September 17, 1999
An old man walks down a sidewalk dragging two double layered trash bags through the rough pavement. They rattle and whine falling into the chipped sidewalk.
The old man has activities he usually plays, one such activity involves kicking pebbles no larger than dimes into the litter around the street, the further they fly, the more points he gets, he's the only player. He kicks one into an empty needle, it travels a couple meters.
"Tch." He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.
The old man lifts his head, a hooded, scrawny figure approaches him with his hand in his pocket. The hooded man walks stiffly with his head down, the old man sighs.
Once the hooded walks past the old man, he kicks one of the trash bags out of his hand. He jolts his hand out of his pocket to reveal a rusty knife, tightly gripped in his pale, and sweaty hands.
The hooded man lifts the knife to the back of the old man's neck, "Empty your pockets you—"
"I left all my money at home, punk." The old man sighs, cutting the hooded man leaving him quiet.
"Well uh, I um," he stumbles, "I said empty your pockets!" He attempts to push the knife into the old man's neck, he fumbles with it before nearly dropping it.
"You're kidding me right?" He drops the remaining black bag, and slaps his hands onto his face. His hand then moves down to his mouth, he mumbles something into it.
"First time chump?" The old man yanks on his turtleneck, making him look presentable.
"You done targeted the wrong fucker, son. Ain't ya know how many times this face' done been mugged?" He turns to face the hooded man. Rattled, he pulls the knife back. "Like the hell dumbass? Ain't I tell you I left my money at home?" The old man says, attempting to flick his forehead before pulling his hand back.
"S-shut up! I'm the one here with the knife, you dumbass!" The masked man shows off the knife. At the same time, the masked man nearly drops the knife, and fumbles with it before attempting to place it back on the old man's neck. The old man lifts his chin, allowing him to rest it on him.
"Ey, dumb cunt, I can see yer mouth peeking out that sock there." The old man snickers.
The masked man pulls his mask back up, hiding his fluctuating grin behind the mask once more.
"Here boy, look me right in the damn eye, would ya?" The masked man looks him in the eye. "Ya got ten seconds to kill me." He grips the blade and sinks it further into his neck, the masked man hesitates. He accidentally cuts the old man with his shaky hands. No reaction.
The two stand in silence. A couple seconds go by, not long after the old man's facial expression begins to slowly change. He snorts, after which he starts to giggle.
The old man pushes the knife away from his neck and breaks into laughter. He begins to laugh maniacally, nearly falling over.
"Bahaha ya chump!" He pauses to catch his breath, "ya should've seen," he giggles harder and harder, attempting to finish his sentence, "the look," tears stream down his face, "on that ugly-ass . . . face of yours!" The masked man jumps back, and realizes that his mask is under his mouth again, he swiftly pulls it back up.
"I-I have the knife, okay?" He fumbles the knife before managing to point his fist in the general direction of the old man. He stares, puzzled.
"Which knife? This knife?" The masked man feels the cold sensation of metal on his cheek. "Ah, how soft." The old man whispered in his ear.
The masked man quickly jolts forward, he trips over the beat up trash bag.
Once on the floor, the masked man turns to free his feet from the bag. He feels a small rock hit the back of his head, as he turns around, he sees the old man making his way over to him, twirling the knife while kicking pebbles in his direction.
"Wh-what? H-how did you—"
"Wh-what? How did you?" The old man mocks, he flips the knife in his hands before pulling back, "heads up chump!" He hurls the knife at the masked man. The masked man screams and throws himself out of the way.
The blade lands far from the masked man, and rattles upon landing on the concrete sidewalk. "Take yer stick and bugger off, would ya?" He walks over to the floored mask man.
He begins rapidly kicking at the masked man. The masked man jumps up after some time, a red stain covers a large portion of his black mask.
"K-ketchup, haha." He quivers. He grabs his knife, and quickly sprints away from the old man. As he's running away, he trips over the second of the old man's trash bags, eating the solid concrete on his way down. The old man giggles.
"Tch, amatures." The old man scratches his head staring at the opened trash bag on the floor. He decides to leave it where it is, it fits in well. He picks up the remaining trash bag and begins to hum to himself, kicking pebbles at different things while he does so.
The old man turns the corner into a narrow alleyway, in which two dumpsters reside.
'The hell do I listen to her for?' He thinks to himself, he looks up sighing, the trash bag at his feet. He opens the lid to one of the dumpsters, a parade of roaches followed by a band of rodents fly out, he covers his nose with his shirt.
"Ugh, just kill mr." He muffles. The old man steps back from the dumpster and places his hands on his hips. He lifts his head again and sighs, again. 'Noose maybe . . .' He thinks, jokingly. As he finally opens his eyes, he sees a bright light rapidly approaching.
"What the—" he places his hand above his eyes blocking out the sun, dragging out each word in confusion. His eyes widen after he realizes what's happening.
Almost instantly, he begins to quickly shift his feet in different directions, almost like a tap dancer. Not long after he vanishes.
The old man finds himself at the entrance to the alleyway, a skid mark on the molded pavement leading to him.
The bright light slams down into the alleyway, a sharp, punchy noise rattles the walls of the alley, accompanied by a small cloud of dust that quickly spews from the landing sight.
A can of soda flies out from the impact hitting the old man on the head, spilling the little remains over him.
"Ah, my fucken eyes!" He quickly falls to the ground and begins to cry Pepsi. The old man picks himself up, he looks around on the street to make sure nobody passed by. He composes himself, and waits for the dust to settle, a strange, muffled sound emitting from the alley grabs a hold on his attention.
"Cel—"
"Kill so—"
"Abaddon—"
As the old man approaches the dim cloud of smoke, what seems to be an endless stream of different voices, one after another cutting each other off and occasionally overlapping, he feels a cold shiver. "What . . . the . . .hell?" he cautiously moves closer to the dust, which is settling now, revealing a yellow,futuristic capsule.
The old man's face goes pale, his feet freeze as he sees what's inside: an infant. The baby cries and screams. Though, there's no sound, the voices from the capsule are all that is audible.
"Someone please—"
"My legs—bright light—"
"Come die already—"
"The queen is d—"
"No, mommy!—"
The voices get quicker and quicker, becoming nearly incomprehensible after a few seconds, it sounds almost demonic.
Screams, explosions, growls all begin to merge together, at which point the old man begins to back up. It slowly fades out, and stops abruptly. The baby's screaming becomes slightly audible. The capsule lies silent.
"This is not supposed to be happening." A weeping voice emits from the capsule, it sounds as if the voice is rustling through something, with occasional grunts and sobbing.
"Haha, fuuuuck." The old man stares at the capsule. He begins to slowly back away after a short pause.
"Greyson, what in god's nam—"
"Ah! Mother fucker!" He roared, turning back to see a woman looking at him from the entry to the alleyway. He quickly runs over to her.
"Zip it you old hag! That twerp's haunted!" Greyson roughly covers her mouth with his hand and presses down. She bites.
"Ah! What the hell—"
"Oh, for the love of God, Greyson!" The woman wipes her mouth, he raises her fist in the air. However, before she can rain it down on Greyson, the baby catches her attention. She gasps and quickly rushes over to it.
"Is that?—" Cutting herself off, she rushes to the capsule. The baby's muffled cries rattle her as she quickly turns the sphere, looking for a way to open it.
"Hey, come help me already!" She yells at Greyson.
"Haha. Noope. Nooope. I think I'd rather die." Greyson replies, shaking his head while stepping back.
After some snooping around, the woman manages to find a button. Without a second of thought she slams her hand onto the yellow button. She awaits anxiously.
"Self-destruct sequence initiating." The capsule says in a monotone manner.
The woman pauses for a couple seconds. "Wait? No, no no no!" She panics, frantically attempting to pull both halves of the capsule apart.
"Greyson!" She yells.
"Okay, no ya don't. Get the hell back dumbass!" Greyson grabs the woman by the arms and reels her back. She kicks and screams the whole way.
"Let me go, you old idiot!" She cries.
"Ah, so ya wanna go toward the explosion?" He grunts, "With a brain like that on ya, I ain't got a clue how you ain't dead." He continues dragging the woman, she flails around, jumping, screaming, kicking.
"Self-destruct sequence initiated." The capsule says.
"No! No wait no!—" The woman cries, she reaches her hand out to the capsule.
After a small, quiet pause, the capsule begins to talk once more, "Opening." It says, while releasing a monotone laugh.
"Wait what?—" Greyson stares puzzled. As the capsule releases the baby, he releases the woman, she drops to the floor.
Greyson and the woman both jump as the baby's cries begin to echo throughout the alleyway, the walls only amplifying the noise. While Greyson stares at the capsule, the woman rushes to the baby's aid.
"Oh my, please forgive me you poor thing!" She exclaims, grabbing the baby and immediately beginning to rock it back and forth in her arms.
"Why ain't the critter dead?" He points.
"Shh, shh, little boy, I'm here, I'm here." She says in a calming voice, ignoring Greyson completely.
"Martha, it's a baby, hell if it's gon' understand what you're sayin'!" Greyson snickers.
The woman, Martha, rocking the baby that doesn't understand her.
"Look at him, dear." She says, wearing a sweet smile. Greyson looks at the howling infant.
"Look," Martha's smile fades, she lifts her knee, "look good!" Martha jolts her knee up and hits Greyson square in the balls, he shrieks as he falls to his knees.
"Prick." She hisses, going back to rocking the baby, who is beginning to quiet down.
A couple minutes pass, and the two manage to calm the baby down enough to the point where it's fallen asleep.
"What should we do with him?" Martha asks.
"There's a perfectly good dumpster there—"
"No."
"Christmas ornament?" Greyson jokes. After a long sigh, Martha begins to giggle.
"You know what I'm gonna say, right dear?" She softly asks.
"Right," he sighs, "we burn the twerp then." Greyson goes to reach for the baby, Martha pulls his hair in the opposite direction with her spare hand.
"Keep it you say? Oh my, finally you have a wonderful idea." She giggles over Greyson's agony. He taps out.
"You'se a damn monster, woman." He exclaims, rubbing his head. "This bean ain't ours," he said. "Stork tried killin' me with the thing." Greyson claimed as he jolted his finger upwards.
"So, you want me to leave it here, in this neighborhood? Where someone will most likely sell it. Or would you like me to return it to the people who left it here to die?" She fumed angrily.
"I like option two, toss it back to the damn eagles." Greyson said.
"Please, you know how much I want something like this dear." Martha gently grabs his hand and tighty grips onto it. He sighs.
"Ya want it?"
"Uh huh!"
"You sure?" She nods in response. "Lyin' to me?" She nods up and down, before quickly changing to left and right. He smiles.
"What do you wanna name the critter?" Greyson asks. Martha's eyes lighten up as she nearly jumps for joy, only stopping as to not drop the baby.
She begins to list every name on her mind, going on and on. Greyson chuckling the whole while.
"Daniel is cute don't you think? Marcus, or uh, Jake!" The two quietly present names to each other, as to not wake the baby that has yet to be named.
"Billy?" Greyson suggests, "or maybe . . . James. You okay?" He asks Martha, who's face has become expressionless and is standing perfectly still.
"I am fine." She replies, equally pacing her words. Greyson shivers.
After a small pause from both parties, she continues talking in the same tone, "His name will be Adam." She added.
"Uh, okay then," he says sceptically, "Adam it is! Hey wait up!" By the time he responds Martha has left the alleyway, he runs out after the pair.
After a short walk, the two reach the end of the street, to where a little building resides. It wields a sign right above the door, 'Greyson's Dojo'. He holds down a button off to the side of the building, the garage-like door slowly creaks upwards, it wobbles and cries as it moves up. Once it reaches the top, it clicks into place.
"Ah, home sweet dump." Greyson exclaims, taking in a deep breath of the decent smelling room.
"Oh don't be stingy you," Martha slaps the back of his head with her vacant arm, seeming to have returned to normal. Greyson winces, "we're lucky to have a home in this neighborhood." She walks into the dojo, Greyson follows behind mumbling in agreement.
As they both walk through the dojo's main room, a thud alerts Martha. She turns back to find Greyson lying on the cold, slightly blue carpet of the dojo. She clickers her tongue at him.
"Ey, someone put a stupid thing there! It's . . . a glove!" He lifts the rubber glove and tosses it at Martha's feet.
"Oh?" she kicks it back, "you mean the glove you were supposed to have cleaned this morning?"
Greyson stays quiet for a few seconds, then panics, "Well uhh . . . Ya see, I was gonna clean it! But then—"
"Then what?" They both stare at each other for a second, only the babies breathing making sound.
"But then, I didn't." After a small pause from both parties, Martha walks over to the fallen Greyson, and gently places her foot on his hand.
"Oh you lazy! Old! Despicable!—" she violently whispers, each time pressing her foot down a little harder.
"Y-ya know that ain't all too painful, right? It's an old s-sandle woman!" He says, quietly grunting. Both Martha and Greyson each come to a halt upon hearing a terrifying sound.
"Great, you woke Adam!" She releases Greyson from her grip and begins rocking Adam back and forth, shushing him in a melodic way. "Get. Cleaning. Greyson" She lip synced at Greyson while rolling a training stick his way.
Martha walks to the end of the dojo, avoiding the obstacles along the way. She makes her way to the south wall of the empty room, and opens a lopsided door. She disappears into it. The thin walls still letting the baby's cries escape them.
A long and hard cleanup was complete, and so the sun had set on the dull, depressing town.
Greyson found himself sitting inside the viewing stands of the dojo, eyes peeled watching the small television in the corner.
"The T.M.A.T apprehended a mutant teenager in New York, Louisville. The individual allegedly broke down after he was caught shoplifting a bag of Hot Cheetos. The T.M.A.T has released a public statement, saying that the boy is, quote on quote, 'a danger to society' and that if there are any individuals who know of other freaks, it is their responsibility to: 'inform us quickly, we will dispose of the creatures with caution before people get hurt.'"
The lady gathers her papers for a couple seconds before continuing. "The," she stuttered, "mutant was fifteen years of age. Witnesses say . . ." the woman continued reporting on the case as Greyson listened.
"Tch. Freaks." Greyson clicks his tongue at the television.
The rusty door on the other side of the dojo slowly creaks open, Martha comes tippy-toeing out of the room wearing a beaming smile.
She walks over to Greyson in the stands, he moves over as if instinctively as she sits down.
"They got another one?" Martha asks.
"Yeah. How much ya wanna bet he freaked when them cops came?" He sighs.
Martha stares at the television blankly for a moment. She then turns to Greyson, "What do we do about Adam? Think we can hide him?" She pulls closer to Greyson.
"Teach the damn critter. Teach him well." Greyson points at the closed door housing Adam. "That there thing is your dream, ain't it?" He asks.
"All I've ever wanted." She nods.
"Then it's your job to keep it safe! I ain't a part of this me—" Greyson softly screams in pain as Martha pinches his arm. After a few moments they both chuckle.
"You know it fell from the sky n' whatnot, right?" Greyson whispers.
"It means my little Adam is a special boy." Martha responds, already daydreaming of his future.
"Wanted to make sure. Yeah." They both sit quietly, Martha leans her head onto Greyson's shoulder. The two fall asleep as the news host closes out the show.
The next morning begins with a pleasant war cry, "Greyson!" Martha screeches.
Greyson jumps up from his seat, the television still running from the prior night.
". . . my husband wasn't always like this, and our children are the one's paying the price for his alcoholism!" Greyson lets out a quick snort before shutting it off.
He makes his way around the wooden seats to the end of the dojo, where he bursts through a shabby door.
"What! What! What! What do you want!" He screams.
"The . . . the baby won't stop crying!" Martha says, crying along with the baby. It's um," she thinks, "hungry! Yes, oh yes hungry!" She says holding the howling baby in her hands, Greyson's eye twitches. She turns to look at him.
"Well uhh, congratulations?" He shrugs. Martha attempts to kick an empty can at Greyson. She nearly topples over, tightly gripping the baby so as to not hurt it.
"Oh for Christ's sake Greyson!" She furiously screams. "Get me some milk from the fridge you old fool!"
"Ha!" Greyson says mockingly. "Eya don't be a dumbass, the hell you tryna feed gallon milk to a baby for?" He exclaims flailing his arms. "And I'm the fool." Adam continues to cry.
"What milk do they eat then?"
"Drink." He corrects. After a brief pause, he stares at Martha. "Gimme twenty bucks."
"What? No! Y-you're the last person I'd trust with my money." Adam continues to cry.
"Aight, twats gon' starve then not my fault."
Martha keeps quiet for a couple seconds before snapping, "Oh just get the money out of my pocket!" She swings her hips over to Greyson.
He reaches into her pockets and pulls out a handful of bills. "And a thank you." He smirks, dragging out his words.
"That's twenty dollars, right?" She screams as Greyson walks away.
"Yeah, yeah, ain't gotta worry. I'll be back in ten." He gallops out of the small room, leaving Martha with Adam.
"Oh yes, ten minutes he said. So she waited for ten minutes. Oh but then what happened?" Martha paces back and forth with the crying baby, talking to herself, "well he's not back, and guess what? Oh my, what? It's been more than ten minutes!" She begins to rock the baby violently.
After a few agonizing moments, Martha hears a scream followed by running.
"I'm back!" Greyson bursts throught the door with his hands behind his back.
"Oh for God's sake Greyson! Where were—"
"Shh shh, it's gon' be fine now," he cuts her off, revealing what he has in his hands, "cause I got these!" Greyson exaclaims holding two old ziplock bags half filled with milk.
Martha beams. "Oh my god, where did you get breast milk from?" She asks.
"Ah, d-don't ya worry about such trivial things," Greyson stuttered, "lemme just poke a hole in this thing . . ." Greyson scours around the small room looking for something sharp. He makes his way over to their sink, which houses a couple knives and no more than four plates.
Greyson finds a decently sharp knife and begins nudging the corner of one of the ziplock bags, setting the other one inside the sink.
"Wait, is it safe to feed a baby someone else's breast milk?" Martha asks, peeking over at Greyson while he works.
"Probably not, here." Greyson hands her the bag, pinching the hole at the bottom corner of it shut with two fingers.
Martha nods at Greyson, she hovers the bag over Adam's mouth, he's screaming louder than before.
"Shh shh, it's gonna be okay Adam. One . . . two . . . three!" Greyson releases his fingers covering the hole in the bag. Almost immediately milk rushes into Adam's screaming mouth.
Adam's cries soon become coughs as he is unsuccessful swallowing the milk. His mouth quickly overflows with the milk as he attempts to spit it out in a desperate struggle to survive.
"Holy shit—" Greyson exaclaims rushing to help.
Martha quickly throws the bag out of the way, it leaks into the dusty carpet. She flips Adam around holding his head, attempting to shake the milk from his mouth.
Once all the milk has been emptied, Greyson and Martha both carefully flip Adam back around.
"Oh my goodness I am so sorry!" She places Adam's head on her shoulder, rocking him side to side shushing him and reassuring the infant repetitively.
After a pause from both Greyson and Martha, Greyson murmurs, "Well, I did have a plan B . . ." Martha glares at him.
"Oh yeah, is it a stick maybe to shove the milk down his throat?" She growled, moving towards him with a balled fist.
"Hey, hey," he backs away nervously, "at least look at it c'mon now, ain't needa be hasty!" Greyson points to the door of the dojo.
"So, explain who this is, dear." After walking out of the dojo, outside the doors a lady in a sketchy, filthy jacket smokes a cigarette looking directly into the bright sun.
"Well, this thing was cheap!" Greyson points excitedly at the woman.
"Greyson. You brought . . . a pregnant, Russian prostitute . . . to feed our—"
"Yes! Ain't gotta mention it, I'm a genius," He beams. "Tell em' Polina!" Greyson exaclaims, he jolts both hands in Polina's direction for added affect.
"Yes I good fetus feeder, very good!" Polina tells Martha, she grabs her breasts and wiggles them around to assure Martha of her skill set.
Martha looks at Greyson, "Hey, can you hold Adam for me Polina, just for a quick second." She hands her off the Polina.
"I will hold infant with care. Make sure not to crush tender bones from all crying." Polina comments as Martha grabs Greyson by the ear and pulls him away.
"Okay. So, why did you think it was a good idea to bring a skank to feed Adam?" She snapped.
"This thing ain't want nothin' more than a working heater to keep her alive at night. It's free milk!"
"Aids exist, Greyson!"
"The hell? How does your dumbass think people get aids?" Before both can continue bickering, Martha realizes that Adam has stopped crying.
"Adam—" She shoves Greyson out of the way expecting for the worst.
"Hey woman! What the fu—" Greyson looks at Polina, who is breast feeding a quiet Adam. He grins.
As he moves towards Martha, he notices her annoyed face. "Oh, don't ya worry your little flat ass sweetheart, ya ain't gotta apologize." He pats her on the back further humiliating her.
"One day Greyson. If she messes up even slightly I'll choke her to death." She says quietly as to make sure Polina doesn't hear.
"Done deal, she sleeps in the dojo." The both shake hands. After a brief pause, Martha snaps at Polina signaling with her head to go inside.
Polina's face lights up as she stubbles her way inside. Martha swiftly rushes over to aid Polina so she doesn't fall on the baby.
Greyson sighs in relief. He looks up into the sky, "What did ya punks give me?" He nods his head while tilting it down as he enters the dojo, eager to take care of his son, Adam.