New Blood Chapter 3 (Happy Place)
Before Harold Briscoe walked into the crime scene, he had half a mind to give his lieutenant a bit more verbal grief than was his…
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Before Harold Briscoe walked into the crime scene, he had half a mind to give his lieutenant a bit more verbal grief than was his…
Skeet pulled at his new fangs for a moment, testing how firm and authentic they were, noting how they were lightly stained with blood. Blood…
The last thing Rusty remembered before waking up was that his boss was probably pissed at him. Groaning at the headache that he was feeling,…
The last thing Rusty remembered before waking up was that his boss was probably pissed at him. Groaning at the headache that he was feeling, the pale, dark-haired man groaned that at this point, he would probably be better off dead than the pain he was currently in or the pain that Ryan was going to put him through for not meeting up at the deal.
He must have gotten drunk with Skeet. It was the only explanation, especially since the Mary Jane lover was probably the only one in all of Deacon City that could convince him to indulge in the finer things of life.
A shame the pot-head couldn’t help him with finding the right girl.
After settling on enough time of musing about his many misfortunes, Rusty took the time to finally shake the many cobwebs that had been gathering over his brain and rattle himself out of the haze he had put himself in. It was weird how he still had something of a bizarre morning after taste in his mouth even after all was said done. The drinks he had must have been on the expensive side…which meant misery for his wallet.
To man’s confusion, however, as his vision began to come to, he noticed that instead of being passed out at home, or even one of the alleyways where the dogs could have pissed on him, he found himself in a warehouse. A warehouse with…
…copious amounts of blood.
Spitting the foul taste in his mouth in shock, Rusty began to take stock in his surroundings, trying to locate the source of the blood and find corpses.
Many corpses. Before he could even begin to understand the gravity of these corpses, the punch-drunk man noticed the area where he spat and noted a big wad of blood, half entering the ground and half lying there like a globule of spit.
That my blood?
“Jesus, Mary Mother of God, did I come to the deal and survive a damned shootout!?” He couldn’t help but ask aloud. Quickly patting himself down and looking for gunshots, Rusty found none, and besides his headache, he didn’t note any other injuries.
His eyes darted wildly, the scent of copper filling his nostrils, almost sending luxurious feelings to his senses while trying to piece together what had happened. Trying to figure out how in God’s name he survived. Trying to find out what happened here and caused this bloodbath.
“Ah, hell, I am so screwed. I’m screwed beyond belief.” He began muttering to himself, moving to run his hands through his hair only to pause in horror that his hands were caked in blood.
What the hell happened? His mind was trying to work a mile a minute. A job. He was going to a weapons transfer for Ryan. High-grade stuff. Shipped in from some local Russian mob cell in the city. Shit, maybe I did make it to the transfer. Trying to take stock in his surroundings, Rusty found nothing familiar about it, but then again, this was a location that the Russians had staked out…or so Ryan claimed.
His schmuck of a boss often liked to keep his hired help as in the dark as possible to have maximum deniability, but he doubted this was what he had in mind.
Bullet holes were all over the area, from support beams to the multiple vehicles within the warehouse, bodies strewn throughout the room to on top of cars, floors, and even utop cases of what Rusty assumed was the shipment of weapons.
Shit… that’s Frank. Rusty suddenly realized, seeing the tall yet skinny redhead among the many bodies. His corpse happened to be the one on top of the unopened crate, his…his…
His throat’s slashed open. Lyle realized numbly to himself. He felt cold. All too cold while he slowly approached the body. Frank was a favorite lieutenant in Ryan’s crew. Him dying felt utterly surreal to Rusty. “Did somebody bring a damned dog in here? What the hell?”
It was a shame he didn’t have more time to piece together more answers because it was then that he heard the one thing that nobody in his profession wanted to hear.
Sirens.
“Shit, shit, shit! Why couldn’t my sorry ass have woken up sooner!?”
If he had the time, maybe he would have entertained the idea of possibly salvaging some of the crates of weapons in this situation, either to turn over a profit or to use it to appease Ryan and his inevitable wrath for this shitshow. Alas, he had no time or strength considering the size and weight of said. So instead, he opted for running with his tail tucked firmly between his legs to live another day outside of a jail cell.
So while he had no idea where he was currently in terms of location, that didn’t stop the bloodstained brunette from running to the nearest exit, busting through the door and making tracks as quickly as possible. A vehicle was too risky. If the cops were nearby, he’d stand out like a sore thumb. On foot it was.
Yet on foot, Rusty realized that he was moving with heightened speed than he knew possible. He was moving with such great force Rusty could feel the wind nearly blinding him. He was always far from out of shape, but he was definitely no athlete. As the sirens faded from his ears while he bolted down an alleyway, Rusty wondered why his stomach wasn’t aching from the drinks Skeet had convinced him to drink? Or just his poor conditioning and stamina?
Or why when he was busy looking behind him to see if he had any tails, Rusty smashed through a gated fence with ease, stumbling through and looking stunned at the massive hole he had accidentally torn through it.
Rusty nearly lost his footing when he heard metal wrenching so close to his ears and looked back, utterly stunned at said metal having a hole and being ripped towards his direction.
At a loss for how this just happened but not willing to tarry too long to find out, Rusty continued to make tracks, heading towards someone who may have been responsible for him being in this state, but ironically the only person he could trust in this cesspool of a city.
…
The incessant thumps of Rusty’s elbow banging against Skeet’s apartment door replaced the pulsing thumps that were making his headache. He would have used his fists, but the last thing he wanted was for people to see bloodstains on the door.
Of all the days it rains in this shithole, it chooses not to do so when I’m covered in blood?
“Open the damned door, Skeet!” Rusty growled as he sent elbow after elbow into the door. “I don’t have time for you to be baked out of your mind, NOW of all times! I know you’re awake, so open the dam-
The door was then smashed open. It was still on its hinges, but it was thrust open by sheer force alone. Rusty stood there, like an idiot in his own estimation, looking at his elbow as if he was seeing it for the first time, then quickly cringing, pinching his nostrils.
He’d never cared for pot, which made his friendship with Skeet challenging at the best of times, but he certainly didn’t remember it being this strong! Did he get a new product? A new supplier? Did he try his hand at making it himself?
“Damnit Skeet!” Rusty cursed as he stomped in, hastily trying to close the door and hoping it would stay that way. “Of all the times you choose to be baked out of your mind, it’s the same day I could have gotten lit up!”
Then again, maybe me getting drunk with Skeet may have paid off somehow. Maybe before everyone at the warehouse had decided to kill each other, I may have tripped with everyone else assuming I just up and died right then and there.
That didn’t explain the slash wounds though, but Rusty had bigger concerns at the moment. Skeet’s room was an utter mess as per usual. Clothes strewn over chairs, empty pizza boxes on top of the box TV, socks lying around on the ground and lying in the middle of it all on the sofa like a marionette with its string recently removed was none other than Skeet. Unsurprisingly, he was sporting one of his many loose-fitting T-shirts, sweats, and stained socks, all of which complimented his blonde shaggy hair and soul patch on his chin.
There was no bong insight, but Rusty knew that as strung out as his erstwhile friend was, he was smart enough to stash the evidence in places where people would never look. He was brighter than his initial trashy look would ever betray.
Which was why he gave Skeet’s foot a quick but light kick that jolted the stoner awake with a speed that outpaced many of his counterparts. “Filter’s broken! Filter’s broken, man!”
“Skeet, calm your skinny ass down! I’m not the boys in blue!”
While Skeet continued to blink away his own cobwebs, he continued to be strung out. “What about the boys in white?”
“You really think that DCB would waste time on you, Skeet? I know you have a Ph.D., but come on now, what have you done since then?”
“Yup. Definitely the Rust man.” Skeet smiled stupidly, rubbing his eyes and being at ease with what he saw…before widening his eyes. “Like, what happened to you, man? You disappear for like…three days and you look like you got lost on the tour of a razor factory!…or a night with the call girls…pffft…” The blonde snickered to himself, his eyes unfocused.
“That fuckin’ deal is what happened! You got me dr-wait-hold up, did you say three days? You sure you didn’t bake your brain too much?”
“Rust! You got blood on your hands and mouth…did the girls not tell you it was their time of the month or somethin’?…man I keep tellin’ you to watch for that kinda thing and what you’ll… you’ll…what was I saying again?”
“My mouth?” Now that I think about it, is that from when I spit out blood?…wait a minute…why would I spit out blood, when I had no injuries whatsoever to myself? “S-skeet? What day is it right now?”
“Erm…Friday…I think?”
Rusty quickly pat himself down, fishing in his pockets for a phone, only to come up short. When the hell did I lose that damned thing! “Skeet, where’s your phone?”
“Uh…why-
“Skeet, don’t ask me why, just give me an answer! I wouldn’t be asking just out of morbid curiosity when I’ve got blood painted all over me in places that I wasn’t even aware of yet! Just give me your damned phone for a hot minute!”
Fumbling as fast as his state would allow while swaying a tad, Skeet managed to fish out his phone from underneath the cushion of his couch, giving it to Rusty, who quickly snatched it away, pressing the on button and nearly finding himself short of breath.
It was indeed Friday. The deal went down on Tuesday.
“…Skeet, I need a…I need a moment in your bathroom.”
“Do what you gotta do, man. I’ve got some of the good stuff under the sink if you want it…or uh, need it.”
“Uh-huh.” Rusty stammered, stumbling past his friend and toward the bathroom. “Oh, s-sorry about your door, I’ll… I’ll get it fixed later.”
“Wha? What about my door?”
Rusty didn’t answer. Instead, he shut the door to the bathroom shut and locked it right behind him as he stared hard at himself in the mirror within the cramped space.
There was blood all over his face, as a matter of fact. Skeet must have failed to mention it in his shock or hazy state, but that was the least of his concerns. The man was right about one thing. There was a lot of blood around his mouth…copious amounts. So much so that it seemed to have dribbled down to his black shirt, which mostly hid the crimson fluid but was apparent due to how darkly stained it was.
Where the hell did all of this blood come from? More importantly how did it happen three days ago?…and why is the blood still wet in that case?…am I getting my days mixed up? I bet even Skeet himself in his half-lucid state, could keep better track of what the hell has happened recently!
Perhaps it was better he didn’t have his phone right now. At least it gave him an excuse not to contact Ryan right away, but all of these questions he didn’t have an answer to were suddenly weighing heavily on his mind.
He realized that he should have snagged some of the hardware at the warehouse. At least then, he could have some better equipment to defend himself with before Ryan inevitably came knocking. But not here. Not at Skeet’s crib. If he were going to smoke someone that came after him, it would be away from his ol’ reliable pal’s safe haven. It was something of an unwritten rule the friends had, and though Rusty made many questionable choices in life to get where he is now, he was loathed to break THAT rule.
Going back now was impossible. Not with cops swarming the place…but that only added another question. Why would the cops show up three days after the apparent shit show went down? Was it a setup? Did the person who orchestrated this mess call the police three days after the fact? Why wait that long? Why not just bust everyone while they were still alive? They’d have cold-hard evidence and some loose lips on top of it all.
Then again, the vaunted boys in blue were far from the honorable lot in Deacon. It was why in a sick twisted way, he found himself admiring the DCB. For a private security company, they were at least more honest about what they w-
That’s when Rusty saw it. A glint in his mirror that would have nearly gone unnoticed if he hadn’t been paying close attention. A gleam came from the corner of his mouth. Curious, he lifted his lips and felt his blood run far colder than it had any right to.
He was positive that canines were never supposed to be that long.
He pulled back both corners of his mouth with trembling fingers and revealed what he knew was far too real to be a hallucination. He poked the offender of his worry just to make sure.
He had fangs. Bloodstained fangs that he had yet to notice up until now. How? He didn’t know. He honestly didn’t care.
The one thing that he did care about was Frank’s slashed open neck now suddenly making more sense than it had any right to.
And then Rusty promptly vomited in the sink. Not Bile, like he was hoping. But blood.
…
Just outside Skeet’s apartment, A woman in worn, loose-fitting sweats and a hoodie lifts a phone to her ear as she leans casually against a wall that gives her a view of the apartment.
“Subject D has evaded attention as planned. Further orders?… Understood. A shame to hear about Subjects F and B, but that’s still more than enough, yes?…excellent. So then we can consider Project New Blood confirmed.” The woman sighed deeply. “Our director’s fantasy is finally coming to fruition at all our expense.”
A/N: Thank you for reading this far, and please leave a comment down below for what you think!
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