Diamondback

Epilogue Provided By Yours Truly, Baby: Oni <3

I didn't sign up for this shit.

When someone dies, they die. Isn't resurrecting someone against their will, like, a total breach of privacy? Ever heard of a little something called "consent", Eliza? It's not like she'd care if I brought it up anyway. Ever since her little ex-boyfriend disappeared from that facility, she's been hellbent on finding his whereabouts these days. All she talks about is find Diamondback this, find Diamondback that. It's been -- what -- seven years already? You'd think she'd take the hint and give up, but nothing stops that woman when she's deadass about something. Shit, maybe he doesn't want to be found. If it were me, I wouldn't. It's not like there's anything left of Zypher anymore. That guy's dead. It's just Diamondback now. Still, Eliza doesn't care.

And apparently to her, I'm the only one she trusts to find him.

Beautiful.

I get it, I have black magic too, but that doesn't mean shit. It's the same thing as saying: "Oh, your favorite color is yellow? His is too! You guys are totally one in the same!" Fuck that, man. I don't want to get caught up in that mess again. There are better things I could be doing like drunk karaoke or seducing bouncers to let me into bars or getting stoned out of my mind and watching reruns of unfunny sitcoms I don't even like. I've got parties to get to, man! Nightclubs that are calling my name!

Look, my point is: There are plenty of other people to send!

There's Nick. He's got a way better head on his shoulders than me.

What about Kris? Her big brain could solve anything that's thrown her way.

Triana? Sure, she's a bit of an ass, but at least she can pack a fuckin' punch. (Trust me...I would know.)

And Mark -- well. Yeah, I understand not sending him. That handwringer practically carries a whole world of anxiety on his shoulders.

So it's just me and Al. Eliza allowed me to take one person on the recon mission and Alan was an obvious choice. He's sensible and reliable for someone who's only just recently turned twenty-two and he practically exists in polo shirts and corny dad hats, so his existence is quite literally the definition of solace. Even if nagging comes second nature to him, he's a good friend to me. We're close. Or as close as I'll let anyone get to me anyway.

Today, Al and I have to dig up info on Diamondback. The only place I thought to look was his old, busted up house. Over the years, it's decayed even further to a mass of wood and mold and rodent shit. It feels wrong to try to call it a house anymore.

"Oni," Alan called behind me as we walked up to the sorry excuse of a door. "Are you sure we can find anything here? It's okay if you want to leave, y'know."

"I'll be fine, Al," No, I won't. And Alan knows that. From the way he pursed his lips, holding in what was probably some sort of complaint, I could tell. Masking my own growing grimace, I forced a smile and a playful nudge. "Besides, I've got you here, Mr. Lightning Man. You watch my ass, I'll watch yours."

"Don't...watch my ass, please."

Only a slight tap of my finger against the door had it timbering down off its hinges. The scent of blood and dust flooded out the dark entrance, attacking my pierced nostrils with a lasting stinging sensation. God, it reeks. The last time I've ever smelled something this bad was that night Mark discovered he was allergic to avocados.

Alan cleared his throat, tears prickling in the corners of his amber eyes. "Smells...great," he choked out behind a shaky grin. "Let's make this quick, shall we?"

Venturing even deeper into the dump of a home, the furniture seemed to have been tossed violently around in a fit of rage. The red velvet couch was practically torn to shreds with the white fluff of the cushions decorating whatever was left of the rotting carpet. Blood smeared the walls and floors, leading into an entirely demolished kitchen. Judging from the pungent smell emanating from the fridge, I didn't even wanna think about what could be sitting in there. The bathroom was blocked off entirely by what I guessed to be a chunk of the ceiling that must've crashed down. All that was visible from where I stood was broken, bloodied glass shards scattered across the tile. The blood trail from the living room dragged further and further into the house until it reached the only room that remained intact.