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***
The mask slides off my head with difficulty. The dried blood cracks and scratches my skin unpleasantly. There's a real stench of blood and rubbish around. Leaning back against the wall of the building, I pull out a packet of cigarettes under the light of a dangling lamp.
A crumpled pack of Lucky Strike pleases me with a last nicotine stick. Slightly wrinkled, even bent in some places, the cigarette is sent to the left corner of my mouth. Even so, the rest of it responds with pain, making me hiss and squint painfully.
The dark street of Long Island wasn't the best place to rest, but there wasn't much choice, I needed to "catch my breath" for at least a couple of minutes.
Hopefully I wouldn't run into a group of drunk teenagers or passing tourists looking for trouble. Now this place hasn't yet become that stereotypical neighbourhood that never sleeps. Just started building coloured high-rises that will shimmer with thousands of lights, illuminating the whole neighbourhood.... But for now. so far it's just grim, dark streets where you can find a lot of trouble on your arse.
The flame of the lighter didn't want to appear, constantly fading and threatening to leave me alone with my problems. As I flicked the flint, I thought back to the corridors of the abandoned house, but a sharp pain in my side brought me back.
-Must have broken a rib...
Finally, the damned cigarette was getting its flame. I exhaled a cloud of smoke into the sky, tilting my head back.
A light breeze caresses my face, carrying the scents of the city away and helping me not to pass out in this dump.
Another heroic deed, ten defeated enemies....
A new attack of pain in my ribs travelled through my entire body. My chest stung, and when I pulled back the edges of my jumper, I could smell the foul odour of burnt leather, making me nearly turn inside out.
I overpowered everyone in that damn house. The last two are hiding upstairs, hoping to shoot "another stupid vigilante."
-Dickheads, they should've shouted it all over the street.
We had to go round the building and climb up the fire escape. How Americans love to build them. Hang them on any residential building, helping burglars take more loot.
It wasn't hard to get to the ambushed couple, but what happened next was something I didn't expect.
Huey's hooker stabbed me in the chest with a Taser, nearly paralysing me and pushing me down the stairs.
-Damn ribs, that hurts like hell.
I should have gone to the hospital, but I'm not rich enough to treat myself for a little thing like that.
-That's how you help people...
Sliding down the wall to the ground, I can feel myself slowly blacking out, which is something I definitely shouldn't do. There are too few neighbourhoods in the city where something like this won't get you into trouble, too few good people walking around at a time like this, and even fewer of them will just rob the person who's passed out.
-Come on, get up, you can't sleep. -Come on.
Pain was the only thing keeping me awake.
Loud laughter and applause erupted from the shore, and then music filled the streets of Long Island. A soft, pleasant melody, full of atmosphere and cosiness. You would like to dance with your favourite girl on the deck of a ship while the musicians create their magic under the starry sky.
Or maybe sitting in a quiet pub, in the morning, when most of the customers had left and the lonely old caretaker was slowly lifting the chairs onto the tables to clean up the mess left by the stormy evening.
Stupid thoughts were popping into my head. I was losing consciousness and there was nothing I could do about it.
-Mister, mister.
Through the fog in my head I heard a pleasant female voice. The scent of flowers and hair conditioner from the early morning breeze hit my nose.
-Ginny, leave that tramp alone and let's go home. My parents will be back soon, not enough to-
They kept talking right over my ear. I don't mind hearing the voice of a cute little girl when I wake up, but right now I'd rather hear my mother's wailing or my father's nagging.
Grunting and hissing like an old wreck, leaning against the wall with difficulty, I began to rise slowly to my feet, ignoring the questions that came at me. I wanted to shoo them away, to send them away, to keep them out of the way, piling a ton of questions on my battered head.
-Wait, where are you going? You need to go to a hospital! Or at least the police!
I waved away the intrusive girl who was trying to talk some sense into me, and walked with a slow, limping gait towards the place where I knew I could get help.
***
-Is this good?Dimmed lights, soft pastel colours and night outside the window. The hot scent of a heated body in the air, mingling with incense and herbs.
A couple of Thai sticks smoked near the ajar window, allowing me to savour the aroma without choking on the overly bright flavour.
Soft feminine hands run over my back, slowly working their way up to my waist. Claws outline bruises and old scars, giving me a storm of pleasure and delight.
I just want to sprawl out and turn into ugly jelly, diving headfirst into the sensation.
But the intimate moment disappears as quickly as it appeared. The awe-inspiring touch is replaced by a wrestler's firm grip, and then my Thai boxing master's sister begins to set my bones.
-Aah!
-Quiet, farang, you'll wake my husband! He wouldn't understand such a session in the middle of the night.
I'm sorry, it's just-- Ah-ah-ah.
-Have patience, farang. You'll be a warrior.
Surprised at the twisted saying, I met my gaze with a wickedly anticipatory smile.
Leaning both hands on my spine, Madame Soiming crunched my back with a grin on her face.
-Aw!
-How gentle you are, farang.
-You're supposed to heal me, not break my bones!
-Teach me a lesson, boy. Less "get hit by cars."
She emphasised the last word with her intonation, hinting that my ridiculous lies had been uncovered from the first minutes of the meeting.
As she continued to abuse my body, Soiming wailed, telling me how cruel motorists were nowadays, leaving even streaks of bruises, as if she was trying to make it look like a stick hit. They must be hiding the evidence of their many crimes.
With the last sentence, she counted the bruises with her finger, causing a grimace of pain on my face.
-You can just help me with the fractures and sprains, the rest I've already-.
-Shut up, farang. You've already said too much," Soiming gave me a symbolic smack and started to take care of my arm, rubbing some stinking ointment on the joints, "I can't believe it! And she's lying, and so brazenly at that. I'll tell my brother to beat the shit out of you.
-Oh, that's gonna be a real pain in the arse. Ah.
-Hush! -Not much left.
Because of adrenaline and fatigue, I didn't even realise that my shoulder was dislocated, and all this time I was nursing the damaged limb, for which I was now paying double.
Despite the rebukes, the scolding and the painful process, I was grateful to the elderly Thai woman for her help. And let Soiming tell my teacher that he wouldn't let the incident go unnoticed, but it was better that way than bothering my parents with new hospital bills.
-That's it. Wiping my hands from the healing ointment that she poured on my back, Soiming extinguished the incense, blowing out the rest of the odour with a small fan, -and don't forget about training tomorrow, farang.
-I got it, I got it.
With difficulty taking a sitting position, I cradle my sore arm, feeling a new range of "marvellous" sensations waking up in my ribs and back.
-Any advice on treatment? I'm sure the teacher will beat the crap out of me tomorrow.
-Don't get hit by cars.
-Madam.
-Oh, farang. Gods have mercy on me for such unlawful children. Use the ointment, rest and don't strain your ribs. There are no splinters, the bones will fall back into place, but your ligaments are torn. Don't rub the sore spots and do some breathing exercises.
-Thank you.
-As if she'd read my mind, Soiming folded her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "You realised I was joking about the training, right? Don't you dare even think about it! It'll be a joke for the rest of your life.
Nodding my head in farewell, I left the hospitable Thai house. I had a long journey home ahead of me. Without cigarettes, without energy and without desire. And at the very end of this quest, Mary Sullivan would be waiting for me, and she would definitely notice my new battle marks.
***
-House arrest? Are you a child?
-There you go. Besides, you don't have to tell me, you can't make a move without Uncle Ben's word.
-That's not true.
-Yeah, it is.
Bickering and joking, Parker and I hung out at my house while I was on bed rest, so to speak. Board games, video games, and cyfy serials - what could be better?
Now we were playing a card game in which cunning Pete was constantly beating us all by simply memorising the cards and counting the points in his mind. Fucking genius with some kind of eidetic memory.
-Dame.
-King.
-Eight.
-Ten. This round's on me.
Parker, not hiding his superiority, threw his winnings in the form of nickels into a small pile.
-I don't want to play this anymore, he always wins. -I'm Billy.
-I'm Billy.
-Exactly," I nodded at the words of the most intelligent member of the group and leaned back on the bed, fumbling in the depths beneath, "I've got a better idea.
-Something new?Ned, who was sitting next to me, glanced in my direction and popped a handful of chocolate-covered nuts into his mouth, crunching them violently, shaking the walls.
-Yeah, sure. I'm a noble rich guy, everyone at school knows that.
-"You bought a stupid scarf for fifty quid.
-It's not stupid! -It's not stupid! It's a masterpiece, a thing that-
-Yes, yes, we've heard that a thousand times, -the packet of nuts was rapidly coming to an end, -get it out already, or we'll get mouldy.
-Now," I finally found what I was looking for and placed a huge box on the table, rattling with parts, "here!
-Lego, really?
-Shit, Ned, you're always getting it wrong.
-I can make Lego at home, but mine's better. This is just for kids.
-Oh, that's it. I'll do it myself then.
-I don't mind. Mum says it makes me look smart.
We looked at each other in silence and gave Billy the box of children's lego. The guy was not good at other games, only Dungeons and Dragons he more or less learnt, the rest of the board games remained for him a dark forest.
-What are we gonna do?
-I have no idea. We could steal my dad's bourbon," I dismissed the idea with a glance at Ned's frightened eyes and Parker's outraged ones, "but you're not going to make a mess.
-It's no good stealing, and it's no good stealing from your father.
-Oh, my mum will be so happy. Not that I'm drinking, but that there's less booze in the house. Forget it.
-Shouldn't we just watch telly and see if there's anything good? -Oh, yeah.
-Yeah. Lunchtime in the middle of the week is famous for good shows and films.
But there wasn't much choice, so we went downstairs with Billy, who was engrossed. As the sickest of the sick, and a resident of the house, they generously gave me a chair, while the boys had to huddle on the sofa. It was amusing to look at Pete sniffing unhappily, who was squeezed on both sides by our not inconsiderable friends.
-"That was a nice sandwich.
-Fuck you.
Our usual tirade was interrupted by Ned turning on the TV. The fat guy was flicking through the channels. Sometimes one glance was enough for him to reject a proposed option and move on. But then again, I wasn't rich enough for him to flip through them like he did at home. So after only ten clicks, the guy went for a second round.
-Yeah, not even cable.
-Oh, Ned, fuck you.
-Quiet, there's something on the news.
And there was something to see. In the middle of the screen was the happy face of Norman Osborne, father of our classmate Harry. The red-haired Norman, pleased with himself, was answering questions, educating reporters about Ozcorp's many projects.
As the interview progressed, Norman wandered further and further into the wilderness, trying to publicise his company. Projects, developments, new famous scientists and even a couple of lucrative contracts, one of which particularly caught my attention.
-"We are now entering a new, golden era.
-What do you mean by that?
-Directly, Rachel," Norman smiled dazzlingly and, adjusting his tie, raised his tone to half a voice, announcing the main event in Ozcorp, "just yesterday we managed to conclude a contract with the Ministry of Defence. Now Ozcorp is going to the next level.
-This is great news!
-That's what I'm talking about.
-If it's not a secret, what exactly the contract was.
-Of course it's a secret, Rachel," Harry's father frowned, leaning closer to the camera, covering his mouth with his palm and whispering loud enough for everyone to hear, "but next year we'll be holding a public exhibition in the Ozcorp building, so you can try to find out for yourself.
Winking at the laughing journalist, Norman waved goodbye, and then the broadcast cut off, bringing the audience back to the TV studio.
-Wow, that's how lucky the Osbournes are.
-Harry's already acting like an arse, and now what's going to happen?
-Oh, right. I hadn't thought of that.
I didn't really care about the younger Osborne. His behaviour at school had pushed me away from him early on. But the fact that Ozcorp will be holding an exhibition open to everyone is interesting. Could this be the exact moment Peter became Spidey, or just a coincidence?
Ugh, I was stirring and shaking. Events in the world were slowly unfolding and it wasn't long before my mate would be running around in spandex on the walls.
***
♪ Night city, you're so enticing and exciting ♪ New York, your name alone stirs my blood. I leaned on the window sill and gazed thoughtfully at the cloud-covered sky that cut us off from the moonlight.
Somewhere under the window an old lantern flickered, and a couple of dogs began to wrangle for food, creating a real battle before the eyes of unwitting spectators.
The smouldering cigarette illuminated my face with a soft red light, creating the atmosphere of mystery and noir that had become so ingrained in my soul.Was I always like this, or maybe my obsessive desire to become a protector of the city had turned me into the hero of my own detective story, where every day a new story awaited the character.
The ash from the cigarette fluttered into the alley before it reached the ground. Driven by the wind, it flew out onto the main street to the few passers-by and a couple of passing cars at a late hour.
-I want to be a hero...
Eh, easier said than done. There's a whole world around me, full of danger at every turn. Hydra, mages, demons, aliens, mutants and other freaks who can squeeze cars into a pancake or summon lightning with a single thought.
I need to be something more, cos I'm--
-I'm not Rorschach.
The chewed-up steer followed the ash, plopping into a muddy puddle, attracting the attention of the cat resting on the dustbin.
Gotta get strength without resorting to serums and mutant stuff. Maybe magic or Dr Otto's tentacles?
Thoughts raced around in my head looking for a solution, but there was the sound of my mother's polite cough behind me.
-Oh.
The smell of cigarettes hadn't had time to wear off, which meant the only real hero of this town was about to get his neck slapped.
"And how did I not hear her footsteps... Whoa. Of course you did."
Though I'd been scolded for smoking in my own room, and the back of my neck had the distinct mark of my mother's hand, I was proud to have found a new way to be stronger, to protect New York.
***
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