A quick note: this story has been ongoing now since about October of 1995,
and through that time I've had a lot of fun corresponding with fellow
"fanficians" about writing. I have also learned an immense amount from the
comments I've received since the day I posted chapter 1, and as this story
races (relatively speaking<g>) to its conclusion, and I start thinking about
moving on to write original work, I'd just like to thank all of those people
who have sent me C&C and who have read BG Cross :) Domo Arigato, and hope to
see you all at ACen this weekend :)
Warning: This chapter contains slight lemon implications though hopefully
tastefully done. Also contains harsh language. You have been warned.
NOTE: "You're Everything To Me" lyrics by Hardline
If you'd like to read the previous chapters of "Bubblegum Cross" check out
http://www.ravensgarage.com!
Andy Skuse
aka Panda
"BubbleGum Cross"
(c) 1995-2000 by Andy Skuse
Email - askuse@home.com
Based on characters copyrighted
by Youmex, AIC, Artmic
Part 20: The Body Electric
The mid-morning sun flooded the service bay with bright light, but the glare
did not completely obscure Dr. Raven's view of the street before him. From
down the road leading out of the industrial section of Timex City, he
watched a small dark speck grow quickly in detail to become a motorcycle
ridden by a figure clad entirely in black leather. The relative quiet was
interrupted sharply by the loud rhythmic pounding of the motorcycle's engine
as the rider slowed, then steered his bike in a tight circle in front of the
garage. With a quick fluid motion, the rider killed the power and kicked
down the stand with his toe.
Dr. Raven took a long look over the machine before him as it shone in the
sunlight, admiring his own handiwork. The graceful curves, the mathematical
precision of each line, and the painstaking attention to detail and use of
space. It was certainly some of his finest work, but it was still his second
favorite bike. Of course, he could never admit that to either rider.
Dr. Raven tried not to smile as he spoke, "Well, your second visit in as
many days. I am indeed honored."
Blackie looked up and down the street for a moment before removing his
helmet. Brushing his long dark hair back with a gloved hand, he slowly
turned, but the grin that Dr. Raven had expected to see was not there.
Instead, his familiar sarcasm was met with a look of indifference, almost as
if the rider had never heard the greeting. Dark sunglasses did little to
conceal the look of a man who was clearly tired and irritated.
"Hmm. This looks serious," Dr. Raven said thoughtfully. "Better step into my
office then."
The rider took another step into the shadows of the garage, glanced over his
shoulder at the street again, then nodded slowly and followed the doctor to
the cramped room at the back of the garage.
Slumping into a well-worn chair, Blackie stared at the calendar on the wall
behind Dr. Raven's desk, noting that the month showing was not the current
one. He was about to ask why, when he noticed the year at the top of the
calendar and held his question in check. He suddenly found himself thinking
that the time had gone by so fast the last few years. And it seemed to be
flying by even faster every day.
Dr. Raven stood in the open doorway for a moment studying his preoccupied
guest before finally taking a seat on the edge of his desk. "So, what brings
you all the way out here so early in the day to see an old man when you
obviously would rather be at home sleeping?"
Blackie slowly sat up in the chair. His hand went to his hair again,
stroking it back several times before resting both elbows on his knees with
an exhausted sigh.
"I'm an old man koohai," Dr. Raven urged gently. "So if you need to ask me
something"
Blackie rubbed his eyes as he finally spoke "Sempai, what do dreams really
mean?"
Dr. Raven raised an eyebrow. "Dreams? You came all the way out here to ask
me--"
Blackie's stern look cut the sentence short, and the doctor's question faded
off into the monotonous churning noises of the factories all around the
garage.
"Okay," Dr. Raven began tentatively, scratching his chin. "Dreams. Well, for
some people, dreams are wonderful and yet mysterious, and there is a
temptation to believe that dreams are roadmaps to a possible destiny, while
others believe that dreams are actually images from another life we are
living in some other reality. And there are still others that believe that
dreams are simply moments of our lives replayed subconsciously and then
rearranged or combined with other experiences randomly."
"And what do you believe Sempai?"
Dr. Raven laughed. "Me? Ha! When the dreams of an old man are interesting to
the young... well..."
Blackie studied the doctor's face carefully as he waited for the answer.
"For me, dreams are nothing more than scrambled moments in time that play
about in our heads when we have nothing else to do but think."
Blackie sat back a bit, the fresh look of confusion on his face telling the
doctor that the answer was not what his guest had wanted to hear. Blackie
began to reply, but the words did not come right away. "Really You don't
think they mean anything... at all?"
Dr. Raven stepped away from the corner of his desk and returned to the open
doorway of the office before speaking. He did not look at Blackie as he
spoke. He could not, because he now knew why he was asking and he was
concerned. "No. Not really."
There was silence for a moment in the office, as the two men wondered what
the other was thinking. Blackie was first to speak again, his voice now
clearly betraying his best efforts to appear unconcerned.
"Well, the dreams I am having lately do seem to be kinda messed up, but... "
"Yes?"
Blackie hesitated before continuing. "Itıs still the same dream each time.
Over and over."
Dr. Raven stared out into the sunlit garage, trying to hide his frown. "I
see. And what happens in this dream?"
Blackie was silent for a moment as he pondered his dream. It was the same,
night after night, only more intense and more real with each passing day. He
didn't really want to discuss the dream with anyone, but it was getting to
the point where he was wondering if there was something more to them. "It's
a voice," he began. "I hear a voice calling me."
Dr. Raven's hidden frown was replaced with a look of surprise as he turned
to look at Blackie. "Eh, really?"
Blackie nodded. "Yeah. Well, kinda. It changes. It usually starts off as the
voice of a little kid, then it gradually changes into an old man's voice."
"I see. And what does this voice say?"
Blackie shook his head slowly. "He keeps asking me to help him. He says he
is running out of time."
"Help him how?"
"I'm not sure," Blackie responded, sounding more and more frustrated as he
related the strange dream. "The voice never actually tells me why it needs
my help, but it says it's in pain. It just keeps going on and on and on.
Sometimes I think it can hear me, but most of the time it just ignores me."
Blackie paused, brushing his hair out of his eyes again with a sigh. "The
voice sounds so real, so... so..."
"Sincere?" Dr. Raven offered.
"Yes!" Blackie said, suddenly wondering if he had helped the Doctor to fully
understand. But the elderly mechanic simply turned back to the open doorway
to stare out into the sunshine.
Forcing himself to chuckle, Dr. Raven finally turned back to his guest and
then sat down at his desk again. "I don't think I'd lose any sleep over such
a dream. There's too much work to be done! Sleep is important and shouldn't
be wasted! Although, when I was your age I can remember staying out very
late almost every night! We'd go out drinking and singing, and I remember
the girls--" Dr. Raven's voice trailed off as he realized his guest wasn't
listening. The doctor's frown returned. He got up from his desk and stood in
front of Blackie, then placed a hand gently on a leather-clad shoulder.
"What do you think koohai? Why does a dream trouble you so much?"
Blackie did not answer immediately, the hand on his shoulder lending some
comfort but not enough to make him forget the voices he had heard or their
emotional pleas. He looked up at the old man before him, and seeing the
worry in his eyes, forced a smile. "Too many late nights I guess Pops. Too
many late nights and loud music, right?" He winked playfully, then glanced
at the clock on the wall. "Ah, Speaking of which, I gotta get to practice.
Thanks for the chat sempai."
"Ah yes!" Dr. Raven shifted gears. "Sylia mentioned that you hired Priss to
sing. How's that working out?"
Blackie looked out at the sunlight for a moment, the strange dream slipping
away from his thoughts for the moment at the mention of her name. As he
began thinking of her again he felt his entire body wake up. "She's great
Pops. She's got an amazing voice! And she can kick ass, ya know? She's
really, really..."
"Great. Right?" Dr. Raven responded smiling.
Blackie nodded slowly, his darkened features unable to hide an embarrassed
grin.
"Well, let me give you a little advice about that one, young Stingray," Dr.
Raven began with a fatherly tone to his voice, "If you are truly as smitten
as you seem to be, then be careful, because--"
"Yes?" Blackie asked a little over-enthusiastically, wondering if he might
actually get some useful insight into why Priss seemed so hard to get to
know.
"Because koohai," the doctor continued, aware that what he was saying could
be valuable to the young man that he looked upon like a son, "she will make
you want to protect her, and knowing you, you would try very hard. But you'd
be wasting your time."
"Eh? Why?"
"Because she can take care of herself."
Blackie nodded, a little disappointed. "Yeah, that much I already know."
"What she really needs..."
"Yes?"
"Is someone to take care of."
Blackie said nothing in reply, the words fixing themselves in his mind
without being fully understood yet. Perhaps he would never understand. Women
always seemed to get more complicated the more he got to know them. But he
knew one thing. His sempai was a good judge of character, and his advice was
always worth listening to. With a smile, he rose from his seat and headed
out the door. "Thanks sempai. I'll keep that in mind."
Dr. Raven nodded, but as he watched Blackie leave, he wondered if the young
man could keep any advice in his mind with all the other things that were
trying to enter it.
* * * *
"Alright, let's go again. Count us in."
<click, click, click, click>
Priss closed her eyes as a wall of sound immediately surrounded her in the
tiny rehearsal room. She could hear the snap of the snare drum echoing back
through her monitors, the low rumble of the bass guitar reaching through the
floor to her feet, and the animal-like growl of Blackie's guitar as he
quickly drove down on the whammy bar, the strings suddenly losing all of
their tension. Counting silently in her head she waited impatiently for her
cue, trying not to get lost in the music.
The words came to her easily, having listened to them more times than she
could count on her disc player. But it was always uncomfortable at first
when she actually had to sing someone else's songs at full volume. Nothing
that a few practices wouldn't fix. But their first gig was tonight.
The song rose and fell, verse to bridge, bridge to chorus, and back through
again. Then Blackie launched into the guitar solo. Priss had been staring
straight ahead as she sang, but now she turned her head a little to watch
Blackie out of the corner of her eye. She smiled, thinking to herself that
just a few nights ago she had been standing out in the darkness watching
from a distance, and now she was standing right next to him. Her gaze fell
to watch his strong hands working their way around the fretboard of his
guitar, and suddenly she found herself remembering the moment she had taken
his hands in hers a few nights ago. She had embarrassed herself by being so
forward, and she was sure he would misunderstand her, but something about
his hands had compelled her to reach out to touch them. To know for sure.
And in that moment she had felt him tremble.
The notes continued to arc and soar, their wordless acrobatics singing to
her in a different way. She closed her eyes and listened, and quickly lost
herself in the vibe.
Suddenly she realized that the solo was over and that the last verse had
started without her. Shaking her head in annoyance, she jumped back in, the
slip up not likely to be noticed by an audience, but another quick glance
sideways caught Blackie grinning knowingly.
The song ended, and though Blackie said nothing, she could feel his eyes
upon her. "I know, I screwed up," she muttered. "It won't happen again."
Blackie nodded with a gentle smile, his long hair shaking slightly. He
casually reached out a hand to grasp Priss's arm as if to reassure her, but
then he drew it back slowly. "I know," he said, his voice very soft despite
the volume level that they had been getting used to. "You'll be fine."
As Blackie turned away to discuss the next song's arrangement with the
drummer and bass player, Priss stared at his back for a moment. Without
thinking, her hand went to her arm where Blackie had intended to touch her,
and squeezed.
* * * *
The glow from the main monitor in front of her flickered dimly as Sylia
cycled through the various files on Blackie's data unit. Circuit diagrams,
detailed schematics, programming instructions and scanned-in notes were
presented one by one in a smooth rhythmic sequence. But the rhythmic advance
from the last screen to the next was halted as she stared at one of the
scans of her father's notes:
"Mind Bank" Project & Research Diary
Uizu Labs
BioEscape Corporation
Information copyright protected under the Information Act of 2005
Last Entry: 01.24.2021
File: FG/8572560188-1
Project: "Mind Bank"
Contractor: N/A
Project Director: Katsuhito Stingray
Project Coordinator: Katsuhito Stingray
Project Overview & Goals
I have often wondered at the boundaries of the human mind. And while
emotions and behavior have traditionally been a tempting area of the human
mind to explore, my own curiosity has delved outside of the traditional into
the processes of the human mind itself and its ability to generate such
varying forms of output. Specifically, our thoughts and our dreams, and how
they are manufactured. But as I have progressed in my private research into
the human mind, I have also often wondered where all of the information that
we take in each day is stored, and how it is stored.
My early trial experiments some years ago with test subjects has rendered
some valuable clues as to how humans organize data input and how we can save
or retrieve it. But the exact process has remained a mystery, up until now.
With this breakthrough, I believe that further investigation will also yield
the clues necessary to create a process by which the entire contents of the
human mind could be transferred outside of itself. The benefits of this
process should be obvious; people who's bodies were once young and healthy
that have become terminally ill or diseased can now have their minds
transferred to an artificially manufactured body that would allow them to
live out their lives to it's intended span, much the same way artificial
limbs and organs have helped others live out their intended life spans.
But while this solution may someday provide the ability for disabled people
to continue to pursue their ambitions, the current shortage of artificially
manufactured bodies would present a hurdle in the initial stages of the
project's creation. That is why it is my strong recommendation that "Mind
Bank" storage facilities be explored, funded, and fully functioning before
the transfer process has been refined for public use in clinics and
hospitals.
Sylia's finger remained frozen above the advance key, as she read the words
over and over. She still couldn't believe it, even though she had accessed
this particular file many times since Blackie's arrival. The thought of
being able to transfer someone's mind to another body horrified her at
first, as she considered the problems and complications that might arise.
But the more she read the words in front of her, the more they intrigued
her. And they also helped to answer some of her own questions about what
happened to her shortly after her father's death.
Her data unit had looked like any other data cartridge available at the
local computer store. But somehow, the contents of the data unit had been
transferred directly to her. Up until now she had blamed the pain and
blackout that had resulted from her first viewing of her data unit on some
kind of epileptic seizure created by the erratic visual input. But she had
never been able to guess at how the information had made the instantaneous
leap to her brain. Now she didn't need to guess any more.
Sylia sat back, closed her eyes, and turned in on her thoughts. 'Was I just
a test subject to him? His smile and his words were always so sincere. But,
I was just a child then..."
She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. It was getting late.
As her finger slowly resumed its descent towards the "advance" key, one
string of words in the open document stuck out.
"...transferred to an artificially manufactured body".
Sylia pulled her hands away from the keyboard and stared at them. They were
trembling slightly. But as she focused on trying to steady them, the
trembling stopped and both hands hovered before her face unmoving.
She calmly lowered her hands to her lap, and stared blankly at the screen
for a moment, considering other possible answers, when a long forgotten name
suddenly came back to her without warning.
Mason.
* * * *
As the last encore song started, Priss took a moment to gaze out through the
smoky light at the packed house before her. People were jumping and waving
at her, as she wiped the sweat from her brow and took a quick swig from the
water bottle in her hand. She smiled slyly at one particularly enthusiastic
patron in the front row, then tossed the open bottle end over end into the
crowd, and grabbed her microphone from it's stand. A follow spot tracked
Priss as she ran to the other side of the stage and jumped up on one of the
monitors. With a confident motion she brought the microphone to her mouth
and sang the first few lines of the verse.
Blackie smiled to himself as he watched Priss work the crowd. A glance back
at the faces of the drummer and bass player confirmed his own feelings of
awe at how well the night had gone. With a wink to the drummer he stepped
forward to stand side-by-side with Priss, and cranked out the beginning
chords of the chorus.
Priss turned in surprise to find Blackie facing her, and without skipping a
beat began singing the chorus to him. The two stood near the edge of the
stage, while shifting blue and green beams of light played over them from
above. Priss couldn't hear herself anymore, drowned out by the crowd
screaming out the words along with her, but she didn't mind. She had drowned
out everything but the man standing in front of her as she sang.
Cause you're everything I want
You've got everything I need
I can't get over you
No matter what I do
You're everything to me
A leather-clad arm suddenly swung around Blackie's neck as Priss moved in
close and looked directly into his eyes, never missing a word as she sang to
him. His hands instinctively kept playing his guitar, but the shock that had
run through him at her touch had frozen the rest of his body to the spot.
For a brief moment the two stood gazing into each other's eyes, as the crowd
continued to sing the chorus through without Priss.
There's a message in your eyes
That keeps telling me you're mine
I know you wanna stay
Can't let you slip away
You're everything to me
Then the moment was gone and Blackie felt Priss's arm slide away. He watched
her take a few quick strides to the other side of the stage and then lean
down with her microphone, just out of reach of a dozen out-stretched arms.
As the sudden electricity of the moment continued to surge through him,
Blackie fought to focus on his playing. He closed his eyes tightly, but the
feeling would not go away.
A nudge to his shoulder snapped his eyes open, and he suddenly realized the
solo section had started without him. With an embarrassed grin to the bass
player now standing beside him, Blackie quickly stopped strumming, and
deftly picked out the lead notes he was supposed to be playing.
The last few notes of the solo eventually trailed away, and Blackie could
finally look up from the fretboard, the mistake now ancient history. But
instead of looking out into a crowd he saw Priss now standing in front of
him at center stage. Singing the last verse, her back was to him, but the
bright smoke-filtered light streaming down around her created a blinding
corona effect. The resulting silhouette shifted hypnotically to one side,
and then suddenly he could see her eyes through the haze looking back at him
knowingly. Blackie shook his head in reply and laughed, the energy of the
moment rushing in to sweep him along to the end of the song.
As the very last guitar chord rang out, signaling the end of the show, the
crowd renewed its appreciation of the band by filling the room with its own
ability to make noise. Fists shot into the air near the front of the stage
while patrons near the back began pounding empty beer bottles and ashtrays
on their tables. Blackie ended the sustaining chord with an exaggerated arm
motion, then quickly tore his guitar off his shoulder and held it in the air
above his head. With the music gone the crowd took over completely with loud
cheers and whistles, until the chanting began and Priss found herself being
called by name by the entire room.
She stood motionless at the edge of center stage, ignoring her sweat-soaked
clothes and exhausted limbs to absorb every bit of their worship. Leaning on
the mic stand for support she slowly raised the mic to her lips, but said
nothing. The crowd roared anew, goading her on to say something. Anything.
Priss just closed her eyes and lowered the microphone to her side as if she
were in some kind of trance, which just made the crowd scream even louder
for her to address them. Their patience was finally rewarded when the singer
suddenly opened her eyes and screamed at the top of her lungs, her free hand
pointing straight out at the crowd.
"YOU GUYS FUCKIN' ROCK!"
The reply was deafening.
The three instrumentalists quickly converged with Priss at the edge of
center stage, each grasping the arm of the band member next to them and
raising their arms over their heads in a symbol of triumph. The bright
lights dimmed slowly. Bottles banged on tables even louder, and the cheering
followed the band as they headed back stage.
Near the back of the room four figures sat huddled at a dark corner table,
their eyes all focused on the darkening stage, but not one of them was
cheering. As if synchronized, the four patrons suddenly stood up at the same
time, and made their way purposefully through the cheering crowd to the
front door.
"Damn!" the drummer exclaimed as he and the other members of the band
flopped down exhausted onto a couple of old couches in the dressing room.
Blackie plucked four cans of beer out of a nearby cooler and tossed them to
his bandmates. A chorus of pull tabs being ripped was followed quickly by a
brief silence, and then a round of satisfied sighs. "Fuck me, that was just
awesome!" the drummer continued to rave, guzzling the rest of his beer as
the others nodded and laughed.
Blackie put his beer down on the floor at his feet, then grabbed a cloth out
of his guitar case. As he listened to the others talking excitedly about the
many fine points of their first live performance with their new singer, he
carefully wiped down the black guitar in his lap.
"Priss, I gotta say," the bass player interjected as he staggered to his
feet and grabbed a microphone out of an equipment trunk, then held the mic
to his mouth, "YOU fuckin' rock!"
Priss grinned as the drummer spit a mouthful of beer in the process of
laughing. She then stood up and high-fived the bass-player with a resounding
smack, then replied loudly that they had all "fuckin' rocked".
While the laughter echoed about the room, Blackie put his guitar away in its
case and then picked up his unfinished beer and took another sip. He wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand, and glanced over at Priss. He laughed
out loud as he watched her playfully snapping a towel at the drummer's arms
in an attempt to interrupt his efforts to finish his second beer. Meanwhile
the bass player was offering support by chanting "GUZZLE GUZZLE GUZZLE!"
The night had been magic, Blackie thought to himself as he lay back against
the couch exhausted. The band had played many gigs in their relatively short
career, but this was undoubtedly the best night he could ever remember. If
this was just the beginning, then the sky was the limit as far as the future
was concerned. And he had one person to thank for this fact.
He looked up suddenly to see Priss watching him very intently.
"What?" was all he could say nervously, the intensity of her gaze somehow
returning him to that moment when she had put her arm around him on stage.
The room went suddenly silent as the drummer and bass player looked up from
their beverages to see Priss and Blackie locked in a meaningful gaze.
The drummer nudged his drinking companion and the two exchanged knowing
grins.
"Uh, Chaz man," the drummer suddenly said in a too-loud voice, breaking the
silence, "How about we go back out and round up some babes for a private
party, eh?"
"Ah, now there's a fuckin' plan Benji my man!" the bass player responded and
jumped to his feet.
The door was about to close, when the bass player poked his head back
through. "Oh, Priss?"
Priss turned back toward the door and nodded. "Yah?"
"You did great tonight. Really great."
Priss smiled back and nodded again. "Thanks Chaz."
Chaz grinned and closed the door slowly. But before the room could get
quiet, two voices outside the door began singing, badly off-key and way too
loud.
"COZ YOU'RE EVERYTHING I WANT!
YOU'VE GOT EVERYTHING I NEED YEAH BABY!
I CAN'T GET OVER YOU NO NO!
NO MATTER WHAT I DO!
YOU'RE EVERYTHING TO ME, YEAH!"
The voices slowly drifted down the hall until the singing turned to
laughter. The room then went silent.
Blackie and Priss exchanged furtive glances, the new quiet in the room a bit
uncomfortable after listening to amplified guitars and drums all night.
"Uh, so..." Blackie spoke first.
Priss studied him, watching his hands as he spoke.
"So! Um, well, that went really well eh?"
Priss stared at Blackie for a moment, nodded, then closed her eyes and took
a long sip of her beer.
"Uh, I thought you sang great tonight Priss. Really, great."
"Ah, thanks."
Priss took another long sip of her beer, her eyes still closed, and began
humming the chorus of the last song they had played.
As the humming filled the room with a strange new tension, Blackie suddenly
felt the dampness of his sweat-soaked clothes against his skin as it cooled.
His hands clenched a little at the arms of his chair. His eyes drifted
around the room, as he desperately tried to think of something to say. His
gaze finally returned to rest on the woman sitting on the arm of the couch
across from him. Her hair was streaked with sweat, sticking a little against
her cheeks, but her long bangs were already dry, framing her already dark
eyes with shadow. Red lips shone reflectively. The sweat was drying on her
red leather top and skirt, but her bare legs still glistened in the dim
light. As if sensing his appraisal, Priss absent-mindedly slid a hand under
her long mane and then shook her head, her hair falling about her shoulders
in a dark cascade. Blackie's mind started a long slow spin as any thoughts
of saying something vanished.
Just when Blackie thought he couldn't stand the silence anymore, Priss
suddenly stood up and tossed her empty beer can into a dented garbage can by
the door. Her hand reached out to the door handle, then stopped.
Blackie quickly looked away from the woman standing at the door, unable to
watch her walk out. 'Damn it! Say something you idiot! She's going to walk
out! Oh man, ANYTHING! JUST SAY-'
A hand on his arm stopped his futile search cold.
Surprised, he slowly turned to see Priss kneeling beside his chair, her hand
on his forearm. As the two locked eyes, Priss gently squeezed her hand.
Blackie could not move, the surge of electricity from her touch returning
like a flash flood.
"My turn." Priss finally said, her lips betraying a very slight smile.
"Uh?" was all Blackie could reply.
Priss slid her hand down Blackie's arm to take his hand in hers. "My turn to
take care of *you*."
Blackie nodded numbly and somehow pushed his body to stand. Guitar case in
hand, and Priss's hand in the other, Blackie followed Priss through the
door, and the room fell silent again.
The door to the back alley behind the Hot Legs swung out abruptly, banging
sharply against the brick wall. The noise echoed briefly in the tight
confines of the alley, then faded as several people exited the building and
began walking towards the main street.
Above them, lost in the glare of the street lamps, a glowing pair of eyes
carefully studied the appearance of each of the patrons in detail. Drunken
laughter and yelling followed the small group out to the street, until they
turned the corner. The cyborg's eyes slowly dimmed to a soft blue, as it
silently turned to make the fifteen-foot leap across the shadows to the next
roof. It was greeted there by a second of its kind, a hulking shadow gazing
intently at the other exit from the alley. The two briefly exchanged reports
with a series of clicks and soft whistles. The first nodded, and then
returned to its post, the thrill of the chase filling its every nerve with
current.
"Did you bring your bike?" Blackie asked as he and Priss made their way
through the half-empty bar towards the exit.
"No, I took a cab," Priss replied. Blackie turned to look at her, a look of
mild surprise on his face.
"Well, I had a feeling we'd do well tonight, and I didn't want to..."
Blackie smiled knowingly but said nothing.
"Cya Clarence!" Priss yelled to the tired looking bouncer who was engaged in
helping the more stubborn patrons to their feet.
Clarence stopped yelling at the trio of drunken patrons in his grip long
enough to wave and offer a thumbs up. As he released his grip, one of the
drunks attempted to sit back down at the nearest table and demand more beer.
Clarence let go of the other two and suddenly there were three tables
occupied by demanding customers. Clarence slapped his hand on his forehead,
then started to yell again.
Priss smirked, and turned back to the door, her hand squeezing Blackie's
hand again as they felt the chill night air hit their faces from the open
doorway in front of them.
Two more vaguely human-shaped shadows waited patiently at the back of the
alley behind a trash dumpster, their ears picking up every single click of a
high heel and squeak of the door hinge. The cyborg closest to the exit
blinked, the glow from its eyes flicking out for a fraction of a second.
With a nudge from its companion, the cyborg leaned out slowly to scan the
alley. Data raced through its neuro-circuitry, as it retrieved the template
image over and over and compared the visible subjects to it.
Discard.
Discard.
Discard.
"Are you cold?"
Priss nodded, then pulled her coat tighter about her shoulders as she
stepped out into the street.
Blackie faltered for a moment, then placed his arm tentatively around
Priss's shoulders fully expecting her to shrug it off. To his surprise, the
singer calmly looked into his eyes and then gestured towards the sidewalk.
Discard. Discard. Discard. Discard.
Discard. Discard. Discard. Discard.
Possible match found... verifying...
Two sharp whistles suddenly echoed from the rooftop, as the cyborg's
companion nudged him a little further forward, the anticipation of the chase
reaching its peak.
"You didn't bring your bike either?" Priss asked, puzzled by Blackie's move
away from the alley behind the Hot Legs.
"Nah, I just live around the corner, remember?" Blackie grinned.
Priss laughed. "How could I forget."
Possible match could not be verified.
Search resumed.
Discard.
Discard.
Discard
Discard.
No further subjects visible.
A soft chirping from the back of the alley was the only unusual sound, as a
quiet calm eventually descended around the Hot Legs bar. A car raced by. In
the distance a train clack-clacked over a bridge, its familiar whistle
fading with its passing. A few drunken stragglers sat on the front step to
share one last cigarette as the lights surrounding the bar winked out one by
one. But as the last patron finally shuffled off into the shadows of the
street lamps, the shadows slowly came alive, until they met in the middle of
the alley.
The hunt would have to wait.
The dim gray light from the street filtered in through the dusty windows of
Blackie's apartment, barely illuminating two bodies on the bed locked in the
act of making love.
Priss slowly closed her fingers about Blackie's outstretched hand and
sighed.
The sheets on the bed moved sinuously as the two lovers drew closer
together. Their motions became more and more aggressive, until suddenly
Blackie threw the sheets back and sat up on the bed. He closed his hands
about his head in disgust, while Priss peered through the gloom in shock.
"What... what's wrong? Did I?"
"Itıs not you." Blackie muttered.
The silence surrounded them for a moment.
"Are you sure? But... then what's wrong?"
Blackie listened to Priss's soft voice behind him in the darkness, pleading
for an answer.
"It's..."
"Yes?"
Blackie paused to think through what he was trying to say. To somehow find
the words to describe the shadowed face could not wrench free from his mind.
"It's... him. I can see him in my mind."
Priss's eyes strained to stare at Blackie's face through the darkness.
"Who? Who are you talking about?"
"Him, Priss. Him."
Priss searched her mind over and over, unable to begin to comprehend what he
was saying, her mind already filled with doubt. "Who, Blackie? You have to
tell me who or I can't--"
Blackie turned to look at Priss, and the look in her eyes that greeted him
through the shadows shook him momentarily. "Him, Priss. The man you once
loved."
Priss's eyes widened. 'What the hell was he talking abou... oh.'
Again the silence surrounded them, but this time Priss broke it, her voice
now full of understanding and the promise of reassurance. "Blackie, don't
think of him. He's gone."
"I know, but--"
"But what?"
"I can't help worrying... that you still think of him sometimes."
Priss propped herself up on her elbow and drew the sheets around her
tightly. "Blackie, don't do this to yourself. It's true, I can't ever forget
him, but you're not him. You are you, and that's who I--"
Blackie looked up. "Yes?"
The voice from the shadows was almost too faint to hear as Priss said the
words she never thought she'd say again.
"That's who I want to be with now. You, and just you."
Blackie flinched. The sincerity of her words was like a sudden slap across
his face.
"Really?"
Priss let the sheets slowly fall away from her as she sat up to embrace
Blackie in her arms. The dim light from the city glow was like a spotlight
now, and the look in his eyes said everything she wanted to hear.
Priss gently pushed Blackie back on to the bed. "Just think of me."
"I'll try."
Priss nodded gently, then pulled the covers tight as the silence surrounded
them once more.
* * * *
An approaching car sent the four cyborgs back into the shadows of the alley
behind the Hot Legs. Scratching noises like claws on cement followed the
four quickly up the wall and onto the roof. Like liquid darkness the four
cyborgs found their individual hiding spots and dissolved into the night.
The hunt was over... for now.
--
Raven's Garage & Fanfics
www.ravensgarage.com
"Like an unpolished sword still blackened by the forge, I will fight the
sun, and not shine."
--
Raven's Garage & Fanfics
www.ravensgarage.com
"Like an unpolished sword still blackened by the forge, I will fight the
sun, and not shine."