[NaNoWriMo] 2011: Colab. with Sophie

11.1.2011.2252
BHG


It was only a cold. A simple, common strain of rhinovirus. Kids got colds all the time. Hell, Ben recalled being perpetually sick in elementary school. Kids coughed without covering their mouths, tested everything with their teeth and ate their own boogers, so of course disease had been rampant. This couldn’t have been any different, right?

He stared down at his hands. Adam’s bright green hoodie. He had forgotten it on the subway. Ben had spent the entire morning hunting down the train from the previous day’s orange line just to find it. Adam always said it was his lucky hoodie.

Apparently it wasn’t lucky enough.

He closed his eyes tightly and listened to the faint murmurs of voices just down the hallway. His mother’s hushed, tremulous voice and the doctor’s calm, sterile, reassuring baritone. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but from the way his mother’s voice occasionally hitched in crescendo he could only figure it to be one thing.

He lifted the small fleece-lined hoodie up to his face and buried his tired eyes into the worn, soft fabric. His mother’s tentative footsteps drew nearer. She paused before collapsing beside him on the bench. He felt her arms drape tightly around his shoulders and winced as she began to shake him with her sobs.

“He’s gone. He’s … gone …” she gasped.

It had only been a cold.

.

Ch. 1

Ben was fifteen. He didn’t feel fifteen. In fact, he felt older. His mother always accused him of that. ‘You’re a thirty-year-old man trapped in a teenager’s body,’ she would say. He wondered if such a thing could be possible? Perhaps his brain had an overabundance of synapses which provided for early maturation? Maybe he was a famous scientist reincarnated, like Benjamin Franklin, or Benjamin Thompson?

Or maybe it was from having a deadbeat dad he never got to know, and from living paycheck to paycheck with an overworked and underpaid single mother? Maybe it was from having asthma, and no peers who liked him, and a little brother who was ten years younger who made it a hobby to drive him insane? Maybe it was from being bullied every day of his life for looking strange, being weak, having to wear thrift store clothes? He was pretty sure it was from not fitting in, not having girls even acknowledge his existence, and for being two grades ahead of anyone else his own age.

It wasn’t his fault that everyone around him was an idiot.

Quickly Ben shoved his textbooks into his already overstuffed book bag. He squeezed the duct tape on the right shoulder strap tightly, hoping to use his body heat to warm the adhesive to encourage it to stay intact. He didn’t need to spill his books all over the subway platform again. He didn’t want to relive watching his physics book succumb to the 1200 volts of the third rail again, let alone have to explain to his teacher that yet another tome of knowledge had been inexplicably ruined. He shuddered at the memory of his poor geometry book’s death by purple crayon, executed most efficiently by his exuberant artist of a little brother.

“Benjamin! Hurry up, you’ll be late!” He heard his mother’s frustrated voice through his thin bedroom wall. Somewhere on the other side of the wall he could heard his little brother Adam rambling away.

The kid never shut up. Ever. Ben had looked up stages of child development in a psychology book he had found in the library. He had been convinced that there was something wrong with the kid. Every breath Adam took ended with a question. That couldn’t be normal. He wanted to know everything. ‘Why is the sky blue?’ ‘Why do we have to go to school?’ ‘Why do you have to go to work, Mom?’ ‘What makes taste?’ ‘How did the universe begin?’

Seriously. The kid was a pain in the ass.

“Ben!” He heard his mother’s exasperated calls again, intermingled with Adam’s persistent chatter. He was sure the kid was asking their mother something about mammary glands.

“I’m coming. Calm down.” Ben shouldered his book bag gently and stomped out of his room just in time to see Adam tugging his own Spiderman backpack over his shoulders. The bag was way too big for him, but no matter what Ben had told their mother she insisted that he keep it. Never mind that halfway to school the thing was dragging on the ground and Ben ended up carrying it everywhere for him.

He snarled at the thought and blinked blearily up at his mother. It was six-fifteen in the morning. Nobody should be awake this early.

“Okay, I put a note in Adam’s book bag for his teacher. Also, I didn’t have a chance to make you guys lunches, so here is some money, okay? Remember, you need to get the reduced lunch, otherwise...”

“Yeah, I know. Okay.” Ben stuffed his handful of quarters in his pocket and scowled. There was nothing more humiliating than having to buy lunch at school. There were lots of kids who had to used the reduced lunch program, and Ben knew it was irrational to feel embarrassed about it, but being singled out and have to use the reduced lunch line was simply humiliating. He would rather starve. It looked like today he was going to have a bag of Doritos from the vending machine, again.

“Mom. Mom? Mom! Mom, listen!” Adam was practically hanging from her leg like a monkey. She nearly tripped on him while she pulled her coat on. “We’re carving pumpkins today!”

“That’s nice,” she murmured half-heartedly while she hurried to get her coat on. “Be a good boy, okay? Ben, have a nice day.” And she was gone out the door to her first housekeeping job. Eight hours at the Marriott and then an extra five at the Radisson.

Ben glanced down at his watch. They had a couple minutes before they needed to leave. He looked down at Adam just as he was wiping his nose with the sleeve of his green sweatshirt. “Stop that, that’s gross. Use a tissue,” Ben grumbled. He reached over to pluck one from the kitchen and shoved it in Adam’s sticky hands. The little boy gave it a sloppy blow before tossing it happily in the trash.

“We’re carving pumpkins today, Ben!” Adam repeated. “Miss Allison says we’re going to have a parade tomorrow and we should wear our costumes. I want to be Spiderman.”

Ben frowned. Had their mother even bought Adam a costume this year? Last year for trick-or-treating their mother had made them wear boxes wrapped in red and blue paper with Styrofoam cups taped to the front. They were supposed to be some bastardized version of Lego blocks. Adam had been ecstatic. This year, however, Ben’s little brother was more aware of the world’s latest trends. Anybody who was anybody would wear a super hero costume, and NOBODY wore home-made costumes anymore. Except poor people.

Ben frowned and stared down at the eager face of his little brother. “You’re annoying,” he said slowly, letting the words sink in. The kid didn’t seem to notice. He stifled a wet sneeze with the arm of his sweatshirt and bounced up and down, unable to sit still for even a nanosecond. “And you’re gross,” Ben added.

“You’re gross!” Adam wailed in retaliation, though his words held no malice. He grinned and gathered up a fistful of tissues on his own. He stuffed the balls of fluff into the pocket of his sweatshirt and smirked.

Ben rolled his eyes. He hated kids. “Come on, let’s go.” He pushed Adam though the front door, locked it behind them and meandered down the hallway toward the elevator and frowned at the familiar maintenance sign hanging just over the call buttons. Not again. He quietly cursed the broken elevator and himself for lingering in the apartment for the last few minutes. Now they would have to hustle to make it down the stairs and to the subway station in time for the orange line. He grabbed hold of Adam’s arm and began dragging him to the stairwell. Descending three flights of stairs was normally nothing, but was a cumbersome deed when one had a five-year-old in tow.

Especially the world’s shortest and particularly slowest five-year-old.

“Hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Ben shouted as he practically dragged his kid brother down the stairs. Adam tripped and stumbled at every opportunity and was practically in tears by the time they reached the bottom landing. “We don’t have time for crying. We’re cutting it close as it is.”

“I dun wanna go to school...” Adam sobbed as they burst through the doors and out onto the open street. Ben scowled and cursed, trying to ignore the sniveling, boogery kid he had in hand and made his way haphazardly through the early morning foot traffic to the subway station. By the time they had descended the escalator into the belly of the city Adam had completely forgotten that he was upset and had become more preoccupied with shoving bits of tissue up his nose to stop up the inevitable flow of snot from his left nostril.

A half an hour later he was dropping off his snorting baggage at the elementary school and was on his own trek southbound six blocks to the high school.

It had been a normal school day, complete with the usual bullying from the upperclassmen and the girl he liked in his English class not giving him the time of day. He had his bag of Doritos for lunch, had his fill from the water fountain and stayed late to check out a few new books from the library for his upcoming science project. Was he the only one who gave a damn about the science fair? Yes, probably. He cradled the stack of books all the way to the subway station and back to the apartment. To his dismay the elevator was still, inexplicably broken. He hauled his load up the steps and to the apartment. He could hear SpongeBob Squarepants cackling just inside. He stumbled in just to see the television playing a particularly obnoxious episode at full volume, but the usual image of his kid brother parked with his nose glued to the screen was nowhere to be seen.

“Mom? Adam?” He called out as he dumped his books onto the kitchen table. He walked the few rooms of the house. Nobody was home. He switched off the television and slumped down to a sit on the couch. Strange. He fished his old candybar Nokia cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his mom. She didn’t answer. He clicked it off and tossed it on the coffee table. Maybe they just went out to get Adam a Halloween costume? That must have been it. He hopped up, raided the fridge for something to eat and completed his search with a cheese sandwich and a modest apple. It would have to do. He inhaled it quickly, shoved the plate on the coffee table beside his cell phone and slumped back into the sagging back of the pale yellow couch. He was tired. Before he had decided a short nap was in order his eyes were almost closed. A quick nap, and then homework, and then he would have to watch Adam for a few hours tonight while his mom did her second shift at the Radisson.

.

Ben nearly fell off of the couch when his cell phone began to chime. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep but the sun, which had been poking its way through the blinds just before he had dozed off, was now nowhere in sight. He frowned and wearily picked up the phone to answer it.

“Ben? Ben, are you at home?”

“Mn. Yeah, I am. Where are you guys? What time is it...” he looked around the now dark apartment, somewhat disoriented. He could hear his mother saying something to someone else on the other end of the line before returning her attention to him.

“We’re at the hospital.” His mom said plainly. Those simple words jolted Ben into immediate panic.

“Hospital? Why, what happened? Which one? Is Adam with you? Is he okay?”

“Calm down. Everything is fine, it seems your brother was sent home from school for having a really bad cold. They called this morning. I took him home and called out of work, but nothing I did seemed to help. He had a bad fever so I took him in to the emergency room. They want to keep him overnight.”

Ben stiffened and gripped the cell phone so tightly that his palm began to ache. “Emergency room? Is he going to be-”

“Yes, yes. He’s fine. He’s the same as ever, though he is just a little tired. Look, I am going to stay here tonight. He keeps saying he’s worried that the doctor is trying to steal all of his blood...” His mother explained. Ben smirked. That sounded like the little brat. “Heat up some Bagel Bites or something. I’ll be home in the morning.”

“Okay,” Ben replied. Then he sat in silence while his mother threatened to do bodily harm to him if he didn’t go to school in the morning. “Mom. It is the weekend, remember? Saturday...”

“Oh, right. Yes, well, make sure you do your laundry then. And mop the kitchen.”

“Right...” Ben sighed and hung up the phone. He reached over to flick on a lamp beside the couch, squinting as the room suddenly illuminated in the wake of the supernova of fluorescence. It wasn’t the first time he would have to fend for himself for dinner, but it did feel weird not having Adam around to take care of. It was oddly quiet. Had the ceiling fan always made that grating sound? And did the refrigerator always sound like it was about to self-destruct?
An hour later he had finished his math homework and wrote a paper for English. With fingers greasy with the remnants of his Bagel Bites, he slumped down onto the couch once more and stared at his cell phone. It was weird, being alone. He always thought he had been alone before. Sure, he was alone a lot at school, but at home it was unusual. He looked down at his hands before he wiped them absently on his jeans. It had been five years since Adam was born, and never once had the kid left his side. He was always there talking his ear off, asking questions or rambling aloud some child’s play alone in his room. Now there was nothing, an eerie silence he hadn’t remembered existing before Adam was born.

He wondered if the little booger brain was okay. Kids got sick. People went to the hospital all the time. He probably just caught some bug.Yeah, that’s it. Probably needed an IV, maybe some fluids or something. Mom said he had a fever that wouldn’t go down. The doctors probably had a cure for that, too. In no time he’ll probably be home on some sort of bubblegum flavored antibiotic, rummaging through Ben’s things, driving him bananas once again with his insufferable questions.

Yeah. He’d be home tomorrow. Ben was sure of it.

.

Ben cursed his body as it automatically woke Saturday morning, bright and early at 6am. He supposed old habits died hard, even for him. He had tried to go back to sleep many times, but it was no use. He was up, and alone once again in the apartment. He called his mother’s cell phone but got no answer, and supposed that no news was good news. Things were still too quiet without his brother around so he opted to create some white noise while he finished up his studies by putting on his brother’s favorite station for Saturday morning cartoons. Then he ran the coffee machine. He wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but the smell was just another thing to add to his list of things that made a normal morning. What else was he missing? A sock? That was pretty normal. His dark, straight hair was a complete mess, standing on end every which way, defying the laws of gravity. That was usual. The girl upstairs was stomping around on the ceiling, doing her usual early morning calisthenics. Normal.

By all accounts it was going to be a normal day. Except that everything was wrong. Dreadfully wrong. For one thing, his calculator stopped working while he was working out a particularly dreadful cosine. Then he was out of blueberry Pop Tarts, which was fine except that he had nothing else to eat except a boiled egg. And he cracked it in the middle of boiling it. He had eaten all of the Bagel Bites in the fridge the night before. His clothes were still wet. He had forgotten to move them into the dryer, and now they were acquiring a strangely sour odor. The phone kept ringing. Bill collectors, as usual. He answered a couple of them, but then unplugged the wretched thing from the wall. Anyone important would call his cell anyway. A zit had formed on his jaw overnight. The batteries to the remote for the TV were dead.

It was the apocolypse, the friggin’ end of the world. What else could possibly go wrong?

His cell phone rang. He jumped and quickly tried to snatch it off of the table. After fumbling and dropping it two times he managed to answer it.

“Hello? Mom?”

“No, it’s me. Dad.”

Ben scowled and fell hard on the couch. He bit his knuckle, resisting the urge to groan at the sound of his father’s voice. “Oh...”

“Where is your mom? I just tried calling but your house phone doesn’t seem to be-”

“She’s at the hospital with Adam. Not that you care,” Ben blurted the words as if they were burning his tongue. He immediately regret it. He could hear his father’s breath quicken on the opposite side of the phone.

“Adam? Is he okay?”

“Who knows?” Ben added, trying his best to sound as cryptic as possible. “I haven’t heard from Mom at all this morning.”

“What was it? Does he need his tonsils out?”

“Nothing like that, some sort of cold or flu I think.”

“...Oh. Well, if you know what hospital he is at I can try to call there...”

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” Ben said with a frown while flailing his arm in the air in a hurrying gesture. His father always took forever on the phone. It was excruciating when he called. “Look, I’m busy. I gotta go.”

“Oh. Okay, well I’ll call around anyway. How is school, Ben? Isn’t the science fair coming up?”

“Busy. Sorry. Got to go, bye!” Ben hung up as quick as humanly possible and slammed the phone down on the lumpy seat of the couch. He stared at the phone for a long moment before grabbing it and throwing it full force across the room. It struck the opposite wall with a loud crack, making a small dent just under his mother’s favorite Pablo Picasso print.

He grit his teeth and stared, seething, at the sudden damage he had done to the wall. His mom would have that taken out of her security deposit, along with the hidden hole in the back of his closet he had managed to “accidentally” kick in while engrossed in a particularly heated fit of teenage angst.

He hadn’t always been this pissed off. He morosely recalled a time when he loved his father. No, he took that back. He loved his father, he just hated him at the same time. It was complicated and the more he thought on it, the more his head began to ache. He needed to bury himself in some school work, or study something that would one day make a difference in his life. He grabbed for his Physics book that was still laid out, beckoning him on the arm of the couch. No. He needed to get out. He desperately tried to phone his mother, but didn’t get an answer. He decided he would just go down to the hospital anyway. Just as he had shoved his feet into his sneakers his phone chimed in. He checked to make sure it wasn’t his father. Relieved to see his mother’s name flashing on screen he quickly tapped the keypad and answered it.

“Mom, Dad called and-”

“Okay. I am sure he did,” she interrupted brusquely. “Did you do your homework?”

Ben stiffened and narrowed his eyes. What a stupid thing to ask. “Of course I did.”

“Good,” his mother replied automatically, obviously distracted. “Look, Ben. I have to stay here for a while. It looks like your brother will be in here for a couple of days. His fever isn’t going down, but don’t worry, they are going to try to give him some stronger I.V. medications-”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Ben blurted as he attempted to keep on the phone and shrug his jacket on at the same time.

“No. You need to stay home.” The words were harsh and sharp. Ben paused in his fight with his right coat sleeve and stared blankly at the freshly dented wall across the room. A million questions began to run through his mind. Why? I don’t understand. If he is sick, he’ll need me, right? You need me, don’t you? Just before he could verbalize these thoughts his mother added, “They aren’t letting anyone in.”

“What do you mean..?”

“There are a lot of kids here who are sick. Their immune systems are weak, and so unless you are a parent or a patient, nobody is allowed to come in. I have to wear a mask while I’m in here. The doctors are saying it is some sort of new flu bug or something. I want you to make sure you take your vitamins. I won’t be home until late, and if he doesn’t get any better by tonight I’ll stay over again. There is twenty dollars under the bread box. Buy something for lunch and dinner, okay? Are you going to be all right, or do I need to call Mrs. Ward?”

Ben scowled and gave up on trying to get his coat on, and simply let it hang limp half-attempted upon his left arm. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if anything happens, just call your father or go next door and tell her, okay? My phone doesn’t get much in the way of reception here at the hospital.” His mother seemed even more distracted. A muted and incoherent voice spoke in the background, as if over a loudspeaker. “Okay, I got to go. Love you, honey,” then she was gone.

Ben stared down at his phone before shoving it morosely into his pocket. He didn’t know why, but he felt irritated. Betrayed. He shrugged it off, dug out the money his mother had told him to get and decided to go out and treat himself to a distraction of greasy hamburger down by the subway station. He finally managed to pull on his coat, grabbed his keys and left the apartment.

The hallway was quiet for a Saturday. He picked his way across the dull blue carpet to the elevator, scowled when he saw it was still out of order and reluctantly stomped down the stairwell to the first floor. At the bottom of the landing he heard voices coming from the lobby. He stopped at the first floor and inched up to the narrow metal door. He pressed his ear to its cool surface and waited for the voices to speak again. They did almost immediately, excited tones of youth he instantly recognized. Other boys from the apartment complex and school. He tensed and hesitated, his fingers gently touching the large lever of the door.

He never really did get along well with the other kids in the apartment. It wasn’t as if he had ever gotten into fisticuffs with anyone or anything, but ever since he could remember there had been a strange gap between himself and the other boys in the “neighborhood”. They were of a different make he supposed. Most of the boys in the apartment were atheltic, sociable and your typical teenager. They had no other interest other than where their next meal was coming from or who they were going to attempt to have sex with. Ben never felt like he could relate to any of them. They were dense, impulsive and rude. They thought he was a nerd, and never invited him to any of their activities. Impromptu soccer games out on the street were dominated by the jocks, especially Nathaniel, the boy next door.

Ben held his breath and listened to the murmurs and the occasional exclamation through the door. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could recognize the tones. Sure enough Nathaniel Ward was among them. There was no surprise there. Ben bit his lip reflexively and let his hand slide from the handle. He wasn’t sure he could handle walking through a group of meat heads right now. He was in a testy mood as it was, what with his little brother being sick and his mom practically leaving him to fend for himself. The last thing he needed was these jerks taunting him.

Their taunts were never too terribly aggressive, but they bothered him just the same. Nobody liked being shunned and teased. When they were all kids the jokes were basic. Nerd. Shorty. Four-eyes. Your typical, unimaginative insults. Now the insults were more sophisticated, and backhanded. Comments insinuating that Ben would always be alone, that he didn’t and would never have any luck with girls, that he was different from them in some way or another. Whenever he used to try and become part of their conversations he would be shunned as if he couldn’t possibly understand. Any time they talked about football, or what their fathers were doing a strange silence would come over the group and they would glance at him nervously, as if the topic was touchy or beyond his comprehension. It was humiliating and eventually Ben just avoided them altogether to soothe his nerves and keep some semblance of dignity in his quickly deteriorating life.
Why couldn’t life be simpler? Ben frowned and turned to press his back against the closed door. The nonsensical chatter continued from the opposite side. He would have to wait until they dispersed or left.

The voice that stood out most was Nathaniel’s. Ben didn’t know how he felt about the other teenager. He had known the kid for a long time. His mother used to babysit Adam on occasions when their own mom had unexpected delays in getting home and Ben was still too young to look after someone else. Their mom had always insisted that Ben go over there with Adam, but he was twelve by then and completely opposed to being babied by any adult.

The last thing that Ben ever wanted was to share any space with Nathaniel for any extended period of time. His mom would never understand that the tall, athletic “perfect” son next door was not-so-great at school, and part of a crowd of pubescent boys who made Ben’s life miserable on a daily basis. She didn’t get that if Ben was to go over to their apartment with the understanding that Nathaniel’s mom would have to “take care” of him that the Ward’s shining star of a kid would have plenty to tell his jerk-off friends the next day in class.

The last thing Ben needed was to fuel their disdain of him.

He didn’t know why they bothered to waste their time on him. Maybe it was a group mentality thing? Everyone had to have an enemy. He supposed that Natheniel was the leader of the group, so Ben had decided early on that his nemesis was the tall, popular soccer star next door.

They were complete opposites. As far as Ben knew, Nathaniel was no more intelligent than a paramecium. He was tall, strong, friendly, popular. He had a nice family, the perfect kind you saw on television. A square-jawed Dad with a good job, a pretty mom who stayed at home and nurtured and cooked and cleaned and took care of the neighborhood kids, and an adorable little sister. They lived in a large apartment, with nice furniture and clean floors. There was always something delicious smelling wafting through their door. When everyone else passed out crappy cheap candy during Halloween, Mrs. Ward always handed out elaborately decorated cookies. She was a friggin’ Martha Stewart. Ben couldn’t remember the last time he saw his mom actually bake anything.

For every change of the season or holiday Mrs. Ward would transform the front door of their apartment into a fancy, sparkling work of art. Fall leaves, Christmas lights, Easter Bunnies.

Everything was perfect, and though Ben knew it was ridiculous, he absolutely hated Nathaniel for it. It was easy to hate someone who you didn’t really know, and to be honest Ben didn’t WANT to get to know him. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the brute. He just wanted to walk through the lobby in peace. He wanted to get through one day without having someone snicker or point and laugh at him at school. He wanted people to stop making fun of him for being small, and smarter than they were. His mother said they only made fun of him because they were jealous.

What a load of bullshit. What would Nathaniel Ward and his attractive, girl-popular athletic cronies possibly have to be jealous of? Ben was small, weak and awkward. He couldn’t play sports without having an asthma attack. Hell, if they cut the grass unexpectedly out in front of the apartment building Ben would have to hole up for the rest of the afternoon with his nebulizer running full blast. He couldn’t talk to girls. Nathaniel had a different girl trailing around behind him every other week. Ben had no friends. Sure, he had kids who he helped in class, or people he knew from the Science Club and the Astronomy Club, but he didn’t have anyone he could confide in. He couldn’t talk to anyone about his feelings anyway, he wouldn’t know where to begin.

So whenever any of this would come up in conversation with his mom he would avoid it entirely. She was infuriating, always telling him things would get better soon, and that he was just a teenager and that the world sucked for everyone but that he would grow out of it. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He just... he just wanted her to acknowledge his feelings, not dismiss them and be so fucking optimistic.

Ben gasped when he suddenly realized that he had clenched his fists so hard that he had bruised his palms. He hadn’t honestly thought he was strong enough for something like that. He sighed, shook his hands out and turned his head to stare up at the descending stairwell just overhead. The conversation just on the opposite side of the door continued, the voices coming through only as nonsensical and incomprehensible mumbling. Not that Ben cared to hear the specifics anyway. They were probably talking about something retarded, like sports or how many girls one of the goons had fucked by now.

Ben grit his teeth. He felt stupid. His mom said that the jocks were jealous of him, but in reality he was rabidly jealous of them. Viciously jealous of everything they had, and every advantage in life they had been given. He had no hopes of ever being popular, or strong, or athletic and looked up to by anyone at school. He just wanted the normalcy. He wanted to be average, in appearance and in intellect. Being intelligent was no gift, Ben was convinced. What benefit could there be in constantly worrying, analyzing and stressing over bad situations. He wished he was blissfully ignorant. He wished he could turn his thoughts off at will, even if for a moment, to be at peace. He wouldn’t have to constantly worry about whether his mom had enough money this month for rent or the utilities. He wouldn’t have to worry about his father’s motivations, or worry about how all of this would be affecting Adam.

As much as Ben lamented about how much he hated his little brother, he was the one thing that concerned him the most. He felt like he was already screwed up. Sure, there was no reversing the damage on him, but Adam was just a kid. He already was beginning to show advanced thoughts and ridiculously deep reflection for a five-year-old. Ben was terrified that one day Adam would wake up and become the angry, bitter pessimist that he had become.

His thoughts were immediately interrupted by the sound of a door clanking shut. The main lobby door. Ben held his breath. There was no sound from outside in the lobby. He waited, counted to ten, and then pushed his way through the door and out into the open lobby, hoping that the pack of wolves had finally dispersed.

.


“I don’t understand. Why can’t he come home? I won’t send him to school...” Ms. Hall asked hesitantly as she watched her five-year-old son play with the recline controls of the hospital bed gleefully.

“Look, Mommy! I can make it go up and down. Angles!” Adam wailed happily before busying himself with smashing his thumb into the red nurse call button.

Doctor Faust sighed and shook his head slowly, flipping through the child’s chart carefully. He stopped at medical history and frowned. “It is complicated, and I don’t have all of the details, but... well, you know about our concern with letting this virus spread? How we have quarantined the hospital to only patients and their one relative? The CDC has put out an alert that this strain of virus has... well, it has been known to take the lives of children.” The doctor studied Ms. Hall’s placid reaction before continuing, “And we don’t want to risk having your son have a sudden turn for the worst. Sure, he seems fine now, but we don’t know much about this particular virus. We don’t know what the gestation of the infection is, or in what order the symptoms progress. We got his fever down, yes, but his cough has become productive.”

Ms. Hall frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. “I can get him cough medicine... and I have a caregiver who can watch him if he needs closer monitoring. I just can’t afford-”

“Ms. Hall. I understand your financial situation, and am aware that every night in the hospital is costing you a great amount of money, but you must understand that this is for the welfare of the public.”

“Then I expect that the CDC or the government will compensate me for this?”

The doctor shifted the clipboard to his other arm and sighed. “I will look into it. In the meantime, we also ask that you stay here in the hospital as well. You have had much contact with your child, and you may possibly be a vessel or carrier of this virus. We are attempting to keep it contained.”

Ms. Hall frowned and shook her head. “Impossible, I have to work. First you keep him here and cost me a thousand dollars a day just to monitor him- look, he is getting better- and now you are insisting that I don’t work so pay these bills back? You people are out of your mind!”

The doctor grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “That is out of my control. Perhaps you should address your concerns to the office?” He immediately began his retreat from the room.

“I have a fifteen-year-old son at home! Alone! What am I supposed to do?” She yelled down the hall behind him.

“Mommy, look! I can change the TV from the bed. It has lots of buttons.”

.

The burger was just as disgustingly slimy as Ben had remembered it being and every last glob of sauce and chunk of mystery meat was eventually transported to his stomach. He felt sick, but blissfully full at the same time. He flopped heavily down onto a nearby bench in the square just outside of the entrance to the subway and stared across the cement park at the fountain and the people milling about, having their usual Saturday fun. Performers playing music together on one end, some kids his own playing hacky sack and just loitering, enjoying the cool autumn afternoon. He recognized a few of the girls sitting on a bench nearby, especially Daria Lunden. The prettiest girl in school, hands down. She was stunning, straight off of television, with straight white teeth and shoulder length blond hair. Together with her two best friends, a brunette and a redhead, they were a complete set. He found himself staring and immediately tore his eyes away to glare down a passing elderly man walking his equally elderly beagle.

His phone rang. He didn’t want to answer it, but his worry for his kid brother forced him to fish it out of his pocket. His father’s number flashed urgently on the screen.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself before answering it with a stern, “What?”

“Ben? Where are you?”

“Out. Why?” He said as coldly as he could. He could hear his father release a frustrated sigh.

“I came by to pick you up. Your mom called. She said she won’t be able to make it home today or tomorrow, either. She is being held up at the hospital, so I came by to take you to my place for the weekend. She said she will be back Monday. Where are you, I’ll come pick you up.”

Ben grit his teeth and grunted cooly, “I am out. I won’t be home.”

“Ben, come on. Cut this shit out already.”

“No. I don’t want to go with you. I’m fine on my own.” Ben said angrily, his eyes closing reflexively to block out the image of Daria Lunden hugging a lanky black boy Ben knew from school. “Really. I want to be alone, okay? Just leave some money on the counter.”

“Ben...” His father sounded angry, and hurt at the same time. Ben didn’t give a shit. “When are you going to forgive me...”

“There is nothing to forgive, Dad. What’s done is done, right? I am fifteen, no. Sixteen in seven days. I can fend for myself for a while, okay? I don’t need you now-”

“Ben!”

“You want to be here for me now, but where the hell were you when I needed you most? Sorry. I got to go. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be okay. I’ll call Mom later, all right?”

“Ben, stop this shit. This is ridiculous. I am your father!”

Click. Ben jabbed the power button on his phone and shoved it into his pocket again. He took a steadying breath, opened his eyes and frowned at the newly transformed image of Daria Lunden making out with the newly arrived boy from school. He crossed his arms firmly across his chest and closed his eyes again, shielding them from the scene and the midday orange light of the sun. He was angry, but there was nothing he could do here to vent. He couldn’t go home, he knew his father would stick around and try to catch him at the apartment. He didn’t have anywhere to go, or anyone to go see. He thought for a moment about hiding in the library, or going for a walk in the park, but his anger was exhausting and made him lazy.

“ … all of the kids in the hospital are being held for...”

“I know! Did you see the news? Seven kids in this school system alone have died from it.”

“Wow, really? I wonder if they are going to close the schools? Do they know what it is?”

“No, not at all. It starts out like a cold, then all of a sudden the kids died from respiratory failure.”

“That’s terrible...”

“I know, it is supposed to be a concern of the …”

The voices faded away. A passing conversation Ben had only managed to get a part of. He opened his eyes and watched as the passing women, with arms full of grocery bags, make their way down torward the subway station. Were they talking about his school district? Kids with colds, who suddenly died? All of it was eerily familiar.

He jumped up from the park bench he had been occupying and ran over to the newspaper and magazine stand just outside of the subway station and studied the local newspaper headlines. Sure enough, just on the front page of The Meadowlark there was a headline about a “Mysterious Ailment Affecting Local Children”. Despite the protests from the attendant Ben flipped it open and began skimming the article. The women had been right. Apparently the school system had seven kids already die from a mysterious cold-like illness. There were no details on the disease itself, only that they thought it was a virus. The ages of children affected ranged from two to thirteen-years. It had affected all four elementary schools and both middle schools in the district. Ben frowned and turned the paper over. The article was short, concise and practically useless to him. The attendant snatched it from his hands and shooed him away, threatening to call his parents on him.

Right. My parents, he thought angrily as he lumbered off away from the stand. He grabbed his phone and turned it back on. Just as he had anticipated, his father had left him three voicemail and had tried to call a variety of times. Ben ignored the voicemail prompt and dialed his mom. She wasn’t answering. He remembered how she had mentioned that there was hardly any signal in the hospital. He frowned and phoned the nearest hospital, St. Jade’s Memorial, and asked to be directed to Mr. Adam Hall’s room. They said there was no patient by that name. Fine, he called the next closest hospital, Healing Heart. He asked the same thing and the operator told him to hold.

A ring. Then two. Then a familiar, small but excited voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Adam? Adam, is that you?”

“Ben! Mom, it’s Ben! Ben, I have a TV!”

“Cool. Hey, are you feeling all right?” It was nice to hear his little brother on the other end, sounding relatively normal. Ben listened closely as Ben described the hospital room, and the doctor, and the shot they had given him the night before. Ben could only detect a slight cough and sniffle from the kid. Maybe he wasn’t as sick as those other kids who had died? He seemed to be okay. Maybe even better than he had been on Friday. Relief began to swarm over Ben’s chest and soothe his mind. It couldn’t happen to them. His brother was in great health. There had to be something wrong with those kids who had died. Maybe they were weak kids, or already sick or something?

“Ben. I am really cold. I need Greenie. I think I lost him.”

“Your sweatshirt? The green one... where did you...” Ben began to rack his brain. Did he see the sweatshirt at home?

“I really want it. Can you bring me it?” Adam asked in a small voice. Ben could hear his mother protesting in the background. She was asking for the phone. “But I am talking!!” Adam whined. Ben could hear his mother shuffling for the phone. Hurriedly he hung up and turned the phone off. He didn’t want to talk to her. He was pissed at her already for sending their father after him and all she’d have to say was that he needed to go back home to their dad. Like Hell Ben would do that. He wanted to go to the hospital to see them. He was scared now, with his newly acquired information about the recent death of the kids. Adam sounded all right but Ben wasn’t entirely convinced. If he could just see him, and see that he was okay, he would be fine. He would feel better, and then after that, he would do whatever his mom wanted him to. He would go to stay with his dad.

Ben nodded to himself, resolved in his decision to go to the hospital despite his mother’s protests. But Greenie... the hoodie. He couldn’t go home. His father would still be there, no doubt. Ben didn’t remember seeing the thing at the house anyway. Adam never went anywhere without the thing. He had told Ben only a month before when he had first gotten the sweatshirt that it was “lucky” and had some sort of “magic powers”. Ben had laughed at him and told him not to be ridiculous, but in hindsight the hoodie had some sort of effect on Adam. It was like a security blanket, soothing and comforting. If Adam needed it, Ben would try to find it for him. It was the least he could do.

Where could it be? Ben decided to try the school first. He hopped on the subway and rode it all the way to Second Street trainstop and walked the block to the school. It was closed for the weekend, but Ben knew there had to be someone inside. He loitered around for about half and hour and finally ran into a maintenance man in the service entrance. He asked if the man had seen the lost hoodie and convinced the guy to let Ben root around in the lost and found box in the office. There were plenty of kid’s clothes, shoes, and random odds and ends but Greenie the hoodie was nowhere to be found.

He got back on the train and began to ride it eastbound in the direction of the hospital. He racked his brain, wondering where else the thing could be, when it occurred to him that Adam may have left it on the train. The orange line, the train that went directly to and from the school stop and their own stop on Estoria Blvd. It took only an hour to hop off onto the platform at Estoria and wait for the orange line to return. He asked the driver and attendant if they had seen it and sure enough, there it was lying on top of a collection of other lost items at the back of the train.

Finally, something was going right today. Ben tucked the sweatshirt under his arm and carried it onto the train heading back toward the hospital and forty-five minutes later he was standing outside of the hospital staring ta a large yellow warning sign on the front door reading, “No Patient Guests Allowed At This Time: Patients and One Caregiver Only.” Just beneath it was a box of gloves and two sizes of face masks. Ben peered into the lobby. An elderly volunteer sat at the front desk typing on a desktop computer. There was nobody else in there.

How was he going to get inside? His mother was there already, and if he had to check in the lady at the desk would see that Adam already had a visitor and wouldn’t let him in. He couldn’t say he was his brother and explain his real reason for coming because then they would call his mom and she would send him off to their dad. He had to get in... as a patient?

He smirked and pulled on a mask and when the woman was looking down he snuck through the rotating door and into the lobby. When she looked up he was standing just beside the desk. He managed a weak cough and sniffle. “I’m lost.”

“Lost? Oh dear, are you a patient?”

“Yeah,” Ben managed to say in a pathetic voice, attempting to sound younger than he was and frightened. For once he could use his small, slight stature for something useful. He was fifteen, going on sixteen, but could easily pass for eleven or twelve if he really wanted.

“What’s your name, dear?” The old woman asked. Ben coughed again into the back of the mask and said meekly, “Adam Hall. I forgotted what room number...”

The woman typed something into the computer and then looked up. “Four-thirteen. Wait one minute, honey, and I’ll call someone to walk you back up there.”

“Oh... okay.” Cough. Cough. “I’m gonna get a drink,” he pointed to the water fountain and smirked behind the mask. The old woman nodded. Ben inched his way to the water, grabbed a paper cup, and then when the lady turned to use the phone broke out into a run for the staircase. He ducked into the stairwell and began taking the stairs eagerly to the fourth floor. By the time he had made it to the fourth floor his chest was burning from the exertion. He stumbled out into the hallway, figured out how the numbed descended turned left. Seven doors later he was just outside of 413. He didn’t bother to knock.

Just as he burst through the door he was shoved back by a gurney. He tripped and fell to land on his ass just in the hallway as a rush of people pushing the gurney stumbled past him. Doctors, a nurse and two people in blue scrubs. They were yelling back and forth over the gurney at one another, vanishing down the hall and around the corner. Ben stared for a long, dumb moment before staggering to his feet. Greenie was lying just beside him on the ground. He scooped it up and was about to run in pursuit of the gurney when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned and stared up at the tear-stained face of his mother. Behind her stood a doctor in a white lab coat. The door to the room was open, empty of its bed.

“Mom... was that-”

She didn’t give him a chance to ask. Before Ben could say anything else she broke into a sob and grabbed him, pressing him tightly against her chest. Ben stared over her shoulder at the doctor, dumbstruck. The man’s face was pale, and his eyes uneasy, darting around the room, avoiding eye contact with Ben.

“We’re going to do all that we can,” the man said weakly. Ben felt his mom drop her weight against him, felt her body shaking with sobs.

Somehow he didn’t believe him.

TBC.

[Fanfiction] Mission 001 RPG - First Heero Post

Piloting a mobile suit was nothing like piloting a jet or a space shuttle. A mobile suit was a complex structure with appendages like that of a human being. Unlike a fused, single piece vessel, one had to take into account at any moment where each arm and leg were located while in battle, the stance of the suit, the distribution of weight, and how the next attack would be executed from this position.

That was why operating systems were so important. Super computers could anticipate the pilot’s moves and prepare the suit for the next assault or defensive maneuver. They could take control of thrusters, automatically lock on to intended targets, stabilize the suit in any form of terra or atmosphere, and sift through the billions of terabytes of data collected and present to the pilot those facts and pieces of information that are necessary to perform a mission.

Operating systems, or OS, were developed to make piloting easier. They were intended to optimize the piloting experience, and with these optimizations came more sophisticated suits with abilities that a single human couldn’t begin to control. The OS became an assistance tool, and then gradually over time was given a form of artificial intelligence (AI) with the simple goal was to seek victory against the target it was directed at, along with providing safety for the mobile suit and pilot.

The Mechanical Extrasensory Intelligence operating system, or M.E.I., was nothing like anything Heero had ever experienced. Unlike its predecessors, M.E.I. didn’t assist the pilot. Rather, it questioned. It doubted. When it made a suggestion, and the pilot didn’t commit to the same mission plan, it would punish. Its goals were not to seek victory and protect the pilot, rather to seek its own preprogrammed missions and keep the mobile suit from receiving damage, while training the pilot to submit to its desires.

The simulations had been enough to prove to Heero that this was going to be no cakewalk. M.E.I. was the single most frustrating thing he had ever gone up against, and he had done so for days on end. The observers who cycled through to watch his training all nodded their heads and muttered statements of approval as he fought tooth and nail against the fucking system, nearly driving himself mad with its constant disagreement with his piloting style.

He just didn’t understand it. Why would they develop an operating system that had its own goals and intentions? Why would they even bother putting a breathing, free-thinking human in a mobile suit that wouldn’t submit to the pilot’s commands? They could have easily created another mobile doll operating system with M.E.I. without wasting the resources they had on training pilots to sit within her and argue.

There had to be a reason. Heero just hadn’t had the time or energy to devote to figuring this out. The training regimen had been exhausting and he had finally found himself at his physical and mental limitations. He couldn’t sleep. He could barely eat. He found himself obsessing over the things M.E.I. had ‘corrected’ him on, wondering what the rationale behind each ‘correction’ had been. The system never told you why you needed to change your course of action; it just insisted that you did. Only his raw willpower could override the system. Whenever he did override its decision, he always seemed to find the same result. Despite his positive outcomes the M.E.I. system never recalled his previous decisions. It never took into account his past fighting history, style, or preferences. It just reset itself, and forced its odd requests upon him over and over again.

It had no frame of reference. It was single-minded and had tunnel vision. It wanted something done a certain way, with minimal damage to the suit, and it would force the pilot to do what it was programmed to. Again, why would they need a pilot?

It was as if M.E.I. was training the pilots to be just like it.

Heero had never seen any of the other potential pilots in action. He wondered if they were fighting as much as he was with the system. Maybe they had all submitted? He wondered why they would keep him in the program knowing that he was not cooperating well with their precious operating system, let alone give him a prestige mobile suit?

There was a lot about this organization he didn’t understand. He still didn’t understand the power play between Odin Lowe and Noah. The kid would show up for inspection once a day, walk through the pilot barracks and generally stomped around as if he owned the place. Heero hadn’t seen Odin since his strange request of him and Solo almost two weeks before. Was there anyone else in power, aside from Lowe and Noah? If so, what were their goals? What was all of this for?

The dull ache that had settled in his brain a few days before began to flare up. He closed his eyes and sighed, blocking out the image of the internal cockpit of the Aequitas suit. The low frequency hum of the power modules were the only sound aside from the occasional beep and turn of the Haro unit that sat neatly in its dock just to his right. It was dark. There were no monitors in this suit, something Heero had never experienced before. The control panels were all backlit in a pale, white-blue light. Holographic switches and touch monitors glowed faintly just in front of him. There were no thrust pedals, pulleys, levers or any mechanical controls at all. Duo’s words from a few days before echoed in his mind.

M.E.I. will show you what you need to see…

It was a frightening concept. How was he supposed to pilot a mobile suit efficiently with only an operating system showing him what he could and couldn’t see? He tensed and opened his eyes slowly, seeing the red glowing eyes of the infrared sensors scattered throughout the cockpit. He didn’t trust the operating system to present him with the data he would need to pass this test. He knew this wasn’t going to end well. He knew he should just submit to the operating system and do as it said, but that wasn’t what the organization wanted, was it? They seemed pleased he was fighting with the operating system. Were they expecting him to troubleshoot its decisions for them? If he submitted, would he be taken out of the program for being too weak? If that were the case, then he wouldn’t have access to Aequitas. It could jeopardize their mission and possibly set them back on their data collection.

He had to do this. For the mission, and for the safety of others he would attempt to overcome this operating system, complete his infiltration of this organization, and provide the Preventers with vital data required to prevention of this sort of technology being produced in the future.

“AE-02. Prepare for sortie.”

Heero recognize the voice of Lt. Edgar, the man who had been overseeing his training along with the other elites. The man seemed decent and knowledgeable enough.

“AE-02, standing by.” Heero said plainly, looking down at the Haro. It bobbled in its dock and turned to look up at him. “STANDING BY. STANDING BY.” It chirped loudly while swiveling 180 degrees.

Heero didn’t know what this training exercise would be. They had been towed out with the mobile suits deactivated to the meteor belt. After the airspace had been cleared they were left in random locations along the belt and told to wait. It had been an hour, and Heero was tired of waiting. He wanted to get this over with. He wanted to know how M.E.I was going to be in a real mobile suit, under real assault.
He sighed deeply, but found his flight suit constricting and the series of straps holding him to the strange seat tight and unforgiving. He felt like a prisoner, being held against his will, anticipating inevitable torture.

Edgar’s voice spoke up again from Heero’s earpiece. “M.E.I activated. Good luck, Ritter.”

“ACTIVATE. ACTIVATE!” Haro practically screamed. Heero saw the little ball’s eyes brighten. The humming of power around him grew louder and the suit jolted with energy, coming to life. He felt a throbbing sensation in his arms. His skin puckered and the hairs on his head and the back of his neck stood up. He felt as if he were being sucked back against the seat. His arms grew heavy and his feet were dragged even more firmly into their stirrups. It felt as if he were magnetized and stuck to the seat. He couldn’t move them. His eyes began to swim with spots, and then he saw his vision darken. Or was it the cockpit that had darkened? No. He couldn’t see. His heart began to race. He was growing uncharacteristically panicked. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see the cockpit, the glowing controls, or Haro.
Just when he was convinced he had lost his vision a flash of yellow flickered across his eyes. He felt a sharp jolt of electricity surge through his body.

“M.E.I. fusion, complete. Pilot accepted. John Ritter.” The familiar flat tone of the M.E.I. said from all around him. No… it wasn’t around him. It was inside him. Heero took in a ragged breath. The yellow light in his eyes vanished, and when his vision focused he realized what he was looking at. The meteor belt. The external of his suit. He was looking out through the suit’s optical camera. He was seeing the space around him from the perspective of the suit.

It was in his head. It was seeing the world through him, with him. He tried to move his arm again. He felt his arm rise. He saw the suit’s arm rise. He reached over to touch the opposite arm. He felt the sensation of metal touching his flesh.

Never in Heero’s life had he ever thought something like this would be possible. He had seen many advances in technology in his life, but this was something he never thought he would ever see, or experience. He wondered what Dr. J would say if he knew the world would have had such a thing as this.

He had become his mobile suit.

“Attention, pilots. Please, acclimate yourself with the controls. You have sixty seconds.” Edgar’s voice echoed through Heero’s skull, agitating the current ache in his temple. Heero flinched and reflexively grabbed his head. The mobile suit responded, mimicking his intended movements.

How did he move? He attempted to walk forward, but it didn’t do anything but tip his suit forward slightly. He was in space. He would need to activate his propulsion, but how, without anything to use as a controller?

“M.E.I., explain propulsion in fusion mode.” Heero found himself saying, hearing his voice doubled. He was hearing his internal thoughts, and hearing his physical body vocalizing as well.

“Fusion Mode. Pilot is fused with M.E.I. system. Piloting and maneuvers in fusion mode are achieved through mental processes, only.” M.E.I. stated.

“Mental processes,” Heero thought. Did he only have to think about what he wanted to do? He sighed and concentrated on a dark, gray and jagged meteor gliding past the suit. He thought about encircling it at specific speed, while pulling his right arm with his cannon up to a ninety-degree angle against himself.

And it happened, seamlessly. He tried it again. Again, the mobile suit adjusted its propulsion and thrusters to do as he commanded. He just needed to stop letting his brain think about how to move his physical body.

Thirty seconds later he had figured it out. It was as if his physical body encapsulated within the mobile suit didn’t exist. He was slowly becoming more and more accustomed to the fact that the mobile suit was now his new body. His brain was now sending its impulses straight to the suit, cutting out his human form within entirely.

“AE-02. Prepare for assault. Three mobile suits approaching 67.922 degrees, astral plane 4, weapons drawn. Destroy enemy suits.” M.E.I. supplied.

Heero readied his weapons. He was no longer himself. He was AE-02, an Aequitas mobile suit, prepared to destroy the targets. And he would. Nothing could stop him, not even M.E.I.

.

The mobile suit landed effortlessly on the landing dock, and was immediately dragged inside the hangar by large electromagnets attached to its feet. Once the pod had been pressurized the mobile suit was taken to its docking bay by two large cranes. It was locked into place. The catwalk was lowered in front of it and the external lights dimmed. Heero felt everything happening outside, but couldn’t see a thing. There were no external cameras, and with the M.E.I. system deactivated by the control tower, he could do nothing but wait until the hatch was opened manually.

His body was weak and trembling. He stared down at the control panel in front of him, and at the happily singing Haro twisting and turning on its dock, lamenting “MISSION COMPLETE. MISSION COMPLETE,” joyfully.

“Mission… complete.” Heero found moving his own mouth difficult. Blinking was exhausting, and breathing was growing more and more difficult by the minute. How weak and feeble he felt in his own flesh, as opposed to the indestructible power he had felt as a mobile suit only minutes before. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the mechanical act of breathing, feeling his heart palpating erratically at the absence of the electrical impulses the M.E.I. system had been feeding him while he had been piloting. He felt unstable and as thin as a sheet of paper. He heard the hatch open and opened his eyes the best he could – only a millimeter or so – to see Duo and Solo peering in at him. Large, reflective violet eyes were scanning him with concern. Solo’s previously cool and unattached posture was now one of stiff apprehension. He wondered with amusement if they thought they would be opening the hatch to see a corpse.

“I… was hit.” He said weakly, gesturing with a heavy tilt of his head down to his right leg. The flight suit had been singed open and a hole three-inches in diameter had been burned through it, down to his flesh that appeared reddened and was peeling. It matched where his mobile suit received damage from an unlucky shot from another Aequitas suit. He hadn’t anticipated friendly fire into the equation, but it had happened. He heard Edgar chastising the other pilot over the comm. He wondered if he would see Pilot Trexis in the barracks tonight.

“It is just as we thought, but more intricate. M.E.I. doesn’t just punish you, it makes you the suit.” He didn’t know how ridiculous the other two thought this sounded, but it was the only way he could describe what he had experienced. He coughed and lifted his arm weakly to cover his face. He wanted to laugh. He had forgotten to breathe. He took in a few deep breaths, established a steady pattern, and then said hoarsely, “It was amazing.”

And dangerous. And risky. And completely horrifying that a rogue group possessed this form of advanced technology.

Read more: http://mission001.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=general&action=display&thread=9#ixzz1VISEDlbu

[RP] Dogs: Bullets & Carnage

Heine x Badou
http://dogs-manga.livejournal.com/

[Original] Robot, Challenge 500 Words

Challenge: 500 Words
Prompt to Write
by, Black-Haired Girl

Powering up.
Booting back logs.
Gyroscope activated.
Memory booting … 80 percent. 90 percent. Complete.

223 opened his eyes. It had been a while since he had and his motors were nearly shot, so it took a bit longer than usual. Soon his lids lifted and his internal sensors activated.

Scanning.

Odd. The world seemed to have turned onto its side. No, wait. Gravity readings indicated that the Earth’s gravity still existed. The poles were registering from their proper coordinates. No, it wasn’t the world that had tilted. He sent a signal to his extremities. In less than a millisecond his 2333 MHZ brain processed the entirety of his situation. He had fallen over and was now lying on the floor in the workshop.

Scanning. Adjusting parameters.

Which way was “up”? Ah, there it was. Carefully he directed his arms to push himself from the floor, only to find that his right arm had been disconnected from his body. That made getting up a little more difficult, but somehow he managed. His internal weight distributors sluggishly kicked in, allowing him proper balance. Soon he was upright.

From this vantage he could take in the entire workshop. It was dusty and dark, much more run down than his memory recalled. The creator’s desks were in disarray. In fact it was not only just a mess, it looked as if there had been a tectonic disturbance at some point. He searched his subconscious security readings and pinpointed the exact time that his balance had been thrown off.

After a quick analysis he could his hypothesis to be true. There had been an earthquake of an 8.6 magnitude nearly two miles away from here. That explained his sudden fall and the disorder of the room. If his readings were correct the earthquake had occurred only five minutes before he had activated. The fall must have tripped him out of sleep mode.

Carefully he turned to look at the other prototypes lining the walls. Faceless and incomplete, they all were upright and appeared undamaged. He tilted his head down and scanned the floor.

Books, papers, and broken glass littered the floor at his feet. A large pile of books shifted as he scanned it.

Approach.

It was the creator. He was lying on the floor underneath a bookcase, which had tilted on its side. Carefully 223 grabbed the edge of the bookcase with his one functioning arm and dragged it off of the creator to get a better look. The creator was breathing.

Program search. Analyze. Assist.

223 shuffled to stand over the creator. He tried to search his programming for a response to this situation. He was programmed to be a personal assistant. He needed to assist, but how?

He detected an odd sound. Water. Rushing and roaring just outside of the boarded windows.

Tsunami activity detected. 223 grabbed an umbrella from the floor, opened it and held it over the now unmoving body of the creator.

Vocal chords vibrated, “watch your step.”

[Original] The Fight: Drabble

Usagi and Kitsune.
The Fight:
By, Black-Haired Girl

August 11, 2011

OC Characters: Usagi, Kitsune


“You’re insane! You’re really crazy, you know that?”

Usagi felt his shoulders tense. He bit his lower lip and resisted the urge to snarl angrily up the stairs at the man who had once upon a time, as of yesterday, had been his lover. He felt hate flickering hot and volatile in his chest, stirring up every repressed emotion he had ever held for that bastard over the past two years. It was coming. It was all about to come out, here on the stairs of the apartment complex. He could hear people murmuring at the bottom of the stairwell, obviously concerned at the slamming of doors and the heated screams that had been coming from the top level for the past twenty minutes.

Usagi knew he should leave. He knew that yelling wasn’t going to fix anything. It wasn’t going to make him feel better. It wasn’t going to make that fucker take back what he did, or change anything what had happened the night before.

It was over. Finally, it was over, and yet he still wasn’t satisfied. He clenched his hands into fists and yelled up the stairs; hearing his own heartbroken and choked voice echoing back at him like a slap in the face. “I hate you! I never want to see you again!”

“You’ll be back,” sneered the confident voice on the top landing. “You always come back.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Part of him wanted to scale the steps and punch that fucker in the face, but the voices on the landing below were growing in intensity. He heard someone whisper something about the police. He knew he had to leave. Of course, he would be the one to leave, as usual.

He spun around on his heels and stormed down the steps, nearly tripping over his own feet as his mind ran out before his body could keep up. A few of the neighbors from the first floor were gathered around the mailroom, staring at him as he stalked through the lobby and out the front door.

He didn’t care what they thought. He didn’t care about anything.

He stormed down the street with his hands fisted so tightly he could feel the burn of the inevitable bruises forming on his palms. He had to find something to hit, or kick, or generally destroy. He had to let this out. It wasn’t fair that he had to leave his own apartment because that prick had pissed him off. It wasn’t fair that he was the one out on the street while that asshole sat comfortably on their couch. He would bet anything that once he left the building that asshole had called him.

If that was what he wanted, then fine. Usagi couldn’t make him stay in love with him, and not run out and fuck every other asshole he could get his hands on. He couldn’t change the fact that for the past two years he had been wholly invested in a man who didn’t love him enough not to cheat on him. He couldn’t help that. It had just happened, hadn’t it?

But it hadn’t. He knew that he had chosen his fate. He had been suspicious of his lover for a while. He wouldn’t call him after work like he used to. He didn’t want to be seen in public with him anymore, and often just opted to stay in and watch movies and generally ignore him. He had seen suspicious phone calls on the caller ID. The other man wouldn’t let Usagi use his phone. He had been up to something, but Usagi hadn’t wanted to believe it. He didn’t want to think that someone would lie to him, especially the man he thought he loved.

He spat on the sidewalk and stopped at a crosswalk, glaring angrily up at the blaring red light that blocked his path. Cars whirred past quickly, trying to make it through the intersection before the light changed. All around him were people calmly making their way to their destinations, unaware of the anguish and frustration he possessed.

[Essay] Dez's First Anime Convention - Reflective

Originally published November 15, 2010

Dez was in high school when she went to her first anime convention. It consisted of one small board room on the floor of a Mariott Hotel. Hardly anyone dressed up (though a few did, and they were considered extreme Otaku) and everyone loved anime. That’s just it. No video games. No manga, really, except for the rare few. It was just anime. Akira, Bubblegum Crisis, Cutie Honey, Dominion Tank Police, Astroboy, Sailor Moon, Dragon Ball, Slayers, Revolutionary Girl Utena, and Gundam just to name a few. There was no such thing as YAOI/YURI/HENTAI back then, though most mainstream anime included those themes. There wasn’t perversion. There wasn’t elitism. It was just fifty or so people sitting in a convention hall listening to American voice actors and production teams of such things as Robotec and Macross discuss their business. They came because they loved anime. Most of them were considered outcasts.

When the hell did it all change?

I mean, I can remember trying to defend myself to my mother. She used to accuse me of liking “cartoons”, she used to say “aren’t you a little too old for this?” How can you explain to someone the difference between anime and cartoons? All they saw was animation. They never actually saw the plot. Now it is acceptable for adults to watch animated shows and movies (Pixar and Adult Swim options) but before it was looked down upon. Only “weird kids” did things so unsophisticated.

It just goes to show that no matter what you like, or what you think is cool, one day everyone else will agree with you. Nobody should ever change their interests or what they are passionate about just because society looks down upon it, or people judge you for it. As long as you have fun and enjoy it, screw everyone else. They are just envious that they can’t be as open as you.

Case in point: I went to a party at a friend’s house a long time ago. A group of us were dressed up for a con, but we stopped in for have a few drinks before we went back for the nightly dance. By all accounts we looked ridiculous. Bright colors, fluffy skirts, eye patches and wigs, the whole bit. We stood out like a sore thumb, but we didn’t care. Later that night a group of girls came in who were in shock at how we looked. They looked down their noses at us and asked why we were dressed so ridiculously. We joyfully explained what we were doing and how much fun we were having. They didn’t talk to us for the rest of the night, whispered among themselves, pointed, and judged us. Whatever. We drank and laughed and ran around like kids having a ball while they sat on the couch nursing their beers being “ashamed” for us.

At the end of the night we said out goodbyes and as we were leaving one of the girls from that group ran outside to catch us. She lowered her voice to a whisper and proceeded to tell us we looked awesome, and that she loved anime and conventions, and that she really wanted to come with us. We told her where it was and how to get there and said that she would be more than welcome to tag along. She told us she was scared to let the others know that she was into “that kind of stuff” and said she would try to come. Sadly we never saw her there.

It was sad to me that she felt the need to hide something she liked for fear of judgement. I felt sorry for her.

I haven’t been on this earth for very long, but the cliche saying of “you only have one life to live” rings true to me. Who the hell cares what other people think? Those snotty girls at that party didn’t ruin MY fun. I had a blast with my best friends being dorky and silly, with a large crowd of people who felt the same way about life as I did.

That is the great thing about conventions of any type, whether it is Anime, Star Trek, Sci-Fi, Writing, Fishing, Shooting, Picking your nose- whatever it is! It is a way to connect with people who love the same things you do without having to deal with the negative popular culture’s judgement.

So for those of you who are going to an anime con for the first time this weekend it may be a little strange at first. People are uncensored. They have no inhibitions. They may be awkward and weird and a little goofy but they won’t judge you. They are being themselves (even if that self is a little peculiar), but here you can be yourself too.

[Fanfiction] Takashi's First Kiss

Title: Takashi's First Kiss
Series: Natsume Yuujinchou (Natsume's Book of Friends)
Characters: Natsume Takashi and Madara (Nyanko-sensei)
Rating: ?
Author: BHG
Status: Progressive, No Beta

Takashi gets his his first kiss.


"What was that you said, Natsume?" Madara purred loudly as he made himself comfortable on the young man's chest. He yawned widely in his face and the distinct foul odor of Kirin Beer drifting from his kitty mouth made Takashi cringe.

"I said get off of me! You are so heavy I can't breathe..." Takashi gasped, trying his best to shove at the round ball of cat nestled on his torso.

"But you're so warm. Stop shoving! Hey, why do you hate me so much Natsume-kun?" The cat slurred. He clawed at the boy's offending hand and dug his back claws into his shirt in attempt to anchor himself in place. Takashi cried out in pain as the sharp claws dug into his skin and immediately fell into a fit of flailing in attempt to free himself from the offending beast.

"Get off of me you fat cat!"

"I am NOT fat!"

"Nyanko-sensei, you're hurting me! Get off!"

"Oh boo hoo..." Madara taunted before leaping nimbly from the boy's chest to land on his pillow. Takashi gasped and gingerly rubbed at his chest, glaring at the Lucky Neko who now was making himself quite at home on his pillow.

"You can't sleep there," the boy protested before poking at Madara's squishy round backside hestantly. The cat narrowed his oddly shaped eyes at him and growled a low, menacing snarl.

"Look boy, if you don't accomodate me I will not hesitate to eat you. Need I remind you I can inhale the likes of you in a single bite. Why, when I was younger I could snap up a whole class of schoolboys in one chomp, so don't test my patience -hiccup- you foolish human!"

Takashi rolled his eyes. Perhaps in his larger, much scarier form Madara's threat would have been initimdating but in the balloon-shaped, super cute Lucky Neko form his promises to eat him always fell upon deaf ears. He tried to shove the cat with the flat of his hand but found he couldn't budge him and, tired, conceded defeat.

"Fine, just try to be quiet. You snore like a pig..."

"What!"

Takashi grinned and curled up on his bedmat beside his pillow. He was exhausted from helping Tanuma study for his Calculus exam and he wanted nothing more than a long, uninterrupted sleep. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the nagging sensation of spirits lurking beyond the walls. He could hear them moaning and whispering in the darkness, but had learned over the past few months how to block out the sounds of their pleas with pleasanter thoughts.

And sleep came. Swift as a sparrow it settled over his mind, blacking out the world around him.

He was so under the influence of sleep that he hadn't heard Madara mumbling drunkly about his rudeness.

He also failed to feel a blast of wind as Madara transformed into the pretty human woman form that mirrored his granmother's youthful image.

And he didn't even realize that the form had crawled under the covers with him and snuggled against him.


The next morning Takashi woke with a start at the sensation of a breath against the back of his neck. He stifled a scream and jumped up from his bedroll to see a woman sprawled out under his covers. He rubbed his eyes for a few long moments before realizing the form was that of Madara in his human disguise.

"Nyank... um.. Madara-sama! What are you doing?!" He exclaimed while trying to steady his dizzy head. He hadn't fully woken.

The woman in his bed stirred, rolled onto her back and grinned wickedly up at the boy.

"Got your hopes up for a moment there, didn't I?" Madara taunted with a grin, licking his shapely lower lip suggestively.

"Stop it! Get out of my bed! What do you think you're doing? What if Fujiwara-san sees you?" He looked over his shoulder at his door, hoping the friendly old woman wouldn't come to check on him. She always had a way of showing up at the worst of moments.

"Eh, she won't see anything. I heard her outside in the garden."

"But..."

Before Takashi could say any more Madara's lithe femanine form had hopped up from the floor and approached him. He yelped as the woman grabbed him around his neck and purred against his cheek.

"You don't want to wish me a good morning?" Madara whispered, his/her hot breath against Takashi's flesh. The boy tried to balk away but was stopped by Madara's suprisingly stop grip.

"So rude..." Madara purred before planting his newly formed human woman lips on Takashi's gaping and very shocked mouth.

The boy froze and stared in horror at the visage of his grandmother in such close proximity. Then he found his voice in that hidden space between his lungs and put forth the most disgusted and horrified scream poor Fujiwara-san out in the garden had ever heard.

"GET OFF!" Takashi wailed, shoving the woman back away from himself. He backpedaled to the wall and grasped a cabinet door, panting and staring in horror at Madara, dressed as his grandmother in the peak of her youth and beauty- and blushed furiously. "What did you do that for?"

Madara-woman smiled widely and a second later shrunk down to his Lucky Neko form. "You made me mad! I had to get you back..." his kitty voice replied, painted eyes narrowing angrily upon Takashi.

"Don't you ever do that again... it was like kissing my grandmother! Ugh..." Takashi felt like he was going to be sick and reflexively grabbed his stomach and doubled over. The action brought forth a gleeful cackle from Madara, who bounced and spun happily.
"Hahaha stupid Natsume! That will teach you the next time you want to toy with a great spirit such as I?"

Takashi stiffened and looked up at the cat with a hateful scowl. Madara paused and looked up at the boy with a face-splitting kitty grin.

And then he was promptly punted out the second story window.

"WAAAAHHHHH! NATSUUUMEEEE!"

SPLASH!

"Why, Nyanko-sama..." Fujiwara-san said kindly as she fished the cat out of the koi pond. "What a naughty cat, trying to catch our pretty little fish."

"Mee-oowwwww...." said Madara.