Vigilante | ✔

Part X: Continuity

Vaguely, Eli remembered reading a comic book when he was younger — one where the hero didn't make it in time.

He didn't remember all of the story, after all, it had been years (and he hadn't actually read all of it thanks to his impatient older cousin who actually owned it). What he did remember was the hero's sidekick being tied up in a warehouse with a bomb. A bomb that went off before the hero of the story could get there.

Eli didn't think that was the best thing to think about when he was in a disturbingly similar situation — minus the bomb, thankfully — but his brain had a habit of picking the most inappropriate thoughts to focus on. As usual, he tried to make himself feel better through the magic of snark.

"Seriously, this is your hideout? Are all bad guys this cliched, or do you just suck at coming up with original ideas?" he said. The words were a bit slurred, but he blamed that on the fact that he'd had his head slammed against the sidewalk a couple of times.

The coppery taste in his mouth that followed was something Eli had expected, right along with the ache that came with being punched in the face. He supposed pissing off the bad guys wasn't a very good idea. Really though, anyone who knew him would have expected him to mouth off instead of plead for his life. Yes, Eli really was that stupid.

He wasn't even given a response, as the man who'd punched him walked off, back to the metal folding chair he'd been sitting on since Eli first saw him. He leaned back, and glared at Eli, probably pissed off that he'd had to actually move. After a moment, he picked up the newspaper he'd been reading earlier from atop the old metal desk at his side.

Eli watched him with a frown. He was a mean looking man — but then Eli's opinion might have been biased on this — with dark circles under equally dark eyes that stood out starkly in his pale face, and a bulky looking build. Eli suspected it was mostly fat, and he would have said as much if the guy didn't punch so hard. There was a cigar caught between thin lips, the acrid smoke nearly choking Eli. He'd always hated smokers.

"What the hell are you staring at?" the man asked roughly after a moment. He glowered at Eli, cigar still sticking out of his mouth.

"Sorry, just never seen a smoking gorilla before."

Sometimes, Eli seriously hated himself, because even he could tell what he'd just said was monumentally stupid. It was still true.

"Jesus, you're stupid," someone said, and for a moment Eli wondered if his mind had finally decided to abandon him. Not without first telling him how dumb he was, of course. Then he remembered the part of his mind that always called him stupid usually sounded like Michael.

He'd hardly heard the door open, probably because pain was a good enough distraction. As nervous as he was about who might be speaking, he was still glad when Mr. Cancerstick — he would have made a better name had his brain not been scrambled — turned his attention to whoever had just walked into the small and sparse office Eli was being kept in.

The large man that had been keeping an eye on Eli moved, and Eli got a good look at who had just entered. For the first time in a while Eli wasn't exactly sure on what to say.

"Hey Eli," said the young man with a lazy grin.

"Al?" Eli said after a while, the shock evident in his tone.

Al — short for Albert, which was an entirely too formal name for the laid back guy — was a lanky, dark haired student just a year older than Eli. His eyes were thin and almond shaped, but the bright hazel tone gave him a friendly sort of look. It was this that led people to believe that he was a decent guy, or at the very least a fun guy to be around.