Chapter Text
Tommy wasn't a murderer.
Seriously. He wasn't a murderer. But he sure as hell wasn't against becoming one—especially while staring at this dick who'd decided to back out of their deal.
"You said we’d split the money in half." Teeth gritted and canines drawn, he clenched his fists at his sides. Had he been a shifter, the guy would’ve probably already been torn to pieces. Fucking seismos. Tommy had never met one he didn't hate.
"And? Deals change. It's 50 bucks. Take it or leave it." The guy blew a cloud of smoke into his face before letting go of his cigarette and rubbing it into the pavement with his boot. "Not gonna wait all day, mod. Take it or you won't get shit."
"Yo Gene, what's taking so long?" one of Gene’s henchmen shouted from behind him, opening a flame in his palm and setting a scrap of wood that had fallen from the alleyway dumpster on fire. Tommy felt like barfing when he caught a whiff of the burnt smell.
He snatched the money from his hand and stuffed it in his jean pockets, barely contained his fist from swinging at Gene’s repulsive face. The guy bared a disgusting smirk and buried a hand in his back pockets while stepping back and gesturing goodbye with two fingers drawn.
"See ya, mod. Don't waste it all on Alex." Gene’s brash snicker only made his blood boil, and Tommy turned on his heel before his instincts pushed him into a fight.
Making his way toward the alley opening, he slipped the wrinkled bill out and glanced at it, the sunbeams bending around the corner of the bricked building and illuminating the paper, instantly revealing the lack of glowing marker printed on.
Fucking-
Tommy spun on his heel. “Hey!” he yelled out.
Gene halted. He turned in time to see Tommy trot toward him with a demon’s stare, his fists ready to smash in his face.
Tommy crumpled the fake bill into a ball and threw it at his feet.
“Who do you think you are, you bitch?”
Gene had the nerve to laugh. “You don’t wanna start that here, kid. Won’t go pretty for ya.”
That was it.
Tommy had had enough. He stomped forward, readying his fists until the guy kneeled down and placed a palm to the ground. A crack ripped through the dirt and caused a chunk to blast out and slam Tommy straight in the chest. It sent him flying out of the alley and into the hood of a car.
His lungs were on fire. His ringing ears focused on the blaring alarm cars surrounding him and the hushed voices coming from bystanders nearby. He twisted and pushed the chunk of the ground off, tried to regain his breath and cease the pressure on his chest from the impact. Sliding off the dented hood and unable to control his footing, he fell to his knees. His mop of blonde hair shrouded his pained expression. He pressed his palms against the rash concrete of the road and coughed like he was trying to dislodge a rock from his chest.
The car alarms reverberated from every direction, and his eardrums felt like they were on the edge of bursting. He could feel every tiny sediment pressing against his palms, the aluminum can pull tab digging into his left knee. He could hear every whisper behind him clear as day, even hear the people stop to witness the scene in front of them.
Footsteps approached the front of him and Gene’s voice resounded from above. “I warned you, mod.” He could almost hear his dirty smirk through his jeering tone, and if he’d been able to breathe and stand properly, Tommy was sure Gene’s face would be unrecognizable. He just had to get on his feet—then Gene would be done for.
He tried forcing himself upward, but Gene only pressed his foot on his back and pushed him down, rubbing his cheek against the rough asphalt like he’d done to his cigarette butt.
Tommy shouldn’t have taken the job. Vik had warned him about dealing with street Extramundanes like Gene. He’d warned him and yet Tommy had still been stupid enough to take it. All for a hundred shitty worthless dollars.
If Vik had been there, he’d have probably called Tommy a dumbass.
“You’re a master.” Tommy’s voice was strained. His vision at the corner of his eye was blurry but clear enough to see Gene grin wickedly at him. Fuck. Apart from being a seismo, he was also evolved. Tommy had the absolutely shittiest luck in the entire universe.
“And you’re a lil’ dumb mod who doesn’t know his place here. Where are your parents, kid? Seattle streets ain’t for kindergarteners.”
“I’m almost thirteen you bitch.”
Gene’s boot crushed him harder, making it hard to breathe. Yeah, Tommy was a dumbass. But it wasn’t like he was lying. Gene was a little bitch who liked to pretend he was all that. Sure, he might’ve been a Geo-master. Sure, he might’ve all those street brats kneeling down and licking his boots. Sure, he was kinda big. But he was stupid as shit. The only reason Tommy saw him getting to his rank in the streets was probably because he was massive and ugly and repelled every creature within a mile radius with his hideous face and disgusting cigarette stench. Yeah, he seemed like the perfect boss to an army of roaches. Not to mention, he reckoned the community didn’t quite enjoy Gene wrecking the place and setting off earthquakes or making the place look like Tarzan’s jungle with all the nasty vines he left in his path. If anything, Tommy figured he’d be better off trading cows and growing giant beanstalks. Not that Gene even had the business skills to sell a cow—he’d probably threaten the poor victim into buying it.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, kid.”
“So you admit you’re a treehugger?” His eyes squeezed tight when Gene bent down and gripped the back of his hair, pressing it harder into the street. That was going to be one hell of a rash.
“You got a big mouth on ya.”
One of his bootlickers stepped forward. “Gene, it’s not worth-”
“Sounds like ya need to be taught a lesson. Trust me. You’ll thank me later for this,” said, the rotten stench of his breath on Tommy’s face.
Tommy breathed in and braced for impact.
One second passed. And then two. And three. And no longer feeling the pressure of Gene’s foot on his back or his hand clutching his hair, he opened one eye to glance up.
He regretted it almost instantly. The orb of light above him was so bright his retinas burned, and he had to blink his eyes a few times until he saw it began to fade. Gene had stepped back and was holding his arm in front of his eyes and staring at the newcomer above Tommy in surprise.
The sun behind the mysterious stranger made him appear a shadow despite the beams enwrapping his body like he was glowing. Tommy had to squint to even properly make out his face.
His brown hair was spiky and messy and leaned toward his right eye, a beanie peeking out of the sides even though Tommy couldn’t see the top of his head. He was wrapped inside a large trench coat that reached mid-thigh, impressive seeing as he was almost a head taller than Gene. He wore big, chunky dark grey boots that smelled like dirty socks from Tommy’s angle.
However, his most evident feature was his smile: sly and crooked and charismatic—like he could walk into a room and a spotlight would drag everyone’s attention to him without a second thought.
“What the hell are you doing here? This ain’t your territory, Will.”
“I can go wherever the fuck I want.” His British accent made Tommy’s breath hitch, not having heard one in years. Not since… He swallowed, quickly dismissing the thought.
“Oh really?” Gene stepped forward, though Will didn’t look intimidated. Instead, he only raised an eyebrow and slipped his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Don’t think daddy would be very happy to see ya messing with the wrong crowd. What about your little ‘courageous’ mission?” he spat.
Tommy got on his feet and tried to decipher what was going on. Seattle was undoubtedly proving to be a weirder place than Bellevue, and he was absolutely lost.
Will snorted. “Projecting our daddy issues now, are we, Gene? What’s wrong?” He tilted his head and smirked wider. “Your dad left to buy some cigarettes and that’s why you ended up so fucked up?” Maintaining that enlightening edge of confidence in his tone, he asked, “And what would you know about courage? You spend your time bullying innocent children and mugging hard-working people who got nothing but families to feed, right?”
Gene growled. He opened his mouth to no doubt spit out more nonsense until he was stopped by the sound of approaching sirens. Tommy would’ve cracked up at that oh-shit look on his face if he wasn’t showing off the same one.
“Fuck you,” he snarled before backing away and scrambling off behind his roach buddies.
Looking almost as concerned as Gene did, Will backed off too and sent Tommy a sparing glance before he hurried away. Unsure of where to run off to and hearing the police sirens grow louder, Tommy settled for trailing behind Will and calling out, “Hey!” as he did.
“Get lost, kid.” Will walked faster.
“Hey!” Tommy struggled to catch up as his ribs still somewhat hurt from Gene’s attack. He followed Will when he ducked into an alleyway. Behind him, Tommy caught sight of the police cars arriving with their guns drawn and some of the civies pointing toward the directions of the escaped EMs. One asshole pointed their way.
Too busy with the shitstorm happening behind him, he bumped hard into Will’s back, and when he turned, he realized they’d run into a dead-end in the alley and there was no way out but toward the policeman who was headed their way.
“What are we-” Will wrapped his arms around Tommy’s shoulders and pressed a hand over his mouth, dragging him behind a dumpster.
Tommy struggled against his grasp until Will snarled, “Don’t you fucking dare move.” Tommy froze.
Slowly, he witnessed as his own body disappeared from below him, the light around them bending and camouflaging them against the brick wall they were leaned against. Tommy’s breath hitched when one of the officers trotted next to them, shining his flashlight against the fence and glancing around, so close he almost brushed Tommy’s figure until Will pulled him aside.
“All clear!” the man shouted and reunited with his crew at the end of the alley.
A few minutes went by without them returning and when they heard the sirens turn on again and drive away, Will finally let him go and turned them visible again.
Tommy found he was still out of breath as he altered rushed glances between the alley opening and Will. “You’re a Photo?”
Will snorted. “You sure are slow if you just realized.”
“Well It’s not like I was able to talk with your dirty hand over my mouth!”
Will huffed. He brushed past Tommy and stepped toward the exit.
“Hold on! Where’re you going?” Tommy chased after him, still wanting to know what the fuck had just happened. Who was he? Why had he defended him? How did he know Gene? What mission were they talking about?
He continued chasing the older teen a few blocks through the neighborhood. Will insisted for Tommy to leave him alone, calling him an annoying brat several times. Yet Tommy didn’t budge. They passed by broken-down factories, shut down businesses, wretched and rundown apartments, and too many homeless druggies littering the streets and begging for cash to count. Tommy ignored them without a second thought. He considered it a favor, really. In his old crew, he’d witnessed first hand what Xela could do to desperate Bio-E’s, and he’d decided long ago he’d never step even a foot close to that life-ruining shit.
Will stopped at a street corner and turned in one swift movement. He loomed over Tommy who almost crashed into him from how fast he’d been walking. “Have you not got something better to do like getting back to your parents or something?”
Tommy clenched his jaw. His eyes traced to the side. They locked onto a woman and her kid hurrying out of a drugstore and searching around in paranoia seeing as the streetlights were starting to turn on. “They’re dead.”
Will was silent. Tommy hated when people went silent—when they assumed he was a sad, lonely child who needed protection. He absolutely hated pity. Although his parents had died when Tommy was just eight, he’d gotten over it long ago. Tommy could take people being angry with him or finding him annoying, but pity was the one emotion he didn’t tolerate.
He turned to leave out of spite, but Will spoke up before he could. “Name’s Wilbur.”
Tommy glanced at him momentarily before replying, “Tommy.”
“So, Tommy, guessing you’re not from around here, right?” Wilbur tilted his head, sending him an annoying side-smirk that Tommy wished he could slap off his face. He was cocky. That was a given.
“Just moved from Bellevue. My old…” he hesitated. “... crew got into some trouble there and we had to split off.”
“Have you got somewhere to spend the night?”
Tommy didn’t answer. He didn’t have to, seeing as Wilbur already knew the answer. He’d gotten good at telling the street rats apart from the normal people. And it was blatantly obvious from the way he handled himself and spoke to Gene that Wilbur was like him.
Wilbur’s smile grew all the bit. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you come with me?”
“How do I know to trust you?”
The truth was Tommy had nothing to lose.
Even if Wilbur ended up being a terrorist, an EM trafficker, or a criminal, what would it matter? Tommy had already lost everything, and at this point, he was only looking to survive another night without a place to go or without the money to buy even a single meal. And clearly, his plan to help out a local gang hadn’t worked out very well for him. Tommy had nothing.
“You don’t.” Wilbur nudged his head forward, and without thinking twice about it, Tommy followed.
* * *
Wilbur’s bunker looked like an absolute shithole. After he had led him behind a sketchy corner tech store (the name was stupid—Technapaloozical’s Repair Shop—what genius came up with that?) and into a door at the side of the worn-down building, they’d walked down a dim staircase leading into an underground hallway. A single metal door with a keycard sensor stood at the end. Wilbur had glanced at Tommy before swiping a card he’d retrieved from his pocket and pushing the door open.
“Welcome to Sleepy HQ.”
Tommy’s eyes traced across the room’s white walls that were stained with yellow patches and beat-down couches in one of the corners in front of a small TV. There was a kitchen behind the living room that obviously hadn’t been cleaned in ages. On the other side, a long hallway with several doors dispersed on both sides led to a single open door at the end of it. “What? Your mum kicked you out of her basement so you had to build your own?”
Wilbur snorted and rolled his eyes before elbowing his shoulder. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
“To who?” Tommy trailed behind Wilbur.
“You mean whom.”
“What?”
Wilbur snickered and raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s to whom.”
“Who the fucking cares?”
Wilbur snorted again and then rolled his eyes. They entered the door at the end of the hallway. It seemed to be a meeting room topped with a large table, a huge computer and a screen above it showing the camera feedback from the entrance to the building and the inside of the technology store. There was a blonde guy with a dumb green and white striped hat facing away from them working away on the computer.
“Hey, Phil,” Wilbur called out, and the guy—man?—turned.
Phil smiled when he saw Wilbur, though his face turned confused when he caught sight of Tommy and he got up from his rolling chair to approach them. He was shorter than Wilbur and appeared as intimidating as a rabbit. The guy looked like an absolute pushover. “Who’s this?” he asked. And yet again, Tommy was taken aback by another British accent.
“A mod I found picking a fight with Gene.”
Phil raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down, almost as if he couldn’t believe Tommy could pose a threat. He crossed his arms and stood a little taller next to Wilbur (which really made no difference).
“You’re a Bio-E?” Phil seemed unconvinced.
Tommy huffed. “Phil, have you got bad ears or something?”
Phil blinked once and then burst into a cackle. He shook his head lightly like he thought Tommy was some cute little vermin. Tommy wanted to punch him.
“What are you laughing at?” He grimaced, pacing his leg up and down and crossing his arms.
“Nothing. You just surprised me is all.” Phil offered his hand with a kind smile. “My name’s Phil.”
He had no interest in shaking his hand, and so he turned to his side and walked around Wilbur, examining the large bulletin board hung on one of the walls with various papers pinned on it. Most appeared to be flyers for businesses and boring calendars with event names scribbled on them.
“Tommy,” he responded. “What is this place?”
“Our home,” Wilbur stated.
Tommy sent him a half-disgusted look and turned up his nose. “You live here? Underground? Is this some sort of hybrid mole society I don’t know about?”
“Let’s just say the rent for this place isn’t so bad,” Phil replied before he made his way back to the computer again and turned off the monitor. Tommy only caught a glimpse of some wordy email before the screen turned black.
“Tommy’s new to the city.”
“Really? When did you get here, mate?”
Tommy pursed his lips and slumped down on the rolling chair, spinning around and staring at the ceiling. “Last week.”
“By yourself?”
The question left a bad taste in Tommy’s mouth, and he pressed his sneakers onto the concrete, the chair freezing abruptly. “Yeah.”
It took a moment for Phil to answer. “Do you need a place to stay? We have room here and enough food.”
Tommy met Phil’s eyes. He was difficult to read. There didn’t seem to be bad intention behind his words and he also wasn’t giving Tommy a pity stare. He wasn’t sure he trusted it. “I don’t need your charity.”
“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Phil pulled out the non-rolling chair next to Tommy and sat on it backwards, resting his arms over the back of it and watching him with what seemed to be honest intent. “You’re not a charity case. In fact, we could use some help.”
Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Help with what?”
“We’re trying to find more people for our group. One dedicated to helping out the EMs in this community—people like you-”
“People like me?” Tommy gritted his teeth. His fist clenched as he watched Phil with a glare.
“What Phil is trying to say is we’re trying to help EMs who don’t have a support system or even money to live properly.” Wilbur stepped in to stand behind Phil. He was using his charm-flashing smile, the one most people wouldn’t be able to see through when he was trying to persuade them. But Tommy could. He’d dealt with enough Photos to know how cunningly persuasive they could be. He was trying to appeal to Tommy—make him think he needed help from some wannabe hero squad.
“How exactly are you doing that?”
“We’re helping shelters specialized for this stuff, signing petitions for protective anti-discrimination laws from organizations and common people, stuff like that. There’s a lot of behind the scene work going on at the city council.” Phil’s gentle smile widened, and he leaned forward cautiously, as if Tommy was a skittish rodent. “We’re set on doing things peacefully.”
There was the catch. Peacefully . Against violence. Bending down to the sickos in charge of the government without dignity and pleading for help that would never arrive—that would have the big wigs laughing. Because nobody cared about EMs like them. Nobody cared about people like Tommy—street rats they’d call pest control on sooner or later. And people like Phil made for easy targets. People like Phil were only out to get their necks slashed.
“You’re a peace warrior,” Tommy said with disgust.
Phil paused, seemingly taken aback by Tommy’s tone.
“We’re not looking for trouble, Tommy.” Wilbur replied for him. He had that look in his eyes that Tommy hated, the one that people gave him when they thought they knew better.
“It’s practically suicide.”
“And recklessly seeking violence while hurting innocent bystanders isn’t?” Wilbur scoffed, crossing his arms. His tone was cold and stern, the complete opposite of the charming, bright guy he’d met just a few hours ago. “We’re doing things the right way.”
“At least we-”
“Stop.” Phil slammed his hand on the table, his voice not aggressive enough to be angry but loud enough to remain stern. He sighed, running his fingers under his hat to wipe the sweat below it. “Look, Tommy. Why don’t you stay here a few days? We’ll let you see what we do first-hand. Then you can decide if you want to stay. I’d rather not have you roaming the streets alone. Things aren’t as bad in Bellevue as they are here.”
Tommy huffed. He leaned back on the chair and smacked his lips in disdain. “I can take care of myself.” He traced his eyes over Phil’s appearance, turning up his nose at it. He looked like a soccer dad ready to drive his kids to a match, nothing like the kind of person who would know even a single thing about living in the streets. “Besides. Who are you to think you can defend me? Some civie who can’t even stand his ground?”
Wilbur snorted behind him, turning on his heel and retreating toward the door like he’d lost interest in the conversation. Phil smiled. “I’m not as weak as you think, mate.”
“Oh yeah?” Tommy broke out into a confident grin. He arched an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Prove it.”
Phil didn’t even attempt to move. Simply sat there and stared at him. After a few seconds of nothing, Tommy laughed, leaning back again and crossing his arms. Of course Phil was a civie without a single clue of what it was like out there for EMs who didn’t have a fancy family with money to commit them to a private school with stuck-up super-powered children.
He felt a tickling on his neck, like a bug was crawling up his skin. Without turning, he smacked it. Though he quickly found it wasn’t a bug. His palm jerked away when he gripped it and it stung him. Looking to the side, he stumbled back in shock and slipped out of his chair as he faced the massive, thorny vine that had grown from the plant bowl tucked in the corner of the room that he hadn’t noticed when he had arrived.
“What the fuck-” he exclaimed as the vine retreated into the dirt, burying itself like it hadn’t just come out like a giant fucking anaconda with deathly spikes.
As if it couldn’t get worse. He turned back to Phil who looked slightly amused and exclaimed, “You’re seismo?”
“I prefer the term Geo. But yes. A master, actually.”
Two masters in one fucking day? Tommy had only met a handful of masters in all his time alive. And now, somehow, he’d run into two evolved EMs in the span of a few hours. Both whom we’re fucking seismos. The most untrustable and uncontained of the Elementals.
Jumping to his feet, Tommy grimaced. “I’m out,” he told him as he walked toward the door. Both Phil and Wilbur appeared too dumbfounded to stop him. And when he reached the door, he ran into a third person. Fucking perfect. How many lunatics lived in this place?
The guy was only a few inches taller than him with a high, bright pink half-bun, bloody eyes that seemed to glow like rubies in the light, and what looked to be a permanent frown etched to his face. His expression was the definition of a resting bitch face.
He took one look at Tommy and said, “So was nobody going to tell me we rescued another orphan or..?”
“Techno, it’s not the time-”
“I’m not a rescue you bitch!” Tommy stepped forward. He puffed out his chest and tried to stand half on his heels while glaring up at him.
Techno remained unfazed, even exchanged looks with Wilbur and Phil behind him before locking eyes with Tommy again, only offering an unimpressed eyebrow raise. Tommy decided he hated him right then and there. He hated all of them.
Scowling, he pushed past Techno, slamming his shoulder as he did. He stomped toward the exit, only heard Phil call his name. He ignored it. Making his way out of the bunker and up the stairs, he cursed himself for shivering as he felt the chilly night breeze hit his face as soon as he opened the metal door. He let it slam behind him, and he took a look around at the desolate alleyway.
He buried his hands into his pockets and refused to look back as he made his way out. He slept in a makeshift cardboard box under a bridge next to a few half-dead Xelies whose rib cages and hip bones were visible through their clothing.
He dreamt of nothing that night.
* * *
Tommy awoke to the overwhelming stench of cigarette breath and smelly feet. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was an old man smiling maniacally with half his yellow and brown teeth missing and holding two thumbs up.
“Do you need something?” he asked him, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up.
“You look like a nice young man. Care to help me with something? I just need you to exchange these for some money.” He pointed at his shopping cart which was full of random canned goods.
Sending him a skeptical look, he asked, “Why?”
The man lost his smile. His voice grew more shaky and strained. “Look, kid. I just need the money. I’ll give you ten dollars if you do this for me.”
“Why can’t you do it?” Tommy narrowed his eyes.
The man sighed. “She doesn’t want to buy them from me. Look, kid, are you gonna do it or not?”
Tommy pursed his lips, taking a good look at the man’s appearance—dirty rags that hung off his limbs, bare feet stained with muck and scratches, red dots and purple bruising scattered throughout his inner forearms. Clenching his jaw, he said, “No.”
“Come on, kid.” The man took hold of Tommy’s arm and squeezed tight before he could walk off. “Help an old man out.” His words were sharp, void of their previous polite tone.
“Just leave me the fuck alone and go ask someone else to help you kill yourself.” Tommy yanked his arm away and started to walk away, but the man turned him in one swift movement, pinning him and raising him against the concrete pillar with one hand, using the kind of strength not unusual for a Bio-E. Tommy was surprised he was still capable of it with the amount of blue liquid shit he’d injected into his bloodstream.
“Listen here, boy, you’re going to sell those cans whether-”
“He’s not going to do that.” A familiar voice perked next to them, and they both turned to see Wilbur standing a few meters away with both hands buried inside his trench coat. “You won’t fool her, mate. The shopkeeper’s going to know as soon as he steps inside the shop all nervous and scared. Won’t give him shit. She’s dealt with enough Xelies to know their dirty tricks.”
The man grumbled, loosening his grip of Tommy’s shirt and letting his feet touch the ground again. Tommy pushed him away instantly and stepped to the side to gain some distance in between them. Glaring at them, the man gripped his cart and rolled it away, leaving Tommy and Wilbur standing alone beside the bridge.
“Scared?” Tommy pouted. “I’m not some innocent kid. I had that handled.”
Wilbur snorted. “Right. Come on. Walk with me.”
Stubbornly, Tommy followed. They walked for a few blocks in complete silence, only listening to police sirens in the distance and kids shouting in the streets as they passed a football around. “What? Are you trying to kidnap me again?”
“I thought you said you weren’t a kid.”
He snorted, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk in front of them and sending it flying a few meters. “I also don’t take naps.”
Wilbur scoffed. He stopped and for a moment, Tommy thought he’d insulted him until he realized he was facing a worn-out blue building with barred up windows and a sign on the side that read ARRC Shelter.
“What?” Tommy stared at him without understanding. “Do you think I need a homeless shelter?” He scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring. As if Tommy would ever find himself in a place like that full of druggies and alcoholics.
“No. I want to show you something.” Wilbur opened the door and signaled for him to walk inside.
Tommy groaned and followed along seeing as he had nothing better to do. It was a spacious building that opened into a cafeteria with tables covered in plastic wraps spread around and folks sitting and conversing while others dug into their meals (which appeared to be some sort of brown ground meat paired with beans). There was a kitchen window at one of the walls where a worker was serving plates to a short line of people. It vaguely reminded Tommy of the food shelters he would visit with his parents in other countries where he’d have to carry heavy stuff and they’d be at the places for hours helping people he knew they’d never even see again.
We’re trying to make our mark in the world, his mother would always tell him when he’d asked. Tommy had always thought it was a stupid purpose. It’s not like they’d be able to help every person on the planet, especially when somebody bad always came around and messed everything up again.
“Why are we here?”
“You wanted to know what we do, right? I’m going to show you.” Wilbur kept walking, leading him through a hallway past rooms with bunk beds and small wooden wardrobes. He stopped before room 124 where a guy with somewhat long hair was comfortably sitting on the bottom bunk of a bed reading a book with a yellowing cover and scratches on the spine. Tommy looked at Wilbur in confusion, unsure of why he was taking him there.
Wilbur didn’t explain. Instead, he stepped inside the room and said, “Aye, Leo, how are you, mate? Still got that fantasy novel obsession, I reckon?”
Leo looked up, offering him a crooked smile and springing out of the bed to greet him with a hug. Patting him on the back, he said, “Will! Been missing you. Doing great so far. Cristie really knows how to run this place smoothly. Though that woman sure is scary when you try to sneak in past curfew.” He laughed and shook his head.
Wilbur chuckled and pulled away. “Cristie can be intimidating when she wants to be.” He looked toward Tommy who was examining Leo with a blank expression. He wasn’t quite sure why Wilbur would bring him to meet some random hippie-looking guy who smelled faintly of Doritos and old books. “This is Tommy.”
Leo looked his way, and Tommy found himself stepping back when he approached, but instead of a hug, he offered a firm handshake. Tommy reluctantly shook it. “Hello.”
“Tommy, huh? Planning on joining us?”
He huffed. “Not at all.”
“Tommy’s just curious to know what it is we do here, right?” Wilbur said, sending him an annoying grin. Tommy settled for a simple nod followed by an obvious yawn. If Wilbur was trying to make some sort of point, it was missing the mark terribly.
Leo raised both eyebrows and his smile widened. “Only the nicest shelter in Seattle. Will, here, found me passed out in the street from a Xela overdose months ago and brought me here. Most places don’t take people like me, but Cristie welcomed me with open arms and no questions asked. I almost relapsed a couple of times but Phil hooked me up with a rehab therapist and never gave up on-”
Tommy tapped his foot impatiently as Leo continued his story. It wasn’t that he was an insensitive guy (well, maybe just a bit, but to be fair, not many people thus far had really warranted any of Tommy’s compassion. Most people were either stupid enough to get themselves hooked on Xela or they complained too much). It was more so that he wasn’t sure why it mattered to him. So they’d helped one Xelie off the streets, so what? There were still a million others out there willingly killing themselves who’d never recover—who’d end up a corpse littered on the streets to be picked up by the government and turned to ashes with the “kindness-of-their-heart” money contributions from pharmaceutical companies. The same people responsible for dropping off fucked up shit into dirt-poor communities to remain atop their capitalistic empire. If anybody asked Tommy, it was always better to deal with the root cause over the effects. And he didn’t see anybody trying to actively kick down the bad guys.
“- best people I’ve ever met. Changed my life. I don’t think I’ve ever considered any other place home.”
“That’s nice,” Tommy muttered. Wilbur sent him a side-glare.
Instead of appearing offended, Leo only snickered. He slid his hands in his jean pockets and tilted his head slightly as he observed him, deep-in-thought. It made Tommy shuffle uncomfortably.
After a moment, he said, “You remind me of a younger version of me.”
Just the thought of it aggravated Tommy like nothing else, and he quickly replied, “I’d never end up a Xelie.”
“Alright. I think that’s enough of that. Sorry about him, Leo,” Wilbur rushed to speak and pull Tommy aside as if he hadn’t been the one to drag him over here in the first place.
Leo seemed to take no offense. “I hope you don’t,” he chuckled and paused, thinking it over. “You look like a strong kid. I was like that once too until I decided I could try to carry the world on my shoulders. Didn’t work of course, and I was too arrogant to ask for help.” His smile grew all the bit. “Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is admit you need it.”
Tommy didn’t say anything as Wilbur led him out. He didn’t need Leo’s advice because he wasn’t planning to get involved with Xela anytime soon. Neither was he planning to find another crew. Judging by last time, it was only a matter of time before he’d end up on his own again anyway, so he might as well learn to live on the streets by himself over joining some little activist group—much less a peace warrior one.
“You really think that’d convince me to stay?”
Wilbur shrugged. “I figured it wouldn’t. But I think something else might.”
He led Tommy through the cafeteria. As he did, Wilbur waved and greeted people left and right, all who looked happy to see him, engaging him in conversation as if they’d all been his lifelong friends. Wilbur spoke to every single one of them with the same bright smile and eager charisma. Tommy admitted it was fascinating to witness. The last person he’d met with charisma similar to him was Vik, and even Vik didn’t seem to possess the charm Wilbur did.
When they finally reached a closed double door, Wilbur stopped almost instantly. He turned and grinned at him like he knew something Tommy didn’t.
“What?”
Wilbur opened the door, and if Tommy had been in some kind of slapstick cartoon, this would be about the moment where his jaw would literally detach from his skull and hit the floor.
It was a humongous gymnasium that completely contrasted the appearance of the rest of the building. Besides the obvious routine gear, there were several agility courses scattered throughout the room that included hoops, obstacle courses, a bouldering wall, balance beams and other impressive and seemingly expensive training equipment. There were a couple of people working out on the normal machines, others hanging going through the courses and a class of a handful of people practicing some sort of dance.
Tommy approached one of the obstacle courses to watch a girl as she hopped from hoop to hoop a few feet in the air above a pit of foam blocks. He’d always heard one of the mods at his old crew talk on and on about Bio-E gyms and he’d certainly seen them advertised on television with pricey subscription costs, but he’d never actually stepped foot in one.
“The whole building is rubbish. How the fuck did you afford to build this gym?”
“Didn’t I say Phil and I were working on ways of helping EMs in the community?”
“You didn’t say you were buying them a whole gym,” he replied as he slid out one of the staffs in what seemed to be a sparring square and swung it around maniacally, mimicking the Bio-E’s he’d seen in movies.
“Alright…” Wilbur stepped back when Tommy swung a little too far and almost took his head off.
Stopping his reckless movement, Tommy put the staff back in its place and muttered a rather quiet, “Sorry.”
“It’s a Bio-E recreation center. Our shelter houses EMs all across the board but it’s especially suited toward helping rehabilitating Bio-E’s who have nowhere to go.”
“But how did you afford to build all of this?”
Wilbur snickered. Crossing his arms, he regarded Tommy with amusement. “The warehouse was already a part of the building, but we just renovated it with money we got through donations and community events Phil set up.”
“Phil did this?” Tommy asked with a skeptical eyebrow raise.
“More or less. He wasn’t the only one, but he is kind of the boss with handling these sorts of things. Cristie might be in charge of running the place, but Phil’s in charge of all the business that keeps it funded.”
“And what do you do?” Tommy narrowed his eyes.
“I’m the head of the social chair, if it wasn’t obvious.”
“What does that mean?”
Wilbur snorted. “I’m in charge of talking to people in the community and making referrals. Also if Phil needs me to sweet-talk anyone, I’m here for that too.”
Rolling his eyes, Tommy scoffed. “Because everybody just loves you.”
“Aye, you’re starting to get it, mate.” Wilbur patted his back and signaled toward the door. As they headed back into the cafeteria, Tommy spotted Phil and Techno talking to a petite lady near the entrance. He let out a groan as he figured it meant he was about to get another salesman pitch. Though funnily enough, he wasn’t as against sticking around anymore.
They approached the trio, and upon getting closer, Tommy saw her name tag read ‘Cristie.’ They all turned their attention to Tommy and Wilbur once they came into view. Phil’s expression brightened upon seeing him, and Tommy felt slightly annoyed at his cheery attitude. So maybe he was kinda a decent person but it didn’t mean he was as great as everyone claimed him to be.
“Tommy!” Phil exclaimed and patted Wilbur’s shoulder as he went to stand by him. Wilbur flashed him a smile. “Looks like Wilbur managed to convince you to stay after all, didn’t he?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Tommy replied nonchalantly and crossed his arms.
“But you will, won’t you, mate? We could use your help around here.”
Tommy looked in between the four. Cristie who was smiling a little too hard. Phil whose gaze seemed hopeful. Wilbur who looked like he knew something amusing that Tommy didn’t. Then his eyes landed on Techno who was standing on Phil’s other side with a poker face. “Techno doesn’t seem very happy to have me,” he commented.
“What? Happy to take in another stray?” Techno let out a dry chuckle and put his hands in his pockets. He raised his eyebrows as he locked onto Tommy’s skeptical expression. “Phil picks those up in his free time.”
“So you’re a stray too. What? Did Phil adopt you from a pig farm?”
It earned a laugh from Wilbur and Phil, and Tommy grinned. He observed Techno carefully but he noticed no effect beside the slightest upward turn in the corners of his mouth. The guy might’ve as well been a brick because that’s all Tommy had been able to get out of him since he’d encountered him the previous day. He reminded him of those royal guards back in Britain who Tommy spent so much time trying to make laugh when he was small.
“I wouldn’t even be doing this if it wasn’t for him,” Phil admitted as he patted his back, standing like a proud father in between Techno and Wilbur. For some reason, the action ticked Tommy off, and he forced himself to look away.
“So, Tommy, do you plan on joining us?” Cristie finally spoke and offered him the shiniest smile of the bunch. “We’re just here to change lives for the better.”
Tommy pursed his lips. He looked across the cafeteria and noticed all the bright smiles and cheerful laughter coming from the residents, many of them with varying levels of scars on their arms. He thought back to what Vik had told him the last time they’d talked—the last time Tommy had seen him.
“It ain’t worth taking you down with us, Tommy. You’re just a kid. Go live your life,” he’d told him a second before pushing him back and shutting the garage door on him, leaving Tommy slamming against the metal with hot tears trailing down his cheeks.
It was a bad idea. Tommy knew that. But it was either this or going back into the streets and figuring out when he’d get his next meal. At least here, he wouldn’t have to worry about food or a place to stay in for the night. Besides, it wasn’t like it was permanent. Tommy could leave whenever he grew bored of it—they couldn’t force him to stay.
“Fine.”
Phil flashed him the biggest smile he’d seen. “Brilliant! I reckon you won’t regret it, mate.”