Lyfers: Amnesia

Prologue

 – You fuckin' bastard...!

A kick followed the uppercut the first man received in the jaw, itself followed by an elbow hit in the nose of the second. The third attended to jump on their assaulter, but he had been quicker, and the metal bar he seized from the ground did irremediable damages. He stood there, his white sneakers stained by the blood puddle under them, a hand into his leather jacket's pocket, the other holding the reddened heaver, his brown eyes underlined by dark circles observing the bleeding men on the ground, and how they were doubled with pain. He was still. Perfectly emotionless. Not the blood's smell nor the agonizing screams made him flinch. His thin face was as stoic as a statue, and his attractive features almost looked frightening from such an absence of sensations. He lifted the metal bar up to watch it closer, and the only one still conscious quailed, horrified. His alluring lips bore a genuine smile, before they parted for him to speak:

– I like you.

His extremely deep voice sounded soft. Too soft. It resonated against the old building louder than their aching howls, like it did not belong there. And it probably did not. The shocked man curled down on the dirty, cold ground, shrunk again, squealing from terror. However, the other didn't even notice him, apparently concentrated on his new weapon.

– I'm gonna keep you.

He lowered it, turned around, and took his other hand out of his pocket to pass it through his short blonde hair, which back and sides were styled in a black undercut. Some red liquid stuck to his clear locks in the process, but he didn't appear to care at all. He slowly headed towards the exit, without rushing himself. But he abruptly stopped: another man caught him by the vest, holding him back, throwing his fist at his face. Unfortunately, he recognized his fatal error too late; this would be the very last punch he would throw, and it would not even land.

The blonde stranger raised a hand up in the air, and instantly, without moving anymore than that, the other found himself stopped in his track, struggling to breath. It was like an invisible force was constricting his throat tighter and tighter, forbidding him to breath and slowly breaking his trachea. The pain was excruciating, and yet he could not howler it. All he could do was to regret and suffer.

– M'aw, sneaky boy. Too bad, you'll never train to get sneakier. I need to try Piry some more, y'know?

The poor man suddenly fell down to the ground, as he pointed to his weapon with a grin. But that outburst of emotions did not last, and in less than a second, the metal bar was stabbed through his chest, tearing away one last scream of pain from him. He let it into the now dead body while putting back correctly his leather jacket, hiding the previously revealed tattoo on his left shoulder, representing a large canine's skull. He pulled the heaver out when he was done, nodding at it, with a pleased expression.

– Good job, Piry.

– Y-you freaking psychopath...!

It was when the blonde swung around to lay his dark eyes on him that the only person still awake around understood that he did the same mistake as his friend, and slammed himself into the wall, in a desperate and vain attempt to escape. But there were no escapes at all; the tattooed man was blocking the way to the sole door of that floor. He was approaching, dangerously, and soon there was no space left between the two. He crouched down to get to his level and left the bar down, tilting his head to the side.

– I don't like this term, y'know. It's offensive. And I have a name.

He searched through his pockets, and grabbed a cutter, unfolding its blade. The small metal piece reverberated the neon's lights onto his face, and the smirk he shown got his victim shaking from its mere sight.

– I will help you remember it, no worries.

The blade approached the unfortunate one's face, but he could not move at all; the blonde raised his hand again, blocking him there, unable to defend himself, unable to run away, unable to screech. Even unable to close his eyes. The contact of the sharp object onto his forehead's skin sent tears into his eyes, and that was all he could do. The blonde grinned one last, lethal time.

– The name's Venom.

__________

The cut had been deeper than the previous one, and the blood had been running way more profusely, dripping on the ground in a regular sloshing noise. No tears were coming out anymore, and no cries sounded either. All that stayed were the feelings of being completely powerless, no matter the rage burning slow but ruinously devastating inside, and of simply waiting for death to come. But it did not came.

– C'm'on, you're not fighting back anymore?

The laughs somehow hurt more than the injury the cutter drew on her face, and the anger became unbearable. She clenched her fists, wiping the red liquid across her cheeks with the back of her hand, and lifted her chin up, looking at the blue-haired man in front of her. However, she did not have the time to talk; another slap forced her silent.

– Don't you dare look at me, you bitch! Keep your eyes down!

No, she would not obey. Not again. Not so soon. She kept strong, pushing away the light-brown locks that fell into her eyes, and those eyes he shout at her to keep down were full of flames. The rage was breaking free, slowly but surely.

– Fuck off.

– Since when are you talkin' back to me?!

He raised another menacing hand towards her, under the acclamation of the little group behind him, but their applauds abruptly ceased as the young woman grabbed his wrist, diving her nails into his flesh, as she repeated in a growl:

– I said fuck off.

– How dare you?! Let go!

The cutter aimed right at her chest, and she could already swear this wound would be the last one. At least, she thought so, until a metal bar pressed on her bully's throat, holding him back, and away from her.

– Didn't she tell you to fuck off?

Tonight, it was not death that came to her, but a friend of it.