I looked down at Bucky's unconscious body.
Then I looked up at the sky.
Then I looked back down at Bucky.
"...You know what? I think I know exactly where to put you."
I grabbed him by the collar of his ratty jacket and hoisted him up. He was lighter than I expected, probably all those years of malnutrition and poverty. Kid was basically skin and bones and rat genes. I slung him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his bloody face dangling behind my back, his arms hanging limp.
Then I negated gravity on both of us and jumped.
*WHOOSH.*
The alley disappeared beneath me. The buildings shrank. The street became a thin gray line, and the people became tiny dots moving about their Sunday routines. Nobody looked up. Nobody ever looked up.
I jumped again—clearing the gap between two rooftops, then another, then another. Bucky's body bounced against my shoulder with each landing, his head lolling, blood dripping from his broken nose onto the back of my new hoodie.
"Damn it. I just bought this."
I adjusted my grip and kept moving. The neighborhood changed beneath me—the clean streets of Midtown giving way to the worn-down buildings of the Flats. Broken windows. Graffiti. Boarded-up storefronts. The kind of place where you didn't walk alone at night, and you definitely didn't walk alone during the day either.
I knew this area well.
Too well.
Because this was where Bucky used to drag me after school.
It was always the same routine. Jack would give the signal—usually just a lazy wave of his hand—and Bucky would grab me by the back of my hoodie and haul me through the streets while Ron kept lookout. We'd end up here, in this specific abandoned building, where nobody could hear me scream.
I'd been thrown against these walls more times than I could count. I'd bled on this floor. I'd curled up in the corner while Bucky kicked me and Ron laughed and Jack stood in the doorway, scrolling through his phone, completely uninterested.
It was fitting, really, that I was bringing Bucky here now.
The building came into view. It was a four-story structure that had probably been an office building at some point, before the Flats went to shit. The windows were all broken or boarded up. The facade was crumbling, with chunks of concrete missing and rebar poking through like exposed bones. There was a chain-link fence around the front, but it had been cut open years ago and never repaired.
The front door was chained shut. A thick, heavy chain wrapped around the door handles, secured with a padlock that had seen better days. It was rusted, corroded, and probably hadn't been opened in years.
I landed in front of the building, my feet touching down on the cracked sidewalk with a soft thud. Bucky was still unconscious, his breathing shallow and wet.
I looked at the chain.
"...Hm."
I focused on the padlock. It was a physical object—metal, with a specific mass and weight. If I negated gravity on it, it wouldn't help. The chain would still be wrapped around the handles. What I needed was to...
Actually, what if I negated gravity on the lock itself? Not to make it float, but to... hmm.
Technically and specifically, all locks follow a hyperspecific mechanism that may or may not rely on the existence of gravity as part of them. At least, I believed that gravity negation should mess with it a little.
I focused harder. Not on the lock's weight, but on the mechanism inside it. The pin. The tumblers. The small metal components that kept the lock closed.
I negated gravity on the pin.
*Click.*
"...You've got to be kidding me."
The lock popped open. The pin had shifted—just slightly, just enough—gravity no longer holding it in place, allowing the mechanism to release.
"That is... incredibly useful."
Either that or the lock was old enough to--
Now thinking about it, I could've just turned it upside down and got the same results, no? You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Tsk.
I unwrapped the chain from the door handles. It was heavy—maybe ten, fifteen pounds of thick, rusty metal links. I kept it. It might come in handy.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The building smelled like mold, dust, and piss. Probably from the homeless people who occasionally squatted here. The lobby was empty—just a faded reception desk, some broken chairs, and a staircase leading up.
I went down.
There was a door behind the reception desk, barely visible in the dim light. It led to a narrow staircase going underground, to what had probably been a basement office or storage area. I knew this because Bucky had dragged me down these stairs more than once.
The stairs creaked under my feet. The air got colder, damper. The walls were covered in old water stains and patches of black mold. A broken fluorescent light hung from the ceiling, dead and useless.
At the bottom of the stairs was a door. Unlocked, thankfully—nothing worth stealing down here. I pushed it open and stepped into the abandoned office.
It was a medium-sized room, maybe twenty by twenty feet. There was an old desk in the corner, overturned. A filing cabinet with all the drawers pulled out. A broken chair. Some scattered papers, yellowed with age. The floor was concrete, cracked and stained.
And in the center of the room, there was a pipe. A thick, metal pipe that ran from the floor to the ceiling, probably part of the building's old plumbing system. It was solid, rusted but sturdy, bolted to both the floor and the ceiling.
"Perfect."
I set Bucky down on the floor, propping him against the pipe. He was still out cold, his breathing had steadied somewhat, but his face was still a swollen, bloody mess. His nose had stopped bleeding, at least. The swelling on his cheek had turned from purple to a sickly yellow-green.
I unwrapped the chain from around my arm and started working.
"Now... how should I do this?"
Hm...
First, I looped the chain around the pipe, behind Bucky's back. Then around his chest, twice, pulling it tight. Then around his wrists, binding them together in front of him. Then around his ankles, securing them to the base of the pipe.
I pulled the chain tight and secured it with the padlock—clicking it shut, this time using gravity normally to make sure the pin was properly seated.
I stepped back and examined my work.
Bucky was chained to the pipe like a dog tied to a post. His arms were pinned to his chest, his legs were bound, and the chain was thick enough that he wouldn't be breaking free without tools. Even with his rat claws, he'd need hours to cut through it.
"Not bad."
Now for the important part.
I crouched down in front of him and grabbed his wrist. The skin contact was immediate—warm, sweaty, gross. His pulse was steady under my fingers.
[Skin contact established.]
[Gen 2 parasite ready for deployment.]
[Deploy?]
I hesitated. This was my only Gen 2. My last parasite.
And I wasn't interested in his garbage power in the slightest.
But...
That what made him a good candidate for what I was planning to do.
"Deploy."
[Gen 2 parasite deployed.]
[Host: Bucky Morris]
[Ability: Rat Traits (E-rank)]
[Inherited traits: Enhanced Speed (minor), Gravity Negation (minor)]
[Lifespan: 19:41:22 remaining]
[Fill: 0%/15%]
I felt it leave me. A small, wriggling sensation in my palm, then nothing. The worm was inside Bucky now, burrowing through his skin, making its way toward whatever part of his body housed his power.
"..."
I stood up and looked down at him. Chained, bloody, unconscious, with a magic parasite slowly draining his abilities.
He looked pathetic. Like the rat he was.
"..."
I bent down and patted his cheek. "Hey, Bucky. Wake up soon, okay? You don't want to miss what will happen to you next."
He didn't respond. Just breathed. In and out. In and out.
I turned and walked toward the door. The chain clinked softly behind me as Bucky's body shifted in his sleep.
I paused at the doorway and looked back one more time.
"You know, I used to pray for something like this. Every time you dragged me down here, every time you kicked me, every time you took my money—I used to think, 'If only I had power. If only I could fight back.'"
I smiled.
"Thanks for the motivation, buddy. Really. I couldn't have done it without you."
He didn't hear me. That was fine.
I walked up the stairs, through the lobby, and out the front door. The sunlight hit me, warm and bright, and I squinted against the glare.
I rewrapped the chain around the front door handles and clicked the padlock shut. Nobody would be coming in here. And nobody would hear Bucky when he woke up and started screaming.
Not that anyone would care. This was the Flats. People screamed all the time.
I negated gravity on myself and jumped, clearing the building, soaring over the rooftops. The city spread out below me, bathed in Sunday morning light.
I was smiling.
[Gen 2 parasite status:]
[Host: Bucky Morris]
[Fill: 0.1%]
[Lifespan: 9:38:47]
"See you soon buddy."