It was a bitter Tuesday night, with the sour scent of rot filling the stiff air of the warehouse. The sound of a shoe's rubber outsole scraped against the concrete beneath it as the wearer shuffled forward, the squelching sound of liquid impacting on the ground under every step taken. The black converse were delicately splattered with bits of crimson on the top while a slowly expanding pool of blood lay underneath them. The owner of these shoes was a young, freakishly pale-skinned boy around 5'10 and 16 years old. His dark, desaturated brown hair seemed recently trimmed and brushed, with only a few loose strands out of place. 

His sunken, tired brown eyes with a faint glint of light reflected off the pupils, under which was a light blue paper mask concealing the rest of his face. His attire was that of a careless teenager; a dark gray zip-up hoodie and black cargo pants. Other clothing garments were probably worn underneath but were not visible under his zipped-up hoodie.

He swayed a bit as he moved forward, ejecting a shallow sigh as though moving was a casual annoyance to him. Before him laid a demonic-looking creature that would have looked similar to a vulture if it wasn't mangled and brutalized as much as it was. The pool of dark red blood belonged to this creature as it poured from a gash in its abdomen. 

The creature was slaughtered recently, in the range of 30 minutes. The young boy's head suddenly lurched back as he closed his eyes, his neck making small crackles and pops as he did so. Before opening his eyes, he seemed to wait a few seconds, barely audibly mumbling a countdown from 5 to 1.

The grotesque scent seemed to vanish, and the boy looked down at where the creature was. His shoes were no longer decorated with bits of crimson, the pool of blood was nowhere to be seen, and the beast had seemingly morphed from something vulture-like into a small mammal that the boy didn't know the classification.

His head tilted to the side as he examined the lack of gore, though it was still a staid corpse. His eyes stayed as dead and lifeless as the corpse, his expression stiff with contempt. A soft exhale escaped his throat before he turned on his heels and walked off, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. His hands fished around for a moment, pulling out a phone and earbuds, turning on some music, and pressing the earbuds into his ears. As he exited the warehouse, his eyes locked back onto the pathway in front of him.

As he left, he ended up on a dimly lit sidewalk, the suburban houses he walked past still with rest, as it was far too late for anyone with any sense to be up. The boy's eyes faltered a bit as he walked, enticing him to rub them with his left hand to try and keep them from falling closed. He staggered, trying to mask his fatigue with the pace, but any witness could quickly tell his consciousness was drifting.

He limped for a few more minutes, going slower as his shoes dragged along the concrete, scratching against the worn rubber. Then, finally, the tip of his shoe suddenly seemed to get caught on a crack in the sidewalk, and with a low grunt, he toppled forward, his limbs jerking in front of his torso as he barely managed to save himself from falling flat-faced onto the ground. 

He steadied himself; his spine was still craned forward in a hunch, his glassy eyes staring lifelessly at the ground before him with dilated pupils. It took him a few seconds to straighten his posture as he corrected his position, back to standing up straight for a few seconds before his body started leaning to his right.

With a helpless sigh, he let his body ragdoll and hit the grassy lawn of one of the neighborhood houses. Luckily, he hadn't fallen onto the street, but his body still faintly ached with the oppressing weight of exhaust settling over his muscles. Though this wasn't ideal for sleep, he couldn't force himself along any further, so the itchy trimmed grass would have to make do as a bed as his eyes closed, and he accepted his fate.

The boy had almost immediately passed out. He woke up in a confused daze sometime later as he felt his body shift upwards. His voice made a hollow objection to this before sense returned to him, feeling an out-of-place firmness resting around the left side of his ribcage. His limbs were limp, and his muscles were still slack, but the strange force hauled his body forward regardless.

If he were able to summon even a slight conscious thought, he'd immediately have been able to recognize that someone had picked him up. Though, he wouldn't have even cared, regardless. He was tired and getting a free ride to (hopefully) somewhere more comfortable than a stranger's lawn. 

He felt lugged around for another minute before he felt pressed onto a cushioned surface. It was likely a couch or bed, and the boy passed out again without complaint.

His body had barely even stirred in wake until the stimuli of the morning began taunting him. His head was spinning, and nausea filled the back of his throat, but the boy pushed himself up from the surface beneath him as he tried his best to keep himself from slipping back into unconsciousness.

His mouth was devoid of his usual mask and filled with dryness, his eyes tingling with a soft burning feeling, his muscles and bones lax in an inscrutable weakness. The sun had barely managed to peak past the blackout curtains in the room, the strips of light illuminating small dust particles prancing around in the air as they barely allowed the boy to see the actual contents of the area.

He felt around him, pushing a weighted blanket off his lower half and limply smacking a wooden dresser next to where he was, which he assumed to be a bed. He yawned, then pushed himself off the mattress and onto a carpeted floor. But, of course, he'd confirmed this was a bedroom, so he just had to hope this wasn't the house of a crazed serial killer. He scoffed in amusement at the thought, forcing his body forward towards the door. Regardless of where he was or who he was in the presence of, he believed he was more than capable of fending for himself.

He mindlessly wandered around the house for a bit. Around the halls, into random rooms, and down the stairs, virtually circumnavigating the whole area before he came across an active site; the kitchen. He nearly choked on his breath as he saw the person in there, rifling through the pantry.

It was a boy around his height, maybe an inch or two taller, with wavy black hair that reached his mid-neck. His skin was darkly colored, with a more athletic and broad build, covered by a brand tank top and basketball shorts. His face was shaped neatly by his bone structure, with auburn brown eyes that almost looked red under the proper lighting. It took a second for him to notice his guest had woken up, but his neutral attitude immediately perked up upon noticing. 

"Oh, Dylan! You're up, hi!" The other boy exclaimed with a frivolous sense of excitement that made Dylan's stomach churn, but he stayed silent and unmoving. The boy with auburn eyes waited awkwardly for a response before recognizing he wasn't getting one, choking out a nervous laugh as he started to monologue an explanation.

"Ah, Uhm, sorry I kinda…abducted you, I guess? But I just assumed that, like, uhh… a bed would be a bit more comfortable than my lawn…Oh! Plus, the sprinklers turn on at like… 6? I think…Not sure, but it would kind of suck to wake up to a bunch of water getting spritzed in your face, so…"

He was tripping over his words, seeming exhausted, though it didn't damper his mood. Already bored with this tired rant, Dylan shifted towards the door further away on his left to leave the house. As he did, he cleared his throat and began to say something, though his voice was laced with a dry rasp and voice cracks.

"What's the time…day, too. If it's a weekday, I'm not–" Mid-sentence, he tripped over the edge of a rug and slammed his face into the floor. He let out an audible and painful-sounding grunt, which caused the other boy to jump from the startle and rush over to this victim of physics.

"Shit– fuck! Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry. Oh my god, are you ok?" The other boy stammered as Dylan slowly pushed himself off the floor. His jaw ached with a stingy pain, leaving Dylan much more dazed and damaged. He was hauled up again by his colleague and moved onto the couch, where his hearing began to fail him. He was confident he could hear words from the other boy, but he had no clue what those words could be.

Dylan found this situation quite annoying, simply letting his head roll back onto the couch cushions behind him and closing his eyes. He heard movement and speech around him but did not care for what they entailed until his senses returned. Eventually, he begrudgingly opened his eyes and dropped his head forward, not shocked to see the other boy standing in front of him with a worried expression. 

"How the fuck do you know my name?" Dylan asked this out of nowhere, with a hint of aggravation in his tone. This seemed to confuse the other boy, whose words faltered before he responded. “Wha…do– um… Do you have a concussion?... My name's Markus; we've known each other since, like… elementary?"

Dylan stared blankly forward at him, not even blinking. Clearly, his question was dead serious, leading Markus to believe he'd been concussed even more. The truth was that Dylan knew of Markus well, very well, and was aware that they had talked quite a few times in their ten or so years of 'knowing' each other. However, Dylan had never bothered to learn his peer's name, nor had he considered that Markus had learned his.

"Ah. I didn't know you had a name," He bluntly stated before pushing himself forward and off the couch. Markus stood there stunned for a few seconds before recollecting himself. His attention turned back to Dylan, who had walked over to the kitchen and was now siphoning through the cupboards. Markus quickly walked over to Dylan, who'd briefly glanced back at him.

"Where are your cups? I haven't had water in two days," Dylan had explained in such a matter-of-fact tone, like the context of what he'd said was normal. This entire interaction left Markus baffled, but he silently opened one of the cupboards and grabbed a ceramic cup for Dylan. Dylan took it and went to the sink to fill it up, not caring as Markus watched him in awe. As the cup filled, Dylan lifted it to his mouth and began to drink, drink, and drink…before downing the entire thing in around 7 seconds. He returned to fill the cup up again before Markus neared him, stuttered words spilling from his mouth.

"Wait, wha– huh… um… Dude? Are you ok?" He asked with such genuine concern that it made Dylan's skin crawl, but he ignored him as he chugged his second cup of water. When he finished, he put the glass in the sink and headed back towards the door before feeling a tug on his shoulder, luckily not strong enough to send his still weakened body toppling back.

“No no no, hold on hold on. At least let me drive you home, like hell I'm letting you just walk out like nothing's the matter," Markus stammered, grabbing the hood of Dylan's jacket and gently tugging him towards another room in the house, probably the garage. Dylan grumbled and huffed, objecting only verbally as he was dragged through the house and into the garage. "Jesus Christ, I'm not a damn cancer patient on my last legs, I can walk home dumbass." 

Markus shook his head as he pushed his unwilling guest into the passenger side of a gray vehicle. Markus went to the driver's side and turned on the car before buckling his seatbelt.

"What's your address? Even if it's barely a minute away I'm still driving you," he explained as he looked over to Dylan, who did not look back at him. Dylan shifted in his seat uncomfortably before buckling up as well, staring blankly in front of him as he spoke.

"480 Burrow Ct. Should be ten minutes away, I think…" He trailed off as he spoke, giving Markus time to put in the address before asking another question. "What's the day and time? If it's past eight and a school day, I guess I'll be skipping…" He added before silently cringing at his words and stopping himself before he began to ramble. Markus didn't seem to notice this sudden repulsion, or if he had seen, he did a damn good job hiding it.

Markus put his phone in one of the cupholders with the voice directions on before pressing a button on a small device attached to his keychain, which opened the garage door behind them. He seemed to be half-focused on driving but still set aside some attention to answer Dylan's queries.

"It iiisss, uhhmm… 9:20-ish, but lucky you, it's a Saturday," He explained with a faint smile as he pulled the car out onto the road. The garage door closed behind them, and they were on their way. Dylan seemed relieved upon hearing it wasn't a school day.

"Thank fuck…" He grumbled, his head leaning up against the car window to his side. His mouth opened as if to continue speaking, but he quickly caught himself, repressing the urge to ramble mindlessly. After all, he had to keep up his sassy, mean little man-of-few-words reputation.

Again, Markus did not comment on this as he continued to drive. The car ride was silent, which was fantastic for Dylan since he was still combatting nausea that irritated his throat. Unfortunately, his eyes closed sometimes along the drive, and he passed out for a bit. He had no clue when he fell asleep the night before but assumed it was probably relatively late. Either that, or he did have a concussion and was going to slip into a coma. He was indifferent to either option.