Jiri was dreaming again.

In his dream, he was a dog. A black lab, out for a late night run with its master. Alert. There weren't really thoughts, but there were feelings and they were close enough.

protect the master protect the master good dog

The smells were intense. It was like having synesthesia--the night had a texture to it, almost, a taste, a color. There were three men over there, facing a wall that ringed the Mansion

(he remembered the Mansion, this is where he was going to school now--)

One of them was squinting up at it, and he smelled like dark purple like a deep bruise discontent mad and one was keeping a lookout yellow nervous like pee and one was

Well, one really was peeing, right on the brick wall. Classy.

growl growl growl

"Evenin', Miss. You go to school here--hey hey, come back!"

scruff up tail high protect the master good dog

In the dream, like dreams do, he wasn't the dog anymore--he was one of the guys, jeering as the girl picked up the pace and booked it to the other side of the street. She brandished her cell phone at them, 911 already lit up on the screen, and her mutt growled back at them as they ran.

The guy who'd been peeing spit after her. "Mutie slut."

Jiri looked down at his hands. They were tan, deeply veined, dirt under the nails, scrapes on the knuckles, pin pricks on the arms. A swastika tattoo on the bicep, why not. Classier and classier. There were real thoughts now, not dog-thoughts.

what's going on what's going on--

"Sssh," Jiri cooed, "relax. Just a dream," but that really didn't seem to calm the man down.

"You say something?"

Jiri grinned. "Not a damn thing. So what we doing again?"

The third guy, the one who'd smelled nervous to the dog, gave a high laugh. "Told you not to take so much. You ain't going to remember anything from tonight." And he kept laughing until the man who smelled like anger back handed him.

"Come on. They got security, here. Let's go downtown. Find someone else on the list." He grinned. "Or maybe someone not."

The dream followed them as they caught a bus. Missed their first connection, swore, beat up a tramp to make themselves feel better.

let me go, I swear I won't tell them, I won't tell no one what you did--

Jiri started whistling Mr. Sandman.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen--

Next connection rolled in ten minutes later.

Three thugs got on the bus. The one who smelled like anger stopped just inside, then smiled.

"Well lookie here."

(Ooc: A little music to set the mood: www.yourepeat.com/watch/?v=ZO1SGvFSgZQ)

The last few weeks have been hell. Reaper, who later told him his name was Hades, was a hard task master. Trained him nearly every other day after his body had fully healed, praised him for his hard work and dedication, and while he gained confidence in his training, the fear had not gone away.

No, if anything it had gotten worse, making the nights sleepless and full of shadows. Shadows always creeping on the edge of his vision, men made into monsters, the past clashing with the present.

He would give anything to calm the tension that clung to him. Because if it clung to him, it clung to them too. The others, whom he created, who shared space within his head felt it too. And like the animals they were, too young to know any better, paced and clawed, howling their agitation into his mind. They urged him to run, hide, anything to get away from this fight that would surely kill them.

They had nearly died so many times before, knew too well the sensation of death. The brink of oblivion was not a place they wished to revisit. It was full of pain, so much pain.

Still, Alex in his sleepless mind thought that if he went into the city, proved to his constructs that they would be fine, that they would quiet and the fear would go away. It was something he had been told not to do, that it was dangerous and he may very well put his safe haven in danger.

But no sleep did funny things to one's judgement.

So here he was, on a bus into the city, hood pulled up to hide his face. Head leaned against the glass of the window, he watched the street lamps pass by. Counted them with eyes half lidded.

One.

Two.

Three..

Four...

Five.....

When the thugs stepped on the bus, they would find their former victim fast asleep and no one else but the driver to witness what they might do.

Jiri wondered what the dog would smell now, if it had been here still, if he'd still been it. The angry man had smelled like a bruise, all broken under the skin where things festered. Now he was smiling. Jiri stood behind the other two as they got on the bus, and saw that smile spread. It crept to both his cheeks. It crept up to his eyes. It crept and spread, until the nervous guy behind him was smiling, too, and sort of chuckling under his breath. What color was that chuckle? What texture?

Jiri smiled too, and mimed a hat tip to the bus driver. The driver didn't really look at them, just closed the doors and lurched the bus back into action. The man's music spilled out of his earbuds and down the aisle, and Jiri did a little slide-dance as he followed the other two down the aisle.

Besides the driver, there was only one other passenger.

Nervous sat in front of the kid. Angry sat right next to him. Jiri took up the seat behind. He leaned forward, draping his arms over either side of the kid's shoulders. Not quite touching, not quite caring if he did, his chin next to the kid's head.

"He looks so peaceful. All sleepy-headed," Jiri murmured. The boy was his age, or thereabouts, and a little smaller, a little scruffier. "Like a puppy."

Sleep.

He made it look so easy.

"Be a shame to wake him up," the angry man said. He was still grinning. He'd never stopped.

"Real shame," the nervous one agreed, his arm draped over the back of the seat, his leg twitching in front of him. "Ain't even got anything he could work with, here, use that freak power of his. Just like a puppy." His twitchy leg mimed kicking said pup.

In Jiri's head, a hard little ball of rage was welling up, and a kind of memory. A forest, then pain why did the freak do that it was just a bit of fun ain't need to go that far--

Jiri noticed that the man's arm was hurting. Not the one with the swastika tatt: the other side, under a white bandage.

"All fun until someone gets out a knife," Jiri murmured into the kid's ear. "Now why'd you go and do that? It hurt."

"Can't let him get away with it," the angry man sighed, as if truly disappointed. "Brought this on himself."

"Brought it on himself," the nervous one echoed.

If the boy wasn't awake yet, the quiet shink of a blade sliding out might just do the trick. The angry man smiled as he danced the knife across the back of his fingers.

Jiri started humming again.

Give him two lips like roses and clover
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over

It felt nice to get some sleep and the dream was pleasant enough. Before him scrub brush rolled out, thick with new, rare, rain. A head of him, he could see a mountain lion's form waiting for him, watching him from a distance. Mary, he knew that constructs mind, the connection hummed soft and familiar. It felt of home, safety, he was safe here.

Thunder rumbled over head, when did that storm cloud roll in?

Someone's arms settled over his shoulders, warm breath on his ear.

"All fun until someone gets out a knife."

He turned, eyes wide in terror as a he saw the corpse face of a man long dead. Someone he thought he would never see again.

"Now why'd you go and do that? It hurt."

He jerked awake, blinking against the bright lights of the bus. Breath caught in his throat as the world resolved itself and he saw face he didn't think he'd come across again. Least of all like this. He reacted without thought, reaching for the blades clipped to his belt, the ones Hades gave him. He trained with these, he could scare them off on his own, he was sure of it.

He didn't even see that the one right next to him already had blade out.

The boy's dream broke like a soap bubble, or a snow globe dropped: shattered, on the floor in pieces, not so restful no more.

Jiri tilted his head so he could watch the teen's face better, resting his cheek on the fabric of the seat back. It smelled like old sweat and vintage bubble gum.

he's reaching for something MOVE you idiot you're going to get us killed--

His arm snapped towards the kids face, fingers half-curled into a fist. Jiri stopped it an inch or so before it touched. He wiggled the fingers, flexed them, felt the cold air of the bus' AC as it streamed between them.

"Just gonna get you killed," Jiri corrected that angry desperate scared oh god voice in his head. This was just a dream for Jiri, just a dark dream, he couldn't really get hurt in a dream.

Angry man wasn't waiting for the knife to get fully drawn. He surged forward with his own knife, aiming for a cut somewhere in the kid's side or stomach. Something that would bleed nice and fast if it sunk all the way in, something that would hurt.

"Where's that friend of yours, huh?" Angry growled. "The one that broke Dave's knee? Maybe we should break your knee, huh?"

Nervous, meanwhile, had jumped awkwardly up, trying to grab the kid's arm over the seat that divided them, trying to stop him from doing anything with those blades of his.

Up front, the bus driver's eyes flashed to his rear mirror. He slammed on the break, hard.

The sudden lurch slid Jiri just that extra bit forward in his seat, his arms draping forward. He started tapping out the beat to the song in his head, right on the teen's chest.

Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beam
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

He didn't pay attention to what the guy behind him was saying. It wasn't exactly important at the moment. Before he could draw his weapons, the knife was sunk into his side, deep enough for it to feel like fire on his nerves. He couldn't help it, he screamed. Distantly, he felt his other arm get grabbed before he could draw the second blade.

"Where's that friend of yours, huh? The one that broke Dave's knee? Maybe we should break your knee, huh?"

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes. God it hurt, it really hurt. This wasn't just a connection to a construct, this was him being stabbed. In the back of his mind he was categorizing the injury. The knife had stopped short of cutting into any vital organs but it was close, one false move and...Oh god.

"Please, ahh, god, please just leave me alone!"

The bus suddenly jerked and everything shifted. In a move of desperation, he freed one knife and cut the angry one's arm, not knowing how deeply it went before attempting to kick him away. Then he attempted to stab nervous guy's arm. If he could just clear the path he could get away. Somehow, from his demeanor, he was pretty sure the guy behind him wasn't going to do anything to stop him.

It was one of those dreams were things happened really fast, sort of blurred together.

The boy screamed right next to him, for one. Jiri flinched away, rubbing at his ear. Now that was just louder than a dream had any right to be.

it's not a dream you freak get out of my head--

"Don't talk back," he said, and flicked his own forehead.

"Christ you freak I'm gonna--" Angry was screaming at the kid, and clutching his own arm.

"Get off!" The bus driver was shouting. They'd stopped, middle of traffic, horns blaring as the drivers behind them startled. It was late, but this was New York: therefore, the street still had a decent traffic flow. The doors opened at front and back. "I got cameras in here! I'm calling the police! You all get off!"

"Now that's not very nice," Jiri said. "This young man's a victim. Gonna stab him up in an alleyway if you--"

"GET OFF!"

" 'Kay," he obliged happily enough. The kid was going out one door of the bus; Jiri trotted after him, at a rather unconcerned pace. Nervous tumbled out just a moment after him, and Angry followed a second later, leaving a bloody hand print smeared over Jiri's swastika as he shoved past. Angry had a bit more motivation for moving fast.

All right, then. This was a chase dream. So Jiri gave chase, trailing languidly at the back of the pack.

He had two options here, stay in view of the bus and take his chances with the thugs outside of the bus or run and hope that his injuries wouldn't kill him before they caught up to him. Knife removed from his side, he could feel the blood gush out. If he survived, it would be another reminder of how close to death he had gotten. Still getting off the bus at the drivers command he stopped short of the door, looking back at the driver.

"You can't make me go out there with them, they'll kill me for sure."

One hand clutched his side, trying to slow the bleeding. The other still gripped his knife, too scared to let it go with his back turned to the enemy. But the look the driver gave him held no pity, only fear. So he stepped off the bus, staying the headlights of the car behind the bus.

He turned to face the group, knife up and ready defend himself. "Leave me alone! I'm warning you!"he called, knowing that any witnesses needed to be aware he wasn't at fault here. He would wait and defend until the police arrived, if he needed to be taken in by the cops then so be it. It would be a first but at least this time he wasn't on the run from them.

The lighting effects were cool. Very realistic. The bus driver had put on his hazard lights--and slammed his doors firmly closed again, the nice chap. Cars streamed around them, one long line of horns and squealing brakes and white headlights red taillights yellow streetlights.

A couple drivers were flashing phones as they went past, but no one was stopping, no one was helping the kid surrounded by three others. Bystander effect, just like in real life.

Angry was grinning a downright feral grin. His arm was hanging at his side, bleeding, but he'd stopped putting pressure on it. Couldn't put pressure on it and brandish the knife at the same time. The man had his priorities.

"Your parents ever take you fishing, before they figured out what you were? Ever gutted a fish? Got to slide the blade into the gut, and pull up--" He mimed the action, just in case the teen was slow on the uptake. "Just like that. That, you little aboman-abow--"

"Abomination," the nervous one helpfully put in.

Angry shot a don't need your help glare to his friend, then focused back on the scruffy teen. "That is what I'm going to do to you."

Jiri rocked back and forth where he stood in the circle around the kid. Heel to toe, heel to toe. "Talk talk talk," he said. "Very scary. Can I try?" He held his hand out for Angry's knife.

"You are higher than a kite, I am not giving you my knife." This showed a practicality on the Angry man's part that Jiri hadn't really been expecting. It was actually a little sweet. D'awww, he cared about his thug companions. What a wholesome, Hallmark beat down this was.

Nervous tittered. "You've got a knife in your waistband. You are wasted, man."

God damn it, the voice in Jiri's head said, with quite a bit of emotion. He sounded calmer now, more resigned to fate. Do not get me stabbed.

"I am totally getting stabbed," Jiri laughed, and patted himself down until he found the knife. It wasn't a fancy-pants click-open model like Angry's, but when he unfolded it, it was sharp enough. A little flecked with rust, but sharp. A special tetanus edition.

Jiri stepped up to the kid, his trusty rusty in hand. "My first knife fight," he grinned. "Be gentle?"

With no further ado, he lunged forward for a stab, a bit like a puppy running out to play.

Nobody was helping him, why was nobody helping him? As far as they knew he was a normal kid, they didn't know he was a mutant. He was about to get killed and nobody was doing anything. Didn't matter cops were going to be here soon and they'd show up quicker if he used his powers. So, to hell with subtly right? These bastards were asking for it.

The big grinning one was talking about gutting him like a fish, figuring he had parents to teach him such things before his powers showed up. Jokes on him then, he's gutted far more than just fish and he had no family to show him how. He almost laughed at the man's failure to say abomination, as if that was the worst insult he could think of.

He watched the exchange as crazy-eyes wanted to get in on the action and stepped up, blade drawn. Even bleeding out the attack was easy enough to dodge and retaliate in a...special sort of way.

Though it was likely only going to make his condition worse, he drew up the blood that had been leaking in from his wound, soaking into his clothes and made a small but aggressive swarm of wasps. The creatures attacked crazy-eyes' head stinging, biting and buzzing.

"I said leave me alone!"he spat, aiming his glare at angry. "I'm warning you, I'm not going to hold back if you keep attacking me!"

He missed, but it was fun, like going bowling and getting a gutter ball.

Less fun when the angry blood hornets attacked.

Oww oww ****ing oww--

For once, Jiri very much agreed with the voice in his head. He dropped his knife, swiping at himself, trying to get them off off off this dream wasn't fun anymore--

And then he was watching, from a few feet to the left. He could feel the twisted snarl on his face.

"Oh, you are going to pay for that, you--"

The voice sounded strange from the inside, like how his own voice sounded different than his voice left on an answering machine. He felt like he had stepped into a red-painted room. Everything was angry, so angry, gonna tear that mutie a new one teach him a lesson show him his place--

The angry man's words cut off with a sort of sputter.

Oh god, he said, as he felt Jiri just as much as Jiri felt him.

Jiri did the mental equivalent of a friendly wave. The other guy called me that, too.

He could hear a siren, somewhere, a few blocks away maybe. He felt a surge of emotion: gotta finish this quick, gotta get out of here--

"Round two," Jiri said, from the angry man's mouth. "Wasps are cheating."

This body felt bigger, fitter. Minus the bleeding arm. This time, he tried more of a full-body tackle. It just happened to include a bonus knife, like a surprise party favor.

Sirens! Thank god, the cops were on their way, he just had to hold out a little bit longer. He was fit to pass out, the bleeding plus using his powers and fighting for his life. Then there was the lack of sleep, of course. There was no way he was going to stay standing for anything longer than ten minuets.

That was of course when angry decided to tackle him. The man was much bigger than him and easily pinned him to the ground. Their knives clashed and his other hand, soaked with his own blood, was struggling to push the man off of him. The whole motion jarred the wound, made it gush and burn like nothing else.

"Get off of me!"

He couldn't help but remember the last time he had been pinned down like this. A larger man seeking to hurt and kill him. It was hard not to think about that man's face, monstrous grin and hands about his throat. The things he had to do to get away, would he have to do it again?

The wasps swarmed angry, buzzing and biting and stinging where they could, trying to get the man to back off. Or at the very least drop the knife.

"Get off of you?" Jiri pressed closer, the knives locked between them, close enough the teen could feel his breath. "Now why would I do that, you little freak you?"

Jiri was dreaming he was a mutant-hating thug, but even in the dream, he just couldn't keep a straight face as those words came out of his mouth. He tried a few more, to test their taste.

"Freak. Mutie. Genetic blip. You've got more X-genes than your mom." Nope. Nope, there was no keeping a straight face for this. He sat up, straddling the kid's chest, grinning as wide as he had in crazy-eyes' body. As he did, he noticed a bit of wet seeping into his pants. He looked down, noticed the stab wound on the kid's side for the first time. "Fruit gusher," he added to the insult list, and started cackling.

The wasps were still in action. A lot of them were still giving Crazy Eyes' trouble: the man was curled up in a little ball on the asphalt, muttering something about never doing drugs no more no more. Nervous had taken a few stumbling steps back, and was batting at the ones attacking him, slapping them against his own flesh. They were coming after Jiri too, but it wasn't so bad in this body. The angry man's leather coat blocked most of their stings, and trying out insults was just so damn fun.

"Crap, we gotta go!" Nervous shouted. At the same time, the sirens increased their volume. He didn't waste any time in taking his own advice. Without another glance at his two friends, he bolted.

A cop car had just rounded the corner, followed closely by another.

He winced at the breath on his face the insults spat his way. This guy was crazy, absolutely nuts. The movement to sit on his chest only made the bleeding worse, along with slowly pressing the air out of his lungs. He was going to die, he was going to die unless he acted. God he didn't want to do this.

But there was mater in the man's guts, material he could use and in the end the making might, might...The buzzing of cicadas filled his ears, a memory long past. Pinned as he was, bleeding as he was, this was his only option. There was material inside the man, packaged in organs. He gritted his teeth, as he reached out, mentally grabbing on to the material...and morphing it.

"Walking corpse!"he spat back.

Angry would begin to feel it now, painful movement in his guts, the bones of some other living things form inside and then through the soft tissued organs. Human had up to two pounds worth of waste in their bodies at any point in time. But it was all separated out, so to bring it all together certain walls had to be destroyed.

The police arrived, as police often do, in time to see the mutant killing a man.

The noise the angry man made was hard to describe. It was three parts blender meeting one part baby; it was wet and chunky, like if tapioca pudding could scream. Suffice it to say it ended about as well as one would expect, especially if one was a fan of Ridley Scott.

In fact, if Ridley Scott had directed Snakes on a Plane, he could have done no finer job of staging this scene.

"Gargle," was the Angry Man's last words, a final sputtering of his mortal coil.

And then there were white high beams and blue-red-blue-red pulses sweeping over them, highlighting the serpents that he'd given birth to as they first tasted air.

"Hands up and power off! Stay on the ground!" The first officer out of the car shouted, already taking cover behind the open door of his car. Inside, in the passenger seat, his partner was already radioing the situation in. Normal cops just weren't equipped to handle this level of crazy. They had an entire mutant crimes division for that; the MRC.

The second car pulled up a moment behind, tires squealing.

Crazy Eyes lay twitching on the asphalt in front of the cars, still curled up from the wasp onslaught. Nervous was long gone. Angry wasn't angry anymore.

Jiri was dreaming he was a mutant with cool special-effects-inducing powers.

'Walking corpse', huh? That was a good one, Jiri complimented. Took me awhile to get it, but I totally do now. Walking corpse--ha!