-Well, you guessed it: I’m back. I’ve decided to continue with my little saga, if only for a while. So here be part two of a storyline that’s who knows how many parts long. This one is a Static Shock crossover, yeah; I need to get a life I know. They only get worse from here, just to let you know. Don’t like crossovers, don’t read it. If you think I can do it marginally well, just try to keep from vomiting; don’t want to ruin any good computers out there. Anyway, her it be, da ta.

“Richie!” the dark skinned teen shouted through the blizzard, putting his arm before his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the flurry of snow.

“Yeah?” his companion returned, his voice calling through the wind as they drew around the snow covered street corner and onto a nearly deserted block.

“You got the keys?” he called, ducking under the eave of the abandoned gas station they had been heading for, the rickety awning only offering a slight protection from the storm around them.

“Yeah right he…” his companion’s sentence trailed off.

“What?” he asked, thinking he had missed the last half of the sentence due to the howling wind while brushing the dreadlocks out of his face and crossing his arms in an attempt to draw his coat closer around him.

“Virgil, the door’s open,” Richie replied, pointing to the weather beaten door. It was true, the door was not open, nor was it really closed, it was kind of stuck between open and closed, the knob not quite residing where it should have, yet no visible crack leading to the inside could be seen.

Virgil stepped closer, looking down at the snow beneath his feet, noticing the slight indentations where someone had stepped probably hours before, the direct footprints now almost completely covered in snow.

He looked over at Richie, who nodded silently.

Virgil nodded back and reached down to grasp the doorknob, finding it icy cold beneath his gloved hand. He pushed on it, easily pushing it out of the doorframe, long fractured and emaciated by the weather and the decay of time.

Wind whistled as it sang through the open doorway, sending snow and sleet into the empty hollow inside the building, scattering flurries across the floor.

Both boys stepped inside; their shoes scuffing against the old cement floor, long stripped of its ancient tile and replaced by years of dust, kicked up and settled back down in its half use.

From what Virgil could see, no one had disturbed anything, all of the tell tale signs remaining untouched. Even the dust and dirt on the floor seemed untouched, though he could still see the faint disturbances where it had been pressed down in passing with someone, or something’s foot.

These very faint indentations lead to one of the back rooms, safely away from the door likely to blow open due to the howling winds.

He glanced over at Richie, finding that he too was looking at the faint clues on the floor, and was pointing to a dark spot on the floor.

Virgil looked down at it, and knelt to get a closer look. It was a deep brownish red color, and sat in an almost perfect circle.

It was a small spot of blood.

He looked up at Richie, who just asked, “Know what it is?”

Virgil nodded and stood back up. “Yeah,” he said, “its blood. And whosever it is, they’re probably still here.”

He stepped toward the empty doorway, the door previously residing there long torn from the rusted hinges and laid to lean against a rotting desk in the room beyond.

He stepped into the room, finding the dust disturbances more prominent as he went in farther.

A small scrape of the floor made them stop dead in their tracks, it was a clear signal that whoever had broken in, was still inside the building, somewhere.

Virgil motioned with his right hand pointing to one side of the room, to which suggestion Richie readily nodded, pulling down his coat sleeves so they covered his wrists.

They moved slowly, taking cautious steps as they moved around the room, avoiding old metal pipes and rusted tools that lay scattered about in the abandoned tune shop. Well, it was a good place to hide with all of the cabinets and old desks.

A loud rattling drew his attention back to the doorway, the sound of a pipe rolling across the floor, kicked from its place by a stray foot, and not his or Richie’s.

Whirling around, he came to face what he thought to be some kind of ghost, hovering several feet away from the old doorway. It was thin, sideways nearly flat. As he drew in the details of the figure, he saw that it wasn’t a ghost, rather a very skinny, very emaciated teenager. A year or so older than himself, and at least four inches taller, though probably half his weight. The clothes on his frame hung loosely, torn and covered in dirt and spots of dried blood. Long dark hair fell off narrow shoulders, shadowing a pair of sunken eyes, slightly glassy from lack of sleep and probably food. Long lean fingers curled slightly, the figure’s tense stance deepening into a defensive position as he hunkered over, protecting his front with expert accuracy.

“Woah there,” Virgil said, holding his hands up in a defensive position. “We don’t want to hurt you. Just relax…”

The figure’s stance slackened, but only enough to where it was a half defensive pose. The figure, which was now identified as a boy, maybe fifteen, jerked his head sideways, his long bangs coming free of his face.

His eyes opened, and looked at them expectantly.

He was blind.

-Kazi

R&R