Below The Surface - A Lackadaisy Fanfiction

Isn't It Lovely, All Alone?

"...what." Mordecai's eyes went wide: this was the face of a killer. The one behind his found father's murder. The way her voice echoed through his mind, and through the factory. The way the silence hung over him...and venom was now consuming him. He dropped his Winchester Model 12 now, but Freckle, from down below, lurched forward to catch it.

"You heard me, you pathetic bastard." Lacrimosa seethed. Mordecai felt his eyes burn. Oh dear. Oh dear...this was making his rage bubble out. It was the final straw when Lacrimosa's heel eventually made him lose his grip and fall, clawing and scratching to get it back.

He half expected to hit the ground with a splat. But he was genuinely surprised when a rush of wind burst out near him, swift, cold. Arms clasped around him as he was slammed to the floor...but his face was pressed against a chest. He recognized the soft, lacing of fingers, but he felt the hammering heart of—

"Roark?"

"I'm here, Ole Serious Face," Rocky flashed a small grin, "I'm here."

"Your ankle, how did you..." Mordecai was quickly sat up, but a throbbing pain split through from the bullet wound on his forehead. He hissed, holding it.

"Woah, woah, easy," Rocky warned.

"Roark—" Mordecai was about to chide, already having enough on his mind.

"Why won't you die?!" Lacrimosa then screamed out, as she was practically wanting to tear her hair out. Mordecai noticed Freckle had his Winchester Model 12, and he snatched it with such ferocity, even Nico flinched slightly. He cocked it furiously, eyes narrowed. He whipped it up with a firm grasp, and his finger did not hesitate to hover over the trigger. He pulled it back and shot at Lacrimosa, but she unfortunately dodged, running off.

Another gunshot. Another miss.

Those eyes are watching. He felt himself being torn up, inside out, from limb to limb by the suppressed rage and desolation he burdened for the past year.

The more shots he took, the angrier and more devastated he got.

His hands trembled with rage.

His eyes burned. They watered, unbidden.

His breathing was short: he was gasping lightly.

His composure was slipping.

Lacrimosa had killed Atlas. Killed him. The found father Mordecai looked up to, who had saved him, was killed by the hands of a jazz singer. A caring, loving, alleged saint. It was too good to be true: he had a hunch, but could have sworn that there was another logical answer.

Now that it was confirmed, he saw through crimson vision, and mercilessly shot any goons who tried attacking him in the process.

Bullet wounds in chests, heads, stomachs. Violent. Dreadful. The blood was splattering, rushing like river torrents. Serafine and Nico cackled at the killing, joining in...but they grew concerned when Mordecai stormed off, into a dark section.

"Mordecai!" Ivy exclaimed. She grabbed his arm. He retaliated, yanking away. He was definitely on a mission, especially when he saw amber eyes shining. A pistol clicked. It was raised, the muzzle peeking out from the murky shadows. Mordecai dodged when the bullet soared. He knelt, shooting his last bullet, hitting Lacrimosa's left ear.

Lacrimosa let out a screech of anger, staggering out. She held her bleeding ear, and when Mordecai noticed that he ran out of ammo, he threw the gun aside, slipping out his knife. He was met with a heel to the face, kicked out.

His mind went numb. He was slammed down to the floor, and the muzzle of Lacrimosa's pistol was pressed against his forehead again.

"You are a pathetic little street rat, starving for approval you do not deserve." She spat out. She held him down as he squirmed, and Mordecai flicked out his knife, whipping it across her face, up her eye, and her blood got on him. He made sure to shove her back, too and he rose to his feet quickly. When she hadn't retaliated, she stood up, towering...

...but then she stood back. Snapping her fingers twice. Mandisa and James, originally tending to each other, quickly moved to her side...and Mandisa looked over her shoulder. A wave of confusion crashed over her when she noticed Mordecai's glossed eyes. She remained silent. She walked with James in tow. Silas' arm was wrapped around Raquelle's shoulder, the two limping off while supporting each other. The goons, nameless and now useless, lied dead in the factory, a massacre that befell them all.

"...we should not prolong this massacre, and we need to return back to the hotel." Mordecai clicked his cufflinks into place, then scooped up his gun. He started to walk out to the front, wordlessly, quickly. He knew the sadness would wash over him in a violent manner, but he needed to get out of prying eyes.

Despite Freckle and Ivy trying to follow after him, they let him go. There was a lot on his mind.

...perhaps TOO much on his mind.