The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 7: The Mission

“So what was your first time like?” As soon as my lips uttered the words, I mentally slapped myself. It sounded like a question from a lame truth-or-dare game.

Pete snorted, his imagination sparking too, but answered the question seriously. “It was rough. Back then, it was just Ben, Anthony, Rick, and I. On our first mission we didn’t have any weapons except for our pocket knives. We all knew a little self-defense, but hardly enough to keep us alive-“

“So how did you? Not get killed, I mean.”

Pete’s brow furrowed, suddenly becoming animated. “It was awesome, Banner- I was surrounded by three Blades, each of them aiming a pistol at me, when all of a sudden Rick snuck behind one behind me. He got him in a choke hold and knocked the man out with the butt of his own pistol. It was something out of Mission Impossible-“

“But with less Tom Cruise,” I said, pouting.

Pete rolled his eyes. “Yeah. But anyways, I knocked another one’s gun out of his arm and started freaking fist-fighting with him. Seriously, these guys had no training at all! And then, I punched him in the throat and kneed him in the solar plexus. The third, who was fighting with Ben or Rick behind me, let a loose one fly and hit me in the bicep,” Pete held out his left arm, skimming his finger on a mottled formation of skin.

“I should have gotten nerve damage. But I didn’t.”

“So you have healing power or something?” I said, amazed. Though most of the things we talked about consisted of degenerate-related topics, we had never come across Pete’s abilities. Without thinking, I reached out to touch the scar. Its texture was surprisingly soft, sort of like a wrinkly apricot.

Pete withdrew his arm as quickly as I had touched it, and finished talking. “My muscle tissues are engineered to take in more oxygen, so I’m stronger than most people too.”

I rolled my eyes. “You expect me to believe that? You’re as skinny as a rail and your knees are almost bigger than the rest of your legs.” At this, Pete frowned.

“Whatever. Just let me finish the story.”

“Fine,” I said, laughing through my nose.

“Anyways, like I was saying- I got shot. I was gushing out blood, and I look to Rick. He was getting beaten into a pulp by a Blade. So, I reach over to a body beside me, pull the gun off of him, and shoot him dead in the back of the skull.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You lie.”

Pete held up his hands. “No, I swear!”

“Oh really? Where was Anthony in all of this?”

“He was helping the degenerates get into the Cherry Bomb. One of them was shot by a Blade. Another attacked Anthony. Like how you attacked him a few weeks ago.” Pete chuckled as I glanced over to the front towards a certain brown-headed boy.

“Was it a girl-degenerate that attacked him?” I asked. That would make sense as to why Anthony was so angry at me; he didn’t like to get beat up by girls, and was probably already sensitive towards the situation.

Pete looked over to Anthony as well, smirking. “Yeah,” a small snort escaped me at my correct assumption, “her name was Ella.” My blood froze at his use of a past-tense verb.

“Was? What do you mean WAS?”

Pete winced, as if regretting even mentioning it. He scratched his head, eyes apologetic. “I don’t-“

He was cut off by an emotionless voice. “Ella died.” Anthony appeared out of nowhere, suddenly at the back seat. His face was slate, the face of a warrior statue; his ocean eyes now hurricanes with dark storm clouds overhead. It was scary face. Even Pete, our assumed leader, looked a bit startled.