Hit and Run (A Zodiac Story)

[Part 1] Prologue

Sometimes, sitting all alone in a dusty, abandoned warehouse, Capricorn likes to think. 

He likes to think about the past, about unexpected consequences, about the fact that he really couldn't give a damn about any of those anymore. 

His foot taps erratically against the cold, dirty ground; his eyes dart around the room, tracking a lone fly. Though, neither of those compare to the race of his mind. His thoughts swirl in an endless tempest. How he got here. Why he got here. How he could've stopped it all. 

The sunlight filters through the cracked window, thin and watery. It highlights the clouds of dust floating around him before settling on his hair and skin, dim flashes of gold atop silver and white. 

Looking back on it now, Capricorn almost laughs at how foolish he was.

Things had spiraled out of control rather quickly, but Capricorn has to admit that it was his own mistake. He did nothing to stop them, clumsily allowing momentum to build up.

He sighs. His hands run through mussed white hair, and the action causes his eyes to lock on the pistol sitting on the table across from him. He picks it up with an air of mild interest. 

The cold metal is a familiar weight in his hand. Every smooth dip and groove of the steel brings back another memory, fresh yet faint in an odd, nostalgic way. 

Capricorn sighs yet again. How long would it take for them to find him? Considering he hasn't even left the city borders, he doesn't think it'll take too long. 

The old clock in the back- how it isn't broken yet, he's not sure- ticks steadily. Seconds that slip by turn into minutes, then hours. Capricorn doesn't know how long it has been since he's entered the building. 

He doesn't want to know, either. 

The fly buzzes nosily, a distraction in the overwhelming silence Capricorn's too grateful for. 

In the distance, a gunshot rings out. 

Capricorn lets out a breath he doesn't know he has been holding. Relief pools in his stomach, sending a cool breeze through all the tension that has been coiled up. 

It's time for the fun to begin. 

"Come out!" Someone shouts, closer this time. "We know you're in there!"

His fists clench, loosen, then tighten again. Phantom voices creep into his head, another reminiscence of the past he's so desperate to escape.  

Patience is a virtue, Capricorn. Take it easy. Just for a moment.

He shoves the voices out and forces himself to focus in to his surroundings, to hear the shuffling of many feet outside the warehouse, to hear voices shout intelligible words. Faintly, very faintly, there is the sloshing of a liquid. 

Water?

But when has water ever smelled this bad?

"Get back!" Is the last thing Capricorn hears before the world goes up in a blaze of red and orange. 

Too late, he realizes, it was gasoline. 

And now, all around him, the fire licks. Searing, raging, consuming the thin wooden walls. 

Too late, Capricorn realizes, he doesn't care.

He merely smiles, regarding the inferno in front of him as a child might with a new pet. Two parts interest, one part desire, the last part, something deep and dark even he is unsure of. In that moment, the wood infrastructure had seemed so delicate to him, so frail under the blistering heat. One kick and it would all collapse, a torn house of cards crumbling into ashes. 

Tucking the pistol securely into the waistband of his jeans, Capricorn calmly walks towards the entrance of the warehouse. Burning timbers fall around him, but he simply ducks out of the way. He is guided only by luck and instinct, unwavering in the face of such danger. 

The door falls over with a crash. The sunlight that shines through looks almost ethereal, a halo of blinding white. 

Capricorn doesn't stop. He knows that only heavy gunfire will await him at the entrance. 

And he embraces that fate with open arms. 

After all, what more was there to lose?