#weapon drabble

Jumping down the balconies one by one, hanging on for a moment just to let go again, had been the easy part. Running as fast as he could had been the easy part. The hard part was when his thoughts caught up to him, when the remnants of the previous situation flooded him again and he felt that  untamed desperation. The sickness he had managed to keep down that whole night suddenly sprang up with that last image of Symptom before he dropped from the window, ‘I don’t want to be forgotten again.’

Weapon caught the wall, his body failing as the vomit erupted from his stomach. Coughing and spurtering he couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down either. FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. The whole mission into the city was a failure. He had had the empty shell of Symptom in his hands, he had his lost friend in his grasp and he let go. He left him to the whites all over again. Heat and rage and misery was boiling through him and wave after wave of vomit poured out. Then he was choking on bile and it stung only a fraction of what his failure did. He could have made him come. He could have pulled his wrist and never let go. That would have been better than leaving him to white rats, wouldn’t it? He was on his knees, trying to crawl away from his own puke. Trying to bring himself out of it, there would be Dracs behind him soon.

A wind was blowing and though it was dirty and tainted it still felt good. It reminded him of the freedom he so wanted Chase to have, no matter if his brother would never be able to return. He tried to make himself feel better, he had to snap out of it. Maybe he did what was best. Symptom/Chase made his decision, and it was his own, however misguided it was. He couldn’t have forced him to come, he couldn’t bear to drag him away without his consent, that wasn’t being free. He looked back up to the distant building, to the only bright unshaded window there. And he hoped, he prayed, that he would see his brother climbing down. But there was nothing there. He heard hurried footsteps in the distance and then voices trailing behind, ‘Yea a Nexus seven! The Weapon! If we catch him we’ll be set for life! Come on bring your ass!’ ‘Fuck that! The only thing coming outta that is your dead body! I’m out of here! Don’t fucking rat on me either I know where Shelly lives!’ ‘You piece of-!’

Weapon got to his feet, wiping the wet from his eyes and pulling his bag in place behind him. He felt lighter and that may have been the only good thing about his brief standstill. He took off again, heading to that underground bunker he had emerged from only a day and a half ago. Lights began to shine around him and soon there was a group of whites blocking him. He had three throwing knives left in his belt. He chunked one at the man who first raised his gun. He jumped and dodged blasts, one catching him straight in the chest before he landed on the man. He had pushed the weakness away with the vomit and now there was only his rage. It was all he needed.

Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking; Damn’d daemons of despair

Dreaming. Must be dreaming now.

Weapon slowly opened his eyes despite the guttural feeling of being vulnerable. It felt as if a there was tons and tons of new gravity pressing down on him. He felt as if he were leagues and leagues underwater and that when his eyes would open the dark liquid would fill them and sting them with salt, and that his lungs to would be forced to try to expand and only take in the abysmal liquid to his cold death. But he fought these feelings and he opened his eyes. No water in sight.

Black against the leering sky. Ghastly shades of bygone gladness, Clawing fiends of future sadness, Mingle in a cloud of madness Ever on the soul to lie.

But I still must be dreaming.

There were gates before him, from horizon to horizon it was a gated wall with locked up doors that were all imaginable sizes, shapes, and colors. There was the drifting sounds of a flute playing somewhere off in the distance and he had a feeling that it would never end. The open area above the gates was more than a sky, it was a black abyss that swirled in others kinds of darkness and down under his feet was white sand that rolled and moved under him, draining out into far placed holes all around him. The pressure of nothing surrounded him again and he was paralyzed with the fear that he would fall through one of the sand holes. He could hear the creak of an opening gate somewhere but he lost consciousness before he could see anymore.

He was sitting in an empty blue room. The walls used to be white because he could see the white in all the edges of the corners of the walls and ceiling, like someone hurriedly painted it blue and never came back for the touch up. There was a vaguely familiar object next to him. A blue cartoon bear head, a mask. But he couldn’t reach out for it, he wasn’t completely there. There were white flashes and in between moments he could see scenes of other places, of other dreams and recollections. He saw a tall dark man with a gun, he saw an open horizon with a single building burning in the middle. He saw Hazel down on his knees, his little twitchy fingers walking along beside a trail of small green beetles. He saw a room settling after a fight, bodies dismembered and shrinking littered among long white cylinder containers. He saw another cloaked man but in place of his face was the whole universe. He saw Hazel again, head bobbing and tilting with the weight of the pink dog head mask. He was happy, and tired, excited and confused. A new emotion exploded before him only to fade away with the next scene. He was trying to break out of the confines of the memory and move to touch Hazel’s mask when another loud white flash rung his brain and he was startled awake.

His hand was already wrapped around his knife under his pillow and he moved it quickly before him. The sleep was gone in an instant and he could see no immediate source of what had woke him. There was another knock on the door. Weapon sat up, “Come in.” A timid little girl poked her head in and couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Weapon as she spoke softly, “Sorry to wake you.”

“Heeeeey Whisper doll, it’s ok. Did you guys finish them?” “Yes yes, we have them all wrapped up and we all took turns painting them. We even used some of the glitter and stickers.” Weapon grinned and nodded. “I know, you all made them so beautiful. Thank you doll. Have you seen Hazel around yet?” The girl bite her lip in thought, “Ummmmmm Fly man said that he saw him down in the grind room before.” “OK. I’m going to go get him. Can you guys bring the boxes up here for me while I do?” “Yes of course! Right away!” The girl excitedly disappeared and he got out of bed.

  Weapon threw on one of the soft black band t-shirts he had gotten from Party, so old that the band name was unidentifiable in the splatter of shapes and colors and holes big and small that riddled the entire thing. He remembered that Hazel had particularly liked running his fingers over the rough-like broken edges of the pattern, and dipping his jittery fingertip into the soft craters where the band logo had peeled away. He still wore the worn blood stained dress pants that he had worn when he first made his trek across the zone sands, unbeknown that he was making his way back into the arms of bizarre unconditional love.

He knew that Hazel would still be in his grey tattered cape like shirt that he must have acquired from a ghost’s closet. And that underneath would only be those thin worn tights and maybe underneath that some lacey red or black or white panties. Weapon licked his lips and picked up the wilted red rose he had picked from a scouting trip days ago and left the bedroom.

He didn’t find Hazel in the grind room where they made their sausages and so he walked on further down to the infirmary where they did surgeries and certain experiments. He found Hazel leaning over one of the sterile rolling tables, the scarred side of his face pressed against the shiny cool metal, baby sweet lips open with breath coloring the surface grey.  He paused only steps before him, watching the lump of hair and cloth in its only state of stillness for a little while.

Weapon slipped a kiss on Hazel’s small nose before he bent and tucked his arm under his pelvis to lift him up over his shoulder.  Hazel stirred like anesthetized mouse and made sweet sighing and squeaking noises. Weapon hummed in pleasure, trying to hide his excitement, “Good morning dear wormy, today is the day. Very very long ago your darling swimy cells and that squishy-wishy soul of yours graduated existence.” He was walking out, heading to their bedroom, “Happy Birthday Hazey Pazey.” He reached back and twirled the thorny rose for Hazel to see. The long leaves became tangled in that long nest hair and Weapon left it there for him. He could hear the sleepy giggles. Hazel took the rose and stuck his tongue in the bright red bloom, the edges frayed in its slow wilt, and tasted the red scent. He slipped the stem in his mouth and softly bite down holding it there still tangled in hair.

“Thank you Chachy, I’m glad I got to graduate, it was touch and go there for a second….” He yawned and stretched, holding the rose in place with his tongue, and then let his arms hang down to tap against Weapon’s butt as he took the stairs. “And I’m glad you can be with me on this anniversary…. Are you taking me to bed because I just woke up and you feel like you did too.” Weapon laughed, “Yes we are, but we won’t sleep. Unless that’s what you want to do on you birthday. Of course you get to do whatever you want today, but I have another present for you.”

He entered the room and closed the door, setting Hazel up right onto their bed he laughed at the way the rose was caught up in his hair. He took it from the freshly cut pale lips, patiently unraveling the thorns and the leaves and the hair. He kissed the little drops of blood away that the thorns had left and swooned at the sweetness of it all. To taste Hazel’s blood on those darling lips and to have him safe in his arms was a gift to him every moment and he felt this moment was most particularly sweet. He moved his face away allowing Hazel to see the stack of colorful and shiny boxes behind him. Hazel gasped and laughed at the pile. “Oh they are SO arty!” “Yea I got Whisper and everyone else in Rainyday to paint them or put their name or a picture on them.” He grabbed the top box and handed it Hazel, kneeling down on his knees before Hazel and the bed.

“See Red Lady drew one of her sharks on here, and Whisper glued all these beads on the corners. Pearls, she called them pearls and said you had once told her that an old wise man had once paid you in pearls for raking up his seaweed garden.” Hazel giggled and nodded in glee. “But my gift to you is inside.” Hazel pecked a wet kiss on Weapon’s lips before he stopped bouncing just enough to open the lid without ripping the cardboard. There was a skull inside, smiling and dead. The fatal wound visible in the form of a small hole in the very middle of the top of the skull.

“This, my sweet Hazel, was Doctor Vandebloom, one of the founders of The Athena Project.” Hazel’s eyes had widened and for a moment Weapon was unsure about how he felt, but then that giant toothy grin sprung up and he laughed. Hazel looked wonderingly at the rest of the boxes piled behind him. “The rest of his bones are in some of the other boxes, and then the others are the three lab assistants that were working with them. One of them are broken up into lots of pieces, I cut open his belly and shoved one of your little grenades up into his chest, it was pretty fantastic. I took out the Doctor with the tool he had been using to cut open a little kids corpse. He had stood there holding it up while I explained to him who I was and what was going to happen, like he was just going to turn around and continue his work. I guess he thought he was cause he kept pushing a panic button under the slab, but when no one came in maaaan did he start to sweat. The assistants just cowered in the corner while we did a little dance. I took the scalpel from him and shoved it in right there.” Weapon ran his finger along the ridges of the skull and up to the hole, grinning up at Hazel. “It didn’t kill him, hehe.” He chuckled a bit longer before he went on. “He was stumbling around trying to find something to hit me with. He threw a book at me and fell on the floor. The rest is kiiiiiinda blurry…. I was stomping on his chest and yelling…..” His eyes fell away as he tried to remember the rest, but he came back with a deep sigh, “I also took some of the rib bones and stuff and carved them into blades. We can shove them in the other doctor’s eyes, that would be fun.” Hazel giggled and bounced some more, “Oh Chachy you’re so romantic!” Weapon grinned his crooked grin he knew Hazel liked and pushed the box to the side so that he could kiss his knees. He ran his kisses up to his thighs, pushing the cloak up on his way. His heart was beating hard in his chest. He wanted his lips to touch every part of Hazel. He wanted to praise the little demon and worship him in blood and in mud. He wanted to squeeze him and carve his name into his chest.

The feeling of pure disgust and hatred was crawling all over his skin, like tiny tiny robots that crawled up his white boots making their way all the way up to the top of his jet black hair. As soon as he stepped out of the underground inner city tunnel and closed the door behind him he could feel them crawl up and go down, deep inside his organs and heart. He hated this place. It was hell, it was the very center of real Hell, human created and programmed hell. Industrially organized bleach boring hell.

The stark white buildings where grey now, tainted by the black wet streets and the smoggy dripping ceiling of a sky above. Everything that was once good mixed with the mass produced white and created pure shit. Rain was sticky and undrinkable, and when the sun did shine it was that mirky orange that herald a storm, smog bending the light into ugliness. Weapon was actually just on the outskirts of the absolute inner city, the main hub with all the glowing white buildings which never turned grey. Out here on the edge is where the rotting began, and got worse and worse the further out you went. But once the mold and the slums hit that outer wall, sand was there to cover it and erode all things away, leaving only the basic elements to be reborn and live free, away from the core of corruption.

He couldn’t see the wall from here, the city was way too big. Before Weapon had stepped out he had slipped the clear plastic mask down over his face and pulled up the white hood. The rest of his body dressed in a regular looking suit, except this time it was all white. Nice and clean and untouched by the blood that he usually accessorized with. He tucked his hands in his pockets and ran his thumbs over the white suspenders, fingering the black thread that outlined them, maybe they would keep him grounded, remind him, if things got sketchy, that he didn’t belong here. He was the opposite of white, he was black hearted and all the colors in-between. 

This was just a lay-low outing after all, checking out the state of things and watching for any new or interesting activities, finding the best way to get inside so that he could find what was taken from him. He couldn’t get the image of Symptom out of his head. He saw the sweet face moaning under him, and then it would turn into a screaming desperate face of what he must have had when he was being taken from the safety of Rainyday. He had to push the thoughts back, the anger that rolled inside of him would only be in the way of a scouting mission, he had to save it so that it could shape his precision when he found him and took out his captors.

He hadn’t got far when people started to appear. Some were regular citizens, a lot of them were off the clock Dracs or Scarecrows, and he smiled to himself like the lion strolling by the unknowing birds. Just one little bite and they could disappear. But he pushed the urges away, no need to cause a scene, no need at all. Most of the people around though were those poor things created, just like him. Androids, A.I., Replicates and Droids. Beings created by just another wanna-be god who left them to suffer in her absolute glory. A bright pink haired girl looked up to him from under a clear umbrella being drizzled by rain. She couldn’t see his face for the hood, and if she did she would only notice a plastic sheen. “A carbon to spar?” Weapon shook his head and walked on, but he had to stop. Slinging his white satchel in front of him he pulled out a little grey package, some kind of food inside. He knelt down and offered it to the girl. “Any interesting stuff been going on round here?” She took the package slowly, hesitantly, “What kind of interesting? White stuff or dirty stuff?” “White stuff. Any increased activity?” “Sort of. There are more out these days, and nights. I’d be careful if I was you. They know you sheep exist….” She had stopped, perhaps holding for dramatic effect, or trying to find the courage to speak on, he couldn’t tell.  “They just don’t know how you’re getting in, how many, or what you’re looking for…” He started to rise to his feet but her pale white hand reached out and caught his sleeve. “I have two friends. The Scareys got em. They had suspected that they were helping out the sneaking ones. They gave em all the information they could, but they still beat em. Beat em good. Clover didn’t make it…..”

He knew he was sleeping. He had to be. He could remember all the things he had done that day, he remembered all the things he had to do. But he was no longer there. He was somewhere else. Black space. Nothing, and probably everything. He had to be asleep. And this time he had wandered farther than ever before. This was confusing though. He hadn’t eaten anything much less taken any drugs while he took care of Rainyday, while there was a chance of another attack. Usually it took a great deal of certain chemicals to send him off to these far off places that emerged from his sleeping mind. He did occasionally have the traveling dreams while he was sober, but they were never… this far out.

Where the fuck am I?

It’ didn’t matter. Nothing could be done, he would be here until he woke. Though he had no physical body here he could feel himself, an object of mass, in this dense and heavy space. He was in such a primitive state, a mass of energy and… collecting stardust. That which everything is made of. He had the feeling that he had just met someone, and even though he remembered having a deep conversation with the… beast… he knew that he could no longer recall the experience in this state. In this state everything was random and on a single course. Though it was a multiverse he knew, he could only see and be in certain places at one time. Even though it was all rather distressing and actually quite horrifying, he liked it here. He never knew what he would see next. If he would fall into an open doorway to another world, or time, and on rare occasion space. Or if he would be stuck in an unending hallway unable to open any doors. Or even sitting on the edge of a cliff, over a sea of lost time, talking with a slimy creature who had no mouth to speak with.

There was music now, soft and distant playing about his head. A soft and dreary music, but as the song went on there were heavier and more airy sounds. Abysmal trumpets, vibrations in the deep. Though he had no lungs it felt like the air was suddenly ripped from him. He gasped out and reached for something, anything. There was a portal opening, matter was falling in, and so now he had is body back and he was on his knees, grabbing at his throat until the portal closed and he could take in a deep gasping breath. The air around was now dense, it felt real and as purely satisfying as drinking water. He looked up to search the darkness and there he saw a great creature. Giant and beast like, more mountainous than human. But moving like vapor, like the mist over the mountain itself.

Hello. He called out. He could not hear his voice, though he tried to speak it just didn’t exist. He could speak with his mind though, that was easy here. He could speak with emotions, because everything was known here. Everything was its true form.

The creature stayed far away, its enormous size didn’t allow it to get close. ‘Greetings, young one.’ The voice was neither male nor female, just deep and airy, like a thunderstorm. Weapon stopped from covering his ears but felt too weak to rise from his knees. Its presence made him feel empty and wanting. Like there was missing pieces from him. He was so inferior and unfinished compared to the spirit. It spoke up again, ‘Do you know why you are here?

I…. do not.

He realized he was holding his breath in anticipation. He breathed in deeply and made it to his feet. ‘Are you very sure?  He stared up at the creature, in awe of it’s presence. He felt that surely he was talking to a god. Surely.

I think… I may need something. But… who are you? You would help me freely?

He could tell that the creature was smiling, though it’s face looked very similar to the unmoving moon. ‘I would. For I am the expanse…. I am everything that exists beyond the earthly world. The atmosphere and the dark matter, anti-matter and the wind. I am what cannot be seen but surrounds all. You are the living, young one, and I am the undead. But you. You are special.’

Why?! He hadn’t meant to scream, it just came out that way. He had the nagging feeling that he encountered this whole knowing mystery about himself from the other creatures he had met. Gods playing with humans.

He felt hot tears running down his face, and when he touched his checks there was blood. ‘So very important. So very powerful. Sharur, you can wield our power too. Do you want to? Can you use it?’

Sharur? He stepped closer, into the dark blue tendrils that swirled from the immense base of the giant god. Feeling courage enough to even touch it if he could. ‘Weapon, Warrior, Exterminator. You have many names, just like us all. But you are exceptional. Stay back, curious one. I know what you heart desires. And I give it freely, but not too close, or it will destroy you. Yes even you, destroyer, cannot touch us. Yet.’

He laughed at the tempting endowment, and for a moment could not contain his overwhelming desire to have it all. To touch the gods and to be them. He laughed on, even as it felt like the mist was seeping into his skin, he laughed at the joy of it. He pulled back as the feeling increased, he could feel the Expanse moving closer to him, and he groaned with the pleasure that was running between them. Each moment he felt fuller that the next, and each moment he knew a greater ecstasy. One not dissimilar to the carnal desires he had, but all the more moving. Like pleasure as a cold liquid in his brain. He remembered now this exchange with another god, a hungry and mad god, that kiss had been bloody and horrifying. Like being raped by death and then eaten piece by piece. It felt like his muscles were pulsing after a run or a battle, his heart was thudding and his breath ragged. “Unnnghhhhh!” The grip was filling him and squeezing him tight. It was the creature, it was touching him, going in and leaving its power inside of him. “Aahhh!!” He moaned loud and plaintively, wanting more and more.  His whole being exploded in pleasure, an orgasm that rocked every nerve ending he had. And at that moment the god pushed him hard on the chest with a wispy wet hand. He fell out of infinity.

Weapon woke with a gasp. His loud panting quickly turned to confused moans as he found himself naked and covered in a greyish cold slim on the bed. “Wha! Uhhhnff!” He felt panic rising as he jerked his arms and the jello like covering did not come off. Then he realized that there was a loud constant static that was setting his nerves on edge. It was the record player. He remembered setting it as he had lay down to read the Necronomicon. He jerked with shock at the feeling of the book beside him. Cold horror jolted through him as he saw, instead of the book, a big slimy creature of a person with skin the color of the monster book. Deformed and unnatural. The creature screamed at him and he jerked away with his own scream, falling off the bed he scrambled to his feet.

He woke again and stood there where he had fallen, but the book was just sitting open on the corner of his bed and he was covered in cold sweat. Not slim or even blood. He was still panting as his brain tried to get back to a normal state.

Making it to the record player he yanked the cord from the wall, the static left what sounded like voices for a split second, hanging in the air the way sound from the radio always does when shut off. Like it’s last fight to stay alive and heard.

Our Chemicals are similar,

And I can't get you out of my head.

All I want to do is save you,

But you've nailed me to this bed.

And well I find it hard to stay,

With the words you say.

Oh baby let me in.

If you paint your eyes black, 

maybe it will keep out the white.

I don't want you to go, 

Cause I know you'll die.

It doesn't have to be this way,

But first you have to listen, 

And first you have to try.

Try and see the colors,

Try and touch the sky. 

My radiation will hurt you,

The Woman. The fucking Woman. You take the heart out of the King of Beasts, and the whole white corrupt kingdom down.

I plan on lopping off her head.