Boy from Nowhere

The Manhole

Nemesis nervously rubbed his weapon's handle, shifting in his seat. The train was uncomfortably silent, the only noises coming from the vehicle itself and occasional whispers.

However, it seemed as though some of that whispering was directed at him. "What's up with that guy? He looks like he's too poor to even be on the trai-" The young male glared at the offending party. Before he could stop himself, he'd already opened his mouth for a retort.

"It's none of your goddamn business." he snarled at the person who'd spoken. The urchin who'd spoken flinched. After a brief staring contest, it scoffed, flipping him off lazily.

"Yeah, yeah. It isn't your business to eavesdrop on people either, you scum-feeder." Nemesis nearly pulled his knife on the spiny bastard right then and there, but he held himself back, slumping back into the seat. "That's right, you worthless shit. Nobody cares about you, so do us all a favor and crawl back into the dumpsters at the next stop, why don'tcha? Damned cephs, think you're all that just 'cause you got a few extra tentacles..."

The young Inkling forced himself to end the conversation there. Getting kicked off the train halfway to Inkopolis would leave him no better off than before, and that was not an idea he relished. The uncomfortable coils of anger swirled to life in his gut again, but he forced himself to ignore it, pulling his hood up to hide his face. 

Come on, do it. You know you want to. He deserves it. He wants to talk shit? Let him eat his own words, for shrimp's sake. He tried to ignore the whispers, but they grew louder. Shut up.

They want a monster? Fight back. Win. Prove to the world just how dangerous you are. He gritted his beak, lowering his head. Shut up, shut up shut up. His vision slowly took on a splotchy blue tint, forcing him to shut his eyes.

Witness your own cowardice. A sharp pain shot through his side, and he felt himself slip from his seat. Falling... falling... It will not protect you. People have no respect for those who are not powerful. The world is ruled by monsters because they have power, and they are willing to use it.

His body went limp as the ground rushed up to meet him. Something slammed down on his chest, causing him to let out a strangled gasp. Standing above him was another Inkling boy, grinding his foot into his chest with a cold smile. The pressure slowly forced the breath from his lungs. He wanted to scream, but without air, only a tiny whimper left his lips. Weakling. You disappoint me. His vision began to fade as his body finally exhausted its oxygen. Air. Air. Breathe, Nemesis.

Breathe.

His eyes shot open as he reached out in a desperate attempt to grab his assailant's leg and pull it out from under him, but there was nothing. The pressure was gone, thank the lucky stars- Nemesis gasped greedily for air, panting heavily as oxygen began flowing into his body again. His hood had fallen further over his face, and as he peeled it back, he felt something wet on his cheeks. Tears? He glanced around, wondering what had happened.

He was on the train again. Most of the other passengers had already disembarked, including the urchin. His chest and hearts were heaving as if he'd just dead-sprinted a mile. Thankfully, his pockets had been untouched (everything was still there) but as he looked down at his items, for the faintest second, he could have sworn blue blood was splattered over his hands. It disappeared as soon as he blinked, but the feeling of the sticky, viscous fluid lingered on the boy's palms.

Shuddering, he turned his attention to the window. A vast coastal desert was visible through the window opposite of him, desolate beige stretching for miles and miles. About half of that land was probably submerged in several inches of water. A flock of gulls hovered above the empty sands in hopes of finding invisible prey.