ilomilo

Matt's POV: 

"H-elp, please, please, No! Oh…, Oh God! Hhhh-elp, H….”

He’s running even before he knows it, the screaming luring him in to the danger, the unhealed gush on his abdomen from yesterday screams viciously, it almost like the knife never left his gut, and it’s turning upside down with every move he makes.

But he can’t stop, no, the scream…, Someone needs him, someone needs the devil, the devil inside him needs to save someone, huh, the sheer irony.

So he keeps running, an instinct buried so deep inside his bones, almost like a robot on autopilot. Then again maybe he is, May be he isn’t Human.

Human instinct should be Fight or flight, he only knows how to fight or… fight.

Something drips down from him, something sticky and warm, and oh god, in this freezing cold it feels like a momentary blessing. But when a sharp pang spreads from his middle, he realises the warmth was just a facade of blessing, if the copper in his mouth and crimson in his hand, is anything to go by.

He ripped the stitches, nothing new.

Oh God, Oh God Almighty!

The burning, the shiver, the pain!

Something must be wrong in his code, Robots don’t feel pain, he does. Guess it’s his added bonus. He feels like he’s freezing and burning at the same time. He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve it.

He trips on air. His body’s way of telling him to stop. But after all these time, it seriously should know it’s owner better. He feels pity for his body because there’s no stopping, not anytime soon.

He sees stars, his vision blurring.

But jokes on him, he can’t see for shit on his best days, at least now he can see the stars.

God, how long has it been since he saw any?

Hmm… Metaphorically, everytime he passed out from exhaustion, which is almost a common occurrence these days.

But the real, real stars? Far, far too long.

Now is not the time about think about stars though, he has a soul to save. He tries to follow it’s heartbeat, but the sound gets muffled with the roaring screaming of pain from his too freshly reopened, unhealed gush. He ignores it, filters it out, forces himself to focus on the scream for help.

Ok, focus, one heartbeat at a time.

He’s on the right direction, he’s getting closer to the screaming, the voice is croaked, harsh, possibly muffled by a tape. Heartbeat? too fast. Scared, of course scared, … the poor thing. He thinks it's a boy, on the young side, 15, may be? He can also sense a group of rather buffy dudes surrounding him.

Suddenly just as he getting almost close to the boy, the crying stops, and Matt's heart drops down to his stomach, both aching in unison.

No, no, this can’t be it, right? He didn’t dragged himself all these way down just for an young soul to die in front of him. It can’t be, just… No.

He listens harder, praying for a heartbeat, and dig his finger nails harder and harder in his flesh until he founds it.

And that’s it, that’s all he needs, a heartbeat, something alive, thanks God for small mercies.

He is bursting into the hallway before he can think about what he’s doing, his arrival is welcomed by several punches in his face.

“Ready for a taste of hell?” He slurs. A painful smirk rises beneath the mask.

//

Three people are trying to hold him down, while the other two are trying to fetch the young boy, taking him away from him. His hands finds something glassy, and he bashes it to one’s head, the impact puts him on the floor, while stabbing the remaining piece of the glasses into someone’s stomach.

Good, that should put them down for a while.

A rope of iron comes swinging at him, he grabs it while also dodging a bullet. He thrashes the rope at the direction gun, a thudding sound tells him that the gun fell to the ground, he can hear a man running to grab it, but before he can he tangles him with the rope, chokes him until he loses consciousness, and hangs him upside down.

Everything goes quiet for a second, The only thing cutting through the silence is the young boy's soft breathing, who’s tied to a chair, unconscious.

Having watched their three fellas down on the floor, the remaining two of the gang runs for the boy, but before they can reach him, the lights go out. Dark, and silence accompanying them from every corner.

A force crashes them to the ground in a bolt of blue, hands so strong it feels inhuman, they try fighting back. Kicking, and punching, bashing their heads, pining and thrashing, two verses one, but nothing seems to slow him down, the devil keeps fighting, eerily unbothered, until a feet lands to the man's middle.

For the first time since the beginning of the fight, he shows a sign of human. A sharp piercing sound comes from his throat, scarier than the punches, harsh like metal, almost like a dying animal.

They can’t see his eyes but even beneath the mask they can see the fire, the hell shining in his eyes, and they just know what's coming, even before the devil finally unleashes it upon them.

The rest is just sounds of bones creaking and crashing, crimson and pain, and screams and hisses, until all of them is on the floor, the only difference is while the whole room is blissfully unconscious; one figure is still awake, breathing heavily, facing the boy.

//

Cluntching his side he wills every neuron in his body to stand up but it feels like someone has cut him in half. Inironically, may be it’s not far from the truth.

He puts a shaky hand to stop the blood flow, only to realize something other than blood is coming out of himself now… Sleek and warm, guts?

No, no, no, no, no, it should not be coming out of him. It’s supposed to be inside him. Guts lives inside, guts are never supposed to see the light of world in any context or capacity, especially his gut, especially since the owner of the gut can’t see for shit anyway. It’s unfair, so freaking unfair.

He can’t see; but there goes his gut, peeking through the hole in his freaking stomach.

He throws up then and there. The smell hitting him like a truck. The more he pukes the more it stabs, he screams, the bile is then joined by blood.

Oh, God, he’s going to die, bleeding & alone, in this goddamn dark and stinky bunker, alone, alone, alone, in his own blood, but what's new? Nothing surprising here.

Everyone left him. Foggy, Karen, Mom, no, sister Maggie, Dad, every single one of them left. 

He realises the thought of dying doesn’t bother him as much as it should, there’s certainly no one who’s going to miss him, he can picture his funeral vividly. Not a singleliving soul at sight, just rot and flesh being buried six feet under, and never, ever forsaken.

The image brings out a hoarse laugh, which readily turns into a coughing fit. He thinks at least he saved the young poor soul, only if he could take him to home, then he could die more peacefully (huh, peaceful, what a joke)

But it’s gonna be alright, he’s young and healthy, and as far as he can tell there’s no wound that has been inflicted upon the boy, except a bump on his elbow, Matt focuses more sharply, not a bump, a…a bite? Which kind of mafia gang bites their victims?

Huh, but he has seen weirder things,...

The bite is very small, almost like an insect’s, and Matt can’t sense any poison in the boy's bloodstream, and after a long deduction, he comes to the conclusion that the boy will be okay, that’s the last thought before he closes his eyes.