Chapterfic: Overload
Okay!
Title: Overload
Author: totallystellar
Summary: Since the second Big Bang, Richie has been getting smarter. But soon his intelligence becomes an issue of interest to others, and he and three unlikely [canon] people must band together, working past rivalries and struggling through obstacles while trying to figure out what their respective fates are. Unconventional nonslash romance.
Spoilers: The whole series, but mostly seasons 3 and 4.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: There will be eventual Richie/Madelyn... but it's so mild right now you can't even tell, I promise. Don't skip out just out of squeamishness or whatever.
Warnings: There's lots of violence and gore.
Disclaimer: Me no own.
Distribution: It's already been posted on fanfiction.net for a whle, but I know some people don't like that site, so I'm posting it here. Please feel free to add it to any archive or Static Shock fanfiction list, just inform me and include my name.
A/N: This is Richie-centric, and I’m bringing to the surface minor characters. I’m trying to pull them out into the spotlight where they can shine with all the hidden potential that’s squashed in their diminutive roles. I'm posting the first two chapters right now, and will post the others later. I'm really looking for feedback from this community, because I hold it in high regard as the place to find intelligent, good writers.
Okay. Go read please. :)
Chapter One.
It was a crisp November night in Dakota. The sky was black with sparkling stars dotting across it and a large gibbous moon hung overhead, shining bright moonbeams down and illuminating the land below. Static and Gear soared high above the city, peering through the misty clouds and scouring the streets for trouble. The city was relatively quiet now, and crime was currently at a low. The moonlight caught on the glass windows of buildings and splashed back into their eyes, but that was the only bother of the night. They were circling the rather large boundaries of Dakota, sometimes skimming the treetops or performing potentially dangerous acrobatic tricks in mid air to pass the time.
Static stood straighter on his flying disk, stretching his legs and reaching his arms upward with a satisfied groan. He plopped down, this time sitting with his legs dangling off the side. He leaned back on his hands and wiggled his fingers, sending out crackling streams of electricity in his wake and steering his course. Gear, who was flying alongside him, gave a small laugh.
“What?” Static asked good-naturedly. “Even a superhero needs his rest.”
Gear grinned back and yawned, stretching as well. He’d changed his costume a bit to account for the colder weather, adding a dark green overcoat similar to Static’s to match his uniform. The longsleeves had white stripes along their length and Backpack still hung in its usual place on his back.
“You got that right, bro.” He agreed, his voice sounding heavy. “I definitely need some z’s.”
“Rich,” Static said disbelievingly, turning to face his best friend. “That’s all you’ve done the past week and you still look like you got hit by a train. Or maybe Godzilla. Or maybe Godzilla riding a train.”
It was true; if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication, Richie hadn’t been sleeping well, and even his jokes had been far and few. He was paler than normal, his face looked gaunt, and he was leaner than he’d ever been before.
Gear yawned again, louder.
“Yeah, well, I do feel like I just got hit by a train. And not only was Godzilla riding it, he was the conductor.” He responded dryly. “Been feeling bad for a couple weeks… killer headache too.” He added, as if an afterthought.
They flew in companionable silence, passing above the surrounding forest, which was already changing with the coming of winter. The green leaves were falling from their homes in the treetops in crisp, multi colored flurries. Golden brown, reddened yellows, and terra cotta hues made the forest floor a lively homage to fall. Gear swerved a bit in the air, dipping a bit too far and almost colliding with a tall tree. He weaved through the chilly air like a drunken bird, rapidly losing alititude as he did so. Static gasped rushing forward to help, but Gear seemed to realize it a second before he would have crashed, and pulled up sharply. The treetop rustled, and leaves swirled upward and circled him once before he righted himself in the air and looked down warily at the offending plant.
“Yo, Gear, you okay?” Static called, genuinely concerned. He was back to standing on his disk, and his hands were already white with power, ready to help. Gear pushed his boots into high gear and was hovering next to Static a moment later. He rubbed his temples distractedly under his helmet, closing his eyes before answering.
“Uh, yeah, just… lost control… I’ll, um… hey, I’m gonna, ya know, head in, you can finish patrol for tonight, right?” He asked weakly. Static raised an eyebrow.
“Richie, what’s wrong with you? This is the fourth time this week you’ve bailed on me, and if you’re -”
“V!” Gear cut him off sharply, backing away. “I’m fine! Just… a headache, okay? Headache.”
And with that he turned and rocketed off toward his home, leaving Static confused, worried, and left to guard Dakota on his own.
The bell signaling the start of class rang just as Virgil skidded through the classroom door. He bolted forward, slammed his books down, and vaulted right over the desk and smoothly into his seat behind it. A few people clapped. Virgil looked behind him and grinned sheepishly, giving a feeble wave.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawkins, but impressive gymnastic tricks will not allow you to pass my class.” Came a curt voice.
Virgil froze and his smile fell. He turned around in his desk so that he faced the front, startled to see his teacher standing right above him, palms flat on the desk, leaning forward with a very angry scowl on her face. Virgil gulped.
“So, you, uh, find me impressive?” He joked weakly.
“Mr. Hawkins,” She began, her sharp voice pelting him with every word. “You have been late to my class more times than I can count. I’ve given you ample warnings, ample! And now I’m going to carry out the punishment I said I would. You have detention, Virgil. And I’m calling your father; I believe a conference is in order.”
She spun and stalked regally back to the blackboard, where she began to explain a complicated math problem to the class. Virgil groaned.
‘Just what I need… My pops having a conference with my teacher… Ugh… Maybe Richie can help me pull my grade up before then… it might soften the blow…’
He glanced to his right, suddenly noticing that his best friend wasn’t there. His eyes widened and he looked behind him, catching Frieda’s eye. When the class finally ended, he paused in the doorway, waiting for her. She was one of the last to exit, having a seat toward the back of the room, and he was impatiently tapping his foot by the time she got there. Daisy was with her.
“What’s wrong, Virgil?” She said with concern as they started walking to their lockers.
“Frieda, Daisy, have either of you seen Richie?” Virgil asked.
“No,” Frieda said, pushing her red hair out of her eyes. “But I’m on my way to the journalism office. I need to make a phone call to Shelly Sandoval; it’s part of the internship I’ve got at the news station. I can check for him around there.”
“Yeah.” Daisy said, nodding. “And I’m heading to Chem. Lab. He’s into that kind of stuff, maybe he skipped to do an expiriment or something. What’s up, is something wrong?”
“Thanks,” Virgil said greatfully. “’Cause, he’s been acting real funny an’ something was wrong last night but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“I saw him yesterday, but not since then. And you’re right, he’s been acting really strangely, Virgil.” Frieda frowned. Daisy nodded.
"Yeah, I noticed that too."
Virgil leaned against the wall of lockers, arms crossed over his chest while Daisy twisted her locker combination and watched as the door swing open. She crouched and set her bag on the floor. After flipping through some of the folders within, she withdrew two and a heavy hardback book and shoved them inside, in turn grabbing two notebooks from the locker and putting them in her book bag. Frieda was doing the same in the locker next to Daisy's.
Daisy stood and swung the bag over her shoulder. She shut the locker door, and faced Virgil.
“You’re really worried, then?” She asked quietly. She and Frieda started walking again and Virgil walked backwards ahead of them.
“Well, yeah!” Virgil said. “Look, he’s been actin’ weird for weeks, not sleeping, not cracking his unfunny jokes -”
“Not eating,” Frieda supplied. She pushed Virgil out of the way of the water fountain, which protruded from the wall, saving him from what could have been a rather painful fall.
"Yeah!" Virgil agreed. "And that's, like, extra weird."
"You've got a point. But if he's not at school, you should see if he's at his house. Maybe he stayed home sick. He looks like he could use a sick day." Daisy suggested.
“What to do... what to do...” Virgil muttered under his breath. He stopped suddenly, and Frieda gave a grumble of annoyance as she almost ran into him.
“I know!” Virgil said brightly. A lightbulb had practically lit above his head. “I’ll see if he’s at his house! Maybe he stayed home sick!”
With a grin, Virgil dashed toward the school doors, accidentally knocking an innocent bystander over as he ran.
“Virgil!” Daisy cried, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. “Virgil, school isn’t over!”
“It’s fine, girl, I’ll make it up!” He called. He pushed open the door and hopped down the steps, bolting off in the direction of the Foley's.
Frieda and Daisy glanced at each other rolled their eyes.
"Stupid boys..."
Virgil stopped in front of Richie’s house, a bit out of breath. He trotted up the steps and rung the doorbell, waiting only a minute before a kind-looking, redheaded woman appeared at the door. In one hand she held a tray on which there was a glass of water and two small pills, and her other hand was pressed against the open front door.
“Virgil,” She said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Mrs. Foley,” He said quickly. “I was just wondering if Richie was home.”
“Yes, he’s home.” Mrs. Foley answered, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Poor boy’s got an awful virus. It’s probably one of those twenty-four-hour bugs.”
“Mm hmm?” Virgil said inattentively, leaning sideways and trying to see behind Richie’s mother and into the house.
“Couldn’t even go to school today, he’s feeling so bad.” Mrs. Foley continued, giving Virgil a strange look as he stood on his toes and peered past her. She paused, than narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of that, why aren’t you at school right now, Virgil?”
Virgil froze, straightened up and let out a nervous laugh.
“Uh, early release?” He offered, rubbing the back of his neck. The older woman looked skeptical, so he hastily changed the subject. “May I come in?”
“Well, alright,” Mrs. Foley said, still looking a bit unconvinced. “But make it quick.”
Virgil punched the air in triumph.
“Thanks, Mrs. F.,” He grinned. “And here, since I’m goin’ that way I’ll take his meds.” He deftly lifted the tray from Mrs. Foley’s hands and made his way to Richie’s room. He balanced the tray with one hand and knocked with the other. There was a pause, and then a faint voice from the other side called weakly, -
“Venido adentro.”
Virgil raised his eyebrows, but opened the door and walked in. Richie was lying on his bed, dressed in the baggy white shirt he always wore under his hoodie and some atrociously bright plaid pajama pants, a gag gift from Virgil two Christmas’s ago that he’d never thought his best friend would actually wear. His face was ashen and his lips were blue, and a light sheen of sweat glistened across his skin. Under his glasses, his eyes were red and the purple circles hadn’t left. Richie, never one to turn down food, hadn’t ever been thin, but he’d been in shape; now, however, Virgil noticed just how much weight his friend had lost. Richie was bony now, and where the neckline of his shirt dipped, his collarbone was visible, pronounced more than ever. When he saw who was at the door, he gave a tired but happy grin and sat up, only to groan and sway dizzily before falling back onto the pillows.
“Richie!” Virgil cried in panic, hurriedly setting the glass of water and the aspirin on Richie’s desk and hopping into the desk chair. He half pulled, half wheeled himself over to the bed. “Rich, what happened?”
“Dunno,” He responded with a weak shrug. “Apenas... un dolor de cabeza mayor y mayor, bro."
Virgil raised his eyebrows. Richie didn’t seem to realize he’d spoken another language.
“Man, I have no idea what you just said.”
Richie frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Juste un commandant, un mal de tête majeur, un copain.”
“Wait… What!” Virgil said in alarm, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Dude, are you speaking in French? C’mon, I hardly passed English last semester, you expect me to know foreign languages?”
Richie’s eyes widened to almost comical proportions, and he cleared his throat twice.
“I said, ‘Just a major, major headache, bro.’” Richie said slowly. His eyes lit up. “Hey! English! All right!”
“Uh, yeah…” Virgil said. “About that…”
“I don’t know,” Richie said helplessly. He glanced at Virgil. “It’s been happening all the time… and the headaches… those suck... and sometimes I’ll forget what I’m doing…”
“Rich, something’s really wrong with you. You need to get to a doctor, right now.” Virgil said, giving his friend another once-over.
“No!” Richie exclaimed, sounding panicked. His eyes shifted from the door to the window to the balcony, as if looking to escape. “No, V, no. I don’t need a doctor, I’ll be fine, I’ll - ”
“Whoa, man, chill. Just chill,” Virgil soothed, startled by Richie’s reaction. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” As Richie seemed to calm a bit, Virgil twisted the chair around and pushed with his legs on the floor, propelling the chair and himself to the desk, where he grabbed the water and aspirin and brought them over to Richie. The blonde glanced at the medicine and then at Virgil.
“I don’t need medicine.”
Virgil blanched.
“Dude, if anyone in the world needs medicine, it’s you.”
Richie resolutely shook his head.
“No. I don’t need it.”
“Richie…” Virgil began warningly, brandishing the glass of water. Richie looked away.
“V, I don’t need it, really, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep and -”
“Richie.” Virgil interrupted. Richie looked up at him hesitantly. “Shut up and take the freaking pills.”
“I’m not that sick!”
Richie nearly fell off the bed in surprise as Virgil lunged out of the chair with his hand outstretched toward him. Realizing what his friend was trying to do, he scrambled backward, out of reach. Virgil climbed on the bed in pursuit, making Richie move even farther away. Richie threw off the covers and nearly bolted out of bed, only to sway before making it two steps. When he stumbled to the balcony door, Virgil took his chance and tackled him, making him fall flat on his face.
Virgil promptly sat down on his back.
“Stop it, V! Get off!” Richie yelled angrily into the carpet. Virgil pressed the back of his hand against Richie’s forehead. He was burning up. Virgil frowned.
“Now, Richard,” He began in an imperial voice, purposely using Richie's full first name. “As your best friend -” Here Richie muttered some very offensive words that Virgil wisely did not respond to - “ - I take it upon myself to look after your welfare. And, be that as it may, when I see you clearly suffering -” Richie growled something along the lines of, “I’ll show you suffering,” “ - I must do everything in my power to make you better. Now, take the stupid meds and be unsick before I have to force you to.”
“Will you just get off me?” Richie said in an exasperated voice, still a bit muffled. “You’re making my stomach hurt.”
Virgil stared at the back of Richie’s head.
“I’m sitting on your back.” He said pointedly.
“And you’re heavier than Shamu. Just get up!” Richie added unhappily. Virgil stood, offering Richie his hand. Richie, in an act of defiance, didn’t take it, but ended up needing help anyway, which greatly took away from his defiance and made him look rather pathetic. Virgil helped him over to the bed. Richie glared over his glasses at Virgil (who merely gave a satisfied smirk in response) before tossing the pills in his mouth and downing them with a large gulp of water.
“So,” Virgil said after a moment of silence. “What exactly is wrong with you?”
Richie frowned. He was still looking bad; he was pale and weak and still a bit sweaty and hot, general symptoms of fever. And then there was the thundering headache. But it wasn’t just a fever - there was something wrong, something very wrong. It was a deep sense of foreboding that throbbed in tune with his pulse, and Richie didn’t like it. The very thought of doctors trying to figure out what was wrong scared him, though he didn’t know why. He tried to put it into words so that Virgil could understand; there was something bad happening, something wrong… but he couldn’t place it.
Virgil was skeptical.
“Rich, I think what you need is rest and some time to recoup. If you need me just hit me up on the Shock Vox, you got it? I better head home or Pops'll have a cow.”
Virgil stood up and headed to the door, but Richie’s voice stopped him.
“Hey, Virgil?” He called tentatively.
Virgil turned. “Yeah, man?”
“Thanks,” Richie said sincerely. “I mean, for, you know, stopping by.”
Virgil grinned.
“No prob. That’s what friends are for, right?”
Richie gave a weak laugh, and Virgil smiled before shutting the door behind him.
Hours after Virgil left, Richie had to admit that he was feeling a little better. Deciding he needed some fresh air, he pulled off his covers an swung his legs to the edge of the bed. With a deep breath, he stood and shakily made his way to the balcony, shoving open the door and leaning heavily on the railing.
He stared out at the night sky, gaze locked on the stars that littered it. The streetlights were glowing and cars zipped past on the street below. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit as the cool, refreshing night air blew around him.
So it was no surprise that he was shocked to say the least when his world exploded in pain.
His grip on the railing failed and he sunk to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He desperately tried to move back inside, to reach his computer desk and pull open the drawer that held his Shock Vox, but another wave of pain engulfed him and he doubled over. The last thing he saw was a burst of brilliant white light and then he knew no more…
Chapter Two.
Richie Foley was a very well educated young man. He’d read the words on ancient scrolls of philosophers like Plato, and he’d studied the Torah, the Bible, the Koran. He’d read the research papers of countless brilliant men and women, and spent hours pouring over theories and calculations. And he’d also read many books; novels, short stories, biographies, anything he could get his hands on to keep his churning mind occupied. But in anything he’d read about someone waking from unconsciousness, it had been described as a sort of gradual process, like drifting through fog into reality again. Not painful, really. Possibly pleasant.
Total and complete bull.
Richie’s traverse from black unconsciousness to awareness was like being hit with a ton of bricks. It was sudden and shocking and all together a disconcerting experience. His eyes snapped open and he was assaulted by a torrent of bright light, accompanied by a throbbing pain in his head and a severe case of cottonmouth. His whole body was covered in a dull ache that beat slowly with his pulse. He felt like he’d run a marathon.
He squinted blearily, trying to see past the offending brightness to his surroundings. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, only to find that he couldn’t. He was bolted on to a table that was angled slightly down with metal cuffs at his wrists and ankles. Two thick metal bands, one across his chest and one over his knees, secured him effectively to the table. Immediately he began to panic, thrashing uselessly against the restraints. He moved frantically until his skin was rubbed raw, and logic settled in along with the pain.
His eyes had adjusted to the light now, and he surveyed the room he was prisoner in. It was a clean, blank slate with a very sterile, commercial feel. The only pieces of furniture in the room was the metal table that he was strapped to, which was placed in roughly the center of the room, and a rolling chair that was tucked neatly under a long piece of stainless steel that was bolted to the wall as a desk. Richie lamented that he couldn’t see behind him and succeeded in only feeding his paranoia and hurting his neck when he tried to crane his head upwards to scan the rest of the room.
He desperately wished he was dressed in his Gear uniform and had Backpack with him. At least with his tech he could find a way out, even if he couldn’t contact Static or any other help. But here he was in his flimsy white shirt and outrageous, fashion-police-ticket pajama pants. He grumbled dryly under his breath about laundry days and making good impressions on bad guys.
He shifted uncomfortably and then let out a little hiss of pain when a random bolt from the band across his chest poked painfully into his side. There was a sharp intake of breath behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Wh-who’s there?” Whispered vaguely familiar female voice filled with trepidation.
“Who are you?” Richie responded, happy to hear that his voice was much stronger and confident than he felt.
“I - I’m - I asked you first!” The girl replied, somehow managing to sound bossy even through fright. There was a muffled sound of her shifting around behind him, and Richie suddenly realized that she must be strapped to an uncomfortable metal table, just like he was. Which meant they were both in the same boat.
“Hell, why not?” Richie muttered to himself, throwing caution to the wind. “I’m Richie Foley. Now tell me who you are.”
“Richie?” The girl gasped. “Good lord… Richie Foley?”
“Yes.” Richie answered tersely, clenching his jaw in irritation. “I don’t know how you know my name, but I would advise you to tell me how you found it out and who you are.”
It was filled with an unspoken promise of “or else…” but Richie knew it was simply an empty threat hanging in the air. What could he do while strapped to this damned table anyway? He couldn’t even sneeze at her and hope to get her covered with at least one or two Richie-boogers, let alone get up.
The girl sounded miffed as she responded.
“Of course I know who you are,” She sniffed. “You and your stupid friend Static nearly killed me. I’m Madelyn Spaulding, you stupid twit.”
Richie’s jaw dropped and he was glad to be facing away from her, lest she see his surprise.
“Madelyn Spaulding!” He exclaimed in surprise. “What the hell? I thought you were docked up on Valium and watching Barney in a padded cell!”
Madelyn laughed bitterly.
“Come off it, Richie.” She said condescendingly. “We both know that I was never insane. Stop defending Virgil Hawkins. You treat him like a god or something.”
Richie didn’t know how to respond, but opened his mouth anyway to say something, something to disagree, to retaliate, but she beat him to it.
“Don’t try to pretend, Richie Foley.” She continued, her voice getting louder as she spoke. “You saw through it all and you never said a word. You let him lock me up in an insane asylum and you didn’t say a word to anyone. I saw you! You laughed with him! You let him get away with putting away an innocent person… did you know I was injected with all sorts of drugs and who knows what? Do you know the way they look at you, those doctors? I feel thoroughly violated, and have no one to blame but Static for this. And, consequently, you, Richie Foley, because you kept your little boyfriend’s big old lie and let me rot in that hellhole.”
“Hey!” Richie said angrily. “Don’t turn this on me. You tried to kill my best friend - you tried to kill us both! You brainwashed the entire school, for God’s sake, and were planning to make the whole world bow down to Madelyn Spaulding.”
“Just because I caused a few tiny disturbances in Dakota, you were going to let me live out my life in a mental institution?” Madelyn asked incredulously.
“You’re crazy,” Richie said shortly. “And I’m ending this discussion now.”
“You can’t end this discussion!” Madelyn said heatedly. “I’m not done with this discussion, so you can’t end it, so there!”
Even though Richie couldn’t see Madelyn sticking her tongue out at him, he knew she was immaturely doing so. He had the urge to rub his temples as he felt a headache coming on, only to find himself restrained. He let out a sound of frustration that came out frighteningly like a growl and Madelyn suddenly stopped talking.
“Look,” Richie said with forced calm. “I don’t like you. You don’t like me. But we obviously have something in common to be here, together, kidnapped. I don’t believe arguing over past indiscretions in a productive way to spend our time, as we have no idea what will happen to us, who has us, and if they’re watching us even as we speak.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “So, Miss Cleo, fess up and tell me what they’ve got on you.”
“Don’t talk to me that way!” Madelyn screeched.
“Keep your voice down,” Richie interrupted impatiently.
“I said, don’t talk to me that way!” Madelyn repeated, albeit softer this time.
“Just answer my question.”
“I don’t know the answer.”
Richie frowned. He had a headache and she was making it worse.
“Don’t be stupid, Madelyn. Just tell me.” He said wearily.
“Look, I really don’t know, okay?” Madelyn said, suddenly sounding close to tears, which caused Richie to become horrified. What if Madelyn started crying? Crying, in the middle of a… a whatever this was. A kidnapping? A staging zone where test specimens were stored for easy access?
Richie’s mind was going a mile a minute, working over who would kidnap him and why. And how Madelyn fit into the situation. He’d been kidnapped by Alva before and used for testing and such, but Alva seemed to have been finished with him. Richie hadn’t come across any Alva Industry files that would hint to further Bang Baby research, and definitely no current references to him or Static. Ebon had captured him once or twice as bait to lure Static to him, but this was much too complex for the shadow doppelganger, who was interested more in revenge and relatively mild crimes than Bang Baby biology. But Madelyn... it didn't fit... something was missing.
The lights suddenly flickered and went off. Madelyn let out a surprised scream and Richie was decidedly manly as he managed to stifle his own, and they were plunged into total and complete darkness. Richie strained his eyes and ears for any sound. He was listening so intently that Madelyn’s voice scared him.
“R-Richie?” She stammered.
“Yeah?” He responded, not really paying attention.
“Is that… you breathing?”
“Stop trying to scare me, Madelyn. No need to resort to petty psychological attacks when your powers don’t succeed in melting me to a brainless puddle on the floor.” He snapped uncharacteristically.
“Richie…” Madelyn drew out slowly, and held her breath. Richie listened. Sure enough, there was the soft, telltale inhalation and exhalation of breath somewhere in the room, from something other than Madelyn and him. He stiffened, incredibly conscious of his incapacitation.
“Hey!” He said loudly, sounding very brave. He was quite proud of his voice tonight. “Who’s there?”
He heard Madelyn whimper and felt a pang of sympathy for the girl despite his own growing fear. There was no answer, but the light that had seared Richie’s eyes when he’d first awoken was back in full force, a spotlight just illuminating his face.
“Wha -wha -hey! What the - ” Richie sputtered, reflexively trying to throw his arms in front of his eyes but once again finding himself tied down. The light was creakily pushed away, reminding Richie of the swinging light of a dentist’s chair, and a face swam into view.
Even with his glasses on, Richie had to blink stupidly a few times before the person in front of him was no longer fuzzy. It took a moment, but after the spots dissipated and the colored blob in front of him sharpened, Richie stared.
“Hey!” Madelyn called. She obviously saw the light and realized that someone really was in the room. “Foley, what’s going on?”
The person in front of him was a fatherly looking Hispanic man with a thin brown mustache and a toupee on his head. He was wearing a clean white lab coat, and beneath the open coat he wore a simple light blue, button-up collared shirt and navy blue slacks. His shirt rounded out in the front where his potbelly protruded a bit, and he leaned over Richie with a sincere expression of concern on his face. He wasn’t overall threatening, but something about him unnerved Richie. They were large and sympathetic as he looked at Richie. There was something in his eyes, like he knew a terrible, troubling truth that the blonde didn’t.
“Hey,” The man whispered, touching Richie’s cheek gently, as if Richie would break, pity in his eyes.
“Who are you?” Richie asked in a quiet voice as he tried not to cringe away from this strange man. He wasn’t quite sure why the sudden need for low voices when he and Madelyn had been shouting minutes ago, but feeling somehow obligated to speak that way.
“I can’t stand what they’ve been doing, and I won’t let it go any further.” The man murmured. “But I believe I maybe be too late to save you.” He looked up briefly, behind Richie, where Madelyn was practically squirming behind her restraints. Richie had an uneasy feeling that he wasn't talking about their being locked up.
“Can you unchain me, please?” Richie asked, looking hopefully at the man. The man fumbled with his belt loop and unhooked a large circle of keys. They clinked together almost melodically as he stuck the key in the first lock and the chest band came open easily. It was like music to Richie’s ears and the song it sung was freedom.
The man had barely finished turning the key in the second ankle band when Richie joyously leaped from the table. He stretched, pulling his hands high above his head and cracking his knees, ignoring the dizziness and darts of light that cluttered his vision as he did so. He leaned heavily against the table, his body still pained and his headache still fierce, as the kind man unchained Madelyn.
While taking deep breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses to relieve his migraine, Richie suddenly realized that there was a bracelet on his left wrist. It was a thin metal chain that wrapped loosely so that it fell just onto the top of his hand and moved when he walked, but not enough to slide out of. The thin chain remained unbroken except for a part of the bracelet where, instead of chain, there was a thin strip of metal on which was engraved in tight letters, PROJ. JULEDE - Cap. 1.D.USA. He frowned and pulled at it, but it wouldn’t break. It merely slid up and down his arm annoyingly.
Madelyn was almost free of the restraints aside from both ankles and was acting very ungrateful, in Richie’s opinion. She kept saying things like, “Hurry up, old man,” and, “I don’t like to be kept waiting.” The older man only smiled slightly and patted Madelyn’s hand. Even if the man didn’t mind, she was grating on Richie's nerves and he sincerely hoped she’d get lost on the way out.
But Madelyn issues aside, Richie’s mind was focused on this man who had helped them off of their tables. Sure, he had a kind, sympathetic exterior, but was there an ulterior motive? Was he luring them into a false sense of security before striking? Well, if Madelyn was letting her guard down and getting chatty with this man she didn’t even know, there was no way in hell Richie was. He was tense and alert, and so it was no surprise that even without his tech he was the first to sense the danger. It was the faint sound of footfalls echoing outside the room that had Richie hissing into the dim light,
“Shut up!”
Madelyn looked up in surprise at the tone of Richie’s voice, and the man’s head shot up.
There was no time. When the men burst through the door and had cocked their guns, Richie was already across the room in speeds that rivaled the Flash. The two back-to-back tables were between them and the men, and Richie had pushed Madelyn down from the table to the floor behind the tables, covering her body with his. This, unfortunately, turned out to be one of the worst well-intentioned moves he had ever made.
Her left foot was still halfway in the cuff, and when he pulled her down, it twisted at a disturbing angle that had Madelyn scream out in pain. Richie cursed, unlatching the cuff that had been unlocked but not pulled up, and grabbing Madelyn back down to the floor where she wasn’t a target. He muttered his apologies and felt the guilt build up, just like the tears that were about to fall from her eyes. He turned his head away from her and then couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene that played out next. He almost wished he had just watched her cry.
It seemed like slow motion to Richie. He saw the man’s eyes widen in fear and surprise, and suddenly he was falling to the floor in a heap, his pristine white lab coat suddenly awash with crimson. He choked and blood came out of his mouth, and he turned his gaze to Richie. Richie held his breath and moved over to him, taking his hand and squeezing it.
“Thank you,” Richie whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. The man squeezed back weakly. “What’s your name, sir?”
“My name,” He rasped out. “Is Andrew Sandoval.”
And with a look that wished Richie the best of luck, he drew a gurgling last breath, and lay still. His eyes were open. Richie reached out and gently closed them.
Richie could have stared at the man in shock for days, but he felt a sharp tug at his arm and realized Madelyn was there. And, along with that realization came the second realization that there were two armed men on the other side of the room, blocking the only exit. The slow motion was off and someone had pressed fast forward.
“Richie,” Madelyn whispered urgently, her eyes filled with fear and panic. “My powers, they’re useless!”
Richie grimaced, peeking his head over the side of the table only to duck down as bullets whizzed by. He fought down the bile in his throat as two stray bullets punctured Andrew Sandoval’s dead body, causing ruptured fountains of blood.
“We are under specific orders not to physically harm either of you in any way.” Came the monotone of one of the guards. “It is preferable that we refrain from any physical contact.” He said, sounding as if he had memorized and repeated this many times. Richie shuddered at the thought.
“Okay,” Richie muttered. He looked upwards. “If there’s a God, please forgive me for what I am about to do.” Taking a steadying breath, he turned to Andrew Sandoval’s body and due to the tight space was forced to crawl gingerly over him. Keeping his head down, he reached out and grabbed the toupee off Andrew's head. Richie whispered an ashamed apology to him, and then flung the toupee at the nearest guard.
It was bloody and caught him full in the face.
He let out a surprised yell and dropped his weapon. Richie was on his feet in a second and pulled Madelyn up beside him, half letting her walk, half carrying her out from behind the tables. He grabbed the dropped gun and let go of Madelyn, who leaned her back against Richie’s table, propped herself up with her arms and kicked the toupee-man hard in the stomach with her right leg. He doubled over and Madelyn grinned before dealing him a blow to the head that left him unconscious.
Richie was fumbling with the gun. There was blood slick all over his hands and the front of his clothes, and he couldn’t get a good grip on the gun and aim it. Before he knew it the second man was in front of him, and the gun was knocked out of his hands. He stared up in horror, taking in the smug look of satisfaction on the guard’s face.
The man opened his mouth to speak, reaching into his pocket for something (probably sedatives to keep him and Madelyn calm while they tied them back up again or something, Richie thought), but the words were swallowed as a gunshot rang out from behind. The man’s body arched forward, his eyes rolled back in his head, and blood spurted all over Richie’s clothes, face and hair. Pressured by the sudden weight, Richie fell and was pinned to the floor, trapped against the back of the table by the weight of a dead body on him.
Horrified, he rolled the man off him and scooted across the tile floor, which was splattered with thick red liquid. He looked up.
Madelyn was leaning heavily on the doorframe, the gun still smoking and held out in front of her. Her breathing was labored and she had red speckles all over her; Richie noticed for the first time that she was dressed in hospital apparel, although she apparently managed to get her favorite color out of the deal (her pants and shirt were both lilac). Her eyes, which had been locked on the dead man in front of Richie, drifted up to his face. He smiled weakly at her.
Suddenly the adrenaline was gone and all the strength seemed to leave him. He was overcome with nausea and rolled over, vomiting on the floor until all that was left was dry heaves. He pulled himself up and looked at his sleeves and couldn’t find a place to wipe his face that wasn’t already covered in blood, so he wiped his face with his hands, feeling barbaric and dirty. Sinful. His bracelet was bloody.
“I saved your life,” Madelyn said abruptly. Richie stood and picked up both the guns. He handed the cleaner one to Madelyn and rubbed the one Madelyn had used to kill the guard on his pants. He ran a hand through his blonde hair out of habit. It was strawberry blonde now. Richie didn't notice.
“We need to leave,” Richie said, just as abruptly.
“I saved your life,” Madelyn said again.
“There’s no way we can cover our tracks now,” Richie said emotionlessly.
“You are alive because of me.” Madelyn said. She poked Richie in the chest. Richie turned to her, looking down, expressionless. He was taller up close, Madelyn realized. He had dried red specks on his glasses. She had to crane her neck to look at him. Richie had to be about 5'11". At least. She didn't know why she was thinking about Richie's height. Maybe she didn't want to think of other things. Height was safer.
He looked back at the room. At the two dead men.
“Let’s go.”
A/N: Okay. Please comment! Next chapters will be up in a few days, long enough for the community to digest and such. :)
Title: Overload
Author: totallystellar
Summary: Since the second Big Bang, Richie has been getting smarter. But soon his intelligence becomes an issue of interest to others, and he and three unlikely [canon] people must band together, working past rivalries and struggling through obstacles while trying to figure out what their respective fates are. Unconventional nonslash romance.
Spoilers: The whole series, but mostly seasons 3 and 4.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: There will be eventual Richie/Madelyn... but it's so mild right now you can't even tell, I promise. Don't skip out just out of squeamishness or whatever.
Warnings: There's lots of violence and gore.
Disclaimer: Me no own.
Distribution: It's already been posted on fanfiction.net for a whle, but I know some people don't like that site, so I'm posting it here. Please feel free to add it to any archive or Static Shock fanfiction list, just inform me and include my name.
A/N: This is Richie-centric, and I’m bringing to the surface minor characters. I’m trying to pull them out into the spotlight where they can shine with all the hidden potential that’s squashed in their diminutive roles. I'm posting the first two chapters right now, and will post the others later. I'm really looking for feedback from this community, because I hold it in high regard as the place to find intelligent, good writers.
Okay. Go read please. :)
Chapter One.
It was a crisp November night in Dakota. The sky was black with sparkling stars dotting across it and a large gibbous moon hung overhead, shining bright moonbeams down and illuminating the land below. Static and Gear soared high above the city, peering through the misty clouds and scouring the streets for trouble. The city was relatively quiet now, and crime was currently at a low. The moonlight caught on the glass windows of buildings and splashed back into their eyes, but that was the only bother of the night. They were circling the rather large boundaries of Dakota, sometimes skimming the treetops or performing potentially dangerous acrobatic tricks in mid air to pass the time.
Static stood straighter on his flying disk, stretching his legs and reaching his arms upward with a satisfied groan. He plopped down, this time sitting with his legs dangling off the side. He leaned back on his hands and wiggled his fingers, sending out crackling streams of electricity in his wake and steering his course. Gear, who was flying alongside him, gave a small laugh.
“What?” Static asked good-naturedly. “Even a superhero needs his rest.”
Gear grinned back and yawned, stretching as well. He’d changed his costume a bit to account for the colder weather, adding a dark green overcoat similar to Static’s to match his uniform. The longsleeves had white stripes along their length and Backpack still hung in its usual place on his back.
“You got that right, bro.” He agreed, his voice sounding heavy. “I definitely need some z’s.”
“Rich,” Static said disbelievingly, turning to face his best friend. “That’s all you’ve done the past week and you still look like you got hit by a train. Or maybe Godzilla. Or maybe Godzilla riding a train.”
It was true; if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication, Richie hadn’t been sleeping well, and even his jokes had been far and few. He was paler than normal, his face looked gaunt, and he was leaner than he’d ever been before.
Gear yawned again, louder.
“Yeah, well, I do feel like I just got hit by a train. And not only was Godzilla riding it, he was the conductor.” He responded dryly. “Been feeling bad for a couple weeks… killer headache too.” He added, as if an afterthought.
They flew in companionable silence, passing above the surrounding forest, which was already changing with the coming of winter. The green leaves were falling from their homes in the treetops in crisp, multi colored flurries. Golden brown, reddened yellows, and terra cotta hues made the forest floor a lively homage to fall. Gear swerved a bit in the air, dipping a bit too far and almost colliding with a tall tree. He weaved through the chilly air like a drunken bird, rapidly losing alititude as he did so. Static gasped rushing forward to help, but Gear seemed to realize it a second before he would have crashed, and pulled up sharply. The treetop rustled, and leaves swirled upward and circled him once before he righted himself in the air and looked down warily at the offending plant.
“Yo, Gear, you okay?” Static called, genuinely concerned. He was back to standing on his disk, and his hands were already white with power, ready to help. Gear pushed his boots into high gear and was hovering next to Static a moment later. He rubbed his temples distractedly under his helmet, closing his eyes before answering.
“Uh, yeah, just… lost control… I’ll, um… hey, I’m gonna, ya know, head in, you can finish patrol for tonight, right?” He asked weakly. Static raised an eyebrow.
“Richie, what’s wrong with you? This is the fourth time this week you’ve bailed on me, and if you’re -”
“V!” Gear cut him off sharply, backing away. “I’m fine! Just… a headache, okay? Headache.”
And with that he turned and rocketed off toward his home, leaving Static confused, worried, and left to guard Dakota on his own.
The bell signaling the start of class rang just as Virgil skidded through the classroom door. He bolted forward, slammed his books down, and vaulted right over the desk and smoothly into his seat behind it. A few people clapped. Virgil looked behind him and grinned sheepishly, giving a feeble wave.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawkins, but impressive gymnastic tricks will not allow you to pass my class.” Came a curt voice.
Virgil froze and his smile fell. He turned around in his desk so that he faced the front, startled to see his teacher standing right above him, palms flat on the desk, leaning forward with a very angry scowl on her face. Virgil gulped.
“So, you, uh, find me impressive?” He joked weakly.
“Mr. Hawkins,” She began, her sharp voice pelting him with every word. “You have been late to my class more times than I can count. I’ve given you ample warnings, ample! And now I’m going to carry out the punishment I said I would. You have detention, Virgil. And I’m calling your father; I believe a conference is in order.”
She spun and stalked regally back to the blackboard, where she began to explain a complicated math problem to the class. Virgil groaned.
‘Just what I need… My pops having a conference with my teacher… Ugh… Maybe Richie can help me pull my grade up before then… it might soften the blow…’
He glanced to his right, suddenly noticing that his best friend wasn’t there. His eyes widened and he looked behind him, catching Frieda’s eye. When the class finally ended, he paused in the doorway, waiting for her. She was one of the last to exit, having a seat toward the back of the room, and he was impatiently tapping his foot by the time she got there. Daisy was with her.
“What’s wrong, Virgil?” She said with concern as they started walking to their lockers.
“Frieda, Daisy, have either of you seen Richie?” Virgil asked.
“No,” Frieda said, pushing her red hair out of her eyes. “But I’m on my way to the journalism office. I need to make a phone call to Shelly Sandoval; it’s part of the internship I’ve got at the news station. I can check for him around there.”
“Yeah.” Daisy said, nodding. “And I’m heading to Chem. Lab. He’s into that kind of stuff, maybe he skipped to do an expiriment or something. What’s up, is something wrong?”
“Thanks,” Virgil said greatfully. “’Cause, he’s been acting real funny an’ something was wrong last night but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“I saw him yesterday, but not since then. And you’re right, he’s been acting really strangely, Virgil.” Frieda frowned. Daisy nodded.
"Yeah, I noticed that too."
Virgil leaned against the wall of lockers, arms crossed over his chest while Daisy twisted her locker combination and watched as the door swing open. She crouched and set her bag on the floor. After flipping through some of the folders within, she withdrew two and a heavy hardback book and shoved them inside, in turn grabbing two notebooks from the locker and putting them in her book bag. Frieda was doing the same in the locker next to Daisy's.
Daisy stood and swung the bag over her shoulder. She shut the locker door, and faced Virgil.
“You’re really worried, then?” She asked quietly. She and Frieda started walking again and Virgil walked backwards ahead of them.
“Well, yeah!” Virgil said. “Look, he’s been actin’ weird for weeks, not sleeping, not cracking his unfunny jokes -”
“Not eating,” Frieda supplied. She pushed Virgil out of the way of the water fountain, which protruded from the wall, saving him from what could have been a rather painful fall.
"Yeah!" Virgil agreed. "And that's, like, extra weird."
"You've got a point. But if he's not at school, you should see if he's at his house. Maybe he stayed home sick. He looks like he could use a sick day." Daisy suggested.
“What to do... what to do...” Virgil muttered under his breath. He stopped suddenly, and Frieda gave a grumble of annoyance as she almost ran into him.
“I know!” Virgil said brightly. A lightbulb had practically lit above his head. “I’ll see if he’s at his house! Maybe he stayed home sick!”
With a grin, Virgil dashed toward the school doors, accidentally knocking an innocent bystander over as he ran.
“Virgil!” Daisy cried, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. “Virgil, school isn’t over!”
“It’s fine, girl, I’ll make it up!” He called. He pushed open the door and hopped down the steps, bolting off in the direction of the Foley's.
Frieda and Daisy glanced at each other rolled their eyes.
"Stupid boys..."
Virgil stopped in front of Richie’s house, a bit out of breath. He trotted up the steps and rung the doorbell, waiting only a minute before a kind-looking, redheaded woman appeared at the door. In one hand she held a tray on which there was a glass of water and two small pills, and her other hand was pressed against the open front door.
“Virgil,” She said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Mrs. Foley,” He said quickly. “I was just wondering if Richie was home.”
“Yes, he’s home.” Mrs. Foley answered, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. “Poor boy’s got an awful virus. It’s probably one of those twenty-four-hour bugs.”
“Mm hmm?” Virgil said inattentively, leaning sideways and trying to see behind Richie’s mother and into the house.
“Couldn’t even go to school today, he’s feeling so bad.” Mrs. Foley continued, giving Virgil a strange look as he stood on his toes and peered past her. She paused, than narrowed her eyes. “Speaking of that, why aren’t you at school right now, Virgil?”
Virgil froze, straightened up and let out a nervous laugh.
“Uh, early release?” He offered, rubbing the back of his neck. The older woman looked skeptical, so he hastily changed the subject. “May I come in?”
“Well, alright,” Mrs. Foley said, still looking a bit unconvinced. “But make it quick.”
Virgil punched the air in triumph.
“Thanks, Mrs. F.,” He grinned. “And here, since I’m goin’ that way I’ll take his meds.” He deftly lifted the tray from Mrs. Foley’s hands and made his way to Richie’s room. He balanced the tray with one hand and knocked with the other. There was a pause, and then a faint voice from the other side called weakly, -
“Venido adentro.”
Virgil raised his eyebrows, but opened the door and walked in. Richie was lying on his bed, dressed in the baggy white shirt he always wore under his hoodie and some atrociously bright plaid pajama pants, a gag gift from Virgil two Christmas’s ago that he’d never thought his best friend would actually wear. His face was ashen and his lips were blue, and a light sheen of sweat glistened across his skin. Under his glasses, his eyes were red and the purple circles hadn’t left. Richie, never one to turn down food, hadn’t ever been thin, but he’d been in shape; now, however, Virgil noticed just how much weight his friend had lost. Richie was bony now, and where the neckline of his shirt dipped, his collarbone was visible, pronounced more than ever. When he saw who was at the door, he gave a tired but happy grin and sat up, only to groan and sway dizzily before falling back onto the pillows.
“Richie!” Virgil cried in panic, hurriedly setting the glass of water and the aspirin on Richie’s desk and hopping into the desk chair. He half pulled, half wheeled himself over to the bed. “Rich, what happened?”
“Dunno,” He responded with a weak shrug. “Apenas... un dolor de cabeza mayor y mayor, bro."
Virgil raised his eyebrows. Richie didn’t seem to realize he’d spoken another language.
“Man, I have no idea what you just said.”
Richie frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Juste un commandant, un mal de tête majeur, un copain.”
“Wait… What!” Virgil said in alarm, his voice an octave higher than usual. “Dude, are you speaking in French? C’mon, I hardly passed English last semester, you expect me to know foreign languages?”
Richie’s eyes widened to almost comical proportions, and he cleared his throat twice.
“I said, ‘Just a major, major headache, bro.’” Richie said slowly. His eyes lit up. “Hey! English! All right!”
“Uh, yeah…” Virgil said. “About that…”
“I don’t know,” Richie said helplessly. He glanced at Virgil. “It’s been happening all the time… and the headaches… those suck... and sometimes I’ll forget what I’m doing…”
“Rich, something’s really wrong with you. You need to get to a doctor, right now.” Virgil said, giving his friend another once-over.
“No!” Richie exclaimed, sounding panicked. His eyes shifted from the door to the window to the balcony, as if looking to escape. “No, V, no. I don’t need a doctor, I’ll be fine, I’ll - ”
“Whoa, man, chill. Just chill,” Virgil soothed, startled by Richie’s reaction. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” As Richie seemed to calm a bit, Virgil twisted the chair around and pushed with his legs on the floor, propelling the chair and himself to the desk, where he grabbed the water and aspirin and brought them over to Richie. The blonde glanced at the medicine and then at Virgil.
“I don’t need medicine.”
Virgil blanched.
“Dude, if anyone in the world needs medicine, it’s you.”
Richie resolutely shook his head.
“No. I don’t need it.”
“Richie…” Virgil began warningly, brandishing the glass of water. Richie looked away.
“V, I don’t need it, really, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep and -”
“Richie.” Virgil interrupted. Richie looked up at him hesitantly. “Shut up and take the freaking pills.”
“I’m not that sick!”
Richie nearly fell off the bed in surprise as Virgil lunged out of the chair with his hand outstretched toward him. Realizing what his friend was trying to do, he scrambled backward, out of reach. Virgil climbed on the bed in pursuit, making Richie move even farther away. Richie threw off the covers and nearly bolted out of bed, only to sway before making it two steps. When he stumbled to the balcony door, Virgil took his chance and tackled him, making him fall flat on his face.
Virgil promptly sat down on his back.
“Stop it, V! Get off!” Richie yelled angrily into the carpet. Virgil pressed the back of his hand against Richie’s forehead. He was burning up. Virgil frowned.
“Now, Richard,” He began in an imperial voice, purposely using Richie's full first name. “As your best friend -” Here Richie muttered some very offensive words that Virgil wisely did not respond to - “ - I take it upon myself to look after your welfare. And, be that as it may, when I see you clearly suffering -” Richie growled something along the lines of, “I’ll show you suffering,” “ - I must do everything in my power to make you better. Now, take the stupid meds and be unsick before I have to force you to.”
“Will you just get off me?” Richie said in an exasperated voice, still a bit muffled. “You’re making my stomach hurt.”
Virgil stared at the back of Richie’s head.
“I’m sitting on your back.” He said pointedly.
“And you’re heavier than Shamu. Just get up!” Richie added unhappily. Virgil stood, offering Richie his hand. Richie, in an act of defiance, didn’t take it, but ended up needing help anyway, which greatly took away from his defiance and made him look rather pathetic. Virgil helped him over to the bed. Richie glared over his glasses at Virgil (who merely gave a satisfied smirk in response) before tossing the pills in his mouth and downing them with a large gulp of water.
“So,” Virgil said after a moment of silence. “What exactly is wrong with you?”
Richie frowned. He was still looking bad; he was pale and weak and still a bit sweaty and hot, general symptoms of fever. And then there was the thundering headache. But it wasn’t just a fever - there was something wrong, something very wrong. It was a deep sense of foreboding that throbbed in tune with his pulse, and Richie didn’t like it. The very thought of doctors trying to figure out what was wrong scared him, though he didn’t know why. He tried to put it into words so that Virgil could understand; there was something bad happening, something wrong… but he couldn’t place it.
Virgil was skeptical.
“Rich, I think what you need is rest and some time to recoup. If you need me just hit me up on the Shock Vox, you got it? I better head home or Pops'll have a cow.”
Virgil stood up and headed to the door, but Richie’s voice stopped him.
“Hey, Virgil?” He called tentatively.
Virgil turned. “Yeah, man?”
“Thanks,” Richie said sincerely. “I mean, for, you know, stopping by.”
Virgil grinned.
“No prob. That’s what friends are for, right?”
Richie gave a weak laugh, and Virgil smiled before shutting the door behind him.
Hours after Virgil left, Richie had to admit that he was feeling a little better. Deciding he needed some fresh air, he pulled off his covers an swung his legs to the edge of the bed. With a deep breath, he stood and shakily made his way to the balcony, shoving open the door and leaning heavily on the railing.
He stared out at the night sky, gaze locked on the stars that littered it. The streetlights were glowing and cars zipped past on the street below. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit as the cool, refreshing night air blew around him.
So it was no surprise that he was shocked to say the least when his world exploded in pain.
His grip on the railing failed and he sunk to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He desperately tried to move back inside, to reach his computer desk and pull open the drawer that held his Shock Vox, but another wave of pain engulfed him and he doubled over. The last thing he saw was a burst of brilliant white light and then he knew no more…
Chapter Two.
Richie Foley was a very well educated young man. He’d read the words on ancient scrolls of philosophers like Plato, and he’d studied the Torah, the Bible, the Koran. He’d read the research papers of countless brilliant men and women, and spent hours pouring over theories and calculations. And he’d also read many books; novels, short stories, biographies, anything he could get his hands on to keep his churning mind occupied. But in anything he’d read about someone waking from unconsciousness, it had been described as a sort of gradual process, like drifting through fog into reality again. Not painful, really. Possibly pleasant.
Total and complete bull.
Richie’s traverse from black unconsciousness to awareness was like being hit with a ton of bricks. It was sudden and shocking and all together a disconcerting experience. His eyes snapped open and he was assaulted by a torrent of bright light, accompanied by a throbbing pain in his head and a severe case of cottonmouth. His whole body was covered in a dull ache that beat slowly with his pulse. He felt like he’d run a marathon.
He squinted blearily, trying to see past the offending brightness to his surroundings. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, only to find that he couldn’t. He was bolted on to a table that was angled slightly down with metal cuffs at his wrists and ankles. Two thick metal bands, one across his chest and one over his knees, secured him effectively to the table. Immediately he began to panic, thrashing uselessly against the restraints. He moved frantically until his skin was rubbed raw, and logic settled in along with the pain.
His eyes had adjusted to the light now, and he surveyed the room he was prisoner in. It was a clean, blank slate with a very sterile, commercial feel. The only pieces of furniture in the room was the metal table that he was strapped to, which was placed in roughly the center of the room, and a rolling chair that was tucked neatly under a long piece of stainless steel that was bolted to the wall as a desk. Richie lamented that he couldn’t see behind him and succeeded in only feeding his paranoia and hurting his neck when he tried to crane his head upwards to scan the rest of the room.
He desperately wished he was dressed in his Gear uniform and had Backpack with him. At least with his tech he could find a way out, even if he couldn’t contact Static or any other help. But here he was in his flimsy white shirt and outrageous, fashion-police-ticket pajama pants. He grumbled dryly under his breath about laundry days and making good impressions on bad guys.
He shifted uncomfortably and then let out a little hiss of pain when a random bolt from the band across his chest poked painfully into his side. There was a sharp intake of breath behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Wh-who’s there?” Whispered vaguely familiar female voice filled with trepidation.
“Who are you?” Richie responded, happy to hear that his voice was much stronger and confident than he felt.
“I - I’m - I asked you first!” The girl replied, somehow managing to sound bossy even through fright. There was a muffled sound of her shifting around behind him, and Richie suddenly realized that she must be strapped to an uncomfortable metal table, just like he was. Which meant they were both in the same boat.
“Hell, why not?” Richie muttered to himself, throwing caution to the wind. “I’m Richie Foley. Now tell me who you are.”
“Richie?” The girl gasped. “Good lord… Richie Foley?”
“Yes.” Richie answered tersely, clenching his jaw in irritation. “I don’t know how you know my name, but I would advise you to tell me how you found it out and who you are.”
It was filled with an unspoken promise of “or else…” but Richie knew it was simply an empty threat hanging in the air. What could he do while strapped to this damned table anyway? He couldn’t even sneeze at her and hope to get her covered with at least one or two Richie-boogers, let alone get up.
The girl sounded miffed as she responded.
“Of course I know who you are,” She sniffed. “You and your stupid friend Static nearly killed me. I’m Madelyn Spaulding, you stupid twit.”
Richie’s jaw dropped and he was glad to be facing away from her, lest she see his surprise.
“Madelyn Spaulding!” He exclaimed in surprise. “What the hell? I thought you were docked up on Valium and watching Barney in a padded cell!”
Madelyn laughed bitterly.
“Come off it, Richie.” She said condescendingly. “We both know that I was never insane. Stop defending Virgil Hawkins. You treat him like a god or something.”
Richie didn’t know how to respond, but opened his mouth anyway to say something, something to disagree, to retaliate, but she beat him to it.
“Don’t try to pretend, Richie Foley.” She continued, her voice getting louder as she spoke. “You saw through it all and you never said a word. You let him lock me up in an insane asylum and you didn’t say a word to anyone. I saw you! You laughed with him! You let him get away with putting away an innocent person… did you know I was injected with all sorts of drugs and who knows what? Do you know the way they look at you, those doctors? I feel thoroughly violated, and have no one to blame but Static for this. And, consequently, you, Richie Foley, because you kept your little boyfriend’s big old lie and let me rot in that hellhole.”
“Hey!” Richie said angrily. “Don’t turn this on me. You tried to kill my best friend - you tried to kill us both! You brainwashed the entire school, for God’s sake, and were planning to make the whole world bow down to Madelyn Spaulding.”
“Just because I caused a few tiny disturbances in Dakota, you were going to let me live out my life in a mental institution?” Madelyn asked incredulously.
“You’re crazy,” Richie said shortly. “And I’m ending this discussion now.”
“You can’t end this discussion!” Madelyn said heatedly. “I’m not done with this discussion, so you can’t end it, so there!”
Even though Richie couldn’t see Madelyn sticking her tongue out at him, he knew she was immaturely doing so. He had the urge to rub his temples as he felt a headache coming on, only to find himself restrained. He let out a sound of frustration that came out frighteningly like a growl and Madelyn suddenly stopped talking.
“Look,” Richie said with forced calm. “I don’t like you. You don’t like me. But we obviously have something in common to be here, together, kidnapped. I don’t believe arguing over past indiscretions in a productive way to spend our time, as we have no idea what will happen to us, who has us, and if they’re watching us even as we speak.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “So, Miss Cleo, fess up and tell me what they’ve got on you.”
“Don’t talk to me that way!” Madelyn screeched.
“Keep your voice down,” Richie interrupted impatiently.
“I said, don’t talk to me that way!” Madelyn repeated, albeit softer this time.
“Just answer my question.”
“I don’t know the answer.”
Richie frowned. He had a headache and she was making it worse.
“Don’t be stupid, Madelyn. Just tell me.” He said wearily.
“Look, I really don’t know, okay?” Madelyn said, suddenly sounding close to tears, which caused Richie to become horrified. What if Madelyn started crying? Crying, in the middle of a… a whatever this was. A kidnapping? A staging zone where test specimens were stored for easy access?
Richie’s mind was going a mile a minute, working over who would kidnap him and why. And how Madelyn fit into the situation. He’d been kidnapped by Alva before and used for testing and such, but Alva seemed to have been finished with him. Richie hadn’t come across any Alva Industry files that would hint to further Bang Baby research, and definitely no current references to him or Static. Ebon had captured him once or twice as bait to lure Static to him, but this was much too complex for the shadow doppelganger, who was interested more in revenge and relatively mild crimes than Bang Baby biology. But Madelyn... it didn't fit... something was missing.
The lights suddenly flickered and went off. Madelyn let out a surprised scream and Richie was decidedly manly as he managed to stifle his own, and they were plunged into total and complete darkness. Richie strained his eyes and ears for any sound. He was listening so intently that Madelyn’s voice scared him.
“R-Richie?” She stammered.
“Yeah?” He responded, not really paying attention.
“Is that… you breathing?”
“Stop trying to scare me, Madelyn. No need to resort to petty psychological attacks when your powers don’t succeed in melting me to a brainless puddle on the floor.” He snapped uncharacteristically.
“Richie…” Madelyn drew out slowly, and held her breath. Richie listened. Sure enough, there was the soft, telltale inhalation and exhalation of breath somewhere in the room, from something other than Madelyn and him. He stiffened, incredibly conscious of his incapacitation.
“Hey!” He said loudly, sounding very brave. He was quite proud of his voice tonight. “Who’s there?”
He heard Madelyn whimper and felt a pang of sympathy for the girl despite his own growing fear. There was no answer, but the light that had seared Richie’s eyes when he’d first awoken was back in full force, a spotlight just illuminating his face.
“Wha -wha -hey! What the - ” Richie sputtered, reflexively trying to throw his arms in front of his eyes but once again finding himself tied down. The light was creakily pushed away, reminding Richie of the swinging light of a dentist’s chair, and a face swam into view.
Even with his glasses on, Richie had to blink stupidly a few times before the person in front of him was no longer fuzzy. It took a moment, but after the spots dissipated and the colored blob in front of him sharpened, Richie stared.
“Hey!” Madelyn called. She obviously saw the light and realized that someone really was in the room. “Foley, what’s going on?”
The person in front of him was a fatherly looking Hispanic man with a thin brown mustache and a toupee on his head. He was wearing a clean white lab coat, and beneath the open coat he wore a simple light blue, button-up collared shirt and navy blue slacks. His shirt rounded out in the front where his potbelly protruded a bit, and he leaned over Richie with a sincere expression of concern on his face. He wasn’t overall threatening, but something about him unnerved Richie. They were large and sympathetic as he looked at Richie. There was something in his eyes, like he knew a terrible, troubling truth that the blonde didn’t.
“Hey,” The man whispered, touching Richie’s cheek gently, as if Richie would break, pity in his eyes.
“Who are you?” Richie asked in a quiet voice as he tried not to cringe away from this strange man. He wasn’t quite sure why the sudden need for low voices when he and Madelyn had been shouting minutes ago, but feeling somehow obligated to speak that way.
“I can’t stand what they’ve been doing, and I won’t let it go any further.” The man murmured. “But I believe I maybe be too late to save you.” He looked up briefly, behind Richie, where Madelyn was practically squirming behind her restraints. Richie had an uneasy feeling that he wasn't talking about their being locked up.
“Can you unchain me, please?” Richie asked, looking hopefully at the man. The man fumbled with his belt loop and unhooked a large circle of keys. They clinked together almost melodically as he stuck the key in the first lock and the chest band came open easily. It was like music to Richie’s ears and the song it sung was freedom.
The man had barely finished turning the key in the second ankle band when Richie joyously leaped from the table. He stretched, pulling his hands high above his head and cracking his knees, ignoring the dizziness and darts of light that cluttered his vision as he did so. He leaned heavily against the table, his body still pained and his headache still fierce, as the kind man unchained Madelyn.
While taking deep breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses to relieve his migraine, Richie suddenly realized that there was a bracelet on his left wrist. It was a thin metal chain that wrapped loosely so that it fell just onto the top of his hand and moved when he walked, but not enough to slide out of. The thin chain remained unbroken except for a part of the bracelet where, instead of chain, there was a thin strip of metal on which was engraved in tight letters, PROJ. JULEDE - Cap. 1.D.USA. He frowned and pulled at it, but it wouldn’t break. It merely slid up and down his arm annoyingly.
Madelyn was almost free of the restraints aside from both ankles and was acting very ungrateful, in Richie’s opinion. She kept saying things like, “Hurry up, old man,” and, “I don’t like to be kept waiting.” The older man only smiled slightly and patted Madelyn’s hand. Even if the man didn’t mind, she was grating on Richie's nerves and he sincerely hoped she’d get lost on the way out.
But Madelyn issues aside, Richie’s mind was focused on this man who had helped them off of their tables. Sure, he had a kind, sympathetic exterior, but was there an ulterior motive? Was he luring them into a false sense of security before striking? Well, if Madelyn was letting her guard down and getting chatty with this man she didn’t even know, there was no way in hell Richie was. He was tense and alert, and so it was no surprise that even without his tech he was the first to sense the danger. It was the faint sound of footfalls echoing outside the room that had Richie hissing into the dim light,
“Shut up!”
Madelyn looked up in surprise at the tone of Richie’s voice, and the man’s head shot up.
There was no time. When the men burst through the door and had cocked their guns, Richie was already across the room in speeds that rivaled the Flash. The two back-to-back tables were between them and the men, and Richie had pushed Madelyn down from the table to the floor behind the tables, covering her body with his. This, unfortunately, turned out to be one of the worst well-intentioned moves he had ever made.
Her left foot was still halfway in the cuff, and when he pulled her down, it twisted at a disturbing angle that had Madelyn scream out in pain. Richie cursed, unlatching the cuff that had been unlocked but not pulled up, and grabbing Madelyn back down to the floor where she wasn’t a target. He muttered his apologies and felt the guilt build up, just like the tears that were about to fall from her eyes. He turned his head away from her and then couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene that played out next. He almost wished he had just watched her cry.
It seemed like slow motion to Richie. He saw the man’s eyes widen in fear and surprise, and suddenly he was falling to the floor in a heap, his pristine white lab coat suddenly awash with crimson. He choked and blood came out of his mouth, and he turned his gaze to Richie. Richie held his breath and moved over to him, taking his hand and squeezing it.
“Thank you,” Richie whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. The man squeezed back weakly. “What’s your name, sir?”
“My name,” He rasped out. “Is Andrew Sandoval.”
And with a look that wished Richie the best of luck, he drew a gurgling last breath, and lay still. His eyes were open. Richie reached out and gently closed them.
Richie could have stared at the man in shock for days, but he felt a sharp tug at his arm and realized Madelyn was there. And, along with that realization came the second realization that there were two armed men on the other side of the room, blocking the only exit. The slow motion was off and someone had pressed fast forward.
“Richie,” Madelyn whispered urgently, her eyes filled with fear and panic. “My powers, they’re useless!”
Richie grimaced, peeking his head over the side of the table only to duck down as bullets whizzed by. He fought down the bile in his throat as two stray bullets punctured Andrew Sandoval’s dead body, causing ruptured fountains of blood.
“We are under specific orders not to physically harm either of you in any way.” Came the monotone of one of the guards. “It is preferable that we refrain from any physical contact.” He said, sounding as if he had memorized and repeated this many times. Richie shuddered at the thought.
“Okay,” Richie muttered. He looked upwards. “If there’s a God, please forgive me for what I am about to do.” Taking a steadying breath, he turned to Andrew Sandoval’s body and due to the tight space was forced to crawl gingerly over him. Keeping his head down, he reached out and grabbed the toupee off Andrew's head. Richie whispered an ashamed apology to him, and then flung the toupee at the nearest guard.
It was bloody and caught him full in the face.
He let out a surprised yell and dropped his weapon. Richie was on his feet in a second and pulled Madelyn up beside him, half letting her walk, half carrying her out from behind the tables. He grabbed the dropped gun and let go of Madelyn, who leaned her back against Richie’s table, propped herself up with her arms and kicked the toupee-man hard in the stomach with her right leg. He doubled over and Madelyn grinned before dealing him a blow to the head that left him unconscious.
Richie was fumbling with the gun. There was blood slick all over his hands and the front of his clothes, and he couldn’t get a good grip on the gun and aim it. Before he knew it the second man was in front of him, and the gun was knocked out of his hands. He stared up in horror, taking in the smug look of satisfaction on the guard’s face.
The man opened his mouth to speak, reaching into his pocket for something (probably sedatives to keep him and Madelyn calm while they tied them back up again or something, Richie thought), but the words were swallowed as a gunshot rang out from behind. The man’s body arched forward, his eyes rolled back in his head, and blood spurted all over Richie’s clothes, face and hair. Pressured by the sudden weight, Richie fell and was pinned to the floor, trapped against the back of the table by the weight of a dead body on him.
Horrified, he rolled the man off him and scooted across the tile floor, which was splattered with thick red liquid. He looked up.
Madelyn was leaning heavily on the doorframe, the gun still smoking and held out in front of her. Her breathing was labored and she had red speckles all over her; Richie noticed for the first time that she was dressed in hospital apparel, although she apparently managed to get her favorite color out of the deal (her pants and shirt were both lilac). Her eyes, which had been locked on the dead man in front of Richie, drifted up to his face. He smiled weakly at her.
Suddenly the adrenaline was gone and all the strength seemed to leave him. He was overcome with nausea and rolled over, vomiting on the floor until all that was left was dry heaves. He pulled himself up and looked at his sleeves and couldn’t find a place to wipe his face that wasn’t already covered in blood, so he wiped his face with his hands, feeling barbaric and dirty. Sinful. His bracelet was bloody.
“I saved your life,” Madelyn said abruptly. Richie stood and picked up both the guns. He handed the cleaner one to Madelyn and rubbed the one Madelyn had used to kill the guard on his pants. He ran a hand through his blonde hair out of habit. It was strawberry blonde now. Richie didn't notice.
“We need to leave,” Richie said, just as abruptly.
“I saved your life,” Madelyn said again.
“There’s no way we can cover our tracks now,” Richie said emotionlessly.
“You are alive because of me.” Madelyn said. She poked Richie in the chest. Richie turned to her, looking down, expressionless. He was taller up close, Madelyn realized. He had dried red specks on his glasses. She had to crane her neck to look at him. Richie had to be about 5'11". At least. She didn't know why she was thinking about Richie's height. Maybe she didn't want to think of other things. Height was safer.
He looked back at the room. At the two dead men.
“Let’s go.”
A/N: Okay. Please comment! Next chapters will be up in a few days, long enough for the community to digest and such. :)