VII: Ataxia

Nick had been residing in the confines of the treacherous bar for a good hour now, staring into his Vodka, contemplating the whole of life. An inmate with a sense of empathy, he had so cleverly labeled his reflection. Beyond the geometry of current scenarios, the idea of worth was still rudimentary. Help and be helped, Nick thought, letting another pool of Vodka slide down his esophagus. His lips burnt for a brief moment, returning to the standard numb that had always accompanied. Alcohol wasn’t the elite choice of anti-depressant, but it had assisted from time to time. In most ways, this intoxicating fluid had been a serpent.

About this time, Leo had come bursting through the pub door, glaring directly at Nick. The realization that ran through his veins conjured a cold draft, Nick darting up. Leo knelt, panting. By the looks of it, he had just woken up from a daydream of some kind. Nick glanced about, noticing two separate guards closing in on Leo. From his memory, there had been rogue official somewhere in the midst of the system. He hadn’t shown, though. It would take a sort of miracle to prevent the injustice about to be thrown upon their masses. With no thought, Nick turned and grabbed his glass, chucking it into the nearest crowd. An audible thwack sounded, a rather chubby idiot jutting up toward the back.

“Now how in the fuck who fuck threw the fuck that fuck?!”

Nick and Leo nodded, jumping to the floor as they listened with intension.

A random prisoner paced over to the miffed inmate, trying to settle his tussle of emotions downward. “Look, just relax.” He muttered, the angry inmate throwing a few random items at the playing band on stage. The singer, extremely insulted, dropped his guitar and raised his arms, disgust rippling over to the chubby perpetrator.

“Yo, what the fuck!?” the vocalist called, grabbing his guitar and running over to the angry male.

Another swing sounded, accompanied with dissonant chords from the guitar. By then, a few more individuals were thrown into the encounter, then several more followed by the entire bar. Mists of blood and alcohol floated around, Nick crawling to Leo. Bits of glass and torrents of furious cursing infected the room, Leo and Nick holding shelter underneath the nearest table. They glanced about, attempting to gather information on the topic of concern.

“What’s the problem?” Nick whispered.

“Isle. Isle and his plans. We need to help, Nick.” Leo coughed, frantically darting his head around to ensure security.

“Weapons.”

“No shit!” Leo laughed sarcastically, eyes widening as a man’s face peered under the table. He bares his teeth, a nightstick materializing out of the darkness and immobilizing the threat. The entire area had been consumed with chaos, leaving Nick and Leo defenseless.

“We have to move… now. I know a depot, but we’ll need to break in.” Nick stated, Leo turning and studying an open door.

“Hey, baby, you’re with me. Let’s get the hell out of here!” he shouted, darting for the open door. Nick followed, a guard clutching his shirt collar. Nick turned, noticing Trent with his curvy ass holding a chair above the drooling guard. It fell upon his head, the guard falling limp. Nick, thankful, nodded and returned on his trek.

“So, I mean, we’re supposed to sit here and just… guard. And fuck, why are these weapons here? It’s bullshit.” Chuckled one of two males. The armory had been placed with such wit; it was readily on display for the inmates but rather close to the administrator’s office, coupled with two dumb but fit security personnel.

“So, I boned this little boy the other day.” The other spoke, rubbing his crotch and licking his lips.

“That’s so sick. I anal banged this nurse,” the other closed his eyes, “I felt a new world all over my prick. So hot.”

A squeak resonated from somewhere, the other male still focused on a gaping daydream. “Hey, hey, you hear that?” the other asked, paranoid.

“Hear what? There’s nothing!” upon that comment, a fist landed in the first guard’s mouth, blood booming out of his muzzle. The other guard attempted to raise his nightstick, noting that his co-worker’s weapons had disappeared. He turned, the missing method of defense colliding with his brow. A crack split open between his eyes, scarlet goop draining form the open cranium. He paced about, spouting nonsense for seconds until he fell limp, merging with the Earth. Nick and Leo glanced at each other, grateful of brisk and quick disposal.

“You hit him hard, Nick.”

“I know.” Nick replied to Leo, running his fingers through the dead or comatose bodies.

“Keys?” Leo called, running his paw through the locked bars.

“Yeah, right here.” Nick stood, exchanging the official lock-picks with Leo. The door swung open, the two entering with mouths agape. It had been a twelve foot line of weapons on each side, delicately polished and still unused even to this day. Leo moved in first, tasting the first gun with a solid lick to the barrel. Something automatic, for sure.

“This is ridiculous… why would they ever need this?” Nick scoffed, Leo still glancing about.

“Shotguns are good, take those.” Leo pointed, Nick pacing over to the row of wide-spread destructors. Leo came next to him, picking up the first rifle and glaring at the choice of ammo beneath him. It had currently been loaded with rubber balls, enough to stun and paralyze and nothing more. Nick grabbed his choice, cocking with and flipping off the safety. An eerie, dangerous tap echoed through the air, reminding them of the firearm’s potency.

Leo hunched over the closest array of ammunition, reading the choices aloud.

“Stun and kill. Rubber and titanium alloy. Nick?” Leo called, lighting piercing around his figure.

Nick, already prepared, cocked his metal boom-stick of non-discriminatory carnage. Florescent light bathed him, the chromium weapon glimmering in the synthetic illumination.

“Switch to kill.” He replied firmly.

They had been placed into a molding, dank closest, Glare gushing blood from his open injury. Fatigue and severe lethargy enveloped both their senses, but it hadn’t stopped the two from remembering what Isle had been doing. Isle had placed them inside to await an impending death, letting them ferment in agony before he had extracted their wine. It was all a part of his sick torture method: pre-heat, bake, consume. The best McCloud had to offer was rest his head on Glare’s exposed innards, lapping away the draining to keep him clean. At first, McCloud’s tongue had stung with great intensity, eventually faded into a comforting sensation. Glare had been drifting between life and death, eyes only partially open and responsive to movement or light. Fox had seen this coming, even with his narrow perception at the moment. It was very likely that neither of them would survive and that Glare wouldn’t hear Fox’s last words. God, he had been so out of it, Fox thought. Watching him suffer like that, knowing that the poor thing couldn’t understand anything unfolding around him… that was more than torture. The blood has come to a slow slither, a reminder of Glare’s condition and health – McCloud’s lover had been dying and for quite some time. He wanted to confess everything that had occurred in that past week, but he wouldn’t be able to do so, even with the best effort. Glare might have already been dead, instinct and nerves randomly firing to guide him through the process of expiration. This is what tore Fox McCloud apart the most, knowing that his mate could have already been somewhere in the underworld, waving goodbye and him not capable of seeing the farewells. Had this been some sort of Hell, truly?

Fox sobbed, squeezing Glare’s body. Yet again, there was no response and instead more bodily gore escaping. McCloud let his grip diminish, wanting to keep his lover’s precious effluence still somewhat “there”. It had been an existential breakdown, churning emotions fusing with the collapse of a once healthy empire of love and light. Fox crawled forward, moving through some darkened pool of mold and old semen from Isle, kissing Glare’s bloodied cheek. “I love you, you know… you don’t have to leave… hold in there…” He spoke in fragments, empty and dead inside himself. Glare’s head turned to Fox, staring at him for a few seconds.

“Don’t you know,” Glare’s voice had been next to silence, “I love you too.” Fox grinned, more tears escaping from his eyes.

The closet door swung open, Isle towering over the gory couple. Fox growled, his teeth orange from kissing Glare’s wounds. Isle just smiled, reaching down and grabbing Glare by the foot, pulling him into the open room. His cock had been exposed, dangling over Glare’s rag-dog body. Fox reached forward in protest, “No, no, give him back!” he cried, voice hoarse and vexed.

By this time, a guard had pulled Fox out of the closet, dropping him dead center in office as Isle hoisted Glare up onto his mahogany, cleanly organized desk. Fox sat, delirious and disapproving of the show before him. Isle’s fingers dropped into Glare’s wound, Glare exploding in a rage of torment. “Damn you!” Fox lurched forward, a guard pulling him back.

“Watch, McCloud!” Isle’s shot an evil look of disease at Fox, letting the tip of his penis tap Glare’s wound.

“Oh Jesus,” Fox felt vomit brewing, trying to escape, “don’t…” Fox grasped his stomach, reaching for Glare.

Isle thrust his hardened python into Glare, who burst into a tantrum of screams and cries, twitching, tongue poking into the air. Fox attempted to declare this act vile, instead, vomit escaping his mouth. McCloud stumbled about, cursing wildly. “You sick fuck,” sobs combined with threats, “oh you sick fuck… sick… sick…” Fox cried and cried, no energy presenting itself. He continued to wander in a drunken semi-circle, frozen by an inconceivable hate for Isle.

One of Glare’s organs slipped away from his body, dangling on the fore of the desk as Isle pounding away into his open tummy. Inner tissue trickled from Glare’s maw, a horrifying dead gaze landing on McCloud. His hand reached for Fox, his lover doing the same in response. They tried for several minutes to touch paws, but it had failed. A guard had cursed angrily, pointing a pistol into Fox’s shoulder and peppering him with several rounds. His right shoulder tore open, soaking the ground.

“Look at that whore bleed!” One of the guards called, guffawing. Isle laughed as well, flushing with heat as his seed began to build.

“Fuck that hole, boss!” another called, Isle pausing as a river of semen filled Glare. Isle reared back, cold sperm and gore dripping to the floor, Glare stoic with no observable reaction.

“That’s some good gore, ladies!” Isle called, extracting an organ from Glare. He gripped it firmly, dropping it to the floor and sliding against a nearby wall. He turned, facing Fox as the guard laughed in triumph and victory. McCloud had no expression besides a kindling flame his pupils, Isle amused.

“You’re right,” Isle giggled, “he’s a good lay.”

The henchmen of this… thing responded to the declaration with extremely positive reactions, knee-slapping as Glare just bled profusely on Isle’s stained desk. McCloud conjured up a few more words, spitting them at Isle. They were hard to understand, but Isle had caught the focal point of the statements. He giggled, extracting a cigarette from his pocket and laughing. The cancer stick lit up, a wave of smoke bellowing on McCloud’s expression.

“No McCloud, you see, it’s over. I won.” Isle replied, standing with a decent stretch. He paced over to Glare, pushing him onto the floor next to Fox. “Get the fuck out of here.” He commented, sitting back in his desk, crotch soaked in viscera and cum. Satisfaction graced his complexion, his face beaming with happiness. McCloud neglected this, crawling over to Glare’s almost deceased body, hugging him in defense.

“It’ll be okay… It’ll be okay…” McCloud repeated over and over, Isle interjecting.

“Ha, no it won’t!” Isle burst into laughter, the guards doing quite the same.

“You see, this will come to pass, all of this will come to pass, love of mine. Don’t listen to their mocking because we know we have something special they can never take, do you understand? It’s all ours, even in death and life, it’s ours, one hundred percent and then some. See? I’m here ‘till the end, keeping your body next to mine, keeping your body next to mine and I’m not letting go for anyone, even you. Because I’ve got you, in all my pain and yours, we’ve got each other… I love you so much-“ Fox’s breath ran short, a kick landing in his side.

“Shut the fuck up!” Isle spat, kicking McCloud again.

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you,” Isle kicked Fox again, “because I won! I did it again, it’s all mine! What are you going to do when Glare isn’t around, huh? Nothing, McCloud! Ha, you’re fucked! And you know what? You’ve got another two years in here with me, but I can make it a whole hell of a lot more. Because, I didn’t kill that male… you did. And these guards saw it!”

Fox laughed, “Am I supposed to be frightened? Do it, I dare you. I’ve already lost everything…you’ll get no pleasure from me, you’ve taken all you can.”

“Oh no, I can get more,” Isle’s voice drifted next to Fox’s ear, “Because you and him? You’re mine, just like all the others I’ve taken from everyone, just like everyone else.”

Fox muttered.

“What was what?”

McCloud didn’t respond, a smack planted across his stained face. “Huh? Come on sugar,” Isle punched him this time, Fox turning to meet with his demand, “what is it Fox?”

“There was never a game to begin with, and I hope mercy may come to you.” Fox threatened, knowing that entire sentence meant about nothing. The proclamation had been about as worthless as a void, if not more.

Isle kissed Fox’s cheek, kicking him again, only staring this time. Maybe Fox’s words had done something to him, or possibly not. Isle was either pissed or empty, one of the given two. He paced around a bit, finally returning to his chair and pulling a newspaper from his desk. He opened to the sports section, licking his fingertips and grinning. A guard called to him.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Kill them all in the garbage room. We’ll say it was an accident.” Isle responded, flipping another page of his amusing NJ Post.

“Sir, sure.” The guard replied, complying with his superior’s orders and grabbing both Fox and Glare, dragging him to the door. He dropped them, a knock sounding on the closed entrance. Isle glanced up, Fox crawling onto Glare’s body in hopes of keeping him a bit longer before he disappeared.

“Answer it?”

Isle motioned a positive response, the guard opening the door as the others watched (what an indiscernible number there had been…)

A thundering blast coated the guard, his body ripping in half as Leo and Nick pressed into the room. “Look’s like we caught you in the middle of morning papers!”

“Fuck!” Isle yelped, ducking under the desk.

The two horsemen of death did not hesitate to lay the room to waste. The security had attempted to stop them, only being shred to bits by the canon blasts, the two firm figures just moving deeper into the office. McCloud summoned the last bit of strength he had, pulling Glare into the safety of a corner as Nick and Leo worked the area. He hugged Glare’s dead body, rocking back and forth and humming as more victims fell to the ground. Flashes of gibbering light bounced off the wet walls, a splatter here or there.

Glare did not move, McCloud still holding him infinitely close. “See,” Fox whispered in tears, “I told you it’d be alright, I told you. Now we can just sit here and watch the stars, just like in those books we read when we were kids, way back when.” Fox whispered into Glare’s ear, spittle oozing from his open mouth. He hadn’t been entirely dead, his eyes glancing directly up at the strobe-lit ceiling, eyeing a blank area. McCloud cried, closing his eyes and softly kissing Glare’s head.

“It’s okay, don’t be afraid.” McCloud comforted him, Glare’s body twitching, a terrified moan escaping him.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I know you don’t understand it,” Fox continued, holding Glare’s convulsing body, “but go to it…” Glare gasped, becoming stiff. McCloud kissed him again. “See, it’s right there… it’s okay, I’ll be there in time. I’ll meet you… just go, honey. Go, go…” Glare took his final breath, eyes coming to a close.

The two were in place, McCloud drifting into sleep as Isle pleaded for mercy. Nick took one side, Leo on the other. It was best guessed that Nick blew Isle’s penis right off, a thick wave of blood jumping into the hazy ozone of the room. Leo took the other shot, probably bursting open the male’s belly. Isle roared in horror, Nick and Glare pumping more and more rounds into his body, arms extending for assistance. Isle had slowly been turning to a pile of mush, but still alive and able to experience the expended shells from the two’s weapons, standing with expressionless faces, laboring Isle into a puddle.

By now, Fox McCloud had been one with the realm of sleep, the delightful disease of slumber taking away his current state of mind. Although he dreamt nightmares, pleasant meadows with him and Glare had arisen, Glare’s voice still alive and well in this place of his own design. He had been sitting on a large hilltop, calling Fox McCloud to the top of it. He nodded, running up to the hill, temperate breezes of sunlight of cool air rushing passed his face. Glare grinned, Fox tackling him to the grassy soil. They exchanged a peck or two, returning to sit closely.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Glared asked, leaning against Fox’s shoulder as another fresh breeze filtered through his fur.

“Of course, dear. Why wouldn’t it be?” Fox giggled, eyeing the sunset ahead.

Glare grinned, whispering for the last time of that vision. “It’s always beautiful when you’re around.”

“I always will be, sug.” Fox replied, cuddling Glare as he slipped into a pleasant sleep.