[REND] 2.3 - New Semester, New Me

Little Red Riding Hood? Did he call me that because of my hoodie? Though I liked the story of Little Red Riding Hood, I hated being called ‘little.’ If I were born elsewhere, like Asia or something, my height wouldn’t be considered too short.

I glanced at them again, eyes stricken with fear. How was my face doing? I wish I had a mirror to check my expression. Need more practice for this.

I continued walking past the group. I couldn’t hear any other footsteps in the loud music.

Why wasn’t anyone following me? I would’ve preferred if only a guy bothered me. Easier to dispose of the body. The rest would think their friend got jumped by a rival gang in the darkness.

“Don’t be shy, Red Hood,” shouted the biggest among them. I thought he wore long sleeves before realizing his entire arms were covered with tattoos. “Come over here. First time I’ve seen you ‘round these parts, yeah?”

“We won’t bite,” said another guy. He was topless with a devil tattoo across his chest. He blocked my path, gesturing for me to follow him.

I shuffled my feet their way, a scared girl too afraid to run away. It’d be their fault if something bad happened to them.

Four guys, all with tattoos. Two were standing, one sat on the hood of the car, and the last guy was curled up on the sidewalk, probably passed out. His friends didn’t care about him. I bet my lost foldable bike that they were armed. They had to be in this area. Some of their tattoos might be gang symbols, but I wasn’t familiar with any.

Could an Adumbrae get tattooed? Assuming the needle could pierce the toughened skin, it still might not work. I researched this when some of my cheerleader friends got tattoos after we won a competition. The needle injects ink into the skin. Then, the immune system engulfs and traps the ink. Something like that. Gnarly how it worked. I was thinking that an Adumbrae would regenerate a tattoo away.

I didn’t get a tattoo back in high school. Or any other time. I mulled it over, and Rule #14 was put into place: Do not get tattoos.

Tattoos could work for one of my faces, but they might not work for another. I couldn’t have anything that’d freeze a face in place. Also, I was quite fickle. I’d spend a thousand years choosing a tattoo design.

“Uh, good evening,” I squeaked, stopping a couple of feet away from the potential aggressors.

Killing three humans shouldn’t be a problem for an Adumbrae. I could take them by surprise before they’d pull their guns. The hard part would be disposing of their bodies. Equal parts amusing and surprising that I wasn’t fazed by the situation. Maybe I had it in me to be a monster all along.

I was already here. I’d just have to see where this would go.

“I hope I’m not bothering you,” I added. If there were a contest for voice wavering, I’d get a bronze medal at the least.

“You’re not botherin’ us,” said Tattoo Sleeves. “We’re the ones who called you over, didn’t we?” He laughed. The others joined him. “How about you take off that mask so we can see your pretty face, yeah?”

I quickly shook my head. “I-I can’t I have a cough and… Uh, I just can’t.”

“Aw, you’re shy. You won’t be when you get to know us. Say, what’s your name?”

“I, uh…” Rule #3: Never introduce myself first.

The one who introduced themselves first had control of the conversation. Might sound like a good thing, but steering a conversation would reveal one’s personality. If I went second, I could react and form the appropriate face depending on how things would unfold.

Also, I somehow felt I was in a higher position if the other person went first with the introduction. Dunno why though.

“I get it.” Tattoo Sleeves extended his arms and gestured at his friends. “We’re big, scary dudes. It’s a dark street. You’re a girl, all alone. Anyone would be scared in your shoes. But don’t worry, ‘kay? I may look like this, but I’m understandin’ as hell.”

“She’ll really be scared if you put it that way, moron,” said Beanie Twig. He was incredibly thin that he looked like a giant twig insect with clothes. I liked his beanie, though, with pictures of cartoon puppies.

“Know what? Let’s all be friends, yeah? Start with introductions.” Tattoo Sleeves pointed at Beanie Twig. “This here is Fender. That shirtless guy showing off his dad bod—”

“Girls love the dad bod,” said Devil Chest, drumming his flabby stomach.

“—is Skinny. He was skinny a long time ago. Not anymore.”

Ugh, they have nicknames different than the ones I gave them, I complained in my head.

“That’s Bronx down there,” Tattoo Sleeves pointed at the guy on the ground. “Don’t mind him. He’s still alive. And I’m Teflon.”

“Teflon?”

“Because I coat my victims in Teflon,” Tattoo Sleeves growled, looking at me menacingly. Then he laughed. “Just kiddin’ around. Some stupid story about how I got this name. What’s yours, Red Hood?”

“I’m Clarice,” I hesitantly replied. ‘Clarice’ sounded harmless. I could use ‘Helen’ or ‘Rachel’ next time. Nah, ‘Rachel’ didn’t sound innocent enough.

“Clarice, eh? Red Hood sounds better for a street name. Whatcha’ doin’ here, Red Hood? Not a good place for an innocent-lookin’ girl like you.”

“I bet she’s delivering food to her grandpa,” said Devil Chest.

“Ah, I get it.” Beanie Twig snapped his fingers. “Because she’s Little Red Riding Hood. Hang on, I've got a billion-dollar idea. What if we made a food delivery app with that name? That’s our ticket outta here!”

These idiots… Little Red Riding Hood brought food to her grandmother, not her grandfather. The wolf ate the helpless and frail grandma first, establishing the danger it posed. The story wouldn’t have worked with a grandfather.

“Shut up, you guys,” said Tattoo Sleeves. “Let Red Hood talk. Respect, yeah? We’re gentlemanly like that.”

“I-I was just passing by,” I stammered. “Was walking around to clear my head. Got lost, sorry. I need to get back—”

“Ah, don’t be like that, Red Hood,” said Beanie Twig. “Damn, the name’s got a nice ring to it.” He offered me a smoking rolled-up thingy that I assumed to be blunt. “Know what this is? Take off your mask and try it out.”

“I… got, um, I can’t.”

“Why not? Have some fun. It’s not illegal or what.” Beanie Twig grabbed my hand. I almost lashed out and killed him in one strike. I tensed my body to stop punching. He placed the blunt on my palm. “Now, what you do is—”

“I have lung cancer,” I blurted.

All of them jerked and stared at me with wide eyes.

Beanie Twig then blinked rapidly. “The fuck?”

“You serious with that shit?” Devil Chest asked.

“Hey, don’t call Red Hood’s story shit,” Tattoo Sleeves said, “you shithead. Stop messin’ with Red Hood.”

“Just wanted to confirm, man. No offense meant, Red Hood. No offense meant by this dad bod that I rock.”

“Do you really have lung cancer?” Beanie Twig asked. “Is that why you have a mask?”

“Uh, yeah,” I timidly nodded. “So, I’d rather not try smoking this.” I returned the blunt to Beanie Twig, who seemed perplexed with the situation and didn’t know what to do.

“Fuck… sorry,” Tattoo Sleeves said, looking at the ground.

“That’s some heavy stuff,” Beanie Twig said bowing too.

“Really heavy, man.” Devil Chest also found the ground very interesting.

Amusing that they were buying it. This trio seemed affected by my fake revelation. They might not be bad people despite their intimidating appearance. ‘Don’t judge the book by its cover,” as they say. Though I didn’t follow that advice because I judged people all the time. Since I was particularly entertained by our conversation, I wouldn’t encourage them to bother me.

“Aw, man. I don’t know how to deal with serious shit like this.” Tattoo Sleeves wiped his face as he groaned. “Know what? Let’s talk about somethin’ else, yeah? What about that Adumbrae attack, huh?”

“That’s a good topic!” Beanie Twig explained. Then he frowned. “I mean, it’s not good that Adumbrae are in the city. You know what I mean. Scary shit, man. How many years has it been since an Adumbrae appeared in our city?” he asked Devil Chest.

“Seven years,” I answered, remembering what Wool Asshole, may he rest in pieces, had said.

They all seemed surprised that I spoke. Tattoo Sleeves chuckled. “There we go, okay. You’re warmin’ up to us. Don’t be scared—”

“Dude,” Beanie Twig said, “telling someone, ‘Don’t be scared,’ will make them scared. Drop that, will you?”

“She’s not scared of me.” Tattoo Sleeves nodded at me. “I’m understandin’ of people, see? What do you think of the Adumbrae attack this mornin’, Red Hood?”

“It’s sad that many people died,” I said. Did that sound too monotone? I also didn’t have much practice saying stuff like this.

“Sad, yeah. Get this—people say it was the work of terrorists.”

“Uh, terrorists? What?”

Tattoo Sleeves shrugged. “Because three Adumbrae turned into their monster forms in the same place. From human to monster in seconds, is what survivors are sayin’. Rumors are that some terrorist group got this chemical or somethin’ that can turn anyone into an Adumbrae.”

“That’s only in movies…” I said, frowning.

There were movies with that plot—be it a serum, a crystal, a machine, or whatever that could force someone to become a monster. Compare it to the seeding process that needed the host to accept the Adumbrae. Well, in my case, I did accept the Adumbrae.

But it was too sudden. Before today, I had never heard of any voice in my head except my own.

Could this rumor be true? Kinda farfetched. But there could be a mad scientist out there who cooked such a chemical. It’d explain what happened to me.

“I told Teflon the same thing,” said Beanie Twig. “Sci-fi shit. There’s always this powder turning people into Adumbrae, or that ray gun shit turning people into—”

“Just a rumor, okay? Not sayin’ it’s true,” Tattoo Sleeves said. “But you gotta admit, some mighty suspicious things are goin’ on in this city. Sometimes, rumors are partly true.”

“Do you know of other rumors?” I asked. This random stroll to test my powers on criminals became an investigation into what might’ve happened to me. I almost forgot that I wanted someone to try mugging me.

According to Tattoo Sleeves, many people were mysteriously disappearing in the streets—the homeless, those without families, the fugitives, criminals hiding from the law. The police weren’t investigating because they didn’t know. Who would bother to report them? But the streets were abuzz. Tattoo Sleeves said that he got the information from trustworthy sources. Devil Chest jumped into the conversation, claiming he personally knew a couple of people who were never seen again, and how suspicious it was.

“I swear they won’t just poof away like that,” Devil Chest. “No one has it out for them. They were taken. A hundred percent.”

“What you’re saying…” I started to say, piecing together stuff in my head, “…is that these disappearances are connected to the Adumbrae attack at the subway?”

“Just a theory,” Tattoo Sleeves said. “Just a rumor. That’s all we got. Don’t you think it’s mighty suspicious? Whoever’s kidnappin’ these people might be feedin’ them to Adumbrae. Or worse. Turnin’ them into one.”

Beanie Twig burst out laughing. “Come on, man. That’s thinking real life is a movie. Right, Red Hood?”

I weakly laughed, with my shoulders still slumped. I maintained my timid demeanor, but my mind raced. What happened to me was too much of a coincidence. Perhaps, the true coincidence was that I got caught up in something planned by someone, be it this theoretical terrorist group or whoever.

“What about that new group?” Devil Chest asked. “PCM? Protectors of the City… What’s the ‘M’?”

“Your momma,” muttered Beanie Twig with a snort.

“Don’t mess around, man. We’re having a serious discussion here.”

“Movement,” I said. “Protectors of the City Movement. Aren’t they a cult? Like a doomsday cult or something?”

I didn’t know much about the PCM other than they liked to hold prayer rallies on busy streets, disrupting traffic before the police could arrest them. I had encountered them a few times. Easy to get past their blockades since I could walk through with my bike. I didn’t read the flyers they gave me.

“Not exactly a doomsday cult,” Tattoo Sleeves said. “They claim the guys at the top, the president, the military brass, hell, even our mayor, are all Adumbrae. A pretty paranoid bunch. So, yeah. I guess they’re a doomsday cult in a way.”

“They’re gaining a lot of members fast.” Beanie Twig pointed at the wall behind their cars. It was hard to make out because of the headlights, but I spotted the graffiti of a clenched fist, the symbol of the PCM. “What if they have something to do with the missing people? All that shit started when their group popped up.”

“Could they be connected to the Adumbrae attack too?” I was grasping at straws because I didn’t have any explanation for what happened to me.

“Just a theory. Just a rumor,” Tattoo Sleeves repeated.

“Aren’t you afraid?” I looked left and right with nervous eyes. “Like, maybe you’ll get kidnapped too?”

“Appreciate the concern, but don’t worry, yeah? We’re packin’.” Tattoo Sleeves raised his shirt, revealing more tattoos on his body and a gun tucked into his waistband. He could be called Tattoo Shirt, but I was retaining his nickname. I doubted I’d see him again.

Beanie Twig pulled down Tattoo Sleeves’ shirt to cover the gun. “You’re scaring her, man.”

“Enough ‘bout that.” Tattoo Sleeves offered me a bottle. “Here. Have a drink. Forget about your worries for a bit.”

I stepped back. “I… I’d rather not.”

“We’re not tryin’ to get you wasted. Just bein’ friendly, yeah?”

“You’re really, really scaring her.”

If a tranquilizer dart couldn’t knock out an Adumbrae, alcohol wouldn’t either. Electroshock weapons were needed because an Adumbrae’s regeneration could fight the effects of a tranquilizer—some PSA videos explained this. Dunno if alcohol worked the same way as a tranquilizer, but an Adumbrae probably wouldn’t get drunk easily.

I should accept the bottle if I wanted a crime to happen. But I couldn’t…

…because of Rule #10: Don’t drink alcohol. The Rule was a safeguard, preventing me from ruining my face for a specific moment. I might not be able to control myself if I get drunk. But it might be time to retire this Rule.

Also, these guys weren’t so bad. And they gave me a few leads on what to do next about my situation.

“I have to go now.” I bowed in apology.

“We’ll drive you to where you’re supposed to go later,” Beanie Twig offered. He rapped the hood of the green sports car with his knuckles. “Pretty dangerous streets here.”

“I’m fine on my own. Thank you for the offer, really.” I retreated away from them.

The three looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. Tattoo Sleeves raised his bottle, “Good luck with your cancer, Red Hood.”

“Good luck? What kind of comforting words are those?” Devil Chest said.

“I mean, good luck beatin’ cancer or somethin’ like that, okay? I’m not good with words.”

I had a smile on my face while jogging away as they continued their banter. They were quite lucky to survive this night. And I was lucky learning something new. Terrorist group, PCM, missing people—I learned a lot today. Rumors could be leads.

If my transformation into an Adumbrae was somehow artificial, there might be a way to reverse it. I needed to investigate the Adumbrae attack. If there were a way for me to stop losing my body to the Adumbrae in the future, I’d do it.

I also realized something very important. I was becoming the main character.

A very productive night, I thought as I navigated the streets back to the end of the subway line.

What should be my next step? If this were a movie, I could go into a bar and ask—

Footsteps?