not a victim

"Around and around we go. Where we stop, nobody knows." The words were a harsh whisper to himself, the cold fighting against the heat coming out of his body. The warmth turning into its own vapor and moving away from him. Sweeping into the night sky, trying desperately to find a place to go, to find some sort of peace. It would never be found though, just disipate in the surrounding chill.

Gaze drinking in the sights before him, the way that the world worked here. It wasn't the same, but he could give it some credit. It was bare, free of what sort of delusional messes that was the life he came from. Or it had been, until this all started here. Bits and pieces of worlds known and unknown, falling out of the sky. It was the more befitting visual than the way that it all came about. Better than watching people shift and change, the way that life came about and moved. The way his own eyes changed, the way items found their places, their own owners. Actual physical places become a reality here, where they should never have been.

Where Mike was more of a mental mess, going back and forth between things, thoughts lingering and dodging aspects of his life? Morbius was more set in what he wanted. Trying to see and catch what that would be. He needed to find his place in all of this mess. A place that let him be who he was, allowed him to fulfill what sort of potential he would find and actually set to achieve. Right now that was just to live in some sort of peace, without finding him on the end of strings. A puppet to some blind puppeteer that he would never meet. A tool that he had always found himself to be in times like these. The once weakest link, to utilize because he was out of the loop.

Playing catch up wasn't exactly his speed. He could read and read until his eyes turned red, just not like his other half. Though, he had to admit, he felt a little different now. The blood that flowed through his body was renewed in another way. Body making its own changes as more abilities came about. All abilities due to his own pseudo-vampirism. Another piece to the puzzle. Another shift in his own DNA.

Michael Morbius recalled his own days as a child in Greece. Time with his own mother, taking care of him best she could. Having a rare blood disease, it didn't make for things to be easy. For all anyone knew, she might have lost him in so many ways. But she was there for him through it all, taking care of her child. Not giving up on him in that way, not letting go. He had been there when she passed. Holding her hand as it all happened. One of those purely human moments, that he could recall and no one could use against him. He wouldn't allow it, even if they tried. They could believe what they wanted, but that was as far as that would ever go.

It was much like the cycle of his life. To be sitting there over those gasping over their last breaths. From the pool of loved ones, the few he ever had, to people he didn't know. His best friend in the whole world, a man looking to try and help save him to the woman he was completely and desperately in love with. The one and only woman he had ever wanted to actually marry. To spend the rest of his life with. To give her everything that any man would want to give to someone so deserving.

Instead of all of this, he was left to watch her die twice. To be told to let go of her, to let her have her peace. From her mouth to someone else's ears. It was too much for him to bear, regardless of how right she was about the entire thing. About what she did deserve, even though he just selfishly wanted her back. To be there with him through everything, after all of his pushing her away. After his simply wanting to keep her safe. He was the bigger problem, the means of destroying her like he had destroyed his own friend. Fed from him until there was nothing left. He had to keep her safe from that fate too, to find his own resources, to try and fix this problem. All the while, he was unable to save her, to stop her from being some pawn too. A puppet with strings, just as he always found himself used. A bad joke created by life. That or justice served.

Steps back were taken, shaking his head as these thoughts began to plague his mind. He didn't need to think about all of this right now. He didn't need to think back to every past mistake. This wasn't going to do him any good. There was a well of guilt within him as it were. The level of depth wasn't even known to him. So deep he couldn't measure it. If there were a coin to drop in it, even with his sensitive hearing, there would be no sound to reverberate back to him, claiming to have found the bottom. It was the sort of guilt that he lived with day by day. So massive that he had to forget about how it hovered over him now and then.

No, instead, he was looking to move forward. Literally and metaphorically. Speed taking hold as his body rushed over the edge of the building. Arms out, legs flexed, he glided over a few buildings before slowly descending into the park. A specific tree was large enough to take hold in. His own skills built up better out of practice, more than anything. Memories seeming to be pulled from where and how they were needed. The chill of the night air having made his own face feel more numb. Maybe that was a good thing, he wasn't entirely sure. Hopping down the branches, his own senses were open, able to pick up on so much. No one was around to see or hear him, no sooner than he would be able to know of their presence first.

Feet landing on the ground together, grass being pressed underneath the soles of his boots. Another quick check of his own surroundings, only to take off running. An alley not far away. Tugging his own coat closer, basking in whatever warmth he could pull from it. If only this weather could let up more, so that he might actually practice other skills. Then again, maybe that was some sort of sick justice too. To have had the time before, if he wouldn't have been taken like he had been. Some hostage to do as he was told. The bidding of another. That same puppet. Here he was, making for a full circle.

But as he began to move, he caught something. Movement, a scent. There was something above him, someone above him. The scuffle of feet, coming around buildings. No one had been here a moment ago, he was sure of it, but this, this was strange. Taking in everything, he breathed in deeply. There was something off about the scent, something that he almost recognized. Not completely, but vaguely. It was all there, slowly pulling to the forefront of his own mind. The person from the sewers. The scent that came off of him. The unearthly smell that went with it all. The blank look in their eyes. The strange way they were all wearing matching colors.

Was this some sort of set up? His head tilted to the side slightly, trying to make out what it was they were exactly trying to do. Bait him? Catch him off guard? Did they know what he could do? How long had they been watching? There was really no telling. Maybe they all knew where he did live. Maybe he should have made a point to try and move sooner. There was still another week or two left for him to fully do so, but that wasn't going to be his issue right now. No, his current issue were the set of lackeys currently surrounding him, circling him as if he were the prey.

He was no one's fool, he was no one's bait, and he certainly wasn't about to go and be taken as a prisoner yet again. Twice now, twice this had already happened, but this time, he had the ability to take care of himself. Morbius was far from some experienced fighter. His own abilities were what made him a deadly opponent. That and the fact that he had a bloodlust that was something that needed to be kept in check. But right now, that part of him, that was left without. On top of all of this, his own intelligence, a Nobel Prize winner, he understood how to take in and look at things in ways other people didn't always. Not that he was especially great in tactile achievements, but matching his abilities, he had taken down greater numbers with ease.

None of these people were good. Their want to strike, their want to make him a victim all over again, something snapped in him. With the speeds that Morbius could move, run, he wasn't the fastest man alive, but he could get away. Zip past them, get away, or even use that speed to push himself up, to glide beyond their means of reach. But where would it end? Where would any of this end? He didn't want them showing up at his door, to any of those people around him. Not to anyone that he spoke to, as if he sent them there to take them all in ways that he would never rat them out over.

For as boring and annoying as he saw the use of fighting, he wanted it. One of those few moments where he was so emotionally wound up that he wanted to destroy what was in front of him. To take what was in front of him, to take it and prove he was no longer a victim. In control of his own path here, they couldn't take that away now. He was more than they were. A living vampire.

Hands balled up into fists, squeezing tightly at his own sides. His anger reaching a boiliing point. He wanted to yell, to call out, to tell them what they could all go do to themselves. But that would all be pointless. Waste of time, more than what he wanted to do now. Given the looks that they were giving, he doubted there was any actual means of talking them out of this. But it was their fault, or whatever master they held's fault. For all the destruction caused, the things he was forced to do. Not just in fear for himself, but those that he knew. He wasn't prepared to live like that again.

"I'm not doing it again. I'm not going through this again." His words were so certain, spoken with conviction through gritted teeth. He didn't know what they wanted or why, but he could only imagine. His feet moving faster than his own arms as he moved towards the first, fist connecting with his face. Moving between them all, until he took one by the collar and tore out his throat using his teeth. Fangs bore, the taste of blood on his lips. It was all too sweet. Hands open, fingers extended, claws came right out, leaving him to slash at anyone that came at him. Even for whatever hits they threw in, whatever weapons they held, Michael's healing factor kicked in leaving him without an issue. Other than pain, which angered him, anyway.

Blood trickled down the bodies that slowly began to not get up from the ground. No loud commotion was made, just a fight late at night between strangers. All within the confines of an empty park, nearly in an empty alleyway. Nothing was stopping either side, nothing until the last man was down. Pain in his side was still healing as he tried to stand straighter. Lucky shot with a knife right there in his abdomen. Hand squeezed at the wound, waiting on it to seal up. Breathing roughly, Michael looked around before looking down at himself. He was going to need a new coat, new shirt. The blood going and soaking right through it all.

At least there would be less of a need to worry about his blood bags in the apartment. Maybe that shouldn't have been the first thought in this, even as he began to take hold of a collar, the head flapping back, throat still slashed wide open. His strength wasn't what it used to be, but he was at least physically fit. His own stamina where it needed to be with his own speed. He couldn't just leave these people here, like this or otherwise. Who knew when someone would show up here or why, and come across them. Worse if it were some child. Pushing open the dumpster there in the alley, only feet away, he moved to try and lift the man into it. Ignoring the blood that fell or the head that lopped back and forth.

There would be a trail and he wasn't the best with all of this. Hiding bodies wasn't exactly his specialty. If anything, it probably was even more proven given his time with the Morlocks. The loud thump that resonated from the bin hurt his ears more than the smell that came from it all. Licking his lips, he could go for more blood, but mostly because of the point of gluttony. He didn't need it. Just an urge that went with his own biological functions, his needs. It was part of his own survival. Another body was pulled over, not as heavy and he was thankful for that. What did these people eat? They should have went on some sort of diet long ago. These colors didn't exactly help them either. But he really wasn't someone that could just that so well. Fashion was far from his forte.

More bodies, more thumps. Each one came with its own wince. Two dumpsters had to be filled so that the one didn't overflow. Before another sound could be heard, before he could even think about brushing anything off of himself, he took off. Running, allowing that blood he drank to give him a renewed strength. Speeds were pressed as he was going to need to not be seen or noticed, at least as far as he had eaten. The wound finally healed, at least from the outside. The inside was still correcting itself, leaving it all extra sensitive as his stomach rumbled. A need for actual food, not just this side of him, this part. Maybe a sandwich would do it all for him. Quick and simple. Now, if only he had something to make one with. Maybe after he cleaned himself up.