09-25-2013, 02:55 AM
Yuri came down the hall and was almost run over by the whore he'd paid to go show Peter a good time. "Your friend's in there," she said with a quick head-bob to a room behind her, before speeding past him. What the fuck was her problem? He'd paid for her time, and even if Peter was the ultimate minute man she was still on the clock. Maybe she hadn't been too fond of the bag over her head -- but then again, look at her mistress, that could hardly have been the weirdest shit she'd ever had to do for a john.
He stepped into the room. The kid was crashed, lying on his back with his feet on his floor, pants around his ankles and still standing at full attention like a stout pink flag mast. Huh. Bigger than I thought it would be. Pretty small yaytsa though, like I suspected. Looks like the girl hadn't finished the job, though. Not like Yuri really cared for Peter's sake, but he had paid for the girl. It was the principle of the thing. It was getting harder to find good whores with a decent work ethic these days.
"I got the money, Peter, let's go,"
he said. Not a flicker of acknowledgement or motion came from the kid.
"Listen fucker, tuck your shit in and let's go!"
The kid just lay there. What the fuck, did that damn bitch put him in some kind of sex coma? "Fine, asshole. If I have to drag you out of that bed I'll do it. I'm sick of looking at your cock."
He strode over and pulled the kid's legs up to slide his pants back up around his waist. It was like lifting a dead weight, which spun him into a new dimension of pissed off as thoughts and rage built up, fueled by his drug-induced high: Do I have to do everything myself, spineless weakling piece of crap? I don't care who the fuck your uncle is, THAT'S IT! I'M GOING TO BREAK YOUR FUCKING FACE!
He gripped Peter's shirt and flung back a fist as he pulled the kid's head from the bed -- and stopped. Lips tinged blue and a white pallor to a face and drooped eyelids that didn't move. In shock, he let go of the shirt and Peter fell back to the bed.
Yuri backed away from the bed. He leaned out and felt the kid's neck. No pulse. He's dead. No, no, no, this was very bad. What the fuck did that whore do to him? It'd only been like ten fucking minutes since the kid had left his sight. There were no markings on the kid, no visible wounds or anything. He'd seen overdose victims like this, a dime a dozen in the underground, but there wasn't any evidence of drugs in the room that he could see -- and he was good at looking for them. And no matter how ugly that fucking whore's face was, no one could be that ugly, could they? Shit. He'd told Peter to put a bag over her head.
No it had to be drugs, no matter that Peter hadn't seemed the type. Whore must have given something to him and he couldn't handle it. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! This was bad. Fucking stupid kid! Mudak was going to blame this on Yuri somehow, he just knew it -- and that'd bring a whole 'nother shit storm down. And for once it wasn't even his fault - well, of course nothing was ever really his fault -- but he really hadn't done a fuicking thing this time! You fucked me over, you stupid little shit!
There must be something he could do. That girl would probably try to blame it on him. And if he went and throttled the truth out of her it'd probably look pretty bad. He could flee. He should flee. Or he could just burn the whole place down. Kill them all. If Mudak came after him he'd have to kill him, too -- and he wasn't really sure that he could.
Or- How long had it been? Not long. Maybe Peter was still just only mostly dead. Maybe -- just maybe -- Yuri could bring him back.
The Power continued to course through Yuri. He sniffed the air. No telling signs of anything being smoked. And no track marks that he could tell. He must have swallowed something. Yuri'd seen enough pill or booze overdoses to have some idea of what to do -- soak it up and get the right guts jump started again. He looked around -- why the hell would he waste time doing that? Of course there wouldn't be any charcoal in a damn flophouse room. Well, titrazors, if he couldn't soak up the toxin maybe he could expel it.
Flows sprung up. He forced air into Peter's lungs, getting him some air, and pounded on his chest, contracting a band of air around him. It'd get a little blood flowing and a little bit of air to the head. Not enough to keep him alive if his heart didn't start soon, and even so he might never be the same. If the brain didn't get blood for long enough it started to die even if the rest of the body came back, he'd seen that much. He turned the kid over and forced his mouth open, then reached down his throat with another flow, fashioning the solidified air into two -- tubes would be the best way to describe it. He flipped on a water faucet from the stand across the room with yet another flow and dragged the water to it. It spun like a tiny waterspout across the room and down the kid's throat.
As he'd hoped, stuff--he didn't really want to think much more about what it was -- started to come out of the other tube. In a flash, he wove another thread to pull the -- stuff -- into a wastebasket in the corner.
Sweat beaded on Yuri's forehead and he felt a headache start to form in the back of his head. This was hard work, the concentration needed to maintain all these different flows doing the same thing. One after another threatened to slip from his grasp and do who the hell knew what. Fortunately the stuff coming up turned to clear water fairly quickly. He continued to run his conduit for a few more moments just to be sure everything was out, before dropping the flows.
Yuri rolled the kid back on his back and started a new flow, pushing air -- gently -- into the kid's lungs, making them expand and contract. He knelt to one side of the body and pushed his hands down against the kid's rib cage hard and fast. He'd seen this done before to get the heart started again, and it had worked -- it had to work this time! There must be some way he could do it with the power -- maybe zap him with lightning -- but aside from the fact he had no idea how to keep it from completely frying the kid, with the strain he'd already put on himself with so many flows at one time earlier, until he recovered a bit he was pretty sure he could only handle the one keeping Peter supplied with air. He wasn't really used to such fine manipulation of the flows.
He continued to pound on the kid's chest. Thoughts of anyone coming in, of finding the damn call girl, of anything but Peter in front of him, needing to not die, fled his mind. "Fucking start beating your own damn heart, you little cocksucker!"
He stepped into the room. The kid was crashed, lying on his back with his feet on his floor, pants around his ankles and still standing at full attention like a stout pink flag mast. Huh. Bigger than I thought it would be. Pretty small yaytsa though, like I suspected. Looks like the girl hadn't finished the job, though. Not like Yuri really cared for Peter's sake, but he had paid for the girl. It was the principle of the thing. It was getting harder to find good whores with a decent work ethic these days.
"I got the money, Peter, let's go,"
he said. Not a flicker of acknowledgement or motion came from the kid.
"Listen fucker, tuck your shit in and let's go!"
The kid just lay there. What the fuck, did that damn bitch put him in some kind of sex coma? "Fine, asshole. If I have to drag you out of that bed I'll do it. I'm sick of looking at your cock."
He strode over and pulled the kid's legs up to slide his pants back up around his waist. It was like lifting a dead weight, which spun him into a new dimension of pissed off as thoughts and rage built up, fueled by his drug-induced high: Do I have to do everything myself, spineless weakling piece of crap? I don't care who the fuck your uncle is, THAT'S IT! I'M GOING TO BREAK YOUR FUCKING FACE!
He gripped Peter's shirt and flung back a fist as he pulled the kid's head from the bed -- and stopped. Lips tinged blue and a white pallor to a face and drooped eyelids that didn't move. In shock, he let go of the shirt and Peter fell back to the bed.
Yuri backed away from the bed. He leaned out and felt the kid's neck. No pulse. He's dead. No, no, no, this was very bad. What the fuck did that whore do to him? It'd only been like ten fucking minutes since the kid had left his sight. There were no markings on the kid, no visible wounds or anything. He'd seen overdose victims like this, a dime a dozen in the underground, but there wasn't any evidence of drugs in the room that he could see -- and he was good at looking for them. And no matter how ugly that fucking whore's face was, no one could be that ugly, could they? Shit. He'd told Peter to put a bag over her head.
No it had to be drugs, no matter that Peter hadn't seemed the type. Whore must have given something to him and he couldn't handle it. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! This was bad. Fucking stupid kid! Mudak was going to blame this on Yuri somehow, he just knew it -- and that'd bring a whole 'nother shit storm down. And for once it wasn't even his fault - well, of course nothing was ever really his fault -- but he really hadn't done a fuicking thing this time! You fucked me over, you stupid little shit!
There must be something he could do. That girl would probably try to blame it on him. And if he went and throttled the truth out of her it'd probably look pretty bad. He could flee. He should flee. Or he could just burn the whole place down. Kill them all. If Mudak came after him he'd have to kill him, too -- and he wasn't really sure that he could.
Or- How long had it been? Not long. Maybe Peter was still just only mostly dead. Maybe -- just maybe -- Yuri could bring him back.
The Power continued to course through Yuri. He sniffed the air. No telling signs of anything being smoked. And no track marks that he could tell. He must have swallowed something. Yuri'd seen enough pill or booze overdoses to have some idea of what to do -- soak it up and get the right guts jump started again. He looked around -- why the hell would he waste time doing that? Of course there wouldn't be any charcoal in a damn flophouse room. Well, titrazors, if he couldn't soak up the toxin maybe he could expel it.
Flows sprung up. He forced air into Peter's lungs, getting him some air, and pounded on his chest, contracting a band of air around him. It'd get a little blood flowing and a little bit of air to the head. Not enough to keep him alive if his heart didn't start soon, and even so he might never be the same. If the brain didn't get blood for long enough it started to die even if the rest of the body came back, he'd seen that much. He turned the kid over and forced his mouth open, then reached down his throat with another flow, fashioning the solidified air into two -- tubes would be the best way to describe it. He flipped on a water faucet from the stand across the room with yet another flow and dragged the water to it. It spun like a tiny waterspout across the room and down the kid's throat.
As he'd hoped, stuff--he didn't really want to think much more about what it was -- started to come out of the other tube. In a flash, he wove another thread to pull the -- stuff -- into a wastebasket in the corner.
Sweat beaded on Yuri's forehead and he felt a headache start to form in the back of his head. This was hard work, the concentration needed to maintain all these different flows doing the same thing. One after another threatened to slip from his grasp and do who the hell knew what. Fortunately the stuff coming up turned to clear water fairly quickly. He continued to run his conduit for a few more moments just to be sure everything was out, before dropping the flows.
Yuri rolled the kid back on his back and started a new flow, pushing air -- gently -- into the kid's lungs, making them expand and contract. He knelt to one side of the body and pushed his hands down against the kid's rib cage hard and fast. He'd seen this done before to get the heart started again, and it had worked -- it had to work this time! There must be some way he could do it with the power -- maybe zap him with lightning -- but aside from the fact he had no idea how to keep it from completely frying the kid, with the strain he'd already put on himself with so many flows at one time earlier, until he recovered a bit he was pretty sure he could only handle the one keeping Peter supplied with air. He wasn't really used to such fine manipulation of the flows.
He continued to pound on the kid's chest. Thoughts of anyone coming in, of finding the damn call girl, of anything but Peter in front of him, needing to not die, fled his mind. "Fucking start beating your own damn heart, you little cocksucker!"