Well? Where's the rest? 
"Goodbye, Jean-Luc. I'm gonna miss you... you had such potential. But then again, all good things must come to an end..." -- Q
Quote:
*joins Sooner in faint*|
Originally Posted by Sooner
*faints from joy*
|
Pax
If you take time to help others, you help yourself grow.
If you take time to help yourself, you realize how far you have to go.
If you take time for chocolate . . . you've discovered the secret to a happy life
!GL & be safe in game & real life!
*hug*
Pax
It had been this, or the Harley. Given a choice, he would have rode the growling motorcycle to the group home, but Miss Silk had laughed and told him she didnt think it would look real professional. He was certain this wasnt any better. Cliffords 42 Dodge truck seemed to grumble gutturally as it traveled, the scarred brick-red finish making it look like some infernal beast come to life. The old man had looked sternly at Hunter as he handed him the keys, lecturing him "not to get a damn scratch on it." Hunter wasnt certain how Simms would even notice a new scratch on the battered vehicle, but was careful nonetheless.
Tucked away on a cul-de-sac, the group home was literally hedged in from its neighbors. Thick foliage of various plants surrounded the home, with Sixties style wood and brick covering everything leaves did not. He knocked on a thick wood door, and waited. The door was opened hesitantly, bright light and random shouting pushing its way out of the gap. A heavily wrinkled face appeared, framed by unnaturally red hair. Cigarette smoke curled from the womans mouth. "Yeah ?" popped from her mouth as if she had burped.
Hunter handed her his card. "Im here to see Robert McCade", he said, trying to sound pleasant. The woman uttered a barking-like laugh. "Heh ! Robbie ! Little ******* is a troublemaker!" Hunter looked down at the crone-like woman. "So I understand from his file," he said flatly. "May I come in ?" The woman peered at him for a moment, then whipped the door open wide so that he could pass by her. "Hang on and Ill get him," she growled. "ROBBIE !" she shouted to no direction in particular. No answer came from the hallways off the main room. Frowning, she stomped off down the left one.
Hunter sat down on a nearby couch, which promptly outgassed the smell of dried urine. He quickly stood back up, frowning to himself. He could see other residents of the home passing through the kitchen on their way to somewhere else. One was a skinny man-boy, no more than five feet tall, wearing only an adult diaper. He stopped suddenly, balled up his fist and punched himself in the jaw hard enough to stagger himself. He shook his head, and walked toward Hunter. Stopping in front of him, he extended a bony hand toward Hunter, as if to touch him.
"DAMMIT ! LEAVE HIM THE HELL ALONE, BILLY !" the old woman shouted hoarsely. The skinny man darted from the room, scrawny legs carrying him. "Hes a little ****," she stated flatly, as if to apologize. "Robbies back in his room if ya wanna go see him. Being moody and all. *******." Hunter thought if he heard this woman utter "*******" one more time, he would try and get the skinny guy to punch her in the jaw. But, the Institute needed the client base. He needed to build a reputation in this town. So, he smiled, and followed her down the hall.
A short, thickly built man sat on a bed in the corner of the bedroom. Thick glasses drew attention to the wide-eyed look he gave Hunter as entered. The man did not speak.
Hunter turned back to the woman. "Okay, this report says Mr. McCade has exhibited disruptive behaviors ? Can you explain what he does ?"
"Gets his roommate pissed off. Causes trouble," she replied.
Hunter looked back at the man sitting with his back to the wall. The man had the classic rounded features and thick tongue that typified Down Syndrome. Hunter knew that more often than not, a distinct lack of aggression was prevalent among people with this disorder. The complaint- on the surface- made no sense.
"Uh
how does he piss" the roommate off ?" Hunter asked. "People like him are classically non-aggressive
I just dont see it."
She scowled at him. "Gets him all riled up !", she barked, pointing at the other man in the room.
The man sitting on the other bed was as opposite as possible to Roberts appearance. Over six feet tall with straggly gray hair, he looked back at Hunter with bloodshot eyes. "FRANK ! TELL HIM WHAT THIS LITTLE **** DOES TO YOU !", she said, her voice bouncing off the walls in the small room.
"He LOOKS at me !", the taller man replied, glaring at Robert.
Robert became visibly frightened at the commotion, and sunk into the corner of the walls. Hunter quickly found out why. Frank lurched to his feet, easily crossing the room and lunging toward Robert. He swung a large fist at Roberts head.
And missed.
The fist impacted the wall behind, the crunch of cheap paneling bouncing back. Frank drew back his other fist and swung. Another miss. Another crunch. First fist again. Miss. Second fist. Miss.
The woman barged past Hunter, finally trying to pull Frank away from the terrified Robert. Hunter grabbed Frank in a restraint, using fulcrum to shift him back to his own bed. "FRANK, KNOCK YOUR **** OFF !" the woman yelled in the wild-eyed mans face. Hunter pushed by her to examine Robert. He knelt down at the bedside, reaching gently toward the frightened mans face. There were no marks at all. Roberts hair, meticulously hair sprayed into place each morning by a bored house staff, was not marred. His glasses had not moved perceptibly on his face.
The wall behind Robert was a different story. Cracks and splinters marred the paneling where Franks fists had slammed into it. Hunter hadnt seen Robert move; the man looked paralyzed with fear the whole time Frank was swinging. He hadnt tried to run, hadnt screamed, hadnt done anything to defend himself. He just
sat there.
Didnt he ?
An idea began to form in Hunters mind, like someone slowly turning up the volume on a radio. What if Robert didnt have to run ? Clearly, Roberts reaction had been genuine terror, so Hunter guessed the disabled man didnt believe he could withstand Franks punches when they hit.
If he was actually hit. If he could be hit.
Could Robert be a meta somehow ? Could this man be the Institutes first real "customer" ?
Hunter was yanked from his deliberating by the womans grating voice. "DAMMIT, FRANK ! YOU BUSTED YOUR ******* HAND THIS TIME !" She turned back to Robert. "And YOU
" she screamed, gesturing at Robert.
"Are coming with me," Hunter interjected loudly, still looking at Roberts face. Hunter stood up, and turned on his heel to face the woman. He made a show of removing his cell phone from his pants pocket, and dialing a number. "Im closing this hellhole. If you try to leave, Ill have you arrested for abuse. " The womans jaw dropped. "Actually.." he stopped and looked around "..when these folks get here, they may decide to arrest you anyway. And Id cheer em on. Youre like a damn worm in the gut of humanity and you need **** out into a prison where you can scream like a scalded cat all day."
A stunned look crossed the womans face. She began to speak, and apparently thought better of it.
Hunter turned back to Robert. "Would you like to go somewhere nice with me, Robert ? Somewhere people dont yell, and theres no Frank to scare you so bad ?"
Robert looked at Hunter, speaking for the first time. "Frank grrrrr go RAAAAHHH !", he grumbled, making panicky punching gestures in the air.
Hunter looked at fear in the mans eyes, and pondered a long moment showing the abusive woman what true fear could be.
"Robert, my name is Doctor Michael Hunter
", he began.
"Migle Hunnerr", the man replied, his tongue slurring the sounds.
"Yes," Hunter smiled. "Migle would be fine. Should I call you Robert ?"
"Rrrobbie. Rrrobie Micabeuh", Robert said back, as if he was used to giving his name to those who asked.
"Then I can be Migle
and youll be Robbie."
Am I understanding this right: Frank's punches weren't wide of his target, Robbie dodged them and Frank hit the wall behind?
Interesting...
"Goodbye, Jean-Luc. I'm gonna miss you... you had such potential. But then again, all good things must come to an end..." -- Q
Yeah!!!!!
@tiggy
Beware the attack cat
*makes lots more popcorn for everyone*
*curls up on the Comfey Couch and (in)patiently waits for more*
Well written as always Hulkers. 
Pax
If you take time to help others, you help yourself grow.
If you take time to help yourself, you realize how far you have to go.
If you take time for chocolate . . . you've discovered the secret to a happy life
!GL & be safe in game & real life!
*hug*
Pax
Very nice, Hulkers.
My Stories
Look at that. A full-grown woman pulling off pigtails. Her crazy is off the charts.
Sometimes it seemed like the sunlight had forgotten Kings Row. Rain, smoke, smog seemed like no matter which window of the Hunter Institute you looked out, there was pretty much nothing to see but nothing. Still, Hunter looked. He knew they were down there; the homeless, the runaways living on the streets because their parents couldnt cope with the fact their child was a meta. And thats why the Institute was here; to give them all a place to call home.
Except very few did. Once the renovations were done, Hunter had personally helped canvass the streets around Paragon, spreading the word there was somewhere besides alleys and overpasses for these people. Still, few accepted, and those few were by no means what one would call "paying customers." He smiled to himself as he recalled when it first dawned on him that the Institute couldnt survive indefinitely as a glorified soup kitchen for metas. Thanks to the Geezer Squads willingness to invest in what they called "a damned good idea for a change", the Institute could survive for a good while even if another penny didnt come in. Living off their money was never what he had intended, so he had "talked to the right people", and had started seeing patients for counseling again.
He hadnt been sure at first how it would feel after so long "out of the game." Sitting at a desk while soccer moms talked about their failing marriages. While kids in heavy eye makeup that screamed "FOR GODS SAKE, NOTICE ME !" cried softly; sometimes they screamed and the mascara ran like pain flowing from their souls, but that was an act of trust most were unwilling to commit. While normal people complained in normal fashion about normal problems that they shouldnt need Hunter for. Normally.
But, once he came to grips with his own metahumanity, once he started to see the metas his patients very likely scowled at when they exited the Institute, he became unwilling to accept "normal" as his final destination in life. Normal paid the bills, but it didnt satisfy the soul. So, he looked out the windows of the Institute a lot. Looking for the answers that would set things in motion. Waiting for them to emerge from the fog.
A knock on his office door interrupted his silence. "Yeah ?", he called out, not turning from the window. A young woman who went by the name Spider Silk entered the room hesitantly, a large envelope grasped in both hands. "Uh Doctor Hunter this arrived for you by courier. Says its con-fid.."
"Confidential ?", he finished, turning to face her. She smiled back nervously, "Yessir, that." She jerkily handed it to him and stepped quickly to the door. "Miss..Silk, is it ?" he called after her. She looked over her shoulder, embarrassed. "Yessir, but mah friends call me Spider." "Well, I shall call you Miss Silk until you tell me otherwise," he smiled. "Its only proper." She grinned crookedly and darted from the room. Hunter laughed softly to himself. Such a clumsy flirtation on his part, but it was important to him to let the people who came to stay here know they were accepted, and worthy of respect.
He studied the return address on the envelope, a local human services agency. "Work," he muttered. He opened the envelope, reading the cover letter carefully, then tossing it to one corner of the scarred wooden desk. He sat down in his thrift-store vintage office chair, and opened the folder, studying the name.
"Robert McCade ", he mused, the words swallowed by the empty room.