09-09-2013, 05:39 PM
<big>Yuri Obrechennyy
</big>
Yuri's daddy always told him he wasn't going to live to see 25. 'Course, 25 had come and gone, so what did that fucker know? Working for the man, always coming home late – every night. Fucking drone. He was probably at work right now, punching numbers or whatever the hell he did. Still believing the man was going to ever work for him. And if he ever did come home, always mad at something Yuri had done. Like it was his fault he was a screw-up.
Yuri, why didn't you take out the trash like you told your momma you were going to?
Who gives two shits about that? It's boring. What's she going to do about it? She's too busy banging the neighbor when you're off at work, asshole. Bet you don't know that.
Yuri, you did what to the cat?
Its funnier without any hair on it. It's art. Fuck, don't you get it?
Yuri, are you high again?
Yeah, off your stash. Don't think I don't know what you do before you go to sleep. Nothing but a hypocrite, dad.
Yuri, you got kicked out of school again? After all we went through the last time to get you back in?
Nobody likes me there. So I had to beat the crap out of a couple of them. Not my fault.
Yuri, are you ever going to think about your future?
Yeah, fuck the future. And fuck you too, while you're at it.
Yeah, 20 and still taking up space in the crappy duplex on Arbat Street that was the best daddy could afford even after all those years of working. That was the kind of thing to cramp a dude's style, but why buy the roof over your head when you can get a bed for free? He lounged with one shoe off on the loveseat in the living room, flipping through the channels on the Net. Why weren't there any good tits on at this time of the evening? Telltale signs of his latest high ringed his cheeks and the bridge of his nose in flakes of gold. His buzz was wearing off, good thing there was another can of spray paint in his dresser drawer.
Yuri's parents were arguing in the kitchen. Whatever. He knew it was about him again, how he'd gotten “busted” throwing up a fresh tag. Damn pigs knew his artwork now, probably kept a file on it any time some new graffiti popped up. No one saw him do it. He was too quick for that. That was just who he was – what he was known for. No one could tag up an image of the Ascendancy like he could, nice goatee, spiky hair and a fat dick in his mouth.
Yuri's buzz cleared enough for him to catch a few of the words from the kitchen.
“--has to go back,” his father was saying.
His mom was sobbing. “We tried that before!”
That caught Yuri's attention. He looked up from his slouching position at the loveseat and turned his head toward the kitchen.
“He needs more help than we can give him. At least he'll be safe from himself and others at the Guardian.”
The Guardian? No, not that again. They'd pigeonhole him up in some room with nothing to do, dope him with drugs – bad drugs, one that didn't give him any rush, but just threw chains on his mind and willed his spirit away. The staff didn't give two shits about what went on there, either. There were some really fucked up people locked up in there, who did some pretty bad stuff.
Yuri leaped from the loveseat – he always was quite agile, able to land on his feet – and stormed into the kitchen to face down his parents. Yeah, he got right up in his dad's face, pushing the small graying man back against the kitchen counter.
“Don't you talk about me like I'm not here! You don't care about me at all, you fucker!”
he screamed.
Yuri staggered back. His cheek stung. His mind, clouded as it was by the paint he'd sniffed, took a moment to process the fact his father had struck him. That hadn't – ever – happened before.
“You are out of line, young man,” his father said, wide eyes locked on Yuri. “The consequences of your actions leave us no choice but to send you back to the Guardian.”
No. He rubbed his cheek. “You hit me, you asshole,”
he muttered. “I'm not going back and you can't make me!”
His mother stepped between the two men. “Yuri, Dimitri, calm down,” she said, voice quivering and tears in her eyes. “Son, it's because we love you and we won't watch you throw your life away!”
His father glanced at his wife. “You'll see it's for the best. Come on, we'll get your bags packed for you.”
Something gave way within Yuri's hazy mind. I will – not- go – back! He imagined a force field pushing anything and everything away from him in a rejection of his very existence.
There was a harsh clap in the kitchen, like the boom of a supersonic jet. The cabinets blew out, throwing splinters of wood and chips of ceramic crockery. His father was thrown against the refrigerator and smacked his head on the white vinyl, and his mother was struck in the gut by a flying cast-iron pan.
His father slumped to the ground, and blood trickled from a gash on his head. His mother doubled over and lay on the white tile, breath knocked from her lungs. Yuri stood at the center of it all, untouched.
Fuck, yeah. That was awesome.
Yuri turned to leave the kitchen, and caught his mother's tearful glance. He looked at his dad. The man was unconscious, but breathing steadily. “He'll live, ma,”
Yuri said. “I'll see you later.”
He left his mother there and went up the stairs to his bedroom. Grabbed his green cloth backpack and put some clothes in it. His cans of spray paint, and a couple of nudie mags too. Threw his leather jacket – a gift for his eighteenth birthday – across his shoulders. He went across the hallway to his parent's room. Grabbed his dad's stash from his top dresser drawer. Had probably about 50 grams of weed in there. Mom's jewelry box had some necklaces and bracelets that would be worth something, too.
Under the nightstand, yeah, there it was. His dad's other stash. A good amount of cash the man had managed to sock away from the eyes of his spend-free wife. That'd buy him some good drugs. And a nice piece as well, a chrome-plated Walther PPK with a couple of mags. Could be dangerous being out in the undercity. Nobody would fuck with him if he had that piece.
He shoved it all in his bag and jetted out the front door. Grabbed his skateboard on the way out. His mother was still lying on the tile floor in the kitchen.
Down in the underground city, it was always easy to find some groupies to hang with. His first night there, he ran into a pack of anarchist teens looking to find whatever trouble they could get into. One scrawny kid with a nail shoved parallel through his bottom lip and two big black studs in his cheek along with a mishmash of other piercings across his ears and wide gauges to boot – looked like a walking jewelry shop display cabinet. Yuri called him Pierce. Pierce had two other buddies, a big emo kid dressed in black with white powder on his face and red lipstick. Arms were tattooed with sleeves of skulls and dragons wrapping around themselves.
And the third, a little chick with dyed raven-black hair with a tight leather halter top and knee length black boots with a three-inch heel, a perpetual sneer on her face. Probably wasn't more than sixteen, but there were telltale signs of track marks on the inside of one forearm. Yeah, she was a junkie. Probably gave it away for her next score. She was kind of hot, though. A trashy, skanky hot.
The three met up with Yuri each night and went up to the surface to see what mischief they could cause. The first night they smashed the window of a liquor store and bolted with shopping bags full of cheap booze. Jetted back to the underground and traded it with a bunch of burnouts for some coke. That was some good shit, even cut with baby laxative. Raven blew him too, which was pretty nice.
After they left he'd crash on a matresss in an old, forgotten bomb shelter connected to a now-unused subway. Better than the Guardian. Skating the old lines was awesome. He could go anywhere, the king of the underground.
A week and a half later Yuri's friends found him doubled up on his mattress, shivering and coughing. He must have gotten the flu.
“We'll take care of you,” Emo said. He offered Yuri a needle, and shot him up with something. Probably heroin. Yuri closed his eyes, lay back and let everything fade away.
The morning after, he awoke drenched in the stink of his own sweat. He felt fine though. He got up and looked around – and all of this things were gone. Those fuckers had jacked him! He got up, determined to get his shit back.
Pierce was the first one he found. Yuri ran into him two days later coming down into the old subway system. The fucker had his gun, and drew it on Yuri. He only managed to get one shot off though, that winged Yuri in the shoulder. Pierce was shaking so much that he couldn't aim right. Dude was a straight-up sissy. And Yuri was still jacked up on what he'd had left of the coke they'd scored the first night, he hardly noticed.
Yuri decked him with a metal crowbar, ripping that stupid nail right out of his lip and sending the asshole flying.
He grabbed his gun and the dude's pack. There was still some of his mom's jewelry in there. “I'll kill you if I see you again,”
he spat at the blubbering man.
Yuri ran into Emo next. His coke was gone and he was really hoping the fucker had his weed. Emo didn't seem really scared of seeing Yuri until he shoved the Walther in the kid's pasty white face. He made the dude empty his pockets, and yeah the guy had his weed, and some of the money he had left.
“Who has my board?”
He demanded of Emo.
“The broad, she took it,” Emo replied, blubbering at Yuri not to shoot him. “The whole thing was her idea.”
But Emo was the one who had given him the drugs. So Yuri did shoot him, right in that pasty face, and left the body for the rats to find. He didn't even feel bad about it one bit.
High again, on some really refined green, Yuri sought out Raven. Bitch had his skateboard. It took him almost three days to find her. He chased her down – she was surprisingly fast and agile for someone her size, and hard even for Yuri to catch with his knowledge of Parkour. He finally cornered her in a maintenance shaft, and yeah she had his board.
The anger cut through the haze and something happened again. Yuri pulled out his gun and he could feel the air thickening around the girl. He thought that if he could just will it, it would trap her.
And it did. She stopped, immobile, a terrified look in her eyes as she turned to him.
“Drop the board,”
he said. She did, and a splinter of wood flew from it.
Bitch fucked up my board? She was sobbing. “I'm so sorry.”
Yuri sneered at her. “I know it was your idea to try and jack me. So how hard are you going to beg me to let you go? And what are you going to do for it?”
Some time later, Yuri left the maintenance shaft – alone – his thirst satisfied. Plus he had his board back.
Yuri has been a very violent force in the underground city for the past ten years. He frequently ventures on the surface looking for ways to get money, or to commit some random act of vandalism, usually at night. He fancies himself an artist and a musician but his only real aspirations any more are looking for his next high. He still hasn't seen anything of his parents since he left their house.
Yuri managed to survive the sickness – barely, and with (to him) the help of a lot of drugs. He's reached his potential and is aware he can alter his surroundings. His strengths are in Fire and especially Air. He does have a block that prevents him from sensing the Power unless he is under the influence of some intoxicant.
</big>
Yuri's daddy always told him he wasn't going to live to see 25. 'Course, 25 had come and gone, so what did that fucker know? Working for the man, always coming home late – every night. Fucking drone. He was probably at work right now, punching numbers or whatever the hell he did. Still believing the man was going to ever work for him. And if he ever did come home, always mad at something Yuri had done. Like it was his fault he was a screw-up.
Yuri, why didn't you take out the trash like you told your momma you were going to?
Who gives two shits about that? It's boring. What's she going to do about it? She's too busy banging the neighbor when you're off at work, asshole. Bet you don't know that.
Yuri, you did what to the cat?
Its funnier without any hair on it. It's art. Fuck, don't you get it?
Yuri, are you high again?
Yeah, off your stash. Don't think I don't know what you do before you go to sleep. Nothing but a hypocrite, dad.
Yuri, you got kicked out of school again? After all we went through the last time to get you back in?
Nobody likes me there. So I had to beat the crap out of a couple of them. Not my fault.
Yuri, are you ever going to think about your future?
Yeah, fuck the future. And fuck you too, while you're at it.
Yeah, 20 and still taking up space in the crappy duplex on Arbat Street that was the best daddy could afford even after all those years of working. That was the kind of thing to cramp a dude's style, but why buy the roof over your head when you can get a bed for free? He lounged with one shoe off on the loveseat in the living room, flipping through the channels on the Net. Why weren't there any good tits on at this time of the evening? Telltale signs of his latest high ringed his cheeks and the bridge of his nose in flakes of gold. His buzz was wearing off, good thing there was another can of spray paint in his dresser drawer.
Yuri's parents were arguing in the kitchen. Whatever. He knew it was about him again, how he'd gotten “busted” throwing up a fresh tag. Damn pigs knew his artwork now, probably kept a file on it any time some new graffiti popped up. No one saw him do it. He was too quick for that. That was just who he was – what he was known for. No one could tag up an image of the Ascendancy like he could, nice goatee, spiky hair and a fat dick in his mouth.
Yuri's buzz cleared enough for him to catch a few of the words from the kitchen.
“--has to go back,” his father was saying.
His mom was sobbing. “We tried that before!”
That caught Yuri's attention. He looked up from his slouching position at the loveseat and turned his head toward the kitchen.
“He needs more help than we can give him. At least he'll be safe from himself and others at the Guardian.”
The Guardian? No, not that again. They'd pigeonhole him up in some room with nothing to do, dope him with drugs – bad drugs, one that didn't give him any rush, but just threw chains on his mind and willed his spirit away. The staff didn't give two shits about what went on there, either. There were some really fucked up people locked up in there, who did some pretty bad stuff.
Yuri leaped from the loveseat – he always was quite agile, able to land on his feet – and stormed into the kitchen to face down his parents. Yeah, he got right up in his dad's face, pushing the small graying man back against the kitchen counter.
“Don't you talk about me like I'm not here! You don't care about me at all, you fucker!”
he screamed.
Yuri staggered back. His cheek stung. His mind, clouded as it was by the paint he'd sniffed, took a moment to process the fact his father had struck him. That hadn't – ever – happened before.
“You are out of line, young man,” his father said, wide eyes locked on Yuri. “The consequences of your actions leave us no choice but to send you back to the Guardian.”
No. He rubbed his cheek. “You hit me, you asshole,”
he muttered. “I'm not going back and you can't make me!”
His mother stepped between the two men. “Yuri, Dimitri, calm down,” she said, voice quivering and tears in her eyes. “Son, it's because we love you and we won't watch you throw your life away!”
His father glanced at his wife. “You'll see it's for the best. Come on, we'll get your bags packed for you.”
Something gave way within Yuri's hazy mind. I will – not- go – back! He imagined a force field pushing anything and everything away from him in a rejection of his very existence.
There was a harsh clap in the kitchen, like the boom of a supersonic jet. The cabinets blew out, throwing splinters of wood and chips of ceramic crockery. His father was thrown against the refrigerator and smacked his head on the white vinyl, and his mother was struck in the gut by a flying cast-iron pan.
His father slumped to the ground, and blood trickled from a gash on his head. His mother doubled over and lay on the white tile, breath knocked from her lungs. Yuri stood at the center of it all, untouched.
Fuck, yeah. That was awesome.
Yuri turned to leave the kitchen, and caught his mother's tearful glance. He looked at his dad. The man was unconscious, but breathing steadily. “He'll live, ma,”
Yuri said. “I'll see you later.”
He left his mother there and went up the stairs to his bedroom. Grabbed his green cloth backpack and put some clothes in it. His cans of spray paint, and a couple of nudie mags too. Threw his leather jacket – a gift for his eighteenth birthday – across his shoulders. He went across the hallway to his parent's room. Grabbed his dad's stash from his top dresser drawer. Had probably about 50 grams of weed in there. Mom's jewelry box had some necklaces and bracelets that would be worth something, too.
Under the nightstand, yeah, there it was. His dad's other stash. A good amount of cash the man had managed to sock away from the eyes of his spend-free wife. That'd buy him some good drugs. And a nice piece as well, a chrome-plated Walther PPK with a couple of mags. Could be dangerous being out in the undercity. Nobody would fuck with him if he had that piece.
He shoved it all in his bag and jetted out the front door. Grabbed his skateboard on the way out. His mother was still lying on the tile floor in the kitchen.
Down in the underground city, it was always easy to find some groupies to hang with. His first night there, he ran into a pack of anarchist teens looking to find whatever trouble they could get into. One scrawny kid with a nail shoved parallel through his bottom lip and two big black studs in his cheek along with a mishmash of other piercings across his ears and wide gauges to boot – looked like a walking jewelry shop display cabinet. Yuri called him Pierce. Pierce had two other buddies, a big emo kid dressed in black with white powder on his face and red lipstick. Arms were tattooed with sleeves of skulls and dragons wrapping around themselves.
And the third, a little chick with dyed raven-black hair with a tight leather halter top and knee length black boots with a three-inch heel, a perpetual sneer on her face. Probably wasn't more than sixteen, but there were telltale signs of track marks on the inside of one forearm. Yeah, she was a junkie. Probably gave it away for her next score. She was kind of hot, though. A trashy, skanky hot.
The three met up with Yuri each night and went up to the surface to see what mischief they could cause. The first night they smashed the window of a liquor store and bolted with shopping bags full of cheap booze. Jetted back to the underground and traded it with a bunch of burnouts for some coke. That was some good shit, even cut with baby laxative. Raven blew him too, which was pretty nice.
After they left he'd crash on a matresss in an old, forgotten bomb shelter connected to a now-unused subway. Better than the Guardian. Skating the old lines was awesome. He could go anywhere, the king of the underground.
A week and a half later Yuri's friends found him doubled up on his mattress, shivering and coughing. He must have gotten the flu.
“We'll take care of you,” Emo said. He offered Yuri a needle, and shot him up with something. Probably heroin. Yuri closed his eyes, lay back and let everything fade away.
The morning after, he awoke drenched in the stink of his own sweat. He felt fine though. He got up and looked around – and all of this things were gone. Those fuckers had jacked him! He got up, determined to get his shit back.
Pierce was the first one he found. Yuri ran into him two days later coming down into the old subway system. The fucker had his gun, and drew it on Yuri. He only managed to get one shot off though, that winged Yuri in the shoulder. Pierce was shaking so much that he couldn't aim right. Dude was a straight-up sissy. And Yuri was still jacked up on what he'd had left of the coke they'd scored the first night, he hardly noticed.
Yuri decked him with a metal crowbar, ripping that stupid nail right out of his lip and sending the asshole flying.
He grabbed his gun and the dude's pack. There was still some of his mom's jewelry in there. “I'll kill you if I see you again,”
he spat at the blubbering man.
Yuri ran into Emo next. His coke was gone and he was really hoping the fucker had his weed. Emo didn't seem really scared of seeing Yuri until he shoved the Walther in the kid's pasty white face. He made the dude empty his pockets, and yeah the guy had his weed, and some of the money he had left.
“Who has my board?”
He demanded of Emo.
“The broad, she took it,” Emo replied, blubbering at Yuri not to shoot him. “The whole thing was her idea.”
But Emo was the one who had given him the drugs. So Yuri did shoot him, right in that pasty face, and left the body for the rats to find. He didn't even feel bad about it one bit.
High again, on some really refined green, Yuri sought out Raven. Bitch had his skateboard. It took him almost three days to find her. He chased her down – she was surprisingly fast and agile for someone her size, and hard even for Yuri to catch with his knowledge of Parkour. He finally cornered her in a maintenance shaft, and yeah she had his board.
The anger cut through the haze and something happened again. Yuri pulled out his gun and he could feel the air thickening around the girl. He thought that if he could just will it, it would trap her.
And it did. She stopped, immobile, a terrified look in her eyes as she turned to him.
“Drop the board,”
he said. She did, and a splinter of wood flew from it.
Bitch fucked up my board? She was sobbing. “I'm so sorry.”
Yuri sneered at her. “I know it was your idea to try and jack me. So how hard are you going to beg me to let you go? And what are you going to do for it?”
Some time later, Yuri left the maintenance shaft – alone – his thirst satisfied. Plus he had his board back.
Yuri has been a very violent force in the underground city for the past ten years. He frequently ventures on the surface looking for ways to get money, or to commit some random act of vandalism, usually at night. He fancies himself an artist and a musician but his only real aspirations any more are looking for his next high. He still hasn't seen anything of his parents since he left their house.
Yuri managed to survive the sickness – barely, and with (to him) the help of a lot of drugs. He's reached his potential and is aware he can alter his surroundings. His strengths are in Fire and especially Air. He does have a block that prevents him from sensing the Power unless he is under the influence of some intoxicant.