Chapter Text
Your name is Dirk Strider and you don’t know what the fuck you have gotten yourself into.
Maybe if you hadn't felt so tired none of this unnecessary shit would have happened, because as of now you are racing down the street, at full speed. You apparently had been so exhausted that you decided that it would be a good idea to send one of your robots to do the hero work for you. Which was a great plan, because why not? You had a machine that could do the whole super hero and saving people shit for you, so why even bother doing it yourself? You thought it must have been the best idea you had come up with recently since the bags under your eyes from sleep deprivation had yet to disappear. For hours a night, on end, you would be slaving over your workbench trying to come up with new gadgets to make and sell for just a little extra money.
They sell at a well rounded price, and it was just enough to survive in the rundown, crap-shack that you called home. It was hard being a hero when no one even knows who you are, therefore you don't get paid, but its all part of the hero code. It pretty much stated that it would be unjust if one hero was to get more gain than the average hero and so on. But if it were up to you; you would call that out as BS.
For the things that one man has to do for the safety of others, you sure as hell wish you got paid some money. Then you could actually build some high quality robots and animatronics. So maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't get a call at three in the morning stating that the brobot you sent out to save people was now going haywire through the streets trying to knock down every old lady and child it saw.
Not that they would be prancing about at this time of night but still, punching a dude is a little much. And who's to say some old lady isn’t sleepwalking after getting high on her pain meds and old people vitamins? She could get sucker punched right in the jaw and having to explain that to the police was not your forte.
Your legs heave and grow heavy with exhaustion. As if it isn't already bad enough for you. The burning feeling in your calves and the way your feet started to get as heavy as lead reminded you that you need to work out more, and perhaps try not to miss leg day next time you hit the gym.
You can tell you are getting closer to the psychotic contraption when the streets all around you reek of absolute destruction. A telephone pole is split in half and crushing a nearby fence, a flipped car and smashed fire hydrant spews water like a fountain. You curse to yourself knowing that you’ll have to fix that somehow, and praying that by some slim chance it wasn't your robot that had caused it. Unfortunately for you those prayers were not answered when you stumble further into downtown Skaiopolis. You slow your pace to check out the damage.
The first small town store you stumble across has a shattered window, shards of glass litter the streets and glimmer under the moonlight. The next shop has its door ripped right off the hinges. You wish you could blame it on the robbers you originally sent the robot out to get but you know that no regular human could have that kind of strength and brute force. It must have been your lunatic contrivance, and from some of the damage that has been done it is starting to worry you, if only slightly. You really hope a lawsuit won't be filed for this. Well you might be able to slip by that one since you’re a protector of the city and all that jazz.
A loud, vehement sound jars you from your thoughts. You whip your head to the direction of the sound and stop in your tracks to get a good eye of just what you’re dealing with here. Just the next street down you can see it, your deranged robot. He looks just like you but chrome tinted, and well, not alive. Other than that you could say it’s an exact replica. Same slicked back hairstyle, same pointy anime shades (though you are wearing goggles at the moment due to your hero costume), and same build. Quite handsome. Another reason why you need to take the guy down quickly so the cops can’t know it was your mistake for letting him rampage about in the city in the first place.
You squint your eyes to get a closer look at what he was up to.
It seems like he was just gallivanting about, recklessly going head on into some street side trash cans, kicking and knocking them over before he starts heading at another closed store.
You swear that it would have been less of a problem if you had just let those robbers get their goods and leave. There would be far less property damage for one thing, Now there’s a deranged robot and a criminal on the loose because of your mistake.
It only makes your calves burn and ache more as you race down the street to your robot. This was really a lot harder than it seemed since you thought your legs were going to give out just about any second. As you run your super suit is getting more and more uncomfortable since you threw it on in under five seconds before leaving your home, and now the realization that you are going to have to fight in it as well just strikes you. God, today you have really fucked up.
Within only just a few feet of the brobot you call out to get his attention. He was charging straight at the front door of the small downtown shop. The shops window was filled with all sorts of pottery and china with hand painted, dainty designs on them. Great. The perfect fucking store for this situation. This was really turning out to be your day- or night that is.
“Hey. Stop it right there.” You command him. Since most of your robots know the sound of your voice you think this one shall listen. But alas this one seems far too out of control, and it makes you wonder what in all of fucks name did you do wrong to mess him up like that.
‘There has to be some major faulty wiring in there somewhere.’ You think.
Instead of listening to you he rams himself, full force, into the door with his shoulder. You hear the wood crack, splinter, and split but not quite break. What is he even seeking in there anyway?
“Oh fuck this.” You mumble to yourself under your breath and walk up to him. All you have to do is dismantle the panel on his back that holds the on and off switch, then you could shut him down. Simple enough right? Right.
Before the robot even had a chance to ram himself back into the door you tackle him from behind and smash him into the ground. You pin him down by the shoulders and reach for your belt which holds a screwdriver, all the while you keep your right arm on the brobot, safely pinning him down.
Or at least you thought you were safely holding him down because in one swift movement he twists his torso around, making you lose your grip and sends a cold metal fist straight at your jaw. The movement was so fast and fluid that you have little time to react, in fact you don’t see it coming at all. When the steel and scrap metal collides with your jaw all you can feel is a piercing pain flow through your face and down you neck as you’re forcefully knocked off the robot’s body.
“Shit.” You curse and hold your jaw, that surely was going to leave a bruise and a heavy mark.
The contraption gets up on his feet and curls it’s fingers into fists. His eyes glow with fire behind the ominous anime shades that you built onto him. He’s ready to fight you.
And you’re ready to take the challenge.
You get to your feet and into a defensive stance; A little pissed that your own invention could lay a good shot on you, but after all you are dead tired and this wasn't making things any better. On the other hand though you know where its weak spots are since you built the dang thing, so maybe this won't be too much trouble. You open and close your mouth a few times trying to get the ache in your jaw to subside, or at least get used to it, so you can better focus on your target. With fists pulled close to your chest you’re ready for brobot to pull the first move, in which he does.
He charges at you in an expeditious manner. A fist aimed right at your face like he was trying to double the pain from what he last caused, but you quickly dodge him and kick his steel chassis away from you
On a usual circumstance you are as fast as lightning but you can't help but feel sluggish, especially when you fail to evade the machines next attack.
A kick to your right hip causes you to grunt in pain and stumble backwards. This really must have been one of your off days; normal occasions you wouldn't fail so horribly at this. You take a few steps back before the brobot can lay another punch on you. Soreness stings and pinches your side. Great, another bruise you’ll have to live with. A sudden heat rushes through your body and tingles in your hands.
Once more he rushes at you again but this time you are a little more prepared. You dodge left and start speeding off down the street.
No, you are not running away, but you were trying to get a better shot at him, hopefully he's not faster than you. The fatigue is overwhelming but you know you have keep going.
Another wave of heat washes over you. It causes you to shudder but you keep running. You turn your head to see if the haywire robot is following you. It turns out he is right on your heels, the red of his eyes blare and seem to be slowly getting closer.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Those seem to be about the only words you mutter say at the moment because you know you might just be totally fucked here. The only thing that pierces your hearing as well as your train of thought is creaking of the unoiled, metal hinges of heavy footsteps pounding after you.
You move your feet from the street to the sidewalk. You can't bear the pain in your legs from running and the horrid irritation coming from your side.
You stop and whirl around. The brobot is right there. Right next to you still in a full speed charge, ready to tackle you to the ground and beat the ever living shit out of you. Another static heat wave floods your inner core.
In a instantaneous movement you grab him right before he slams into you.
You are still knocked back every so slightly from his speed but still manage to turn and hurl his body in an electricity pole. It must have been pretty forceful because he seems dazed, and his arm twitches just once.
The heat in your body is now unbearable, the static starts to itch at your hands. You’d really hate to ruin one of your creations, but you know you have to. You can feel the sparks start to ripple across through you. The sensation is almost overbearing. You need to get this energy out of you right now and your failed robot is the perfect subject. Your hand shakes slightly as you hold it in front of brobot. A few sparks of excitement fly from your leather, gloved fingertips. As soon as you fire a bolt of electricity at the machine it snaps its senses together and moves out of the way just in time.
The bolt instead hits the electricity pole, right in the utility box. Sparks go flying in every direction. All the bulbs in the street lights for for what seems like a one mile radius burst. As you look around yourself in astonishment the city is starting to darken, street by street the roads turn black. As everything goes dark your orange eyes flare with electricity and glow right through your shades.
Fuck, what did your powers do? Curse being a damned hero that always screws things up. You knew that the bolt of energy you sent at the brobot was far too much but at the time you didnt care how powerful it was, and now look where that got you. You really need to either learn how to control your superpowers better or never even try to use them at all. That was fairly difficult because even being slightly worked up could set them off. Sometimes you can not help but feel no better than a villain.
You didn’t have anymore thoughts when a sudden punch to the other side of your face is what raps you out of your thoughts. Looks like your feisty robot is still up for the fight.
***
Your name is Jake English, but you prefer to go by your more renowned name, General Terror, when in the company of others. As of now, inside your evil lair, you are shut up in your room reading a quite gracious issue of Deadpool. You love comics but it’s a shame that the villain can never win, and thats all you want. Sometimes the evil doer must win, right? Well of course.
You think that it is more truly a shame that Deadpool started off as a villain but then degraded himself by becoming an anti-hero. More of a mercenary, but still. Such a damn shame that is.
A good question might be, why are you even up this late? It is three in the morning after all. Well you would have liked to have blamed it on your insomnia. If you had insomnia that is.
The truth is that you could just stay up hours on end indulging yourself into a good comic book. It has been a nasty habit of you since you were just a young lad. Your father used to get enraged over it saying that reading them would turn you into a pretentious, smart assed, hero. But you didn’t care, you quite enjoyed them, you thought that maybe by reading them you could learn from the follies of the fictional villains makes and possibly better them. That hasn't worked out for you thus far though you hope maybe the tables will turn one day.
A great action scene is going down, when without any indication whatsoever, all power to your evil lair goes out. You are left in pitch darkness.
Since your eyes don’t have time to adjust you can't even remember what you were last reading, and if not for holding the comic in your hands you would not be able to tell you were even reading something in the first place.
From the pit of your stomach you can feel the anger boil within you. Frowning, you get up from your bed and try to find your closet. You know who did this. You’re pretty damn well sure you know who did this. Only he would try to ruin your serenity, he’s always trying to ruin you though you try to do the same to him. It just makes you absolutely infuriated! Correction, HE makes you absolutely infuriated!
You bump into all sorts of things as you try to find your way to your closet. You smash your side of your desk, and well, that sure hurt like hell. After another stumble over some dirty laundry you have yet to do, and you make it to your closet. You proceed to take out your, pristine white villainous suit with a green cape and a belt that holds your famed green skull symbol on it.
After stripping yourself of your pajamas (which were quite manly and had nothing to do with Hello Kitty you may add, and unquestionably had NOTHING to do with your ex mistress) you gear up into your suit. With an extraordinary amount of luck you find your black boots and slip them on your feet.
The next tricky part you have to get through is finding your handy dandy guns that you always leave by your bed, and it would have probably been smart if you had gotten before you went the get your villain attire, but that obviously slipped your mind.
You stumble back over to your bed, once again slamming your side into the corner of the desk. Well at least you have two symmetrical bruises now, that’s not entirely an upside but you’ll take it for what it is.
On the floor right by your bed lays the two handy guns. They are both quite large laser powered guns but they each serve different purpose. With your eyes just now starting to adjust to the darkness, you pick them up and grip them tightly in your hands. You found them easier than you thought you would.
The first gun, which was the one in your left hand, held a high powered, compressed, shock wave. It wasn’t used for killing but just knocking people off their feet and giving them a good struggle. You would say it was really enjoyable to use, it was the gun you used the most. The second gun, the one held in your right hand, was used for another reason and that was killing. It held compressed laser beams like bullets, but they were far more deadly. Only once have you ever used it to directly kill a living being, and you are not too sure you would like to see the result of it again.
Your father had them hand crafted special, just for you. At first they were both deadly, but you tweaked the left hold one so you wouldn’t just have to kill every living being you came across. When your father found out about it needless to say he was disappointed, but he didn’t stop you from the new arrangements.
Now equipped with your weapons of choice you make your way out of your room and out the evil lair, approaching your garage full of fanciful cars. You had many cars given to you from your father, Ferraris, Koenigsegg, Audi r8, a couple Camaros here and there. Your collection mostly contained of high end sports cars with a few luxury cars thrown in the mix such as a Mercedes-Benz CLA, which was a nice and simple car to drive around town. But by far your most favorite car had to be the Ford GT. You have no reason for liking it as much as you do other than the reason GT was in the title of the car, and the letters already came etched into the door with a silvery flare along with the number 40.
She was truly a beautiful work of art, pristine white all around, well tracked soft rubber tires, a dark green stripe running from the hood to the back bumper. The paint was glossed and when exposed to light would shine with the ever most glory of being well kept. She had sleek well rounded curves. You could say you were very proud of this astonishing piece of work, and would flaunt if off whenever you could. If she was an actual lady, flesh and blood, you would ask her hand in marriage on the spot. Creepy that may be, you assume she would be positively elegant if she were to be a living, breathing being.
You make your way right up to the Ford GT, which is parked closest to the outgoing door since you use it the most. You unlock the door and get in, placing your gun next to you in the passenger seat. When you start the car the headlights almost blind you due to the fact you have almost been surrounded in darkness for the past five minutes and this was surely an swift change for your eyes.
You pull out of the garage and start to make your way to the streets. It was three in the morning during a power outage so you doubt there will be many cars around.
As you drive you pull out your phone and bring up a map.
On one of the roads in the downtown area a red dot blinks. That’s him. That’s where he is. You always know where he is ever since you put a tracking device on the bottom of his boot. Obviously he doesn’t know about it and you’re surprised that it has been nearly three months and yet he hasn’t checked the bottom of his shoes yet. But whatever, that just makes it easier for you to find the poor, obnoxious fellow.
Looking around at the city there are many lights out, few homes were merely saved by a back up power generator. You could run through stop lights with ease, though right now it didn’t even matter, so why the hell not? You put the pedal to the metal.
You drive at top speeds, going nearly twice as fast as the speed limit. Honestly you don’t give a shit if anyone caught you, it was just simple fun with a car built for speed and an expeditious way to your destination. Besides, even if you were caught by another hero or even the police, it wouldn’t matter, they would let you go once they found out who your father was. If it wasn’t for your nemesis you could get away with just about anything.
With a quick glance down to your phone you spot the red blinking light on the map once again. You are nearly there and you press your foot further into the gas pedal.
When you reach the downtown area you finally see him, and a devilish smirk crosses your lips and you slow your car significantly.
There he is, your nemesis, hunched over and out of breath as one of the robots he has built charges at him. What’s even greater is the fact that he hasn’t noticed your presence yet, your car was pretty damn loud, the poor boy must have been deaf.
Maybe tonight will be the night you finally win a battle against him. He is already weak and exhausted. This could be your chance to take him down and tell your father that you can be just as good as he is. Not once in the two years of knowing your rival have you been able to best him. You always come home bruised and beaten, but never will you give up. You only serve as a disappointment to your father. Sometimes he visits you to see your progress and tries his damned hardest to support your failures but most of the time you think he’s ready to disown you.
Not tonight. You think this can really work out for you. As you watch him struggle to fend off the brobot it only makes you laugh. This will be so easy.
Just for fun you rev up your engine. You watch him as he whips his attention from the oncoming robot to you. You see his lips move as his gaze drops on your car.
“Fuck.” And even though you can only see the movement of his mouth, you feel as though you can hear the words as they drip from his lips.
From the distraction he had forgot about the robot. You nearly laugh your knickers off --If you had or partook in the wearing of knickers that is-- as he gets tackled to the ground. Not once have you seen him this pathetic and there was a time where you thought you have seen him at a low.
You reach over to your passenger seat and grab the guns that rest there. You fit them perfectly in your hands and grip them firmly. You love the feel of them, and their weight, it’s all just so comfortable to you. You just wouldn’t be the same without them.
You open the door and step out of the Ford GT. Leaning against its frame, and a smug look draws all over your face as you call out to you nemesis who is struggling to fend of the brobot as they wrestle in the dirt.
“Hey there Tailorbird. Having a bit of a tough brawl here, are we?”
He says something back but but you can’t even understand him over his heavy breathing with the ravenous endeavor he is having. Or maybe he just didn’t hear you and was uttering some other nonsense under his breath. You clear your throat and say it again, this time a little louder and a little clearer. “Ahem, hey there Tailorbird. Having a bit of a tough brawl here, are we?”
You wait for him to reply but he is too caught up fighting the robot as his strength depletes. As much as you want to see the shit beat right out of him this was rather boring and pathetic. You were the one that actually wanted to be hovering over him and beating him to a pulp. How you would love to be the one pulling punches on him. It’s no fun if it’s not you that is the one who is doing it.
With a deep sigh you hold up the gun held in your right hand and aim it at the brobot who now was now pinning your rival’s shoulders down and about to knee him in the stomach. With a roll of your eyes you pull the trigger. The blast of the laser bullet initiated from the gun rips the robots shoulder open. Twisted metal, bolts, and wiring goes everywhere, scattering along the ground. The body of the robot flies off of The Tailorbird and lands about a foot away from him.
The body twitches merely a few times before it stops, its eyes fade from bright orange to nothingness, and what once was an artificial life form of exuberant intelligence now lay on the ground, cold and completely lifeless.
A thin trail of smoke runs into the cool night air from the gun. You watch as The Tailorbird sits up then slowly turns his attention to you. Your emerald green eyes stare into those of The Tailorbirds’; which flare in golden orange anger and hatred, but also show exhaustion and weakness through his askew goggles. His eyes glow from the electricity flowing through his body and bite right into you.
Oh how he hates you, he hates you so much, and to think you caught him at a time of vulnerability makes his hate grow until it’s visible to the naked eye. The way the hate snakes off his skin and into your own. The way a paltry electrical bolt dances around his gloved fingertips. He hates you so much and you love it like that.
You lower the gun to your hip and a complacent smirk returns to your lips. “Hey Tailorbird, sorry for the destruction of something precious, but you weren't answering me before.”
You get another cold glare from him. He puts a hand to his head and closes his eyes for a moment. After a moment of meditation he sets his shaded goggles straight.
“I’m pretty sure I told you to fuck off about three times.” He retorts and and slowly gets to his feet. His legs are are a bit shaky and you can tell he is distressed. You pretend not to notice his unsteady legs or at least you try not to laugh at how pathetic he is.
“Well Strider I assure you that I will not be doing anything of the such.” You begin. “From the look of it you aren’t doing too well, and I intend to use your poor state of health to my advantage.”
A small frown crosses his face. His eyes flare a golden orange in defiance.
“I don’t have time for this. I have shit to do, and it’s called sleep.” He grumbles. “I’m fucking tired if you can’t tell and I don’t want to do this right now.”
Would you ever consider taking pity on your enemy? No! Well, you have done it a few times before but that never got you anywhere so for tonight, no! You won’t be taking pity on Strider’s poor soul... not tonight anyway.
“Oh boohoo you.” You sneer. “I have one chance to take you down and you think that I’m going to pass that bit up?” After a moment in which he doesn’t reply you raise an eyebrow, because you really want him to. This was your big moment after all, you wanted to seem as menacing possible. Or more then you have been in the past, though you’re pretty sure that will fail since many times before he has sent your ass home with tears streaming down your face. Nonetheless you will try to sound at least partially intimidating and hopefully not fail too bad at it.
“Well?” You ask as you step out from behind your car door. As hefty as your guns are you twirl the left one in your hand just for some dramatic effect . “You think I would?”
The Tailorbird stares at you. His breath is visible in the crisp night air.
“I have no idea. I’m not you.”
That wasn’t the answer you were expecting or wanted. You dropped the gun you were twirling out of surprise. A frown of annoyance crosses your face and you quickly pick it up. “The answer was no. A simple no. All you had to say was no Strider.”
“Jesus fuck, excuse me for not being able to read your mind.” He puts his hands up in defence. The tone of his voice is a bit more snarky than you would have liked it.
“You know what buster? I think I’m just going to go ahead and shoot you now. It’s best to put a suffering animal out of its misery.” Of course you are not really going to kill him. Just rough him up a bit with your left gun. Hopefully knock him out right where he stands. When he wakes up in the morning he will have no clue where he is or why! Yes, the perfect plan for the first ever time to have taken down your nemesis. You raise the left gun and aim it right at his face. “Any last words before I am finally able to beat you in a battle.”
“Yes actually.” The Tailorbird says with his hands still in the air. You raise one brow as an indication for him to continue. “Okay first thing’s first. This isn’t a battle, you just stumbled your scrawny ass in here after the shit was already beat out of me.” He doesn’t even skip a beat, but there is still a tired itch to his voice. “Secondly, and the most important, how the fuck did you know I was here?”
Drat! He is catching onto your ways. He could just be hiding it, but so far he still doesn’t seem to know about the tracker you put into his boot. You lower the gun in your hand just a tad. You rack up your brain to try to find a reasonable response.
“A great villain must always know what his hero is doing at all times.” You answer back to him.
“Oh? Is that correct?” He lowers his arms as you lower the gun.
“Indeed it is. Why Strider, I always know what you are up to my dear fellow.” It’s not a lie, most days you really do know what he is up to. You don’t have anything better to be doing anyway. “I have to get to know your weaknesses to gain the upper hand right?”
You watch The Tailorbird as the corners of his lips turn upward.
“Stalker.” His words are short and simple yet still they cut right through you. Stalker? No, no, no, you were no such thing. You would just blame it on your boredom or curiosity! Also the fact that you really did want to keep a better eye out on him. The more you know the better you might be, and maybe after tonight you can take him down a few more times. Wouldn’t your father be just, oh, so proud of you? The answer to that would be a most definite yes. But what was a most definite no, was the fact that Strider had the nerve to think you were a stalker.
“A-a stalker? You think that I am a stalker because I just happen to know where you are?” You ask him and subconsciously pout as the words come from your mouth.
“Um yeah. That and the other three hundred times you've shown up at random. Like dude, get a life.” Strider crosses his arms like some sassy preteen as he waits for answer. He likes the way he has just pinched a nerve, and how that small but noticeable frown lingers on your lips.
“You have got it all wrong bub! A stalker I am not! Like I said before I merely want to know your weaknesses and catch you off guard. I wouldn’t call that being a stalker, instead I would call it studying.” At least you’re pretty sure that’s what you would call it.
The Tailorbird rolls his eyes. You can’t see it from under his blasted goggles, but you just know he is. From the look he is giving you it’s almost obvious that he is.
“Yeah?” He questions you.
“Yeah!” You respond with smite.
“What’s my favorite show, English?” He cocks his head to the side.
Well of course you know the answer to that one. Just about anyone in their right mind would. “It’s obviously My Little Horsey.” You know that wasn’t right on the money but it was something quite similar, you are positive.
A small breathy chuckle escapes Dirk. “It’s called My Little Pony, MLP for short. You’re not helping out your ‘stalker’ case any by answering me. How would you even know I like MLP?”
Your expression is quick to turn to anger. Oh god does this man enrage you. You are not a stalker! Is knowing the enemy really all that bad? Is it a major sin in some psycho religion that he may have? “Okay listen here, I am not a stalker. Your love for that creepy childrens show is just painfully obvious! I mean I have heard you gawking about it before!”
He seems to get your point when he takes more than a second to reply. It’s true he has said a few words on the subject of that show. “True enough, but what’s my favorite pair of underwear?” He askes you like he’s trying to toughen his questions.
Psh, you knew that as well. “The orange ones with the little white hearts on them! You wear them all the time, more than it’s healthy-” Oh god no. Nope. That was something you really should not have said that. Now you have truly messed up. Your cheeks dust with color as you realize what you are saying and just how true it really is. So maybe just a few times you have caught him changing clothes for a job or decided to peek through his window at the wrong time. Wow you are such an idiot, how could you let that slip? “N-no! that isn’t what I meant! Uh… Oh goodness I promise I don’t know what your undies look like!”
Saving yourself is hardly an option now, you have already said it. You see a light hue of pink also spread across Strider’s face, his expression remains the same though.
“Would you like to continue to prove that you’re a stalker?” There is some edge to his voice followed by evident embarrassment and tiredness.
You light up with chagrin and anger. “No I would not! I’m not a damn stalker no matter what you say, that was just a slip up!” You’re done with this nonsense. You’re not going to just stand around being insulted by this irate jerk. He’s so smug and prudish even when you thought he was at his weakest moments. God he makes you so mad. You didn’t set out to converse about about any habits of yours that may be considered stalkerish, you set out to take Strider down once and for - well just at least for today! You once again aim the gun to his face. “I’ve had it with you Tailorbird!” You bellow. “Now I’ll ask one more time, any last words? And I don't want a whole damn conversation with you, just say some dumb fuckery and get it over with!”
He sighs. “Alright, fine.” He doesn’t say anything after that.
Was he thinking of something to say or was that it?
“Is that all you’ve got? Nothing else to say?” You question him suspiciously. You would think he would have more to say since he was about to be beat down for the first time in a very long while and by none other than you.
“Oh right last words,” He pauses for a second. “Yeah. Goodbye.”
It really catches you off guard. ‘‘Goodbye?’ What on Earth does that mean?’ Well of course you know what it means but not in context of what he was saying. Not until you see a flash of light flare from his hands, aimed straight at you and him running away as fast as his legs would let him.
“Blimey!” You pull your gun close and duck for cover behind your car door. How could you have let your guard down like that? You’re such a dolt! He had probably been charging his energy the whole damn time you were talking!
The blast hits your car. Your precious Ford GT The sound of the twisting, warping, and bending aluminum makes you cringe. The windshield explodes and glass litters the ground along with the insides of your car. The door slams against your left shoulder in a crushing blow as you have tried to cower behind it, crouching with your hands shield your face and guns dropped on the ground. . After a few seconds of sitting still you think is safe to come out of cover and you rise to your feet.
Your shoulder smarts in pain as you rise but it can’t be more than a bruise. You look to your car. Oh god she was mess. Your beautiful gal was completely ruined! Glass trashes, broken, among the seats, the hood tossed up and bent in every direction. Dust and dirt settled all over from the blast. Her electrical work is now completely fried and shut off, forever. It was like seeing a child in pain. Absolutely unbeatable! How could this have happened to your Ford GT?! Well you know how, but how could you have let this happen?! Your heart hurt as if you are experiencing a death in the family, and you practically are. You look off in the distance, you can see Strider fleeing down the roads already a far distance for his poor health conditions.
A sudden rage engulfs you. That man is the only one who can piss you off this much! You can still win this battle though! A sudden wave of adrenaline hits you. Yes! That’s right, you could still have this in the bag, he is still weak, and other than the pain shooting through your shoulder, you would consider yourself still strong.
You suddenly take off after him, going as fast as your legs would take you. There was no way he was getting away this time!-
Your foot catches on something sending you crashing onto the dusty ground. Dust swirls around you when you hit the hardened ground making you cough a few times as it fills your lungs. Your rib cage aches from the impact. Turning your head you look to see what you fell over. It was Strider’s damned robot! That fucker set you up! He knew all of this would happen you’re sure of it!
When you look at Strider once more he is farther away but still in range of a good gunshot wound. That's right if you can’t catch up to him you could always just bloody shoot him. A perfect idea. That’s when you realize how light your hands feel. There was no extra weight to them. No sturdy feel. No comfortable grip. You being the idiot you are left them at the car when you dropped them to take cover.
Just laying there, over the dead robot carcass, you suddenly feel so empty. This was your one chance. It’s the easiest chance you have ever had and you had just ruined it like the imbecile you are. You let your rival slip right through your fingers, just like you always do. Everything you do just leads you one step closer to being an absolute failure, and one thing more to add on to your fathers list of disappointments. You don’t think you could ever make him proud, not in the slightest, and not now at least.
All motivation to catch up, or take down The Tailorbird is now diminished. With the last bit of rage you hold within, you call out to him.
“STRIDER, YOU ASS HAT!” You lay your face in your arms in pure defeat. Your head hurts and your heart aches, at the moment you just want no more of this brutal nonsense. Your finished. You have given up for now.
Though you can’t see your nemesis running anymore, you swear you can hear his laughter as an echo in the night.
Oh how you hate him so.