Virus: A DaveKat Story

Prologue: Something Is Missing

Something isn't right.

My eyes snap open and slowly adjust to the darkness around me, but not enough, never enough.

He's here, isn't he? That fucking bastard... he never gives me a moment of rest. It's always, "be alert" or "be on your guard." I'd like him to answer my fucking questions first. When will I ever have to use any of this? How does being beaten correlate to success in life? To defense? When he won't let me win... when I know it'll never be possible.

"Shit!" I whisper-shout as I stub my toe in the dark. Despite my complaints, I know I can't turn the lights on when I move. I bite my lip to keep from making anymore noise and my exhausted eyes train on the numbers brandished by my digital clock. 3:37 AM. He must have just gotten home. Probably drunk off his ass again.

"Dave, quit being a little bitch. If you were to shout 'shit' in the middle of trying to hide from predators, you'd be dead within nanoseconds. When will you learn that your actions have consequeces?" His voice startles me, and I try to whirl around and face him, but when I turn, there's nothing there but empty space. Okay, not drunk. I grit my teeth and clench my fists to keep my fingers from shaking, my eyes as wide open as possible. Not even I can tell whether I'm angry or scared.

"What would you care? The only fucking 'consequences' I get these days are from you. You're the only psycho in this goddamn town and you know it, motherfucker." I snarl. Shlink. It happens faster than I can blink. My eyes widen even further as pain shoots up through my veins. I grip my arm, hard, and try to stifle the blood that's spilling from the excruciating wound, grinding my teeth together to keep from shouting. He's in front of me now, and even though I can't see them, I know his eyes, just as disgustingly demonic as mine, are narrowed. His silhouette looks the same; hair curled up in the back, always taller than me. I haven't seen him in a few days, but it's not like that's anything new. My eyes are more adjusted to the darkness now. I can see my blood dripping from his shitty katana. I hate him. When I was younger, respect and genuine admiration kept me from despising him, but now? Let's just say that I'm not quite so fucking naive. I can't fucking wait until I turn eighteen.

"That's another thing, you little ungrateful shit. Keep your fucking mouth shut. You should be thanking me. The world is cruel." I'm trying not to make any noise, trying not to scream, but the pain is almost unbearable. Adrenaline is coursing through my hot blood.

"No, it's not. Nothing in this world is more cruel than what you do to me." My voice is shaking. I flinch as his strong hand grips my head. His fingers are digging into my scalp, and it hurts like hell. I can see his face now, the moonlight streaming in from my window casting eerie shadows along his face. His lips are curled up into a smirk. I fucking hate him.

"If you really think that, lil man, you're in for a rude awakening." Yeah right. His fingers press harder and I hiss in pain. "No, really, dude, wake up." His voice is changing, and it's confusing me.

"What?"

"Wake up, Dave!" My eyes snap open.

It takes me a second to fully register what's going on, and the fact that everything was a dream. I suck in oxygen, relieved, having not been breathing for a couple of seconds. John's worried face is darkened by the tint of my shades, and I understand that he was the one who woke me up. I sit up and realize that my clothes are damp; I was cold-sweating in my sleep. That's right, I remind myself. He's not here. Not anymore. I moved out a year and a half ago. I'm fine. I'm with John, now, and everything's a-okay. That's right. That's right.

"Dave, are you okay? God, you look terrible..." His already high-pitched voice is raised an octave, his long raven bangs pushed away to reveal his blue eyes, swirling with emotion. He's still worried. I sigh and close my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him close.