My mind trembled with elation. I had done it. I was free! Now I just needed to run like hell. If Molotov caught me, well... I don't want to think about that.
My claws dug into the wall as I climbed the iron warehouse for a better vantage point. The sun was still out. I had roughly another hour before darkness set in. The dull red brick and shiny steel cityscape expanded out for miles. Cars zoomed by down below on the streets. Honks, squeals of tires, people shouting and laughing, my antenna waved and bathed in the world. The smog-ridden air was crisp, and I drank it in, grinning. I had been in that terrible place for so long. I won't ever go back.
I scrabbled along the rooftops, bounding between buildings. My wings flickered, but they were not ready to be used. It was still hard to work those muscles. Dr. Arbor had done a number on me. After her monstrous operation, I should be dead, yet here I scurry like a roach fleeing from the kitchen light. South was where I needed to go. The Hero League was in the center of the city. The skyscrapers loomed in the distance, monuments to our progress as humans and, hopefully, my salvation.
The rooftops were somewhat exposed, which was terrible since I am a six and a half foot tall wasp woman, also known as a monster. At the least on the outside. Inside I was still me, well at least bits and pieces. I would like think I was just some nerdy girl who got in way over her fucking head. Deep down though, something had changed. I knew it instinctively. I had already heard a few shrieks of terror from people below catching glances at me. Don't like what you see? Then don't look. I know I am a freak, but do you have to scream about it? It sounded like they wanted me to come down there and give them something to cry about. It did not take long to realize that it was foolish to try and travel before the cover of night was there to help conceal me.
Hiding place options were limited. I could contour my body to an insane degree, but not much was up here. This part of the city was industrial, with the railroad station and the freight loading equipment. Cargo containers lined the tracks, and workers scurried below like ants. To the east, over tin roofs and exposed rafters, lay verdant fields. Corn stalks, grapevines, almonds, and orange tree groves stretched as far as the eye could see beyond the city limits' metalwork. It was strange how nature clashed with humanity; it warped and fused in this place.
I crept into an open cargo container that tilted against a wall. The rust and dust made it clear that it was not in use. Rats and other vermin were in the area. Their stench was impossible to miss. Cockroaches scurried along the walls as I sat in the shadowed place. The creepy crawlies were gathering around me. I had never really hated bugs. The memories of running through the forest with a bug net accompanied by the neighbor kids came to mind. Beetles, butterflies, moths, spiders, crickets, grasshoppers, and I even remembered when I had pissed off a killer beehive. Regular bees are not nasty at all; you could almost walk right up to them, and they won't mess with you unless you mess with them. Africanized bees, though, were a whole other story. They chased me all the way home, and scraping out their stingers hurt a lot. You don't pull them out; that is like injecting yourself with a syringe. The venom still pumps out of the sack. I had to rub mud on my skin to suck out the poison. Luckily I was not allergic, but it taught me a valuable lesson, not to fuck with bees or wasps. I was not afraid it was merely healthy respect.
My smile spread, then slowly drooped into a frown. So long ago, it felt like ages since things were normal. I hardly even remembered what normal even is anymore. This form would never be comfortable. My mind dredged and drug memories and thoughts. Some long buried, other newer wounds on my mind. Even when I was human, I had been terrible at making friends in school. I learned early in life that people change their tune quickly once your usefulness to them runs out. “Trust me”... what a funny thing that was. It was the basis of any relationship, yet more often than not, it led to pain and disappointment. Loyalty was a rare thing indeed. Sad but true, you tend to learn from your mistakes. You get those so-called friends who only realize you exist when they want something from you—the leeches of society. The takers and all my life, well until after college, I had been a giver. I tried hard, pushed myself, and strived to achieve what people told me I could not do.
Then I realized something. Who gives a fuck? Why did anything even matter? Sure, I got a pat on the back and told I did a good job. Words are but wind and empty promises. A trophy doesn't mean shit, a diploma is just a fancy piece of paper, and at the end of the day, all that it earned me was the ire of those who coveted my place. There was nothing good about standing out. It just meant that more leeches had their eyes upon you. They take until there is nothing more, then move on to the next fool who will let them latch on. They left me empty and broken! Everyone wants something for nothing, but it all comes from somewhere. I despised myself when I realized I was leeching off my parents. It made me realize how much of a fuck up I am. It was soul-crushing and led to my attempts to escape reality.
Sacrifice is a concept that I have just now thought about. Something was sacrificed at some point for everything. The air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food on our table were all paid for in one form or another. Time is the most valuable of all commodities; after all, you will never get it back every second of every day, no matter what you try to do. Once it slipped through your fingers, it was gone. Only now did I remember this.
However, my generation was taught so little about cause and effect. I remember many of those idiots in college thinking that food just magically appeared in the store, prepackaged and ready to go. They did not realize it came from fields, ranches, living things, and the sweat of a farmer's brow. Society might be doomed. Humans are stupid herd animals, after all. We are getting dumber and lazier as technology advances; our creativity is being crushed by social programming. If the stereotype is true, why is it wrong to call them out on it? Life is cruel, so don't fucking sugarcoat it, especially for fat kids; they might eat that too. How the hell are we supposed to get tough enough to handle the shit that will get thrown at us if we live in a little bubble all our life? Eventually, it will pop, and you will be woefully unprepared for the pressure of making hard choices and realizing that people will fuck you over at the drop of a hat.
My claws opened and closed, squishing a roach. My thoughts slowed from their ambling, errant thoughts. This was something real, tangible. My eyes closed, and I listened to all the surroundings. They were grinding metal with sparks sizzling; someone was welding nearby. Gears were turning, and wheels spun. The low rumble of a train arriving at the station in the distance. Steam hissing. Smoke wheezing from furnaces and the groan of cranes shifting heavy metal containers. The idle chatter of dirty, hard-working men. I could smell it all, the sweat, the grime, the oils, and the burning of rubber. Slowly the world began to die with the setting sun. Sounds surged for a brief few minutes, cars roaring to life and driving away. A stillness descended though it was not complete.
Far off, whistles echoed, and the light of day had gone. Twilight of dusk hung over the red sky. I emerged from my hiding place and gaped, taking in all the lights and shadows. It took a few blinks to get used to it. This was good enough; people would have to look hard to figure out what they saw if they glimpsed me. Assuming they only got a glimpse of me, they would likely think I was just a shadow.
What exactly was it that I was going to do, though? It would be nice if I could go to the Hero League Headquarters but look at me. They would shoot me on sight. I would have to figure something out.
Buildings were easy to scale. My claws could dig into anything just about, and it was only a matter of swiftly darting up the sides and using the roof to throw myself at the next. It had been nearly an hour since I left, and the sun had just set. That was when the drugs kicked in; at least, that is what it felt like. In college, I had done a few, more or less, to see what it was all about. I didn't particularly appreciate how it made my heart feel like it was trying to break my rib cage, so I steered clear since. The feeling had been vivid, though, and I would never forget it; this was far more intense. This was like an acid trip on steroids. Oh god, no, bad trip, bad trip!
All my senses elevated, and the lights mesmerized me. Music beat from a club across the street. A heavy, resounding dissonance vibrated the air, and my body became restless. Though the city lights were enticing, my attention soon focused on the sky and the ever-looming tentacles of the Spore. Undulating, twisting in the aether, every shift of those glowing, pulsing tendrils of light sent shivers down my spine. I wanted to be embraced by them and smothered, covered, and drowned in those mesmerizing lights. Unable to stay still, I held myself in a vain attempt to contain all of this energy. The lights were calling to me. Yes, they were speaking to my very soul. The gentle twitches beckoned, enticing, seducing me. They were so pretty, and all I could do was stare. I could almost hear a voice whispering to come home.
Alas, the Spore was beyond my reach, but the city, the city, and its glow lay before me. The strobing of the city nightscape was enough to bend the world and unhinge my mind—all those swirling, glowing, and shuddering images blurring with headlights and the dancing signs. I felt my heart pumping, and my brain pounded. It was tingling and shaking from being overloaded. This cemented that I, whatever the hell I am now, am likely nocturnal.
Now I know why bugs fly straight into the zapper. They can't help themselves. Neither could I. I was powerless to stop myself and was soon rubbing against a flashing neon sign. I had never felt this good in my entire life.
***
***
Eventually, the rush ended, and I blankly looked around. Bright flashing lights were right in my grasp. I had been rubbing against them. Taking a few steps back, it became clear this was a sign and a big one at that. It was a bucket of chicken animated with drumsticks falling in it. What an odd thing to be into. My empty stomach grumbled. The hunger and pain seemed to help clear my thoughts. I had vented many times to deal with overheating. I closed my eyes for a long moment and arranged my thoughts. I had gotten used to it to some degree and was able to control myself, though I have no idea how long I was here... humping and grinding on this neon chicken bucket.
I think… I just had sex with a sign. From the pool of my arousal, drool at my feet, and the trickle running down my abdomen, I could only guess I had been at it for hours. It felt amazing, though, and I just wanted to keep dry-humping this thing. It took a lot of willpower to stop. I had always heard that cocaine was a hell of a drug, but I would never have thought light would be addicting, let alone blow my mind. Maybe I naturally produce some sort of narcotic or hallucinogen? That sounds troubling.
There was darkness all around, and it helped me move easier. The problem was that the streets were getting more populated. The more people out would make it harder to stay out of sight. The neon lights and billboards were another problem. The urge to enjoy their light was still powerful. I had been heading south; with the sun gone, it was harder to stay on track. The Spore was out though it did not help much. I used Skyscrapers to keep some idea of where I was. Even before this, I rarely came to the center of the city.
The smells and sounds were almost overwhelming after my isolation in that lab. Everything was more profound, more decadent. I could smell blood and meat, raw meat. I was more drawn to the familiar aroma of fast food. Fried chicken, pizza, burgers, tacos, and Chinese food; assaulted my antenna and made me drool with hunger. My stomach rumbled angrily, a hole gnawing away at my midsection. Then I realized I had not eaten anything all day.
A King Burger joint lay before me, and I sat in the tree nearby, wrestling over how to get food. Plans were made, but each was either foolish or insane. I could not go in and order food, so that was out; I had no money, and I got the feeling they would call the cops if I walked on in. The idea of stealing was rather alluring; however, should they report me... I felt the city would be in an uproar over a bug monster running around.
I wanted to eat people's food. I missed the greasy tacos and juicy hamburgers. I remembered briefly how Molotov fed me and clawed at my head to beat back any thoughts of returning. I would get food even if I had to steal it. I must focus on survival here.
It took another ten minutes before I gathered the resolve to act. A poor unsuspecting man who had a bag of burgers became my target. The smell of them and the fries made my mouth spread wide. I waited for him to reach a somewhat secluded area before I crawled out of a bush in front of him. The whites of his eyes gaped, and he screamed when I scurried towards him. It must have been just like a horror movie for him—some scary thing skulking out of the bushes. I would have run, which is precisely what I wanted him to do. If he stood his ground, though... this would escalate quickly.
I wanted that damned food. My low hiss reverberated; it felt good that vibration through my neck. It went just as I had hoped. He threw the food bag at me and ran away as fast as possible. I fucked up, though; he was not the only one who saw me. Screams echoed behind me, and a group of people scattered where they had come from. I grasped the bag and bolted back into the trees.
I was not stupid enough to stay in the area and fled three blocks bounding over buildings. I darted across the street on all sixes when nothing was in reach. I found a lovely alleyway that was out of sight and nestled down. I feasted on the pilfered food. Every bite was delicious, and I greedily stuffed it into my mouth. The mandibles made short work of the greasy meal. Satisfied for the moment, I was unsure of what to do now.
I could go straight to the Hero League Headquarters, but something in the back of my mind was warning me not to. I brushed it off and focused. I needed powerful people to help me against Molotov. They were useless if they were weak, and she would take me back. My head twitched when I remembered her grin. I wanted to cry and scream; it was hard to hold in.
Looking like this, though, I could not just stroll through the front door. If Molotov were even remotely correct, I would be gunned down before I would even be able to get a word in. I sat pondering. What should I do? If I found a phone I could call them and tell them what happened, then maybe they would help me? Where would I get a phone, though? Sure, people are everywhere here with fancy phones and glowing lights, but they would be locked and useless. Getting a computer and hitting up their site was also an excellent idea.
I groaned, rubbing my head roughly. Both ways required human interaction, and I sorely lacked in the human resources department at the moment. There were only two options. Both were insane, but I was desperate. Take my chances and find a Hero or police officer without informing them, hoping not to be shot. Alternatively, I could attack a criminal, steal his phone and call them. I was leaning more towards attack. I would not put my life into the hands of trusting someone.
A foul stench filled my antenna, and I cautiously looked to the back of the alleyway. It branched off to the left and right. Someone was here, very close nearby. I followed the reek and pried open the dumpster. There was a filthy man in ragged clothes. All he had was an old coat filled with holes and half a shoe on his foot. The other did not even have a sock. He clutched a booze bottle with wide eyes. A twinge of pity filled me. No one should live in a dumpster. I made the mistake of reaching for him. The stench of fear oozed out.
"Monster!" He screamed, throwing the bottle at me.
It broke on my face, getting into my eyes. It burned, and pieces of glass dug into my eyelids. I reeled back, blinded, roaring. "Fuck you, asshole!"
My hands groped the walls as I tried to get my bearings. A metal pipe or something smashed into the back of my head. It jarred me, and I spun, flailing my limbs to scare off my attacker. Footsteps echoed as he fled, and I slumped against the brick wall, covering my face. I felt like shit. My eyes gaped as the claws delicately pulled out the glass. You better run, you fucking bum. If I see you again, I will rip your spine out. The alleyway was likely, not safe anymore; after all, he might come back with some friends, and I did not want to kill anybody. Clambering up the wall was the only real option, and I groaned and flopped down on the roof.
Damn it. How long is this going to take to heal? I felt so damned vulnerable, unable to see anything but blobs. My antenna was on overdrive, hearing and smelling everything. That fucking hobo was down there around the corner with his little friends. Something was burning; I think they were around a trashcan fire. He sounded so scared. I hope you can't sleep tonight.
"Gotta believe me, man. There was a fucking monster over there."
"How much have you had to drink? There is nothing over there."
"It was there, I tell you. It screamed at me like a banshee."
"Well, what the fuck you want me to do about it?"
"Get the cops!"
"You think a cop is going to listen to us?"
"Just say it was a subhuman monster from the slums, and that will get their attention. Hell, they would probably call in some Supers to kill it."
Oh shit. My eyes blinked. I could kinda see, and it would have to do. It took a long moment to peer over the side of the tile work at them down below. They were moving towards the street. Like hell, I am going to let you sign my death warrant. My legs kicked, and I lunged toward them. Their eyes gaped, and they shrieked when I smashed into the ground right before them. I had misjudged the distance. It was not a graceful landing.
Their fight-or-flight instincts had kicked in, and they descended upon me like rabid animals. One had a crowbar, and another a board with a few nails in it. One guy had a damned cinder block and dropped it on my leg. A nail got stuck in my wing as my hand grappled the crowbar with the other guy. He had cracked it over my head six or so times before I ripped it from his grasp. None of it hurt that bad, they could not even get through my carapace, but it was the principle of the matter.
I rose, fuming, and lifted them by their necks. A good shaking followed by slamming them into the brick wall several times left them groaning on the ground. I wanted to break bones but resisted the urge. "Just calm the fuck down. I could kill you like flies, so just calm down. I don't want to hurt anybody, but if you report me, then I am going to have some serious problems."
"You're killing me!" He screamed, thrashing against my hand. I tightened the grip to shut him up. He gurgled a little.
The other one started crying. "Just let us go. Please have a heart, you monster!"
My mandibles ground together. "Listen to me, will you!"
They whimpered, and I sighed, holding my head. This was all fucking wrong. What the hell am I even going to do with these guys? Should I silence them to make sure they don't squeal? No, I can't do that. I peered around the alleyway — nothing but garbage and the ramshackle hut that was their home. I lifted and carried them to the doorless abode. They fell to the ground, and I stood there with the evilest face I could muster. Needless to say, the smell in this festering rat hole got worse.
"Now, look." I snarled. "I am going to leave you here, and you will not report me. You report me, I will find you, and I will kill you."
They nodded fearfully, I could smell it on them. My antenna squirming, drinking it in, in some ways almost reading their minds, sensing their emotions. Fear was useful, intimidation could get the results wanted assuming their was ample incentive. I had learned that from Molotov and her abuse. Scared things would be less inclined to do something stupid as such, it would be best to remove myself from the equation so to speak. I turned away, climbing up the wall leaving them in the stillness of that fetid alleyway.
I had hardly reached the next building when my antenna perked to the rapid foot steps, one took off running. Son of a bitch! Why can't you listen? For a fucking bum, he was quick. He darted down there, and keeping up on the roof was hard. A sensation welling up in me to pursue, to hunt. By the time I realized what I was doing I had already reached the end of the roof top glaring down at him and the street below. He screamed and made as much noise as possible. Damn, it's all to hell! People had already noticed. He escaped out into the street. They were pointing at me and taking pictures. Their voices grated against my antenna.
"Someone call the police!"
"Monster!"
"Are the Mad Dogs up to something? Get the god damned heroes over here!"
No, no, no. Shit! I ran. It was all that I could do. These people were not going to listen to me. I should have just booked it from the start instead of following him. I fucked up.