W.A.R.M.T.H. : The Beginning

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Summary

The Criminal, The Viper, The Tiger, and The Genius. How will this ragged team from the wrong side of justice save the world from the inhuman apocalypse?

Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
7
Rating:
3.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:
18+

Trouble and a Viper

Raven

Great, once again, I was stuck in a holding cell waiting for my ‘mother’ to come and get me. Third time in the past five months too, I think that’s a new record. You’d think that by now, I’d know to run faster. Ugh, everything is so familiar. It’s almost as if this has become my second home. The same harsh, flickering fluorescents, the same monotonous-ticking clock, the tiring silence of the guard falling asleep. The same rusty, suspiciously sticky bars of the cell. At least there’s something new and interesting; this time around, I have a cellmate. He looks about my age, maybe a couple of years older, 18 at most, average height, green eyes, olive skin tone, but what is up with his hair? Platinum white with pink tips, and his clothing? Talk about a travesty. A crimson red tank top with a black hoodie along with ripped jeans, also black. A chain runs from his pocket up to one of his belt loops. He’s basically a walking stereotype. And that smile...eerily arrogant. Now, why the hell is he staring at me?

“Take a picture; it’ll last longer.”

My sudden remark seems to please him being as he flashes an even bigger, bad-intentioned smile. He looks me up and down.

“Enticing but, uh... pigsly over there took my phone.”

He jerks his chin toward the guard stationed at the desk in front of us. In return, I shoot a glare in his direction.

“Pervert.” His eyes blaze at the insult.

“I think the word you were looking for is ‘promiscuous.’” I scoff and roll my eyes.

“Aww c’mon, I was thinkin’ we could be great friends.”

He placed his emphasis on ‘Great,’ reminding me of Tony the tiger. I can barely tolerate standing ten feet away from him; I don’t think I could stomach being ‘friends.’ In an attempt to ignore this arrogant basket case, I look through the sticky bars towards the door of the bland police station for the hundredth time. Where is Amora? My one phone call was telling her she needed to come and get me out of here ASAP. I called her an hour ago. One of the perks of having a wealthy best friend is that they can access fake IDs so much easier and get where they need to be quick, and more importantly, in style. She always gets me out within fifteen minutes of my call. As I’m running through the odds of her getting hit by a bus or some other disaster, the door opens, and I see a familiar face come in, followed by some random dude with a head full of red hair and nerdy glasses sitting on his nose. Amora greets the guard and asks him to let me out. He jumps out of his chair, recovering from his snooze fest, and stumbles around looking for the keys. I notice the redhead slip 40 bucks into the guard’s hand and gesture to the creep standing beside me. Did he get closer? Perve. I think bitterly.

Amora approaches me with a look that lets me know how much of a disappointment I am, as if I don’t already know. I knew I shouldn’t have worn those heels.

“What did you do this time?”

Amora asks with disdain; I let out a bored sigh.

“I may or may not have attempted to put Sandra in the hospital for a few weeks…by injecting her with poison.” Before Amora can say anything, I quickly add, “It wouldn’t have killed her.”

A laugh is heard from the other side of the cell. The damaged bad boy looks at me with that annoying smile on his face.

“Now that is what I call creative” Amora looks startled at the person she now realizes is sharing the cell with me.

“Who the hell is that?” she whispers to me. Her gaze doesn’t leave his face.

“I don’t know, some pervert I had to share the cell with.” He flashes that smile at Amora.

“Pervert is a little rude. Dontcha think? I prefer perpetually aroused. You should really teach that viper some manners.”

Another eye roll from me has him smiling wider than he already was.

“You’re disgusting.”

The nerdy ginger approaches the cell, the guard in tow. The boy has a startling blank look on his face. As the guard unlocks the cell, he says,

“He’s definitely disgusting, but his name is AJ. Feel free to refer to him using that instead.”

His tone of voice is as void of emotion as his face. I find myself very curious about him; he’s not easy to read. I tear my gaze from him and look back at Amora expectedly.

“What took you so long?” I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot at her impatiently. She shrugs innocently

“I thought some more time than usual, stuck in here, would be good for you.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” another glare towards AJ, “It was just more torturous than usual”

from the side of me, I hear the ginger say to AJ in an ashamed tone, “AJ, I told you to run faster.” It’s decided, the nerdy redhead is a teenager too. I walk out of the police station, leaving the others inside and wanting nothing more than to get out of that stinky, humid box of gross.

While waiting for Amora I turn around and stare through the double glass doors of the beige police station. She’s talking to the redhead. I take advantage of her friendliness and get a better look at the boy. His hair is messy like he just rolled out of bed, but by looking at his face, you can tell he’s been up for hours. I guess he has more important things to worry about than personal hygiene. He’s slightly taller than AJ, pale, with a nice smile, he fidgets ever so slightly, fingers fluttering at his sides. I’m sure he usually has something in his hands. The fluttering motions of his fingers paired with the way he keeps looking away from Amora makes him appear to be focused on anything and everything except the conversation. Definitely cute...but not really my type. He’d probably be more Amora’s speed. She’s never really had a boyfriend, like ever. But she’s smart enough to understand that 16 isn’t a great age to be dating. That’s one lesson I wish I had learned from her. I had my first boyfriend in 4th grade, we’d ditch school and go hang out at the arcade. I had my first kiss in 6th grade, and it was less of a kiss and more of a make-out session, less of a make-out session, and more of a situation of him licking my face. but still, I am no American Sweetheart. I’ve lost count of the guys I’ve been with along with the number of times I’ve been called a slut. I never hear the end of my bad habits from Amora, every time it’s the same thing

“You should stop sleeping around with guys Raven, find a nice one who’ll treat you right.”

What she doesn’t know is that there is no such thing as a guy who’ll treat me right or, anyone right for that matter. Love just… isn’t real. My parents being the key example of that, I can’t remember them ever speaking kindly to each other. Not to mention the endless times my brother and I sat around a stony silent dinner table watching the glares they’d shoot in the other’s direction. With everything I’ve heard them say about each other I don’t understand why they haven’t gotten divorced. Probably for my little brother Carter, and the fact that they work in the same lab; Toxic gas and radiation. Through the glass doors, I see Amora turn and start walking out, AJ and the other one also walking towards the doors. When Amora finally catches up, she assesses me and asks,

“What’s wrong?”

I pull myself back to the present and quickly shake my head.

“Nothing, why were you talking to him for so long? Do you have a crush?”

My prodding tone is enough for Amora’s face to turn slightly red

“No! I just met him!” I smile, “He is pretty cute though, did you get his name and number by any chance?”

She growls at me “I did not get his number, but his name is Ren” I roll my eyes “You totally like him”

“I do not!”

“Sure sweetie, and I’m a virgin.” As I turn to start walking, I feel Amora’s glare on my back before she catches up.

“C’mon,” I say, “Get me the hell away from here.”

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Further Recommendations

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Cris Tina: I read in some of your comments that you are experiencing writer's block. As lovely as your writing is do take your time to occupy yourself with what serves you as individual outside the writing world. Your brain wants alternatives and variation. It's how it keeps itself in shape. Hyper focus on ...

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