And Then The Darkness Came

Chapter Three | Crosbie

Crosbie Scott leaned back against the pale white-bricked wall of a disheveled shop on the further side of Imogen Square and watched as the Core separated people into two groups: the saved and the discarded. He'd made his way into the square moments after the second blast had gone off and had tried his best to help those he could and prayed to the Four Horsemen for those poor individuals' souls that seemed beyond saving. It was barbaric to watch the Core toss the mortally wounded and dead into sloppy piles in the middle of the square, where they would wait to be taken to and identified at the morgue. The cries of those unfortunate enough to be labeled as beyond saving echoed throughout the square, and Crosbie knew he would not forget the sound of it for as long as he lived.

He watched the chosen survivors as paramedics lifted them into Neo Victoria's ridiculous lime green and teal emergency ambulances and carted them away to the artificial safety of St. Mary's. His best friend's brother, David, had been one of the lucky ones. He had wanted to get a little more information on the lieutenant, but everything had happened so fast that he hadn't had the time to even ask the paramedics if David was going to be okay. By the time his thoughts had caught up with him, David was already being whisked down the narrow city streets to his salvation.

Crosbie figured David would be fine; after all, St. Mary's was the only hospital worth a damn in all of Neo Victoria. If anyone could revive the near-dead, it was certainly the mad doctors at that hellish place.

His NESA wristwatch buzzed with a message, but he ignored it.

Night had covered the square in semi-comforting darkness for quite some time now, and he knew someone was missing him at home, but there was just something about being in the square after such an attack that rejuvenated Crosbie's inner fire. He snorted, scrunching his nose—what a lunatic he'd become in these last few months.

Four Horsemen, bless me, he thought to himself, rolling his emerald eyes. They were his mother's eyes—Four Horsemen, bless her soul, too.

He looked back over at the chaos in the square. This brief episode would only help the resistance, in the end—now that the riots would receive news coverage. Their little agenda, as misleading as it was—plastered on every damn social outlet and force-fed down everyone else's throats until everyone had enough and things finally changed. Crosbie wondered what kind of new and fantastic violent acts would ensue after that happened. Everyone would probably end up dead.

"Fuck the Core," someone said to their companion as they pushed past him, into the alley.

Yeah, fuck 'em, he wanted to agree. Nothing good ever came from those pigs.

Crosbie shook his head, his shaggy onyx hair falling over his eyes. He pushed himself off the wall and followed suit with the others who were leaving the square. He needed to get back home. Max was probably out drinking his pain away with a bunch of drunken 'friends,' but Jynx was probably waiting and furious by now. Though she was merely his dead sister's clone, somehow she still felt the need to annoy him in a way only a true sister could. After his sister had passed away, his mother had fallen ill and soon passed as well, leaving him and Max with no family but each other, and a hand-written letter from his mother giving instructions to pick Jynx up from the laboratory in Emerald Vermilion City.

He frowned and tugged at the messenger bag that hung at his side, dusting it off as best as he could as he ducked under some pallets that lined the alley's graffiti-covered red-bricked wall.

His NESA buzzed again, and he smiled to himself. There was a certain thrill in knowing how much trouble he could be in if his father found out where he had been all day. Even seeing Jynx in a state of panic made him choke back a laugh.