Greg Veder vs The World

Cutscene: Taken II

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –​

"-ey. Hey, kid. You there?"

Words drifted past the haze of pain, easing him slowly back into the waking world. "Ngggh."

The sound was muffled, a mouthful of dirty cloth still shoved firmly in his jaw. He groaned again as the world returned to him, sensations exploding all over his mind and body in ways that were entirely unpleasant. "Nggggghhhhh."

Sparky groaned, unable to stop himself at all. His head pounded, consciousness warring with the reawakened throbbing surface that was his skull. It wasn't just his head, the teenager realized a moment later, a low keening groan escaping from his throat. His whole body stood out a mass of aching fless, nearly every single feeling popping into his conscious mind ringing with the same note.

Pain.

Axel Ramon peeled one eye open despite himself, trying to see exactly where he was and why…

Why am I not dead?

That question aside, he quickly realized he was upright again, albeit with his butt planted firmly on a chair. Not by choice, of course, but then if he had anything like a choice offered to him, he would never even be here in the first place. Wherever here was, anyway.

"Helloooooo, you got brain damage or what?" A voice called out to him.

Sparky tried his best to ignore it as he tried to focus past the raw mass of bruised flesh that was his body, trying as best he could to take stock of his situation. I'm in a chair in some shitty room in some abandoned building. He could guess that much just from the peeling wallpaper, stained walls and the creaky wood floor he could make out just from flicking his eyes across the ground.

The fact that the only lighting in the dim room seemed to come from a single flickering light-bulb just overhead didn't exactly make his job any easier.

Attempting to move his arms, the teenager quickly confirmed something that his unconscious brain already let him know. Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're kidding me.

Both of his arms were held behind his back and around the wooden chair, tied together by a piece of thick rope securing his wrists. His heartbeat picked up as he felt the ropes give slightly as he tugged on them a bit, only for his mood to sink even lower as he realized that he would need a good deal of privacy to actually get anywhere. Double fuck.

Even with his head down, Sparky still had one good eye able to tell him that no one else was in the room but him and seemingly a lone Empire asshole, the man's boots being the only pair of footwear in the room other than his own. Despite himself, Sparky let out another groan as a spike of pain ran up his arms as he tried to flex out of his bonds without moving too much, the limbs feeling twice as heavy as lead and half as tender as hamburger meat.

"Ah, fucking finally. You're awake," the voice continued, voice sounding more amused than actually caring. "Almost thought you were dead for a bit." He laughed at that, actually laughing as Sparky's slowly waking brain tried to process what exactly was so funny.

"Kid's got some anger issues to work out, I know. Just how I used to be," the man added on with a wistful sigh, clicking his tongue at the end of it. "Everytime I see him, I almost shed a little tear. Manly tear, but you get me, right?"

...What?

Even without saying a word, the aura of confusion around him must have been so clear that even his kidnapper could notice it, the man letting out another chuckle after a few seconds passed by in awkward silence.

"I bet you're kinda wondering, what the fuck am I doing here?" The Empire goon began once more, boots clomping on the creaking wood floors as he took a few steps away from the far wall. "I don't look ABB, so why the fuck did they grab me and toss me with a van full of chinks, right?"

He wasn't wrong, of course. Sparky was, in fact, wondering roughly the same thing.

At least, he was pretty sure he had been wondering about it before he woke up again. Things were still kinda hazy upstairs, though, probably because the last thing he remembered was a boot meeting his face.

Probably.

"Well, don't waste any more time worrying about that. I figure it's only fair to let you know exactly why the fuck your head's on the chopping block tonight."

The teenager shuddered as the end of the sentence settled into his ears, his neck suddenly hurting much more than the rest of him as the implications.

"Like, uhhh, wait…" the man snorted. "No one's gonna cut your head off, okay. That's just pointless and this ain't fucking Mexico, all right?"

The rational part of his brain kicked in as the speaker took another long pause, pain and haziness ignored for a few seconds as a pair of amber eyes flickered across the floor of the dark room. It took no time at all to take in the room again, given that it seemed like some kind of basic studio apartment.

At least, it used to be at one point.

Time, neglect, and outright vandalism seemed to have turned the space into something that would probably have been perfect fodder for some kind of indie horror movie, not much needing to be done to make the place look any scarier than it already was. Apart from what seemed like a portable camera perched on a short stand several feet across from where he sat and just in front of the other occupant of the room - And wasn't that fucking worrying - the room seemed to be almost entirely empty, indistinguishable from one of many in the various run-down properties all over the Bay.

But why me? Why am I here? There was no answer to that question, none that he wanted to acknowledge at least. More than that, there wasn't much information for Sparky to gain without actually lifting his head to scan the room. Even still, the teenager didn't dare to raise his gaze and potentially meet eyes with the only other person in the room.

That was just asking for trouble.

Like I'm not in a shitload already, he snarled back at his own thoughts. How did this happen?

"You got into some shit that wasn't your business, you know?" the man asked with a sigh. "This was about teaching the fucking Asians a lesson, not to stick their heads up again. Like, they pulled some shit and now, it's like they think they don't deserve a beating for it. We're just being good citizens here."

How is this about me, though? Sparky thought, the gag in his mouth the only thing keeping him from vocalizing the words. You giant asshole, what did I fucking do?

"Tonight was not gonna be about you but you made it about you. You got into a fight that didn't involve you. It was simple, mano a mano. It was about respect. If my kid got knocked down a peg, fine, that's on him. And then you stick your dirty hands where they don't belong."

Jesus Christ, fuck me a third time. Sparky felt his heart rise into his throat, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he realized where this was going.

Sparky followed the pair of legs with his eyes, boots stomping over to the right side of the room as his captor leaned back against the wall and continued speaking. "A mutt jumps in and throws a sucker punch like a fucking coward and then he spits on my boy's face! I gotta ask you, what the fuck did you think was gonna happen?"

It was odd to him, hearing the man speak even if Sparky wasn't actually listening. The gangster's tone and words were almost perfectly contradictory, and he even had to wonder how so much anger could leak out from a voice that sounded more amused by what he was saying than anything else. "Do you see the position you put me in? Put my boy in? He can't live that down if he's ever gonna join the family. It's unfair to him."

Okay. Honestly, the thing that really seemed unfair to Sparky was how much shit he was being put through. If it wasn't enough that his hands were tied, both of his legs were bound as well, albeit in an altogether different way. Both of his ankles were secured by the same sort of rope, each tied to a rickety chair leg by the ankles with much better knots than the ones around his wrists.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell! Fingernails dug into his palms as he tried not to scream out loud in frustration, already something of an impossibility with the rag in his mouth choking most sound.

"You sucker punched him in front of his boys, in front of his school, and then spit on him like he was dirt beneath your feet and I'm just stunned by the size of your fucking balls to think that shit wasn't gonna come back to you. Like, what… We don't fucking exist to you?" the voice continued on, a pause every now and then between sentences that was a bit too long for something as simple as a breath. "Brockton Bay was built by our people. The Empire is our heritage. ABB, Merchants, the rest of you, you're all fucking parasites."

Oh, come on, just fucking ki- Sparky bit down on the sarcastic response in his own head, the taste of blood in his mouth suddenly all too noticeable as he ground his teeth and kept his head down.

He wasn't dead.

Yet.

He had to hold on to that as long as possible, keep that going by not being a fucking idiot and interrupting the violent, kidnapping Nazi.

"Look at me."

It was a command, one that he would have preferred not to follow, but the teenager was very well aware that he wasn't exactly in anything approaching a bargaining position at the moment.

So, he did.

Axel Ramon raised his gaze, shifting in his chair as he hid the attempt to ease the ever-loosening binds around his hands as nothing more than an accompanying shoulder movement. For a second, he locked eyes with the man, amber meeting brown, as the gangster grinned back at him, opening his jacket just enough for Sparky to catch sight of the serrated knife in the inner pocket.

Eyes wide as he tried to ignore his pounding heartbeat, the terrified teenager snapped his head back down to face the ground, anger at himself filling his chest for giving the bastard the reaction he wanted.

"So now, you're feeling the tension, huh? Can't blame you, though," Another pause. "If I was sitting where you were and looked like you did, I'd be pissing and shitting myself, crying like a fucking baby, and begging for mercy."

An actual cackle of laughter followed those words, the man clearly enjoying both his own joke and Sparky's shudder of a reaction for all the worst reasons. "Honestly, if I wasn't real focused on this cigarette right here, I'd give you a round of applause for being so brave right now, hand to God."

The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty room, Sparky holding his breath as he realized the man was nearing him. It took just a few seconds for the gangster to make his way over to him at a relaxed pace — literal seconds — but they felt like entire minutes, each one of them.

Either way, they passed all the same.

And eventually, Sparky could only shudder again, entire body vibrating with fear as the man finally came to a stop just barely a foot away from him.

"Look at me," he commanded again.

A sudden defiant urge filled him and Sparky hesitated, unwilling to move. A second or two passed and the gangster took another step forward, clearly interpreting the disobedience for what it was.

"I said, Look at me," the thug repeated harshly, a spike of aggression in the man's voice edging out his formerly playful tone.

Sparky didn't.

Even as the rational part of his mind begged him to listen, the rest of him simply gritted his teeth and kept his head down. Despite being aware that his life was literally in the man's hands, Sparky didn't really feel the need to indulge the fucker's demands. I'm gonna die anyway, ri-

The thought was interrupted as a gloved hand gripped his chin, painfully jerking his face upwards. Sparky's eyes met the other man's and he almost flinched again. Looking far more unhinged than amused, the red-rimmed and beady orbs looked down at him with raw hate. Adrenaline banished the pain almost completely for a few seconds, cold fury pushing away his fear and nerves as well. Staring at the face of the only person in the world he wanted dead, Sparky didn't even flinch as the man spoke up again.

Despite looking like he was on the verge of snapping, the words that left the man's mouth were almost smooth as silk. "You know, you know, I bet you're wondering why I haven't killed you yet."

Sparky couldn't deny that, yes, he was curious about that.

Very, very curious, considering his life literally depended on the answer.

"I'd love to do the job, but it's not for me. No, no, no," he laughed again, the sound slipping slightly to a level of manic that shook Sparky's conviction. "No, you're not here for me. You see that camera back there?" The man jerked his head back towards the device Sparky had noted a while ago. "I'm gonna use that to film you getting your head beat in."

Sparky's eyes narrowed.

"Then I'm gonna send it to your parents when they report you missing to the cops." He smiled again. "Can't have them holding out hope."

The cold fury filled his chest again.

"And you know who's gonna get the honors of beating you to death with his bare hands?"

Sparky didn't need him to answer the question. Mal. It was almost kinda funny, really. I'm gonna get killed by a shitty bully so he doesn't look like a bitch.

"My precious little baby boy, that's who."

Air escaped through Sparky's nostrils in the best approximation of a sigh he could manage, the unneeded response sinking his mood further than he knew it could go.

...fuck.

The teenager blinked in surprise as he was pulled out of his own thoughts by a removal of pressure from his face. A pair of amber eyes blinked again as he realized his chin was suddenly free from the man's grip, only for those same eyes to widen as a pair of gloved hands went for his face instead. Wai-

The hands settled around the back of his head, fingers undoing the knot that held the gag in the work of a moment or two. Without a moment's hesitation, Mal's father yanked the entire thing out of the teenager's mouth, a slight look of disgust on his face as he flinged it into some dark corner of the room.

Sparky's eyes widened again, this time for another reason, as he took in his first real breath in what felt like forever. The gulps of refreshing air came with deep heavy sighs, his lungs working hard even as he felt his bruised torso protest.

"After we finish filming the business downstairs, I'm gonna come up and the boy's gonna take care of our special guest. Make a real spectacle to make Mom & Pops feel special, won't we?" The man's grin widened as he gripped Sparky's chin again with a gloved hand, nodding the boy's head for him as Sparky bristled at his touch. "I'm not gonna lie to you, though, Malcolm's gonna be real eager when he sees you next, so... you only got this one chance. Any last words?"

The teenager stared up again, hate in his eyes. He didn't have much to say but something was at the forefront of his mouth despite that. A mouthful of blood and thick phlegmy spit sat there, poised to fly from his lips if he really wanted it to.

Do it, part of him screamed.

The defiant part. The part he wanted to listen to.

Spit in his fucking Nazi face, it begged. What do you have to lose?

It would almost be worth it, really.

Almost.

The cost would certainly be another beating he couldn't afford right now. Worse than that, maybe even his early death, if the bastard didn't feel inclined to stop.

Instead, Sparky sat silent, making no noise but the sound of his own heavy, labored breathing through his open mouth.

After a long moment...

He laughed.

The man stared at him with an odd smile for a few seconds, head tilted slightly. Then he began to chuckle as Sparky continued to laugh with the hoarse and unsteady voice of someone on the verge of tears.

Within seconds, Malcolm's father was laughing along, the sound full-bodied and mocking compared to the teenager's labored noises. That only made Sparky laugh more, unable to stop himself at the absurdity of everything.

Eventually, though, the noises coming from the man began to fade as Sparky continued to laugh, the sound almost a half-cough now as he barely even paused for breath.

"Kid, what's so funny?"

"...well," Sparky let out another burst of manic laughter that would have made most people flinch from the suddenness of it, "I'm pretty sure I have a concussion."

The Empire bastard raised an eyebrow.

Sparky could only laugh again. "That's not it, though, but it was something that was kinda fuckin' funny. I sucker punch Mal, he hits me so hard I go retarded. I spit on him, he kills me..." The sentence devolved into another burst of laughter, the action actually causing him pain now.

"I-I'm gonna die, right?" the teenager finally asked, the question spilling out of his mouth.

"That there was the plan, yeah."

"Y-yeah, I figured it but just, you know, gotta make sure," He laughed again, the sound finally trailing away. "But no, you see… the th-thing is that you're all gonna fucking die too, y'know that, right?"

The kidnapper blinked, eyes narrowed slightly. "Now how do you figure that?"

"You kidnapped a lot of Asian kids, too. Not just that one van, right?" Sparky continued, the thoughts of earlier in the night back at Greg's house coming to him. "And you're g-gonna kill them. And.. a-and they look perfect ABB starter age, I'm guessing. Winslow, I recognized one of them, I think."

"You're not wrong on that."

"See, I hear the ABB got a new cape boss and… he's why you're doing all this, I'm guessing. Cause he's making you look… well, look like what I made your little boy look like, r-right?"

The grin the Empire member had been wearing lessened, easing into just a smile.

"He's gonna fucking gut you, and your kid and all of you… You're all going to die screaming..."

Sparky let out another low laugh, the sound quickly shifting into a cough as the phlegm and blood he'd been holding back dribbled out of his mouth. The teenager smiled up with stained teeth and bloody lips, sure of himself as he held on to whatever small victory he could. "So… s-so, if I die, I'm pretty sure you're going with me."

"... you done talking?"

Sparky watched as the man he knew as Malcolm Duncan's father blinked.

He stared as the man let out a slight "huh" of acknowledgement, lips pursed in thought as he seemingly processed the words of the teenager in front of him with a simple nod.

"Your boots look like shit."

Sparky saw the blow coming.

He even went limp as best as he could.

It didn't keep his vision from going white for a second as the right side of his face exploded with pain. It certainly didn't keep him from falling to the floor, still tied to the chair as his face met the dusty, dirty ground with a sound that was only half as agonizing as it felt. If the impact that knocked all the air from his lungs wasn't enough, the hot wetness he could feel dripping from his nostrils was another punishment in and of itself.

"You've got a smart mouth."

Helps to have a smart brain, he tried to bite back. From where he lay on the ground, it came out as something more like "Hmmfpshohmppfasmrfffbfff."

"I'll be back."

Sparky lay on the ground, eyes closed and entirely unmoving. He heard those boots clomp across the room, barely restrained anger visible from how hard the man dropped his feet with each step. A few seconds later, the sound of a creaky door opening and slamming shut met his ears.

He stayed like that for almost a minute, ears peeled for any semblance of sound they could pick up long after the sound of footsteps had vanished from his perception.

Idiot.

His body ached, most of him feeling like a giant bruise every time he so much as took a breath and the entire but even still, Sparky felt victorious as he tugged his arms out of the knot the idiot had jostled completely loose by knocking him to the floor. Yes!

The cheers in his head only increased as he pulled the knots tying his legs free, the fact that the chair legs were already half-broken from the fall making the actions so much easier. FUCK YES!

Then came the hardest part. He made to stand up, only to nearly fall back to the floor entirely as his body decided to resist him. He considered it luck that he caught himself on his hands and knees. Luck or effort? Honestly, whatever saved him from landing on his face again and preventing another nosebleed, he would go with.

He breathed, the action heavy and shuddering as he pressed his forehead against the filthy, dust-covered ground of the one-room apartment. His skin stung all over, the pain there barely comparable to the rest of him. C'mon.

Axel Ramon did not care about that.

He didn't have the time to care.

He didn't have the luxury to care.

It took several long, hoarse breaths as he gritted his teeth until he was grinning despite himself, his face a rictus as he pushed himself to ignore the pain.

It took a few more to actually act on it.

With as quiet a groan as he could manage, the teenager pushed himself back to his feet as something that felt like excitement rose up in his chest, filling him with unexplained euphoria as he rose up to his full height. The jagged edge of one shattered chair leg in one hand, he took a few tentative steps toward the door, almost painfully slow in his movements.

Even still, he was grinning like a madman.

He had never felt so sure of himself before, so alive.

It was probably just adrenaline, maybe a concussion.

But even still…

Sparky bent over and retched, the orange chicken in his stomach vacating his stomach and adding a fresh coat of color to the drab wood floors. A few seconds later, Sparky forced himself upright again, tears falling from his eyes as he wiped the wetness from his lips.

Despite it all, he still wore a smile as he glanced up. Was... was this what going crazy felt like? He was going to die, maybe…

Probably, the pessimistic - rational - part of his mind reminded him.

Yeah, he was probably not going to survive the night, his body felt like shit on a stick but…

Even with all that, Axel also felt more of a thrill than he thought possible. God, what the fuck was going to happen next? Was this, he half-wondered, what Greg felt like when…?

A palm met his forehead as Sparky winced away a headache.

Yeah, yeah. Definitely a concussion.

That same hand wrapped itself around the doorknob, the rest of him still buzzing with adrenaline.

I got a chance. After all, he was already dead if he just sat there and waited for Mal and his shithead dad, anyway.

Sparky swung the door open and stepped out into the dark, dingy hallway…

Only to find himself rebuffed immediately, a man's broad back blocking his path to freedom.

...fuck.

His jaw dropped as the skinhead in front of him slowly turned around. As they locked eyes, the somewhat dull and vacant look on the door guard's face shifted to a blatant confusion that matched the shock that ran through Sparky at the very same instant.

The world slowed as his grip tightened around the makeshift weapon in his hand, fear transforming into another burst of overpowering adrenaline.

"Wait, what the f-"

Sparky lunged forward.