Food on the table and a roof over his head, that's all Malcolm needed. He didn't want things to be that interesting, and didn't care whether or not he turned out to be an important person. Those things were nice and all, but he wasn't that passionate. Better to just let his brother hog all the attention; Malcolm would much rather go into work, take care of it fast, get paid, then not have anything else to worry about.
Borin' but dependable, a job's a job, just the way you like it. That's what his dad had always said. No fun at work, sir yes sir, can't enjoy ourselves here. Well, whatever, the old man was a deadbeat as far as he was concerned. The sooner Malcolm punched that guy's lights out, the sooner he'd quick this lousy gig.
Malcolm walked towards a small park, one a block big and surrounded on all sides by low brick buildings. Squinting through his glasses and the failing evening light, he saw the police perimeter that spanned from one end to another, already setting up spotlights.
What traffic there was existed only because stray cars would bolt down the road, notice all the commotion, slow down to gape, then speed back up once they rolled past it. Malcolm saw the faces of drivers through their windshields as he crossed the street, their mouths barely agape, more bemused than scared. It'd be the other way around if they knew what was in that park. Maybe they wouldn't bother slowing down. Might not even bother taking this route at all.
The cops didn't really know either, but they felt enough, and it was that hint of anticipation that led them all to keep a hand on their pistols, faces a bit too stern, eyes a bit too wandering. If it had been earlier in the day, a crowd might've formed and the boys in blue would've had something to keep them distracted. As it was, they clearly had too much time to stand, wait, wonder.
Their captain was unnervingly easy to spot. Malcolm saw him talking to one of his underlings, placing him even though they'd never met before just by the weight of his authority. Out of everyone there, he was the only one who seemed remotely calm. A bit too calm even, slouching and dragging on a cigarette cradled in his dark fingers.
Malcolm walked right toward him. "You know those things'll kill you, right?"
The captain took one last drag and blew it out, slowly and deliberately, right at Malcolm's face. "You're late."
"I had computer club stuff," Malcolm said, waving the smoke away, cringing at the smell. "So, are we doing this or what?"
The captain sized him up. "I'm gonna need some ID, kid. No offense, but I'm not exactly used to working with middle-schoolers."
"High-schooler, but fine, here." Malcolm brought out his wallet, dug through it, and handed the man a license.
Taking it, the captain looked down at the slip of plastic, then up at him, then back at the card, finding the same well-groomed black hair, the same sharp features, the same narrow eyes. Under Malcolm's name he saw a pair of blue stars, marks of rank. Flipping it over, he noted the emblem he'd been told to expect: a round, webbed circle overlaid with spread wings.
"Roxbury Outpost," the captain muttered, mostly to himself, trying to make the words sound real. "Huh. Sure this isn't forged?"
"Dude, c'mon."
The nearest officer sidled over, eyeing Malcolm. "Captain, you sure about this? I mean, he's a little young." Seeing Malcolm's deadpan face, he held up a hand in surrender. "Er, no offense."
Sighing out one last plume of smoke, the captain handed Malcolm his license back. "You were briefed on this, officer. We're not supposed to ask questions." Disgustingly, he quenched the cig right on his pant leg and stuffed what little was left in his pocket. "Well alright, kid, you're legit. Captain Frank Rollins, at your service."
Finally, Malcolm thought, onto business. "Any clue where the target is?"
"Last we saw it was right in the heart of the park, past those rocks over there." He pointed at a line of trees flanked by some stone outcroppings. "But I haven't gotten a good look since we set the perimeter. It's not a big park though. You can take it slow, search the place front to back 'till you run into the thing."
"Anyone else still inside?"
"Probably not."
"... Probably not?"
"We gave a warning from out here with a megaphone." Rollins shrugged. "Standard protocol. Better than my guys getting killed in evac. Anyone still in there's either stupid or suicidal."
Now Malcolm's professionalism turned sour, and he couldn't help scowling up at the captain, though again Rollins seemed entirely unmoved. "And the description. Accurate?"
"Accurate as we could get. Thing had a damn oak tree for a body, somehow. Tried not to get too close, obviously."
"Alright. Let's get this over with."
Malcolm walked right into the park, and Rollins watched the boy go, relief settling on his shoulders. They'd gotten a description alright. Wasn't natural, but they'd gotten it, and while Rollins still didn't quite believe what he'd seen it was all good now. Not his problem anymore.
His relief lasted all of ten seconds until Malcolm looked back, brow raised. "Well? You coming or not?"
Rollins frowned. "Excuse me?"
"I could use some backup just in case. Standard protocol, right?"
Malcolm could've said it never hurt to have someone with a gun around, but if he was honest with himself he just wanted Rollins to sweat a bit. The guy pissed him off. Plus, he expected to be refused anyway—there wasn't anything standard about anything they were doing.
But to his surprise he saw Rollins grumble, looking at the nearest officer, then sign that he'd be going along. The captain made no effort to hide his annoyance, but as he walked over Malcolm decided he was brave at the very least. Don't judge a book by its cover, he thought, turning back around and continuing his trek into the trees.
- - - — MKII — - - -
It was dark now. Not so dark that they couldn't see where they walked along the stone path, but dark enough that Rollins couldn't trust the shadows. Something might leap out any second and bite right into him, or worse. The trees almost curved over like a canopy, cocooning them in staggered walls of bark, and even with the city lights well within sight Rollins felt like they were walking into a deep wilderness.
It was always like this whenever a Ranger had to get called in. Let them handle it, don't ask questions, forget whatever you saw. Fine, but unlike everyone else Rollins seemed incapable of forgetting, and while not knowing the details might be better in the long run it sure did a number on his nerves. He was tempted to finish that half-cigarette he had left, but no. He might need it later to calm him down after this whole ordeal was over. For now, he'd just have to make do with keeping a hand on his holster.
Malcolm seemed too calm by comparison. Didn't bother looking side to side, didn't bother even to slow his stride. He was confident, Rollins thought. Or arrogant.
Something thumped, and the two immediately stopped right where they stood. Another thump, then another. The fourth came paired with a brief quiver of the ground. The fifth came with a stronger shake. Deep and low.
Rollins felt the incessant thumping under his feet, in his eardrums, in his matching heartbeat. Malcolm looked back at him, hand splaying out, and Rollins nodded, moving back with his hand still on the butt of his gun. They both turned in the direction from where they could both hear and feel the danger coming. The trees shook with each beat of the earth as something heavy and large pushed against them, until finally…
Some boy walked out of the bushes?
Rollins blinked, squinted, rubbed his eyes, blinked again. It wasn't some hallucination. Another boy no older than Malcolm walked towards them, red hoodie drawn up, eyes closed. The left side of his tanned face seemed scarred, or no, more like painted, two red blocky stripes spanning diagonally across his cheek.
The thumping grew yet louder, but the boy's footsteps didn't match. Malcolm realized what was happening before Rollins did.
"Hey!" Malcolm screamed, hand cupping his mouth. "You! Get away from there now!"
The boy opened his eyes and froze at the sight of them standing there in front of him. Specifically, he froze at the sight of Rollins and the badge pinned to the man's coat. Slowly, he brought his hands up, pulled back his hood, pulled down the headphones he had wrapped around his head. "Uh, okay. You got me. No need to shoot, dude."
Then with a final thump a giant, hulking pile of wood and stone surfaced from the shadows as if from deep water right behind him. It loomed over them all with two stumpy legs under a torso as big as a few combined refrigerators, its barrel-thick arms heaving at its sides and planted into the ground like a gorilla. There was no face, just a blank surface of thick bark matted with roots, vines, and moss-spotted twigs. Atop it sat a small tree, its trunk swooping up and branching into a blooming top hat of leaves.
Rollins openly gaped up at it. Even Malcolm took a moment to process its size. Seeing their horrified faces, the boy in the hoodie turned around and finally saw the thing that had been slowly following him.
A pause. Then the boy said the only thing he really could. "Oh."
At that moment, the stone monster fell forward and slammed its log of an arm into him, batting him out of view like a speeding train clearing him off its tracks.
Limbs ragdolling in the air, the poor boy's body slammed into a nearby tree and blew right through it in a shower of splinters, the snap turning into a roar of crackling wood as the whole trunk bent over, cut in half. Slowly, it timber-crashed down between Malcolm and the monster, bouncing twice with a droning rustle and an upsurge of dust and leaves.
Rollins watched this happen with the kind of awed befuddlement he thought he'd long gotten past. Then, hand shaking, he pointed his gun at the monster, but Malcolm threw up a hand again, gesturing him to stop.
"That won't hurt it!"
"I can tell," Rollins mumbled, knees trembling and grip tightening on the gun. "This just makes me feel better."
The fallen tree before them began to shake, branches snapping as the monster stepped right through to reach them. The whole tree-top folded like an accordion under the beast's sheer mass.
Watching it with unblinkingly wide eyes, Malcolm threw off his backpack and clapped his hands together. He held them briefly before his chest in a prayer, taking a deep, laborious breath. Strange but inconspicuous enough, at least until Rollins felt his hair stand on end, skin goosebumping all over as something came into Malcolm, like the warming air all around them suddenly got sucked in, brushing past and into the boy.
The monster raised its heaving arms, set to crush them into the ground.
Then, finally, Malcolm folded half his fingers, hands shaped into a lighter, and blew.
Fire blossomed from his mouth in a great, smoldering torrent. It consumed the monster whole, flowing around its cumbersome form with a whooshing crackle and dissipating behind it in streams of smoke and cinder.
There was no scream, but the monster froze, arms still held aloft and unmoving. Malcolm kept up the flame as long as his breath could last, knowing he had to burn through all the thick wood coating and get to the heart rooted inside. The small tree that capped the beast fell away in chunks of firewood, its trunk blackened to nothing.
After a few long seconds, Malcolm had no air left to exhale. His fire sputtered to a stop, and he inhaled deeply again, this time to refill his lungs. Right behind, Rollins had thrown up his arms to shield him from the heat and light, frowning through his fingers to see what was left of the monster.
It looked like one big ember, glowing orange, oozing warmth. All the wood had burned away, and for a second Malcolm allowed himself some relief.
But then the monster twitched, and its arms hammered down on them. Malcolm pushed Rollins out of the way before they could get squished, and the two fell on the now dry and brittle grass. They tensed, looking up at the monster as it pulled its arms back. Below, the stone path had been destroyed, marked by a deep crater where the beast had attacked.
Malcolm shot up to his feet, then gasped, hopping on one foot. "Damn," he said, looking down at his sprained ankle. "Damn!" he said again, watching the monster looming over them still, his mind whirling in thought. Then he sucked in as much breath as he could and let it go slowly, coming to a decision. His whole body shivered, but his nerves had cooled to ice, and it was surprisingly easy to keep his voice steady. "Get up, Captain, and get out of here. Go back to the perimeter and ask for reinforcements."
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Rollins blinked up at him, still sitting on the grass. "What are you talking about?"
"The description was wrong," Malcolm said, testing his foot. He flinched—couldn’t put too much weight in it, but it’d have to do. "It's not a tree golem. It's made of stone. My Trick won't work on something like this."
As he spoke, the monster continued forward. Its body was still hot enough that each step seemed to burn at the ground, sizzling in plumes of smoke, but it was cooling some. Orange faded to a slate gray marred by cracks and outcroppings.
"We need to keep it in the park or it'll break through your perimeter outside, and then we're in real trouble," Malcolm said, hands ready to clap again. "So run, and I'll hold it off for you. Call for another Ranger. And ask for someone with a heck of a ton of firepower!"
Log-sized arms hammered down again, and Malcolm used his good foot to throw himself out of the way, clapping his hands together even as he landed roughly on his side. Rollins watched him roll onto a knee and flick a hand forward, throwing spurts of fire at the monster—the stone golem. They crashed against the rock body with a pop, exploding in small puffs of sparks. The golem turned fully towards Malcolm, undamaged save for a few more streaks of soot.
"Well, it was worth a shot," Malcolm muttered. He looked over at Rollins. "What are you just sitting there for? It's already killed someone! Go get help!"
Rollins got to his feet, eyes passing between Malcolm and the golem, hesitating. "But you'll die."
"It's an occupational hazard!"
The golem got closer, so Malcolm raised himself on one leg and clapped his hands again, breathing deeply and stepping into his bad foot as solidly as he could to get some balance. Signing a lighter, he now blew out a large ball of sizzling flame. The flying bomb sailed through the air and slammed into the stone golem, pushing it back some as it exploded against the monster's body and enshrouded it in a brief inferno.
Rollins shielded his eyes from the sudden burst of light, ears filled with a whoosh of fire. But when the light faded, he looked over and noted with horror that there was again no visible damage. Worse, it hadn't slowed the golem down one bit. The monster marched through the last traces of smoke and hammered its arm forward like a big, blunt spear.
Malcolm, too late to dodge, crossed his arms before his chest, breathed deep, and grit his teeth. Spirit rose up in him, filling his lungs. It would usually flow up his throat and out as fire, but now he urged it to sweep into his muscles, his skin, coat him and secure him in as strong a shell as he had ever made.
It didn't help. When the stone rammed into him, Malcolm felt his bones snap almost instantly even as he threw himself back with the blow. Pain, pain, ardent pain shot up his right arm and rippled through his ribcage as he fell on his back in a heap. His left arm wasn't doing great either, numb and tingling. Actually, everything was numb and tingling.
"Ughrshuuuuuuh..." Malcolm tried rolling onto his side, but could only lean his head over to spit up the blood that had filled his mouth. Bleary-eyed, he could only barely make out the stone golem looming over him, its figure almost dissolving from the tears coating his view and the cracked lenses of his glasses.
Strangely enough, it didn't freak him out as much as something so dangerous standing so close reasonably should. Actually, Malcolm now found it hard to feel much of anything. Even the pain seemed to slowly fade. Things grew dark, shadows stretching and eating up the world before him, but he took it in stride. It felt hard not to.
... Why had he ever gotten into this business?
The question sat alone, everything else lost in a miasma of unfeeling. Something popped out there, loud but muted, and Malcolm saw through blurry eyes Rollins some ways away, gun pointed up at the golem. Another muted pop, pistol kicking in Rollins' hand, and Malcolm could just barely feel the shift of the ground as the bullets splashed harmlessly on the monster's body. Idly, he also saw that the stone golem was probably moving away from him. Bullets couldn't hurt it, but they could catch its attention.
Guess the cop never ran. Selfless? Stupid.
Ignore that. Why was he here? This was dumb. He learned to shoot fire out his mouth, and for what? Not worth it, getting hurt all the time.
Being a Ranger sucked. It was always fighting, fighting, fighting. He'd be free of it one day.
Free. It felt free now. Malcolm felt himself sink deeper into the ground. The grass felt nice, like a soft, cool bed. Where was his father now of all times? Total deadbeat. Wouldn't even call on birthdays. Malcolm saw him standing there in the doorway, sun bright on his unkempt face, hair a glossy black.
Going away again?
Going away forever and ever. But why're you crying, Four-Eyes? I just wanna be free.
He'd get that bastard. He'd get him.
"Hey..."
A new voice. Sense snapped back. Blinking away the tears of pain both new and old, Malcolm struggled to look up at it from his place on the ground, and he saw a battered boy walking into view, the very same one who had gotten so violently batted away before.
Some blood dripped down from the boy's curly brown hair and across the two equally red stripes marked on his cheek, all the same crimson color. It was a lot even for a head wound, but he seemed to ignore this blood as much as he ignored the tree trunk he'd cut through with his flailing body, one that lay on the ground as indisputable evidence of what had been done to him.
"That actually kinda hurt," he said, strolling over, sounding... curious? "Guess I'll need some new headphones, though." Then, finally taking a good look at Malcolm there on the ground, he raised a brow. "Hm? Why're you cryin', Four-Eyes?"
Click, click, click. The boy turned to see Rollins shooting at the golem, or more like pointing his gun uselessly, now out of ammo. The hammer clicked hollow, but Rollins kept pulling the trigger regardless even as he stepped back with each turn, too desperate to stop.
The boy hummed. "Oh, are we still fighting? Hold on..."
Without another word, he bent down, wrapped his arms around the tree trunk that he'd been tossed through, and with only some mild effort heaved it onto his shoulder. He balanced it there, weighing it, hands settling into a comfortable grip on the bark. Malcolm watched it happen, head fuzzy and light, half feeling still in his surreal dream, leaves rustling and falling like slow rain.
Then, with a big huff and a rise of his chest, the boy took one heavy step forward and flung the whole trunk right at the golem like a giant lance.
The tree sliced through the air and in a second it was there, bashing into the golem in an explosion of splinters, twigs, and arching branches. The creature stumbled from so much sheer mass, almost falling over.
Walking slowly forward, the boy rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and cracked his knuckles, a smile slipping onto his face. With a laughing shout, he leaped several yards into the air and slammed into the golem fist-first, driving the stone monster into the ground with with a heavy boom. The next few seconds were made of rising dirt plumes and chunks, a discordant pound of the earth, and the ragged huffing of someone who Malcolm belatedly realized was currently wrestling with a rock monster upwards of five times his size.
Lunatic. Freak. Unfair. All three words came and went in Malcolm's mind, but now that he was well and truly back into consciousness, the pain that returned to his body drove everything else right out. Grunting, he tried to at least raise himself up on his good elbow. Good, of course, was a relative term, and he soon found that, though his left arm wasn't outright shattered like his right was, it was most likely fractured.
Rollins jogged over and knelt, face half-turned to the fight roaring just a few yards away. "I didn't know we had backup ready."
Malcolm shook his head, feeling as dazed as the man sounded. "We didn't."
Said backup was just then thrown up in the air. He twirled around a bit before landing on his feet nearby. Looking back at them, he grinned despite the trickle of blood running down his nose.
Rollins stared at him, bewildered. "Who the hell are you, kid?"
- - - — MKII — - - -
They called him Red Two. Yes, like the number. It was only natural after growing up without a proper name and a red roman numeral tattooed on his face. He couldn't even remember actually getting it. Whoever his parents were must've been some degree of messed up, giving that to a baby. It was something Red had learned to take in stride.
Now pretty much homeless, Red took that in stride too. Walking through the park, he'd been trying to convince himself it might be fine to break an ATM open just so he didn't have to go through the effort of shoplifting one meal at a time, but he hadn't quite built up the motivation. He didn't care about stealing per se; he just wasn't stupid. One stolen apple here and then was fine, but if he ran off with enough cash they'd eventually send cops after him, and if they sent the law after him he'd have to defend himself. Whatever happened as a consequence of that would take way too much effort.
So he needed a job, but he couldn't get a job without a resume, and what work experience he did have would probably be classified as illegal. He couldn't write. He couldn't even do math. This stuff had never been important before, but there had recently been some unfortunate extenuating circumstances. Red figured he'd just stumble into an opportunity sooner or later—that's how it happened in the movies—and just as he'd started thinking he might not get lucky enough for that, a giant rock monster did him the favor of slapping him through a tree.
"Call me Red," he said, glancing behind him. The prep school kid seemed like he was pretty much dying there on the grass, but the cop looked fine. Looked like they could use some help, and just as he thought that the stone golem rumbled up from its dust cloud. "Okay, you two hang on a sec."
Letting out a breath, Red leaped up and rammed his knee into the beast, pushing it back with a few heavy steps. Stabilizing, it threw a big swing of the stone arm, but Red grinned as he ducked under it, throwing out a punch of his own.
His fist slammed into the golem's torso, stopping dead on contact. To be expected, really, save for the thin cracks that formed on the literal stone surface.
Red's grin widened at that. He wasn't trying to smile—it just happened. Things were finally getting exciting again. Scraping for food was interesting in its own way, of course, but he much preferred whatever was going on here. In a way he'd been waiting for it all this time. Something weird like this had to happen to him eventually. It was about time, really.
Jumping again, he kicked the monster and made it stumble once more, hopping up just as it raised its arms to wrap him in a strangling hug. Unfortunately, it was just about impossible to dodge anything in the air. The golem turned its hug into an impromptu swing, reaching up to bat at Red, who could only curl into his side to defend.
The impact sent him hurtling off in an uncontrollable spin, and when he landed Red had to dig his hands into the dirt to keep himself from rolling, fingers carving shallow grooves on the ground as he slid to a stop. Sudden darkness set in, momentary blindness, then blink, blink, and he could see again. His head still felt upside-down, but at least he didn't have to throw up.
Red could feel blood dripping freely down from somewhere on his head, matting his hair. His knuckles hurt. His feet hurt. His heart hurt from how fast it went. Even his eyes hurt somehow, straining to see everything in the soft moonlight. Looking sideways, he noticed Malcolm and Rollins nearby, staring at him. Their faces were slack, almost dumb, and Red couldn't help chuckling a bit.
"This thing's super strong," he said, musing. "Pretty sure that last one almost killed me!"
"Why do you look so happy about it?" Rollins managed to say.
Red noticed the golem moving toward them again. A bit faster too, like it was finally wide awake now that it had gotten the chance to stretch its legs a bit. The cracks on its body had grown bit by bit, and now a few bits of stone were falling off on their own. "I feel like I could probably crack it open eventually," he said, looking at Malcolm, "but it doesn't look like you have the time for me to do that."
Malcolm grunted his agreement, hunching over to make himself heard. "It's a golem, and a big one too," he said, heaving between his words. "Torso's gotta be a few tons of solid rock... Ugh... You're tough, but you're not that tough. If you want to take this thing down fast... you'll have to play it smart. Hit the weak spots."
"Any suggestions?"
Narrowing his eyes behind cracked lenses, Malcolm examined the golem. "Go for the joints," he said, the idea coming along with the words. "Elbows, shoulders... No tendons, but whatever's keeping those together needs to be looser than the rest of the body."
Red narrowed his eyes at the golem and saw that Malcolm was right—out of everything else, those elbows sure looked thin, relatively speaking. "Good plan."
The monster rolled towards them now like a big stone wheel, arms rotating at either side. As it neared, the golem slowed and spun on its stumpy foot, coming around with its big log of a hand with all the momentum of its advance.
Red dashed and met it head-on, stepping into the hit before swerving just as it punched at him, close enough to swipe at his hair. Standing right in the golem's guard, Red drew his fist back. "Then... the joint!" he said, and with a brief shout sent a hook right at the rocky elbow.
The punch made said elbow explode right out of the golem's body in a shower of shards, forearm breaking away and sliding along the ground behind him.
"Yes!" Rollins said, pumping his fist, face glowing in relief.
Malcolm nodded, jaw tight, watching silently even as he felt a bit of the same elation sprouting from his chest.
The golem seemed in a sort of stupor as well, and Red noticed it despite the lack of expression. He'd learned that, in a fight, things like hesitation could just be felt, and that was always the time to attack. So without second guessing himself Red leaped right at the golem's torso and tackled it to the ground again, then rolled off and hugged its remaining arm.
Planting a foot on the shoulder, Red grit his teeth and pulled.
The arm came off with a crunchy pop. Red held it up with a heave, reveling in his success, then planted it like a staff on the ground, leaning on it as he caught his breath. He looked down at the monster, blood still pumping.
The golem couldn't so much as roll onto its feet, far too heavy to do much without its big arms, legs too short to do the job, stuck there like a turtle on its back. It tried once, twice, then seemed to give up and, as if with a great heave, it rested against the ground, defeated, reduced to a simple, inanimate series of boulders.
Red looked back at Malcolm and Rollins, staring expectantly at their stupefied and gladdened faces. He nudged the golem with his foot and saw that whatever Spirit had been in there really was just about gone. "That... was the coolest thing that's ever happened to me." Red grinned at Malcolm. "Who the heck are you?"
Looking at the fallen monster beside the other boy, Malcolm thought he should be the one asking that question. "I'm a Ranger. And that's mission complete, I guess."
He didn't feel particularly victorious as he said it, and soon the same drowsiness as before began to take him. He tried getting up again, knowing it'd be bad for him to fall asleep, but pain held him down.
At this, Rollins put a hand on his shoulder, holding him still. "If your body tells you not to move, don't even try," the man said. He looked at the golem, which lay still, then at Red, who'd begun to experimentally swing the stone arm around like a giant club.
One kid breathing fire, another one doing some Superman shit, a giant stone monster attack. All crazy, but again, he wasn't supposed to ask questions.
Red had no such qualms. "What do you mean, you're a Ranger? What even is this thing anyway?" He heaved and set the golem arm on his shoulder, then looked over at them. "Actually, can I keep this?"
Malcolm examined him, head a muddle of pain and questions. Red didn't seem to be another Ranger, so... a Rogue? No, in that case the other boy would be running away from Malcolm instead of helping him. Just some unlicensed Magician then, a wandering powerhouse they'd just happened to stumble into? It made no sense.
"Why help us?" he eventually asked. "You... could've just stayed out of it. If you're not a Ranger it had nothing to do with you, so why?"
Maybe Red was just a good samaritan, Malcolm thought. He'd seen people in trouble and couldn't help trying to get them out of it. Or maybe he'd done it for impulsive revenge, to beat down the monster that had battered him away so roughly. There had to be something deeper under the surface.
But Red just smiled bemusedly and stared down at him like he was an idiot. The answer was as short and simple. "It just looked like a good time."
... Well, that was stupid. Hard to even believe, actually. Malcolm figured the other boy must've been lying, and was about to say so, but then it became impossible for him to ignore the torture in his arms. Groaning, he turned to Rollins, deciding that securing his own health was probably too important to keep delaying.
"Call the Ranger Corps for me," he said, words coming out through gritted teeth. "Tell them to send over a cleanup crew. And—" His side spiked in pain and almost made him bite his tongue. "And a doctor. Please tell them to send a doctor..."