It wasn't ever going to be like before.
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Rico had all but abandoned his studies in an effort to rescue the injured. He combed through the streets for a whole day, looking for people injured in the riots. He took punches, bullets, and hammers to the head, flinching less as time went on. And he took the injured back to Doc Martin.
There was news that the hospital had a miracle doctor there as well. Rico was sure it was the witchdoctor, and he wouldn't dare go back there. He took everyone to Doc Martin, the man who saved his life after the fight with the anti-super. He knew him and Sarah decently well now.
But now Sarah told him to take a break. There was no end of injured, and frankly, Rico was run down and needed a good rest.
So now, Rico was laying in bed, listening to the thrumming coming from his record player. And the synthetic grumbling. And the ambient laughs. And the dance-worthy beats. Songs that called for low, stomping celebrations of life, songs that called for cowled grief and tears, songs that called for rest and stillness, songs that simply called for one to come and listen.
Songs that no one made nowadays.
Rico heard a clicking at his front door, followed by a quiet swinging. Lockpick. Either his university buddy with the stealth complex had come to see where the hell Rico had been, or he was being robbed.
In case it was the second one, Rico slid the needle to the half-way point of the record. Unnerving patterns rose from it, a warped laugh of a child permeated the flat. Such a delightfully twisted little tune. Rico knew the patterns inside and out by now, knew when the warped laughter started and stopped, knew when the twisted monologue rose from the background to unsettle any who heard it.
He rose and slid to the front hall to see who was in. Two latino guys and a white guy that Rico didn't recognize. Definitely thieves.
They stepped in quietly, then stopped when they realized there was music playing. And a... child laughing? They looked at each other nervously, but nodded and kept going. One of the Latinos' hands sprouted metal.
Not a bad power, all things considered.
Rico slipped through the adjoining bedroom and bathroom, getting behind the pensive thieves, arriving at the front door. This oughtta teach them something.
The laughter stopped, pausing the thieves again. They listened in confusion.
"O-o-okay!"
Rico slammed the door, scaring the crap out of them.
"Don't step outside! I got some-than..."
The thieves didn't approve of this choreography, and immediately rushed Rico. Metal and fists flashed, raking over Rico's skin.
"While I can appreciate a massage, this really isn't the time."
The thieves didn't expect that. As they recoiled at their ineffectiveness, Rico attacked tossed one into the bathroom, landing him in the tub. Football training was paying off. The other two dashed backwards, searching for a way past the broad wall-man that blocked them in. Rico faked at the other normal thief, then grabbed the super and ran him into the window, knocking him through. Rico watched with satisfaction as the super shot metal of himself, raking at walls and hooking on windows, trying to slow his six-story descent. The remaining thief dashed back to the flat's door, looking desperately into the bathroom, then back at Rico.
"If you wanna see your friend again alive, get your stupid little friends to bribe me. I'm really not a fan of opportunistic thieves."
The punk dashed.
The song ended.
------------------------------
At the end of day two, Rico's hostage was released with great humiliation to the petty super-gang. Using a bit of diplomatic manipulation, frightening threats and damned lies, Rico had also convinced the gang to put the entire apartment block under their protection, because if anything was missing or damaged, there would be hell to pay for the whole gang.
It helped that they were have convinced that Rico also had super-strength. Hence the damned lies.
But he was back on the streets, finding the injured and shipping them back to Doc Martin. He had heard rumors of supers vying for the empty throne, and had even heard that he was a suspect of such vying. Everyone had heard of the storming of the palace, the alleyway massacre, the rescue clinic and the happenings at the hospital, and all supers involved were implicated into the rumors.
Plus another one.
Mercury?
Who's Mercury?
Speaking of pseudonyms, Rico had heard himself referred to as "Rock".
Rock?
Is that the best people could come up with?
To be fair, Rico couldn't do much better.
Rico had seen a house that was increasingly wrapped with weeds and vines, and suspected the living tree was involved. He was gathering up the courage to knock on the door and see who was there.
<youtube=lm-RQAFfooQ>
Rico had all but abandoned his studies in an effort to rescue the injured. He combed through the streets for a whole day, looking for people injured in the riots. He took punches, bullets, and hammers to the head, flinching less as time went on. And he took the injured back to Doc Martin.
There was news that the hospital had a miracle doctor there as well. Rico was sure it was the witchdoctor, and he wouldn't dare go back there. He took everyone to Doc Martin, the man who saved his life after the fight with the anti-super. He knew him and Sarah decently well now.
But now Sarah told him to take a break. There was no end of injured, and frankly, Rico was run down and needed a good rest.
So now, Rico was laying in bed, listening to the thrumming coming from his record player. And the synthetic grumbling. And the ambient laughs. And the dance-worthy beats. Songs that called for low, stomping celebrations of life, songs that called for cowled grief and tears, songs that called for rest and stillness, songs that simply called for one to come and listen.
Songs that no one made nowadays.
Rico heard a clicking at his front door, followed by a quiet swinging. Lockpick. Either his university buddy with the stealth complex had come to see where the hell Rico had been, or he was being robbed.
In case it was the second one, Rico slid the needle to the half-way point of the record. Unnerving patterns rose from it, a warped laugh of a child permeated the flat. Such a delightfully twisted little tune. Rico knew the patterns inside and out by now, knew when the warped laughter started and stopped, knew when the twisted monologue rose from the background to unsettle any who heard it.
He rose and slid to the front hall to see who was in. Two latino guys and a white guy that Rico didn't recognize. Definitely thieves.
They stepped in quietly, then stopped when they realized there was music playing. And a... child laughing? They looked at each other nervously, but nodded and kept going. One of the Latinos' hands sprouted metal.
Not a bad power, all things considered.
Rico slipped through the adjoining bedroom and bathroom, getting behind the pensive thieves, arriving at the front door. This oughtta teach them something.
The laughter stopped, pausing the thieves again. They listened in confusion.
"O-o-okay!"
Rico slammed the door, scaring the crap out of them.
"Don't step outside! I got some-than..."
The thieves didn't approve of this choreography, and immediately rushed Rico. Metal and fists flashed, raking over Rico's skin.
"While I can appreciate a massage, this really isn't the time."
The thieves didn't expect that. As they recoiled at their ineffectiveness, Rico attacked tossed one into the bathroom, landing him in the tub. Football training was paying off. The other two dashed backwards, searching for a way past the broad wall-man that blocked them in. Rico faked at the other normal thief, then grabbed the super and ran him into the window, knocking him through. Rico watched with satisfaction as the super shot metal of himself, raking at walls and hooking on windows, trying to slow his six-story descent. The remaining thief dashed back to the flat's door, looking desperately into the bathroom, then back at Rico.
"If you wanna see your friend again alive, get your stupid little friends to bribe me. I'm really not a fan of opportunistic thieves."
The punk dashed.
The song ended.
------------------------------
At the end of day two, Rico's hostage was released with great humiliation to the petty super-gang. Using a bit of diplomatic manipulation, frightening threats and damned lies, Rico had also convinced the gang to put the entire apartment block under their protection, because if anything was missing or damaged, there would be hell to pay for the whole gang.
It helped that they were have convinced that Rico also had super-strength. Hence the damned lies.
But he was back on the streets, finding the injured and shipping them back to Doc Martin. He had heard rumors of supers vying for the empty throne, and had even heard that he was a suspect of such vying. Everyone had heard of the storming of the palace, the alleyway massacre, the rescue clinic and the happenings at the hospital, and all supers involved were implicated into the rumors.
Plus another one.
Mercury?
Who's Mercury?
Speaking of pseudonyms, Rico had heard himself referred to as "Rock".
Rock?
Is that the best people could come up with?
To be fair, Rico couldn't do much better.
Rico had seen a house that was increasingly wrapped with weeds and vines, and suspected the living tree was involved. He was gathering up the courage to knock on the door and see who was there.