Psychotic

By Harper Kingsley

Warrick leaves the cabin while Vereint is away and finds himself in some trouble. Side shot to Allies & Enemies.

Word count: 8750
Includes excerpts at the end: The first two chapters of Allies & Enemies. The first two chapters of The Panic Pure. And the opening of Normal Again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harper Kingsley
• Release date: Aug 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301900275

Harper Kingsley

Harper Kingsley is a science fiction and fantasy author living in Washington State.

Book preview

HEROES & VILLAINS:

PSYCHOTIC

by Harper Kingsley

Copyright 2013 © Harper Kingsley

Smashwords Edition

HEROES & VILLAINS: PSYCHOTIC

Copyright 2013 © Harper Kingsley. All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Anything else is satire, parody, or meant to be humorous.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented without permission of the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review or news article.

A/N: I love to know if people are enjoying my writings, so feel free to contact me on Twitter, Facebook, or at my blog. Read some of my writing at Kimichee.com. Or check out my FictionPress account for raw feed stories.

And yes, patheticness is not a word. But characters think the way they think.

Heroes & Villains: Psychotic takes place during Allies & Enemies.

Psychotic is 8750 words. At the end are excerpts from upcoming stories:

-The first two chapters of Allies & Enemies. 13,050 words.

-The opening of Franz Caulder: Slipping Through the Cracks Normal Again. 704 words.

-The first two chapters of The Panic Pure. 11,375 words.

~ ~ ~

He'd given up that life. He wasn't that guy anymore. He'd made promises and commitments. But that was all in the past tense. He was in the moment, in the now, and there was the thunder red of rage-rage-rage burning across Vereint's brain.

All this time, Warrick had been so great about following the rules. So why did he have to fuck up now?

Vereint had come back to an empty cabin, a TV still showing GNN, and a note. Warrick had seen something that called for Blue Ice, so he'd gone off to handle it.

Vereint's panic as he chased after Warrick had gradually turned to burning anger. Didn't Warrick understand what putting himself in danger did to him? The sense of helplessness and suffocating worry that he felt?

Vereint wanted to scream in Warrick's face, but he knew he would end up on his knees begging him to never leave him. And that patheticness only made him angrier. Never in his life had there been anyone to bring him so low as Warrick could.

By the time he reached the warehouse, he was mostly in control. Then he broke the lock and slid open the door. It felt like the moment froze in front of him, the air going heavy and still.

Warrick was dead.

There was blood everywhere in a butterfly spray, and at the center the torn cocoon. Flesh splayed open in pink and white ridges of muscle and tendon. Eye sockets blackened and exposed amongst the brain matter. Warrick's face was pasty and still, his shattered lips still parted around where his teeth had been kicked out.

Vereint sucked in a hissing breath and his hands clenched into claw shapes at his sides. He was going mad. The world was a riot of bright reds and softer pinks and the glistening lengths of intestine. The image before him soaked itself into his brain. Becoming the truth of his existence.

Then he noticed that the Blue Ice uniform was wrong. It was one Vereint knew for sure had been ruined in a fight with Behemoth. He'd thrown it away himself, which had been a real hardship. It had been his favorite.

Just that quick he knew someone was messing with his brain.

It was as though someone had snapped a new lens on a camera, everything coming into focus. He could still see the mind fuckery of the illusion, but it was hollow and thin, all the emotional impact removed.

There were two men in black three-piece suits standing next to a card table. They were laughing and joking, placing bets on how long he would freak out.

As his mind started working again, Vereint's eyes were drawn to the vibrating silver device on the table. He'd only ever heard about them, but he was sure that it was a Psiren. It produced sound waves focused to some frequency that could force the human brain to experience different emotions. The feelings drawn up were so strong that some people experienced correlating hallucinations.

Vereint tried to make his body convey terror and grief and was glad of the ski mask he'd pulled on before leaving. He'd never been that great of an actor, which was why he usually let Warrick do the lying for the both of them.

His eyes slid to the back of the room where he'd spotted the glint of a blade pressed tight against the real Warrick's throat. His jaw clenched tight with fear and anger.

Warrick wasn't moving, was flopped limply, but Vereint could see the minute quiver of his breaths. He was pulled across the over-sized lap of a man that had to be a good fifteen hundred pounds.

Vereint recognized the man as Jericho Slim, sometimes called the Knife Man because he could do horrible nightmare things with a blade. He could draw them out of his flesh like gall stones. He would gag and a blade would come out from between his lips or sometimes it would just be slivers. It was said he could spit his Needle Darts faster than a viper and he could hit a target up to two hundred feet away.

Even though he was sure he was faster than Jericho Slim, Vereint didn't want to risk the guy getting lucky. It was better to play it safe and maneuver the situation to keep Warrick alive. Because a single scratch from one of Jericho Slim's bioblades and Warrick would rot from the wound like it was the bite of a Gila monster; it was a horrible way to die.

After what he figured had to be a good five minutes of shivering, shaking, and quavering garbled cries, Vereint let himself sag to the floor with a low moan. From what he knew, an improperly used Psiren could cause catatonia in people that had experienced severe psychological trauma.

He was worried about Warrick. With his history and not possessing Vereint's natural protections, things were worse for Warrick. Being hit with the effects of a Psiren could give him permanent brain damage.

Vereint was certain he was going to be killing some people today.

He's passed out, the skinnier of the two men at the table said.

Wonder who he is.

Who cares? He's down and out, Skinny said. What do you want us to do with him, boss?

Jericho Slim had a surprisingly sweet voice for a man that was so large. It was the kind of voice that could have done commercials or read movie times over the phone. He must be working with this one here. Bring him to that chair and get that stupid ski mask off. Let's see what kind of fish we managed to catch in our trap this time.

Vereint kept his eyes closed as he was patted down, then hung limp as he was hauled up by his arms and tossed onto a hard wooden chair. It was one of those kind that had a rocking chair back and he could feel the knobby round spokes pressing against his spine. He let himself be lashed in place by rope, though a minute flex of his muscles let him know he could break free any time.

He felt the ski mask get ripped off his face and let his head flop forward when it was released. His chin was grasped by a slightly sticky hand and his hair was shoved out of the way as his face was turned toward the light. He squinted through his lashes.

He's a pretty one, isn't he? Not-Skinny said. He should make good money on the market.

Someone might pay a lot of money for a face like that, Skinny agreed. Are we going to sell him, boss?

We'll find out when he wakes up, Jericho Slim said. He was running his hands through Warrick's hair, caressing him like some prized possession. If he's got more to him than a pretty face, we could get a better price.

Racking his brain, Vereint didn't remember Jericho Slim ever being caught up in the flesh trade, but it looked like the man had changed professions. Vereint would wait until they were put in some sort of cell or something and he could just carry Warrick away rather than risking something happening.

Are we going to sell that one too, boss? Skinny asked.

Vereint peeked through his eyelashes, realizing Skinny was talking about Warrick.

No, Jericho Slim said, still stroking Warrick's hair. This one here's a special case. I think I'm going to keep him for myself.

It was a struggle for Vereint to remain unmoving. His mouth wanted to snarl and he was nearly trembling from holding himself still. He didn't want to know what Jericho Slim wanted with Warrick and there was no way he was going to let anything happen. He would just have to make sure he was both strong and decisive when he made his move.

He kept his body completely limp as he was lifted up roughly by hands under his arms. His heels scraped the floor as he was dragged toward a door at the back of the warehouse.

The route incidentally took him passed where Jericho Slim held Warrick.

Opportunity knocks and the devil rocks.

It was like pulling on an old suit of clothes, one perfectly crafted to his form.

It started somewhere deep inside where all his fear and frustration lived. Ignition, that was the only way to describe it. His sole impulse was to get Warrick away from Jericho Slim and not allow the supervillain time to scratch Warrick's skin. There was no room for mistakes. No time for hesitation.

Powering up always felt great. He could be facing down horrifying amounts of mental torment, and there would always be