The Trick to Falling in Style

Withering

He stands at the doorway, peering into the laboratory. The white walls are bathed in deep blue lights, and a man sits at one of the metal desks with something in his hands. A dog with clean white fur is lying in a small bed in the corner of the room, her limbs spread out around her and her eyes closed. The man at the desk looks up suddenly, and the dog lazily opens her eyes to see what was distracting her master. The man looks toward the doorway at him, a smile tugging on his face. He pushes the goggles above his head, lowering the tools he was using. "What are you doing there? Come on. I have something to show you."

He wanders into the room. His fingers run across one of the tables, feeling the scratches and grooves from the many times Kamikaze's inventions didn't work out the way he hoped they would. He walks past his friend's workbench to sit in a spinning chair right beside the man's desk. He leans his chin into his hands as he waits for whatever the man was going to show him.

He gets shown a metal box. There are words and numbers etched into the surface of the box. There are dials and switches, and empty spots that show a technological interior. The man holds it up to him, showing him how the different puzzles were going to work once the box was done. "I'm making this for Kamikaze. I think it would help him as a fidgeting toy of sorts. I want to make you something, too. Is there anything you would like? And I don't mean an upgrade to your suit. You can get that any time. I want to make something for you."

"I don't know," He said, and he left the conversation at that. Tears filled his eyes when weeks later, he found a mechanical music box with a holographic dancer performing in an endless cycle. It was the first gift he had ever received, and it wouldn't be the last one the man would give him.

—

Vermillion breathes out as the memory worms its way out of his subconscious. He places a hand over his forehead, pulling himself up on the tree branch he had slept in during the day. His dreams as of late had been bringing him back to the precious moments he held in his heart from when life was a lot simpler. Those were the times when he would visit Warden in his workshop, and he would receive presents that never failed to bring a smile to his face. Now, however, those memories and those gifts only made him feel numb and saddened. They were moments he would never get back. He still had most of the presents, but like the suit he was currently wearing, he had pushed them into boxes in the back of his closet. He couldn't bear to look at the little raccoons running around the magnetic park ground or the translucent ballerina who looked like the goddess of the skies as she twirled.

Vermillion pushed off the branch to land onto the ground. He wobbled for a moment before his sense of balance returned to him. He took a deep breath, burying his memories and his emotions. He had something more important to do. The Mooshroom Monstrosity was currently in the Badlands, and its plague was spreading to the other districts. Some of the heroes from the association had been corrupted by the mists, and he didn't doubt that others still had been burdened with illness. Kamikaze was currently at his house with the sickness. The only cure was to cut off the monstrosity's powers, either by death or power suppressors.

Vermillion looked toward the sky as he began to walk towards the Badlands. The clouds had grown even thicker, and they had a wider diameter than when Vermillion had last looked. He could tell that it was starting to leak into other districts. Vermillion used the wind to propel himself forward, surging through the air to get to his destination quicker. He climbed up a fire escape to get to a rooftop. As he got closer to the atmosphere, he could practically taste the infection in the air. It was rich like overpowering spices covering rotten meat. It made Vermillion want to gag. If people didn't leave because of the warning Passerine was issuing, they would certainly abandon their homes once the smell and taste got to them. No one wanted to spend the day gagging or dry-heaving because of an avoidable presence in the air.