Chapter 8 - Unforgiven

Tall, dark grey scales, pinstripe suit, double horns polished and sharp, wings tucked firmly to his back, standing beside Mystikal's bed, looking down at the young crossbreed who had the heavily starched white cotton sheets pulled around him, hiding the shame of his scar coated body. An expressionless expression on his face, the sort that would make demons think twice.
''You get paid a large sum of money, possibly the largest you will ever see, and you go and try and kill yourself.'' The CEO said evenly, no flicker of amusement, irony or business this time round, just hollow, hollow like a dark cavern, hungry for victims to fall in and get lost in the never ending darkness.

Mystikal sat quiet, still in his cocooned crosslegged position on the bed, staring out of the window, the rain relentless in it's soaking onslaught.
A lecture from dad. He thought miserably. A lecture from a so-called father who has never been there for me, has been spying on me for my whole life, doing nothing to help me, watching me be tortured by racists and other bastards with small minds. He hissed, his mental voice bitter with hatred, the hatred that he had hoped was lost at sea, never to return to him, but here it was. The small voice inside himself once more, screaming and clawing, wanting to spread this mans blood across the sterile Melbourn building, chiding that the place needs some colour, some life added to it.

''I honestly didn't think you cared.'' He grunted quietly, wondering if the CEO caught the near whisper as he sat atop his high horse.
''You'd be surprised at what I care about.'' The CEO said.
''Mmm. Business ties, yourself and your money. And guess what? I ain't a business tie.'' Mystikal kept the itchy starched fabric wrapped around himself, his knees threatening to give way as he stood, snarling at the offered paw. Too late to help. Twenty one years too late to help. He growled to himself. The outstretched paw was quickly revoked as the crossbreed shuffled towards the clothes the guard had pointed out. New jeans, new underwear, new shirt and new coat, same old tattered pack, containing the remnants of himself, all that was left of the life tired Dragon.
''What're you gonna do now?'' The CEO asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, possibly for his own benefit though; always the same with these people, always thinking about themselves, not a flying frack about those around them, the sick, the dying and the homeless.

The artificial brightness of the bathroom light scorched his eyes, forcing him to squint hard to try and see what he was doing, shuffling foward, clothes draped over his left arm, with his pack in the same paw, his right arm aiding him through the light, guiding and feeling his way along, pushing the door shut with a soft bump and click shut with his tail.
''That's none of your damned business.'' His voice growled softly through the bathroom door, tired of the twin city, tired of his life here and it's people, the shadow following him and watching him like one of the CEO's spies.
''And if I make it my business-''
''Then your life will go straight to hell, just like mine. There's nothing like the feeling of being left behind by those you thought loved you.'' He growled, more tears tightening his throat, cursing himself for letting his emotions run rampant, swallowing them hard like bitter pills.

Running water to block out the CEO's words then the ruffling of new, clean fabric and he was back out, coat on, tattered pack over his right shoulder, hood up. The CEO stood watching him, the bleak expression had melted into something unreadable. Mystikal, fedup and hungry pushed past the CEO, ignoring him, sidling past the guard outside and made his way unsteadily towards the elevator, not looking back, not caring about those behind him, just caring about finding shelter and food for the night, a secluded place away from Melbourn and it's decieving secrets, wanting to be left alone once more out on the streets, with the rain, the wind and the hunger, wandering from place to place, never stopping for more than a short night, a life he'd grown used to.


Pouring rain smacking against the dirty concrete and tarmac, bouncing off car roofs with a soothing short and hard wet metallic clang. His feet squelching along the puddle ridden pavement, rain water cold between his toes, long, maned tail dragging occasionally along the floor, the tuft of purple fur on its tip becomming wet and matted as he walked, hunched over in his new coat, hood up, determined to get away from this place as fast as possible, refusing to look back, determined to find a place where he won't be ignored, looked down upon or cursed. The anger finally subsiding now, simmering down to a cold knot in his gut, distantly wondering about what the CEO was going to do, already knowing the answer without having to ask or look back, knowing that the CEO would just go about his daily business as if nothing had ever happened, as if he hadn't ruined anybody's life completely and utterly.

No sign of the spiv, Jonas, either, the shadow gone for now, but those words of a familiar voice still echoeing in his head. He'll get you. He wondered to himself. Who was he? Mystikal didn't know, but had a horrible inkling, slivers of fear sliding up and down his spine like shards of ice, forcing his wings to fold in tighter against the miserable weather as he walked, eyes sliding from side to side, scanning for an out of the way nook to hide in for the night. His stomach churned, begging for food, tightening and gurgling, giving him more grief than he needed. A fast food restaurant lay ahead, preparing to close it's doors to all customers as the sky grew darker above the low lying rain clouds. He'd caught a glimpse of a massive clock in the main lobby on his way out the monstrous Melbourn building, it had been nine forty-five when he'd left. The days waste food would be going in a bin out back, behind the fat-filled restaurant, a health and safety rule to put good food to waste, a mainly needless rule.

He vanished around a corner near the squat building, it's garish colours standing out in the rain and gloom even without the burning neon sign lit up. Hiding behind an old dumpster, he watched silently as two workers heaved a box of pre-cooked food into an overflowing dumpster near the rear door, food that had been cooked ready to serve during the lunch hour rush, but hadn't quite made it onto the rotten brown plastic trays due to the rain forcing people to stay in and eat at their desks, in staff rooms and stock rooms, unwilling to get drenched just to satisfy their hunger pains. The rear door creaked and clicked shut, the sound of metal on metal quietly bouncing down the alleyway to him, signalling the locking of the door. The lights went out, the small, long windows above him going dark, allowing him to sneak to the discarded box, pulling some left overs out he scurried away, deeper into the alleyway, away from the eyes of the daring public, and into an old doorway, where two more of the twin city's homeless lay, snoring and mumbling in their restless sleep.

He sat on the wet, ruddy step, chewing on a mouthful of left overs, his mind wandering back to the Melbourn building and it's CEO. Mystikal could never forgive someone like him, not ever. Even if my life depended on it. He snarled in his mind, swallowing hard, his stomach contracting tightly around the stale food. He wondered what had happened to his mother, if she was more caring, but he had only the faintest desire to find out, a large part of him refusing to go back to the concrete and glass monster that was Melbourn, not wanting to smell its sterility, feel its coldness or see any of the faces it held within ever again. He wiped his paws on his trousers and placed his tattered pack into his lap, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his tail and wings around himself, trying to ignore the thoughts in his head and the shadow against the opposite wall that was watching him once more, waiting for him.

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