Muho turned into the backstreets of Caes Patrick, hefting the trash bag on his shoulders. The few people around didn't want to bother him, especially because of the intense machismo that seeped out of his not-so-pleasant visage.
The stoic face that Muho typically had didn't do anything to help, either. To deal with this man for no reason, it was likely the botherer was a thrill seeker or someone who took too much WILD.
Speaking of WILD, there were loose syringes in the worn-down alley. The backstreets of Caes Patrick were overcast from the sprawling highway erected on a bridge that went over the entire district.
(I remember about that nouveau riche kid who wanted to make this place into a megaplex. What was it...4 years ago? Me and Edna were just turning 13. I haven't heard about the Fermencellis ever since, huh.)
Well, nothing new. There was a reason why Metro Celtia as a whole left this place alone. Muho wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Framed by the little lights strewn atop wires in the alleyway, Muho was surprised they didn't charge him to look ahead. Not that there was much to look at, but sheesh, couldn't the world pretend to care about his meager wallet? It was starting to feel lonely AND empty.
He looked at the wall, checking if there was any strange shadow lurking behind him. Of course, there wasn't. It was more like a silhouette, you know, the one that followed you when there was illumination around?
"I'm actually going to go insane at this rate."
Muho grit his teeth and made a slow frown as he trudged. 15 long minutes of deafening silence whispered into his ears in gouts of sweat sliding down his back.
He accidentally kicked a few glass bottles every now and then. The poor person who took up residency around here must be desperate...
WILD was a drug that corroded the nerves and caused certain synapses to overclock. Long-time use resulted in an impassioned yet feral-eyed gaze, an unhealthy shiver, and a deep-seated lust for anything that could liven their dulled body.
People that took this drug were normally mercenaries or kids on the streets. Their combat senses would overflow as energy rushed up and down their veins, and the dulled sense of pain was great for letting them forget about one of their many worries. Moreover, it was such a potent drug that concentrated doses raised the physical capabilities of the average person, so much so that it could be dubbed as a Pseudo-Particularity.
...It was a horrible way to go, though. Those that developed too much of a tolerance were living through a purgatory, those that weaned off of it were like wild dogs, and those going through rehab or taking mellower substances to fix the issue were crazy for fights. The Dregs, those that either gained Pseudo-Particularities from the WILD or were Strangers who had gotten addicted to it in order to boost their abilities...were often Black Strangers or in gangs.
Muho was glad that although he was desperate, he hadn't succumbed to that temptation. As a person, he had long become jaded by the struggles of others. But he had never been entirely uncaring, just a little cold.
With a quick swing of his head, his shaggy mop of hair bobbed along. Turning another corner, Muho was now directly underneath the middle of the highway. The cars speeding along its length sounded like bugs that nipped at his earbuds.
"This one's for real trash. This one's for poor saps. This one's for the whole district if you fuck around on the open streets again. I doubt the Shark will be so lenient with you goons ever again, tbh."
----KC, the guy who owns the bed you sleep on and keeps cleaning your shitty sheets.
"You got a real foul mouth for a normal guy, Kuaemac. Well, as normal as you can be in this place."
Muho muttered as he lifted the lid of the dumpster. Then, tossing the inside away, Muho balled up the newspaper he had taken from his room unconsciously and threw it in too.
"The cruelest thing in the world is giving a starving dog a bone without any meat."
Crack.
Muho couldn't help but turn his head again as he felt a chill breeze past his neck. A warbling voice of man, elder, and childlike pitches clashed together as a sharp glint flashed in the corner of his vision.
"Over here, boy. For a genius, you are stupid."
HAAHahAHahahAHAAHahA.
The laughter that sounded like a blend of multiple voices chortling and screaming all in the same breath filled the square. A man sat atop the dumpster Muho had just thrown his "dreams" into. The very same cut-out Muho had written on once ago was in his hands.
The chemicals staining the devilish gas mask reeked of formaldehyde, and a smell 90's composed of bleach, 10% composed of...what the hell was it? Muho couldn't be sure.
These same splotches were all over the labcoat, drenched the ends of his platinum hair, and lined the singular rubber glove on his left hand. The military apparel had navy blue camo, and he seemed to blend in under the darkened azure streaming past the cracks up above.'
"Why are you so surprised. Are you afraid? ...FOoLish. You asked for this. You dreamed of this. I am your monkey's paw, and the finger has finally furled."
The startling laughter reverberated in the air with wild abandon, the concrete splitting and cracking as Muho fell over. Then, kneeing the cracks, he defiantly stood upright.
"Mad Scientist, Jun Takakagi."
"Muho Suu. Aged 17, living underneath a Factotem's roof. Would make an excellent specimen due to his abnormal mental processes, and has a foolish dream that placed him in my sights to begin with. I think my information is a lot. More. Comprehensive. So let's not start with the name calling..."
Jun Takakagi leaned against the brick wall. Then, using his back to pivot, he lazily slid over and propped himself up with his legs.
"You should know better than to do strange rituals. I've compiled over 100 theories as to why you did this anyway, but I want to hear it from your own lips."
Jun spoke playfully, taking his time to articulate every one of his words with strange gestures.
"...Why should I answer you."
"Oh, that's the fun part! You won't."
Muho's lips were clamped shut as Jun's strange energy flooded the area. The air was drained from his lungs, and any excess oxygen was ripped from his very blood flow. His nostrils were held open by a formless hand, and the air he needed to live was forcefully allotted to him in measured amounts.
"You're lacking."
(I wish I had brought my straightsword.)
"You're pathetic."
(I wish I had done this earlier.)
"You're lazy. Taking almost any outs you can to commit to anything, you're a loser. Was it hard?"
(Yeah, my life has been hard. I don't fucking know what to tell you. I worked my ass off and wanted better. Everyone wants better.)
"Self-pity is worthless in a time like this. I bet you're doing it right now. Did you ever try to...act? Working, working, working...what have you ever done differently? Think about it."
Jun Takakagi didn't bother to look at the young man, instead facing the wall. Whimsically tapping a finger on his covered face, he was getting bored. Silence echoed endlessly as Muho got up, bit by bit.
Only to be sent crashing into the wall with a bone-breaking slam.
"Did you think you did something there? Yes, the all-powerful existence right before you got lazy, just coincidentally enough for you to make your daring escapade! Oh, it's a story that can steer the hearts of almost any maiden! Ain't that right...Dahl...?"
Blood dripped down the sides of Muho's mouth, his organs rupturing. The air around his lips softened as if beckoning him to speak.
"...You...didn't...bring me all the way out here...just to kill me...like a dog."
"Very astute."
Jun Takakagi lazily yawned after hearing Muho's observation. A vial shone underneath the dark blue glare, giving off an odd gleam. The contents of the vial...they didn't feel like they were from anything of this world.
"Do you like her? My sister."
The mad scientist shook the glass vial tipped with a syringe.
It revealed a glimpse of the organism within it. It was a sludge most vile, the color of peacock blue and looking like a mess of mashed-up organs connected by eyes and mouths. There was an almost angelic-looking face in the center, her eyes sewn together and her teeth sharp and gnarled.
"This is her bile. The gracious, most cohesive remnant that remains of her shattered psyche. But this is a particular bile...my sister's Bile O Grace. Will you become a true host? Or just another Dahlia? Let's. See."
Muho was drawn to the vial without Takakagi's bidding. Tossing back the vile, the metal tip landed exactly in his heart.
"A lucky shot. I was deciding whether or not to kill you. But it seems I will be feeding a starving dog today instead."
Muho screamed.
"You'll make an excellent experiment, loser. It seems I will have to watch those Dahlias as well. Farewell. Oh and...try not to die."
And with that, Jun Takakagi left. Not even bidding Muho farewell, he passed the corner and departed down the empty alleyways.
It wasn't rude, not really. After all, Muho wasn't in any state to accept courtesies. His legs were bowlegged as he careened over, his face scraping the ground as his fingers curled and clawed at the granite.
His lips were parted and trembling in pain, yet no sounds were emitted. Instead, a thick sludge stuck to the insides of his mouth, restricting all but the nasal passages from breathing. As well as any noise.
It felt as if his skin was being systematically ripped and torn; as if someone was pouring bleach onto his bleeding muscles. He felt his veins boil and blood turn into a vapor that wafted from the wounds he bore into his flesh whilst thrashing about.
Searing pain hotter than molten volcanos washed over Muho as he spewed blood from his mouth. His spine convulsed and whipped, his bones crushed and enveloped, his veins torn as the Sister's Bile symbiotically fused with his body.
Parts of his skin were coated with the peacock blue liquid, some of it seeping slowly into the flesh. The hands were pooled in blue, and as the bile sunk in, blue scars on the back of his hand were all that remained. They seemed to form a curve, with several straighter strands underneath.
On the back of his wrists, a solemn yet gorgeous face appeared, seemingly one with the flesh, as there were no protrusions or differences in texture. The face lacked eyes but had dazzling lips, overall possessing an almost angelic vibe.
Muho's lips felt stung by a heavy cold.
Unknown changes transpired in the alley, hours passing by agonizingly slow. Muho could no longer struggle, his consciousness dim and his eyes unfocused under the continuous torment. His fingers weakly twitched, blood coating the clothes along with fragments of debris.
That was until his hands limply plopped upon the ground. His palms laid flat, and his fingers were splayed out. Even his legs were utterly still, nothing moving but the blood ferrying along via the intensifying pumps of his heart.
The ground was wrecked, and imprints of his body were etched into the surroundings. It was odd that not a single soul had passed by the place of commotion during this long time. If Muho was fully awake, he would definitely question this.
Further down the alleyway.
A scientist had just gotten a few more lab rats. With a skip in his step, he jaunted off into a place where no normal eyes could follow.