MVUTO

chapter 106 - siren

On screens darkened to avoid eye damage, Mvuto's gang agreed on an avatar of a merperson of indeterminate gender. Mother-of-pearl colours the length of the scaly tail; a torso that mimicked the vibrant skin of a cuttlefish with similar 'w'-shaped eyes; claws on webbed fingers; cascading from the human crown blue curly tendrils of the man o' war; anterior dorsal fin rays along its spine; sharp teeth, sitting in a background wallpaper rock-pool beside an expansive ocean with gentle waves breaking against the rocks. The screen was inevitably smudged by the artists' fingerprints, drawing the beta version before the final result of their collective input was displayed and embellished a little to boost realism. Baby would spend the rest of the night studying fluid motion and audio to improve upon an already remarkable 3D rendition of an animated image. To offset the fantasy with virtual reality, baby also rendered a mashup image of what an actual child that shared the DNA of Mvuto and Zuri would look like, with eyes that can follow and lock on someone else's gaze.

_________________________

Mvuto landed atop an arch of the oldest transport bridge in the suburb. He enjoyed the 360 views of the nightlife from this perch, left, right, above and below, until icy fog seeped in and drifted above the river, recklessly clouding his field of vision. Before the bridge was completely shrouded in mist, Mvuto leapt from the support railing, gliding down the bridge runway to land in the middle of the empty road. Already the fog had swamped the nearby park. Following along its path, Mvuto chanced upon the escalating sounds of violence to the scene of a homeless vagrant being assaulted by one while filmed by another. The nightlight from the phone lit the offence, projecting light to random points, unsteady and drunk. Mvuto gradually slowed his hurried pace, drifting the breeze that grew behind him over the assailants. That and the sound of footsteps behind them alerted their senses. Turning to face who was approaching, they saw a dark shape of a tall, broad-shouldered man standing, watching, waiting in the swirling fog.

"what the fuck do you want?!" the more vehement of the pair demanded with a discernable slur.

"leave!"

he shouted at Mvuto, "make me, MF!" then spoke aside to his accomplice, "keep filming... bonus action!"

In the backdrop, the hobo lay in a heap of malodorous rags, groaning quietly.

Patiently, Mvuto checked his adrenalin until the moment the man swung at him. Then, grabbing his flailing arm, Mvuto used the momentum to spin the man around and hurtle him back towards the guy with the camera. AOT he tripped over his own feet. Churning his gut overloaded with an explosive legend's cocktail of jagerbomb, redheaded slut, slippery nipple, adios MF, duck fart and cocksucking cowboy, all of which suddenly became a technicolour projectile of wasted expense puddling on the ground.

The cameraman commented, catching all the action as he was commanded, "whoa! Man, what a tragedy!"

Mvuto could not help but laugh.

"shut the fuck up, you MFAH!" the sot spat and gagged again, alleviating him of the very last drops of fluid stubbornly remaining in his stomach. Then, still foaming at the mouth, he made another attempt at contact, rising on unsteady feet, he roared and charged at his target again. Without further warning, Mvuto spread his arms out as if to embrace the oncoming man, but to his horror, the stuff of nightmares materialised before his eyes, bringing him to an absolute standstill.

Numb to sensation, saturated in alcohol, there was still fluid in the man, now emptying into his jeans. Mvuto didn't just form his wings. For him, size could be easily manipulated within the fog.

Rather than question what they were seeing, the men instead panicked and ran screaming past the hobo who now leant against the lee-side of a tree. Out of habit, he saluted the bastards on their way. Mvuto walked up and crouched down beside him, "how bad is it?"

"I'm good", he lied.

"in hospital, they'll let you have a shower and provide you a change of clothes..."

"Nah, been there, done that, and I'm still out here..." he waved off the choice to improve his circumstances, even if transient.

Mvuto stared at the eroded devitalised man as he peered into what led him to this misery. First, macabre flashbacks manifested a once-promising military recruit suffering acute enduring PTSD, failing all attempts to adjust back into civilian life. Then, a stint in prison for DV, a case exaggerated to the fullest extent by dubious prosecuting lawyers. Finally, milking him of everything he owned, earned and held in a nest egg for his retirement, leaving him stint, abandoned, distrusting and too ashamed to ask for help from family. Mvuto suspected the man was listed as missing by those who cared and probably would not even recognise him if they ever inadvertently crossed paths.

"Is there something on my face? Why you starin'?"

Mvuto sighed and rose, "life can get better... if you will allow it".

"Thanks for the advice", his tired words dripping with sarcasm and underlying pain.

Mvuto spoke a forgotten language into his headpiece, "baby capture his image and match it with a mug-shot in police records. see if he has listed a next of kin in his file."

Mvuto saluted the soldier and left him in peace, receiving a weary salute in return.