Ichor || mxb

VII

Aware and mindful of every whisper, mumble, clacking of the rain against the window, nipping of the skin due to the exceptionally cold weather. Ethan felt it all. Ethan heard it all in the form on incoherent blabber. Being downright overpowered by a sagging force, even the mere action of broaching his eyes seemed to be too much of a strain on his body.

Ethan might have sat there for a few days maybe a few weeks, falling into and out of consciousness. Majority of his sentient time he would try and search for any clue on how he got into his current position. With no luck, not even a glimpse of any fogged up memory sparked through that devious brain of his.

That was until he felt that uncanny churn of his gut, body involuntarily lurching forward, spouting a claggy umber colored substance, a foggy apprehension downed on him. This was defiantly whiskey. Eyes quickly adjusting to the lustreless room, he noticed he was placed in his own office, though the alarm came in the form of a beat when noticing a needle pricked into his forearm, supplying a translucent substance.

Forcing the needle out of his skin in one swift movement, he steadied himself onto his own two feet. Arms extended supposing his posture failed him,  a nagging notion screwed itself into his brain, his body was still recovering. Walking is not a good conception for Ethan's state.

Snubbing every warning his body threw at him, he stumbled over to the door with strain. Knocking over everything in his view as he trudged on till clasping both hands onto the extensive, faded, umber colored, timber.

Unlatching the imposing door, the unmistakable stench of blood hit the tip of his nose almost immediately. The horrible metallic reek sending waves of queasiness through Ethan's abdomen. That familiar sense of saliva forming in your mouth, an unnatural twist of the stomach and a light choking.

Yet again, the infamous narc paid no attention toward any injunction his body provided. Blood stained walls tended his vision for as far as he can see down the dim hallway. Wary and tentative of every step he took, his steps echoed as he continued down the eerie hallway.

Reaching the end, his ears perked up as he picked up the familiar chatter of his men, only this time he knew something was wrong. Their tones sounded hushed, unfrequented and altogether depressing.

Combining the throbbing of his head, that was in sync with his heartbeat, and the aching and twisting his gut endeavored, focusing on their wordings was almost impossible. Instead, Ethan had to accent all his attention on supporting his feeble body.

The gang lord's appearance instantly silenced the gang, or whatever was left of it. Ethan's eyes squinted as he tried to adjust to the bright light emitted in their living room. A frown carved through his eyebrows as he sensed the depressing nature of their conversation.

No alcohol bottles littering the tables? Not a single blunt or pill in sight? No obnoxious and loud laughter? Something was definitely wrong here.

The abundant and all too familiar aroma of rusted iron crept onto the oblivious man's nostrils, his stomach instantly churning. The all too familiar lurch stance took over Ethan's posture as he threw up yet again.

Loyal old William making his to the leader that was now on his knees at the entrance of the room. A bottle of water in hand, crouching down and examining his boss's pitiful condition.

Never had the gang ever dreamed of seeing their leader oblivious, weak and helpless. The once labeled 'notorious murder' and 'mastermind criminal' now had no energy to get up on his own two feet, literally. How on god's green earth was he going to be able to pick up the crumbling gang again before another one of the attacks hit again to finish them all off completely?

"You need to rest boss. You've had alcohol poisoning, is'not a good idea to work ya self up now."
William spoke hesitantly, though braver than he has ever had in front of his boss.

"What the fuck is going on?" The feeble leader croaked out, hoarseness present in his frail vocals.

"There was an attack. 162 dead in total, t'was the Devil's Decibels. We found ya in ya room passed out on the floor. The boy ya took to ya room looked like he saved ya life." William spoke apprehensively, trying to simplify it for the still glowering 'leader'.

The gang lord tried stomaching what was thrown at him. It took him around two minutes to absorb the horrifying information. If his head was pounding before, it felt like he was constantly getting shot in the head now. A bazillion thoughts, scenarios and solutions grazed the top of his head, though his mouth didn't aligned with wording his thoughts.

"The boy? How?" Ethan didn't even notice he was thinking about the boy with the muddling ideas his brain went through.

"There were two other men in the room, right next to ya. Both dead. The boy had a bullet in his thigh, we put him in the basement to fix him up. Didn't check up on him again" William spoke in a confused tone. All his words came out in the form of a question.

William, along with the other bandits were completely dumbfounded over their boss. Through this whole crisis that they were dealing with, the boss asked his first question about a mere boy he met two nights prior? The phrase 'what the fuck' ran through each one of their minds. Some even slightly mouthing it in amazement.

Now slumped against the wall, the bewildered chief tried to compose himself. He has to step up, and it had to be fierce. He knew exactly what was running through the minds of those who stood in front of him.

The narc didn't appreciate the feeling of someone degrading him, he was so used to everybody avoiding his gaze, crumbling underneath it, fidgeting, stuttering and any other sign of fear and anxiousness in the book.

Ethan especially did not like the eyeing they sent his way not so discreetly, neither the way they would give each other side glances, silently making sport of their figurehead.

So he did what every lord is set out to do. The narc picked himself up, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest for the dramatic effect. The senile gaze wiped off, replacing itself was a piercing one. The signature drop-dead glare.

"I need a list of all the gang members dead. I need you to call a meeting with Pérez and his men. Now." Striving to achieve a boom and to retrieve the natural deepness and eeriness his voice once held.

Widening their eyes at how fast his physique had altered, they all scurried, a silent agreement made over who did what. Though content formed in them, and one of them almost muttered a 'welcome back, boss" though decided against it. The nefarious killer is back and that's all that mattered.

Running his hands over his face, Ethan exhaled a long breath. With yet no memory resurfacing, he decided that he should head back to his office.

The narc needed a plan. A good one at that. Vowing to destroy those who dared to trespass and try to harm him. A swear on his parents' grave.

I'm the worst person ever, i haven't updated in so long and i'm so sorry. I've been dealing with a lot lately, I'm sorry again. This chapter honestly is just shit I hope you all don't hate me. Thank you for reading though! Let me know what you think :)

word count: 1237