Oveture
SMOKE drifted up from the crumbling structures and skyscrapers that once stood in gleaming rows broke apart. The building’s jagged teeth claimed the air and polluted it in equal turn. Screams chased after the rolling blackness of their ruin.
Cargo frowned and shook the dust from his shoes. From his perch atop the old Justice Hall, there was little he couldn’t see. He stretched bouncing on the balls of his feet, and then grinned. Shadows lurched forward. The sharp contrast stretched the expression on his haughty face past recognition.
Not much longer now. Everything would be his, from the dust on the road to the beams above. Nothing would-- the whisper of footsteps. He whirled pulling the gun from his coat in one practiced motion and took aim.
The bullet lodged itself in the wall a mere handbreadth from the opposing blond man’s shoulder.
“My, you are testy. You’ll be the death of me one day.” The blond who dogged his steps chuckled brown eyes laughing. Just like him to come begging for scraps.
“Shall I aim a little more to the right next time? Cargo pondered.
“Do you want too?” The blond man challenged stalking closer like a dog with an bone.
He waved a hand dismissing the question.
“I’m not in the mood to play trivial pursuit.”
They both stared at each other. Brown-Eyes meeting steely hazel. This man knew more about him than any other. Under his gaze Cargo could feel layers of himself being peeled back
“Or is there not someone that could use a few extra holes?” Cargo continued as he chambered another round. The words on the black metal blurred. He tilted the gun and looked at the blond, considering. No, not just yet. Timing was everything.
“Already did that snookum’s.”
“Excellent.” Cargo holstered the gun.
Wrinkling his nose, he wiped his hands clean. It’d been awhile since he hadn’t worn gloves. He resisted the urge to examine his fingers closer. Still within him rested the need to gauge if they were all intact. To confirm that they were just how he remembered, pale, and perfect. He’d settle that later, making sure he had all his fingers and toes was less important than this.
“I never knew you were so concerned.” The blond haired man with brown eyes tutted.
“Simply confirming you’d completed the assigned task before engaging in frivolous things.”
“You’re hardly frivolous, liable to kill me soon as kiss me, but frivolous? No.” Brown-Eyes lazily looked over Cargo’s form taking in his ragged attire. Jeans of some indiscernible label and without a hole in them coupled with a plain t-shirt. His gaze finally rested on the black jacket long and battered.
Every ruler needed a proper cloak.
“Might I remind you the gun was your idea.”
Brown-Eyes laughed a sharp bark, and removed his own coat also revealing a plain white shirt. His Blond hair briefly shown in the fading light. Cargo settled his weight back on his heels. There was a ritual to everything.
“Those knives of yours were getting a touch distinctive.” The other informed him looking wistful.
Cargo also missed his blades. Guns were just so impersonal. Fine for dealing with the trash yet lacking that same resonance.
“That was the point.” He raised an eyebrow, his companion wasn’t usually so dense.
“I know.” The blond huffed brown eyes rolling.
“Then you’ll keep in mind just how good I am with them.” It wasn’t an empty threat, Cargo could be very patient when need be. Today had been years in the making. Months of arduous work against the lesser of society and other minds who thought themselves his equal. Brown-Eyes had been with him from the start. In any case he could taste the ashy flavor of victory on his tongue.
“How could I forget?” Drawled the blond far from chastised his teeth gleamed sharp and canine.
“Enough, bring that mirror from the enclave.” Cargo ordered.
The gloom, ominous and empty advanced further.
He narrowed his eyes watching the change in the surroundings. Currently. Cargo stood back to the edge of the building. He stilled listening to the structures crumble around him. Soon enough, it’d all be his.
The blond placed the building glass before him. They were not but a few paces from the edge and could have stepped right off into oblivion.
“A little to the right,” Cargo flippantly said.
Brown-Eyes made the adjustment the man pushed a strand of blond hair out of his face.
“Here?” Already he could see the stilted reflection contained within the rectangle.
Behind him the moon marched forward, advancing on the sun.
“Yes, that’s perfect, thank you.” Cargo extended his hand and Brown-Eyes took it coming to stand beside him. He could afford to be gracious in these final moments. Someone should be here to witness this zenith. Especially one who sacrificed so much towards the culmination of his power.
The world around him fractured and shifted. Brown-Eyes stepped in and out of view. Cargo gazed into the makeshift mirror. High above his mighty shoulders, the moon swallowed the sun. Escaping rays crowned his image in the glass.
For a moment, he basked in the retreating light.
Then it was gone.
He pulled the gun back out and tossed it aside over the side of the building.
They both watched it descent, the weapon had been a gift from the very man beside him.
“Cargo. . what is this?” The blond asked.
Wild with glee Cargo turned to his companion and leaned in till not but the space to draw air remained.
“What would you do for me?” He demanded jaw unhinging to spit out the words.
“Anything.” Was the swift reply. The tight way he was gripping Brown-Eyes collar must have hurt.
“Would you die?” He breathed a hand’s breadth from the man’s lips.
“Any. . anything.” Coughed his accomplice eyes glistening blond hair coated in dark grit.
“Splendid.” Cargo agreed and slid the blade through Brown-eyes ribcage and into his heart. Words formed in the mutt’s mouth, though he didn’t plead, blood gurgled up. Watching in rapt fascination Cargo let the blood seep onto his clothes.
“Peek-a-boo.” Brown-Eyes gasped out the words he’d held since their very first meeting.
“I see you,” Cargo told him in parting as he pulled the knife out.
The blond dropped over the side of the building with a smile on his face.
Cargo idly watched the body fall, the first of many yet to come. He clapped his hands, unable to stand the shaking. To rule is to be alone.
His movements blurred. Cargo couldn’t rightly say when he’d picked the gun back up. Only that it now rested once more at his hip returned from where it had disappeared over the building.
The sun rolled back this time chasing the moon, and it all began again.
Blond hair ghosted the edge of his vision as Brown-eyes made his move.
Cargo switched the safety off and turned to fire.
“CARGO!” He jerks forward shaken by the familiar voice. His eyes water and he pants blinking off the haze of dreams. The man opposite of him holds a hand around his wrist keeping him back from slicing open his throat. Any slower and Cargo would have killed him.
Oh god.
“James.” He drops the knife incoherent. “James, please. . .”
The blond surges forward and wraps Cargo up in his arms.
“What is it, I’m-” He began.
“Count with me.” Cargo babbles sounding half mad even to himself. He stares at the fingers of his hand trying to make sense of them. A dream, it had all been a dream. He felt light, unearthly.
“One.” He breathes and James sounds off after him. Eventually, the man simply covered Cargo’s smaller shaking hands with his own. Under James careful touch his shudders lost their tension.
“I have feathers for lungs,” Cargo mutters surprised he doesn’t just float away.
“Shh, I’ve got you.” James rocks him, an anchor in the storm. Slowly the rise and fall of his chest eased. He counts the beats of his heart, simultaneously keeping one eye on the knife where it lay discarded on the bed spread. He can’t be sure that any of this is real. The silver blade mocks him till Cargo looks away.
“Hey.” James addresses him a hand gently turning his face till their eyes meet. The blond ran a soothing hand over his back. What would he be without this man’s support? More, he’d be more the ugly part of him whispered. The bit that had after everything never left. That voice wasn’t right, couldn’t be right. They’d been by each other’s side since that fateful day. Neither daring to leave the other ever again.
When he felt less than his best it was James who murmured reassuring things and was waiting to place a mug of tea in his hands. His hands that had dripped crimson more and more as of late.
“I see you.” James reminds him, brown eyes meeting his own. It takes all Cargos will power not to yank his hand from his grip.
“Peek-a-boo.” Cargo laughs high and strained. The noise continues ringing in his ears, in the background The City crumbles. How easy would it be to end it all now?
“James.” Cargo says and worlds would have ceased to turn from the meaning in his voice.
“Yes.” The other man shifts pressing a kiss to his hair, mindful of his distress and hands him his glasses.
Cargo settles the frames on his face. “Let’s finish this game.”
