Episode: 3.3

--- Rai ---

At his locker, he began shifting through it, looking more for something to do, than anything he actually needed for school.

“You know someone could have spotted you…” a voice told him from behind his locker door.

He took a breath as a faint spark of static began in the back of his head, before slowly sighing as he closed his locker.

“Not that I can really blame you, we all get kinda antsy from time to time.”

“Chess.” He answered simply, turning to Chess, the lanky young woman with pale skin, long raven black hair, and grey eyes, who was currently leaning against the locker next to his.

“Lil’ bro.” she greeted back as he tried ignoring the fact that despite being shorter, he was the elder sibling.

“Seriously though,” she continued, crossing her arms over her black shirt with torn off sleeves, “you’re usually more careful about this kind of thing.”

“I know.” He admitted rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s just I missed the bus, and I didn’t feel like walking so…”

“-you had a cheat day.” She finished for him, before shrugging, “Like I said I get it, but if you need to run wild, do it at night, man. I mean you can still ‘fade’ in the shadows, right? Because that perception filter you were using, it’s crap.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the ‘perception prodigy’.

“Yeah, I haven’t been diluted that much yet…” he nodded leaning against his own locker, “I’ve still got enough for the near-passive tricks.”

“And past that?” she asked with a look of concern.

“I’ve only really got enough wiggle room for my namesake.” He sighed, while making sure not to look at her.

“So, you’ve fallen into the single-digits… how long ago?”

“Sometime in the last couple of months.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” she nearly shouted as she moved from the wall.

“I’ve always had a low concentrate, you know that, Chess.” He reminded her with an apathetic shrug.

She looked up, her face saying, ‘I can’t believe this idiot,’ before her eyes focused back on him, “What is your current concentrate?”

He sighed not wanting to check, before finally relenting as her glare intensified, forcing him to reach out to his other-side.

(Personal Status (Malice Concentration): 8.3% / 15.6%)

“About eight out of sixteen.” He cringed.

“You’re letting yourself wither away…” Chess groaned running her hands over her face, “At this rate any serious Malice usage will result in overdose.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not worried, of course you’re not.” She told him rubbing her eyes in frustration.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Lower Malice levels mean it’s harder for Asylum to track us down.” He reasoned, already knowing she wouldn’t buy it.

“Yeah, but what happens when they track us down?” she argued.

“Like I said, I’ve still got my passives and my namesake, so I can dodge and run them long enough to get away, same as you.”

Chess’s eyes narrowed, “And what exactly is your top speed right now?”

He tried very hard not to flinch at that question.

Chess snorted. “That’s what I thought. Alright, I understand your paranoia with Asylum, hell, I’m paranoid about them, but you’re taking it to an unhealthy level, and-”

“Yo, Rai!” a voice called from behind.

“Looks like your crews here…” Chess glared over his shoulder, before turning it on him, as her eyes flashed black with two white pupils, “Look, we’re not done with this, but… try to be careful, your concentrate ‘s too low to handle a real fight.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He nodded before walking towards Des, as his sister left in the opposite direction, taking the static in his head with her.

“So, Mr. Morales, how are you doing this fine morning?” Desmond asked in a chipper tone, because despite not being a morning person he knew exactly how much Rai hated dealing with them in the morning.

(The sadistic bastard…)

“Crap, if I’m being honest.” Chess’s lecture being half the reason.

“Yeah, you look like it, man.” Des nodded, looking him over with a hand on his chin.

“And I’ll continue to look like it until at least twelve.” He retorted before looking over Des’s shoulder, “Any sign of Nadya yet?”

“Nah, think it’ll be one of her late mornings?” Des asked opening the locker one down from Raimundo’s, something he made sure to rig every year, just as Nadya’s locker was on the other side of his.

“Give me a sec.” He pulled out his phone, hit 1 on his speed dial, and put the phone to his ear as it began to ring.

The first call went to voice mail, so he re-dialed and waited until the call was rejected, and upon his third try a very annoyed young woman answered, “Raimundo Morales, you better have a damn good reason for waking me up before noon on a Sunday.”

He couldn’t help but smirk.

(Oh, this going to be fun…)

“Well excluding my death wish, I don’t really have one…” he answered in a dejected voice, before smiling, “Oh, but could you uh, tell me what day it is?”

(Just wait for it…)

He paused for a moment, at the phone’s silence.

(I can just hear her thinking, ‘Is this asshole serious?’)

It took another moment, before he finally got the exact reaction he was waiting for.

“I just said its Sun- OH SHIT, IT’S MONDAY!” Nadya Gray screamed in shock before a thump could be heard on the other end of the line.

(There it is.), he thought with a laugh as he hung up.

“Well I must say; you look much less like crap now.” Des laughed closing his own locker.

“Yep, teasing the one you love tends to shave a few years of stress off.” He nodded, being sure to pat his cheek with a vanity filled smirk.

“I’m sure it will, especially once she gets ahold of you.” Des agreed with his own smirk.

“You know…” Des began as they started walking to their first class of the day, “I love how you’re always calling her your love when she’s not around.

“Meh, she’s been my best friend how long?” he shrugged. “Of course, I love her. Hell, I’d tell you the same if it wasn’t for the awkwardness involved in a straight man telling a gay man, he loved him in a totally platonic way.”

“Ouch,” Des grabbed his chest with a grimace, “that has got to be the most lukewarm way to friend zone someone.”

He shook his head. “Ass.”

Des just grinned back, before taking a more solemn expression after a moment, “Seriously though… just… tell her how you feel.”

He couldn’t help but run a hand down his face.

(Damn it… not this again…)

“I would but it’s… complicated.” He argued for probably the twelfth time that week.

(When will you guys just drop this…)

He let loose a frustrated sigh.

(Hell, I’d probably quit trying to confess, if you lot just… quit… encouraging me all the time…)

Des shook his head, “Yeah, I’ve heard all of your ‘complications’-” (Wait, when’d I tell you I’m not human?), “-and to be honest they’re all bullshit and you know it.”

(I’ll have you know not being human is a very valid issue when dating a human.)

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “I know,” (that the reason I fed you is bullshit.), “and I’m sorry,” (that you actually bought it… Kind of surprised you did, if I’m being honest…)

“Don’t apologize, it’s not my life you’re messing up,” Des told him after a moment, “that said if you do wuss out again, I’ve got your parents’ permission to get you drunk and force a confession, no matter how humiliating.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at his friends attempt, to step away from the… more than uncomfortable topic.

“Give it your best try.” (I’ve already drained the keg into the neighbor’s garden.)