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Chapter 3
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The slightest movement broke Winger out of his reverie, as Cordax had suddenly straightened and now stared off into the darkness. After a moment of silence, he suddenly bolted into the shadow of the alley, leaving Winger struggling to stand up on his own.
By the time he had reached his feet, the yellow fellow had completely disappeared. Frustrated with this and other recent developments, Winger slammed his fist on the edge of the dumpster, and was greeted with a sharp cry of pain, whirling around in surprise to see Racie clutching her fingers which Winger had inadvertently mashed. “I’m so s-” he began, but his spine gave out in the middle of his apology, and he struggled against the beam he was using as a crutch.
“No. It’s fine.” Racie replied, looking down in the dumpster glumly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey, whoa,” Winger groaned, using the dumpster to aide in his returned ascent, leaning against the side as he tried to make eye contact with Racie, who expertly avoided him. “This isn’t as bad as it looks. I mean, okay, it pretty much is about as bad as it looks, but it could always be worse.”
“That was dumb.” Winger breathed. “Okay, just… Please tell me you’re not actually crying right now, please don’t, I do not have the ability to deal with this today or any time during the week.”
“And I do?” Racie gasped, fighting back her tears. “Through all of this, everything I’ve done, I haven’t- I can’t. I can’t do any of this. I DIED, Winger - I actually, really died and I felt it happen. I heard my skull pop, I felt the cold-”
Racie turned her head to avoid a choking fit. “I haven’t helped anyone, I’ve only been useless as other people die around me. What can I do? This is a small world, and what space exists is filled with creeps and skeletons and murdering psychopaths. It’s a horrible world, and I can’t change any of it, or help anyone, or-”
Winger’s eyes suddenly lighted upon a hole in her shirt near to her stomach, and his reaction to the red, festering wound beneath it was enough for Racie to notice, immediately covering it with her arms in embarrassed shock. “It doesn’t matter.” She replied, her lip trembling. “I-I don’t matter. Not to anyone, to anything.”
“And you’ll be extremely sorry for it, too!” A small voice quipped from behind the dark of the alleyway. “It’s ridiculous to believe you’re not even a proper- oh, hello guys. Glad to see you’re all alive and well! So’s this chump, and he just about begged me not to kill him because I dunno.”
Bent down in front of Cordax, and practically on the verge of tears, was a very muscular man with a sombrero and poncho, and a plastic skull mask, all of which had colorful paint marks with a festive flair. Cordax held him by one arm, which he had bent behind his back to keep him from moving - painless, but immobilizing.
However, El Cadáver Tonto didn’t give any indication of his comfort, wailing out his pleas at the top of his lungs. “Don’t kill me! Please, don’t kill me! I promise I’ll give up those street games for good! Honest, I will!”
“You don’t sound Spanish.” Winger mused, leaning forward on his beam.
“I’m not.” El Cadáver Tonto replied. “I work in a mexican restaurant - or I did, until I got fired - and I’ve had to scrape for cash ever since. Ow!” He massaged his now free arm, which Cordax had finally let go out of either boredom or pity. “But I can’t go on wearing this dumb suit and fighting people, sooner or later they’ll realize I’m cheating, and then-”
“Suit?” Cordax inquired, poking at one of the muscles and raising his eyebrows as it deflated under his inspection. “Well that’s just sad.”
“Tell you what,” Winger staggered forward. “We’ll consider not killing you for now if you can help us get medical attention without the police noticing. And her, too.” Winger gestured with his head towards Racie, who bore an injured expression at Winger having brought it up. “That whole kerfuffle going on up there might not end very well without our interfering with it.”
“Certainly!” El Cadáver Tonto bowed on his knees in front of Winger, who recoiled back in repulsion at the motion. “I’ll do whatever you ask! Oh, thank you, thank you! I don’t know what I would have done if you had reported me to the police, knowing I’ve got these illegal upgrades made out of that horrible-”
A glowing blob of plasma washed over El Cadáver Tonto, immediately melting him to his bones. Either Sonus was having bowel trouble, or something was going very wrong.
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