A fleshy hand had already extended to get his fingers on that pad, but he withdrew his right away. The smiling one did nothing but nod, to send the person from the door into movement. He had to stop this.

“I am a mutant. You must not touch my skin. I do not wish to hurt you.”

Three sentences stopped them both dead in their tracks. Actually the first three words did the trick. They did not seem to take up the rest that well after only three words. One hand fell limply on the table and produced a thumping noise, while the officer behind him made a strangled sound. Then both exploded into action at once. The one near the door ran outside, already shouting for assistance halfway out, while the others smile had finally vanished into a snarl. A frightened snarl. A disgusted snarl. What had he done to them to warrant such reactions? He set himself down on a chair calmly waiting for what there was to come.


After some questioning they finally decided on putting him into a holding cell until they had contacted the embassy. He was still a foreigner and as such entitled to certain privileges, ok maybe not privileges, but specil treatment. They said it was for his own safety, but it seemed that his threat level had been raised quite naturally by the fact, that he had an x-gene, because his escort there consisted of four people -none of them obese or scrawny like himself, but apparently hard trained ones-, who had their hands on their guns and ready to draw, even though the heavy chains he had been given were really doing their part to keep his powers inactive. As inactive as they got really. It seemed that little imprisoning device around his wrist gave him a shock every time he used his mutation. A hefty shock. Trouble was, that his power was both of no use in combat and often acted on its own. He had to pay his price for that. Already he had made two shocking encounters with that little gem, which had made the officers laugh out loudly. And uneasily.

A few final steps and he was locked up with a collective sigh of relief. They had taken him deep into the bowels of the building, into some old cell with metal bars for doors and a stinking matrass for a resting place. He shrugged. Now the wait began, but in the far off he could hear clanging noises. Was someone else here?

“Hello? Is someone there?”