Once in the middle of a battle-field with warriors fighting neck in neck, I have been brought to safety. I don't have to worry about the destructiveness of it all. As if a ladder dropped, letting me exit the havoc. I stand looking out from the helicopter, my cape flying in the wind freely, and my hood flopping around wildly. What I see is Olivia Garcia in heavy armor, browsing her surrounding, hunting for Belladonna and hunting for me.
What I see is fog swallowing the field. Once I have returned, I'll either be welcomed by the sound of clinging swords or the sight of the victorious standing tall. The results are out of my control.
We can't kill her if she's innocent. We can't kill her if she's innocent.
This is something that I could once understand with absolute clarity, but not now. Whether or not she is the culprit holds no relevancy. This isn't about her, and this isn't about justice. This is about me, and my addiction. This is about what I need to survive being taken away from me. Belladonna cheerfully untied the damsel in distress without stopping to think once about the hungry train that had been looking forward to it all day.
Silvia Garcia drunkenly stumbled looking for assistance from the oh-so scary, masked vigilantes. Her inebriated steps looking for assistance didn't help the logic behind her bellows. She was drunk. Not unlike Branden Cutler. Telling stories. Her excessive indulgence completely jeopardized her cries for help. The serial killers dressed looking ready to knock on doors demanding candy didn't benefit matters either.
Needless to say, Belladonna and I aren't especially about it. Still, the son of a very, very wealthy lady, who lost her life, explained a similar event to the police. The loss of Taiyan Biggs, the little boy's mother, has already amassed much media-attention.
So far, not much of a fuss has been made about the little boy's story about two masked heroes swooped down and took care of his mother's killer. If Olivia Garcia's story happens to meet with the little boy's, more eyes may glance at the idea. Some with skeptical expressions. Fortunately, anything slurred out of Olivia Garcia's mouth won't be acknowledged for long.
Sooner or later, if we keep our head's down, it will be remembered only as a desperate ploy from a desperate lady. Nothing more than a lady trying to victimize herself and turn her fifteen minutes of fame into a half-hour. Staying out of the spotlight and taking extra precaution has been made essential to our survival moving forward.
I stare outside the window of the plane trying to keep from falling asleep; the wind looks like it's planning on departing Acera as well with how fast it's moving.
I can't remember the last time I have slept, I am starting to wonder if I ever have. I turn my head away from the window and look at James, wearing earphones, he looks at me for a glance, before resuming with watching the video on his laptop. I can only just hear part of what is going on in the video from the sound coming from his earphones. The screen shows an action-movie, bullets flying everywhere, empty magazines burying the actors' feet.
My attention draws itself back to reality. The airplane is stuffy, a good amount of people contained in a small environment, like a big rig trying to fit in a small garage. Each row of the plane seats two people. Either that or just one, especially unfit gentleman, like the man sitting behind James and I.
There isn't an empty-seat. Every seat taken. Although it does not really feel as crowded as it is.
Everybody is sitting calmly, not a screaming baby to cause panic, nor a terrorist to hush, just a serial-killer and his pal, James!
A flight-attendant frolics through the curtain at the front of the plane, pushing a cart carrying drinks and food steadily forward. She's wearing a blue-uniform with a white-collar and yellow buttons; a golden badge shaped like an eagle is pinned in-front of her heart.
The flight-attendant stops and speaks to the seated passengers one by one, handing them beverages and other nourishment. James takes off his earphones as she reaches us.
“Is there anything that I can get you?” the lady asks. She blows her short-brown hair out of her eyes for a second tapping her fingers down against the side of the metal cart.
“Your number would be nice,” are the first words James lets escape his lips with a suave grin on his face.
“Sorry, married,” the lady reciprocates with a smile on her face, waving her hand forward and bringing a wedding ring into view.
“He doesn't have to know,” James replies jokingly, but keeps a serious expression.
“Yeah, right,” the flight-attendant responds before rolling her eyes with a smile still spread on her face. She continues to push the cart onward.
“I think she wanted me,” James says, turning his attention back to me.
“You're just a regular Leonardo DiCaprio, aren't you?” I ponder aloud.
“If only I had half the recognition, and maybe I wouldn't be in indie movies,” James pronounces with disenchantment. “I actually have a girlfriend, so it's probably for the best, huh.”
James has a girlfriend? That's weird.
I can faintly remember seeing a picture of her on his laptop. I don't ask anything about her or pressure on though.
James settles back, placing the earphones back in, and continues watching the action-movie playing on his laptop. The movie has transcended from bullets hitting characters in the chest to close combat. The long-haired brunette actress unsheathed her blade from the scabbard strapped to the side of her waist and made swipes toward the enemy. Even reduced to just the protrusions of sound that came from James' earphones, I could identify the whistling roar the sword made as it swiped through the air.
A heavy-built knight, not unlike the man sitting behind James and I in the plane, tried to cut the girl's momentum with his ax. Alas, 'twas not meant to be, as she makes an assertive swipe with her sword and turns away.
Less than a millisecond later, he falls to the ground, cut in-half.
I can't help but think back to the destructive place I am bidding adieu from. I also think about the strangeness of where I am headed. I have spent so much of my days hunting, but in just a few short hours, like a fish out of water, I will be … hunting.
I lean my head against my passenger window and tiredly look out at the miniature buildings below.
The lights of the plane begin to flicker on and off until fading away entirely.
* * *
The sun happily awakes, illuminating my surroundings, and only by luck suppresses a smile. I stand on a decoratively illustrated rooftop, I am something different again.
Birds chirp merrily without a worry in the world, flying through the warm breeze as free as only they can be. They sing their lazy tunes, and share their happiness in the form of droppings plummeting to earth on the shoulders and shoes of civilians below.
What an absolutely magnificent day.
“Help, please!” A desperate cry spurts loudly, causing the birds to drop more happiness and for the sun to frown.
The cry for assistance is from a woman.
A woman in-trouble!? Not on my watch!
As if waiting for my theme-music to begin playing, I look at the city heroically before beginning to leap from building to building, each in a single bound.
The brightly-colored buildings compliment their even more glamorous and astounding surroundings. The time finally comes when I discover where the scream came from.
I skip down a building without effort and find myself in an alley alongside the screaming civilian. The woman has luscious chestnut-colored hair with slight curls, and pale skin. She wears a demeanor that comes across like it's genuinely friendly.
“What's the problem, miss?” I question, both hands on my hips, looking around for evildoers.
The alley we are in is beautifully painted, the walls a lovely bluish color. Even the slightest speckle of blemish can't be discovered with the naked-eye.
The alley's end is a brick-wall standing joyously over us.
It seems absolutely thrilled to be there, and it is doing a great job!
It takes talent to be a stand-up guy.
Brick-walls are underrated.
“Thank God, it's my purse, its been stolen by some guy!” she says in terror.
“Did you see which way he went?”
She motions in a direction and cues my music as I begin to haul after my prey.
Not very many seconds elapse at all until I stifle upon the vile purse-snatcher. The man begins to see there is no escaping the force that is the mighty Poison. He turns angrily and fires a bullet into my skull. I heal almost instantaneously (my only weakness is trash cans!) and spiral around before driving one of my staffs to his hand.
The gun flies out of his hand and flickers around before hitting the concrete ground and disintegrating. The man is left flabbergasted before I throw one of my staffs in his direction. The man, although isn't ready, catches it before readying himself.
“Never pummel an unarmed criminal, it's just low-class,” I say.
The man flails the staff wildly.
Obviously, he has no idea what he is doing, and I dodge all of his attempted shots without even trying. The time comes for me to be the one going on the offensive. I whimsically slap the man in the tummy with my whimsical staff, causing for him to fall to his knees, in pain... whimsical pain.
“Four!” I yell with amusement.
I pull my arm back and swing my staff, striking the head of my prey. The man's head flies off of its hinges, going far into the air before leaving my view.
Blood spurts out of his neck happily, it looks absolutely thrilled to be bleeding.
I slowly drop to one knee and hold the woman's purse in my hands. Suddenly, a gathering of civilians make their presence known. My ears fill with the ecstatic cheering of my supporters.
As I climb to my feet and continue walking, I pass the trunk of a mustang where the faint sounds of a female screaming can be heard. Strange.
I meet back up with the girl with the chestnut-colored hair. She has a smile from ear to ear as I present her purse to her. She throws herself in my arms and passionately plants me with a kiss. With strong mellifluousness her lips sweetly touch mine. Mellifluousness is the only word that can describe it!
The feelings of overwhelming happiness are discovered by me. I yearn for the conclusion of this moment to never even be brought into consideration.
“My hero,” the gorgeous damsel says after pulling her lips away from mine while I continue holding her in my arms.
“Hero,” I mumble to myself softly.
The sky begins to darken.
The sun, the light, begins to wander away.
I glance down and see the woman fall to ashes in my hands.
The blackened path.
I look up.
The brick-wall. A dark-red wall looks down at me. Towers over me.
Always a brick-wall.
I walk forward, shaken and confused. Broken. Flickers of light can be seen around the corner on one of the alleyway as I move forward.
Nearing the wall.
Like a clip being projected on a screen, I watch a revisiting of myself taking the life of Alfonso Alvarez. The light flickers off as I continue making my way toward the wall. Another light appears on the brick-wall, and I watch myself kick the crate out from under Ivan Black, leaving him hanging from a chain.
This is who I am. Not Poison, not a hero, but a killer.
This is what I'll always have to be. What I want just doesn't matter. What I want is of impossibility. I can only be this, and nothing else.
“You don't have to be alone.”
The sound of Belladonna's voice, the girl with the chestnut-colored hair echoes in my head. I don't want to be alone, I can't survive, not alone. There's no reason to carry on down this checkered path, but it's my move.
So, I turn around.
I turn around.
Walking faster, I end this all, I resent this all.
Take it all away, take it all away, please!?
I fall to one knee, and begin crawling from the brick-wall that looks down at me.
It feels like it is getting closer. I bring myself back to my feet and continue.
I have made it. The light at the end.
I have made it out of the dark alley, I have overcome my demon, I have escaped the brick-wall towering over me, and I have taken control of my life.
I am welcomed by the sound by the sound of a gun going off until the bullets strike me and take me off of my feet.
“You don't have to be alone.”
That isn't Belladonna.
I glance up to see Cepheus looking down at me. I lay, stunned and terrified. He puts his hand out. I take him by the hand and he pulls me back to my feet. My father pulls me back to my feet.
We look at one another, neither showing even the slightest hint of emotion as we together walk toward the brick-wall.
I don't know what it is or where it came from, but it eats away at me, and there's no getting rid of it. The realization of what is required to carry on feels overwhelming, but it also feels good, really good.
I'm not alone.