The only light in the world (it seemed) was the cherry-red glow of Leo's weed-roll and the dim yellow beams of his headlights cutting a narrow path through the absolute black.
He drove a Lingo-354, a boxy, colorful bus in the past, now faded to the colour of bruised plums and rust.
It was his home; the ornaments, cooking materials, and pieces of clothing scattered all over the back proved it.
But tonight this vehicle seemed less like a home and more like a shield protecting him from the dark woods; everyone knew not to go near this place at night.
On both sides of the winding, narrow road, the woods of pine and skeletal birch leaned in, almost covering the road, their shadows so deep that they seemed to swallow light itself.
"Fuck this," Leo muttered and turned to his radio, an off-colored device on his dashboard that buzzed slightly, increasing the unsettling nature of his drive.
With that, he resolved to change the channel, and when he did, a newscaster's voice (crisp and unnervingly calm) filled the cab.
[…reiterating their statement that the so-called 'Binland Incident' involving the missing Dr. Carla Harrison was the result of a stolen, classified bio-weapon. Officials are urging the public to disregard speculation of a… supernatural nature, calling such claims a 'dangerous fantasy.']
As Leo listened, he took a long, slow drag of his blunt, the smoke burning his lungs.
'A bio-weapon, huh? They settled on that? Nah, it's gotta be demons and shit,' he suddenly shook his head, trying not to think negatively in a place like this.
He remembered the footage floating online, how she easily changed floors with that tail, 'If it is a bio-weapon, that shit is cool, but now it's not as interesting anymore. Let's see if anything else is on,' he thought as he switched the radio station.
With a crackle of static, a different voice rang out, this one more frantic, a talk-radio host: [a high-tech bio-weapon? Come on! A survivor described things that literally defy physics, biology-]
Leo scoffed at those words, a low, gravelly sound lost in the rumble of the engine, 'fucking talk-show host,' he thought as he twisted the dial again, cutting off the man's desperate rationale.
The radio scanned through the night for signals, catching snippets of a pop song, a preacher raging about end times, and then, a cool, detached report of a murder case in a District he'd never visited.
Furrowing his brows, Leo twisted the knob again, and heard talk of murder; he twisted the nob again and heard talk of another murder.
Next? Murder!
Next? Murder!
Murder!
Murder!
Murder!
Murder! Each one more gruesome than the last, the notion of people dying had become such an everyday occurrence that he almost felt desensitized to it.
There was nothing he could do.
His eyes (heavy-lidded and dim) looked up to the windshield, and through the grimy glass, he saw the moon floating fat and full in the sky.
But it was wrong.
It was a lurid, burnt orange, a sickly pumpkin hue that stained the blackened clouds and bled a malevolent light over the twisted road.
It was an ill moon, a liar's moon, but he was sure of it, 'The moon has always been orange...'
He looked back to the road at this thought and suddenly caught sight of a woman (or the glimpse of a woman) standing in the dead center of his lane, her form a shadow in the orange gloom... It was too sudden.
"Scree!"
"FUCCCCXK!" Left with little time to react, a guttural curse tore through Leo's throat as he turned his steering wheel and stomped on the brakes.
The bus screamed in response, its tires skidding on the damp asphalt, the entire world lurching violently to the side.
"Argh," the man groaned as the seatbelt bit into his shoulder, the loose contents of his life clattering and crashing around him.
When the bus finally slewed to a stop, half on the road, half in the woods, the silence that rushed in was deafening.
"It would seem we have scared you," a familiar voice spoke from his window soon after, noting the obvious.
The voice was strange to hear for the first time in the sense that it bore no friendliness, worry, care nor hostility, it was just plain, almost robotic.
Leo was forced to turn and saw a man with messy dark hair, pale skin, and deep, deep black eyes, and he wasn't sure, but they seemed to spin.
There was something uncanny about him, and in the next moment, Leo shifted gears to reverse and stepped on it, his car shooting backwards away from this unfamiliar man.
"Bam!"
A loud crash rang out as his left-side door was flung open, almost ripped out from its metal hinges.
"Fuck! Fuck!" Leo screamed in terror as he slammed the brakes again. His eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest, his pupils dilating.
"Is that the only word in your lexicon?" Mr. Valen's voice sounded out again as he let himself into the now-opened bus.
"Scoot!" A A woman's voice, mature and commanding, sounded out soon after, forcing Mr. Valen to indeed scoot.
'Who the fuck are these people?' Leo thought as he sat there, frozen as the woman closed the door (or what was left of the door) with a forced bang.
"What is your name?" Mr. Valen then spoke as he turned to him, his large form folded in the middle (between him and this strange woman).
"I-I'm Leo," Leo responded, resolving not to put up a fight.
"Good. Now, where are we, Leo?" Mr. Valen then asked, spreading his arms, his fingers caressing the back of Leo's neck, digging into his flesh.
"We're on Vinuz freeway," Leo responded instantly, his voice strained, his heartbeat increasing once more.
"The one that leads to the Forty-third district?" Mr. Valen muttered, his tone deliberate. "Take us back to the Forty-second district, and who knows, you might just live. AND LEO!" He suddenly raised his voice.
"YES!" Leo responded in shock, his face pale.
"Pick up your cannabis from the carpet; it is a fire hazard," Mr. Valen suggested.
"Yes sir," Leo complied and slowly picked up his weed, throwing it out the window as he started the engine.
With that, he turned the vehicle around and resumed his journey on the open road.
"Now, onto more important matters," Mr. Valen turned to Carla, "Tell me what you know about my mother, Amethyst, and the nature of her powers," he commanded, prompting a purple glow on Carla's chest.
"Ha, you think it'd be that easy," Carla giggled slightly, her voice as though she'd been waiting for this exact moment, "I know almost nothing about Amethyst or your mother. All I remember is you stabbing your birth mother when she was tied to a tree. I remember that I was there, but I don't know how. I don't even remember the faces of the other people that were there!"
'The fuck?' Leo thought, his eyes glued to the road, fearing death in the face of any unnecessary movement.
Meanwhile, "How is that possible?" Mr. Valen spoke, knowing that she was not lying by the merit of the compulsion mark.
"You never asked what Amethyst's powers are," Carla whispered to him, forcing him to narrow his eyes at her, as if warning her to stop the back and forth.
Taking a breath, the smile left Carla's face and, as though heeding Mr. Valen's warning, she asked, "Do you remember what Amethyst looks like?"
"Yes. She is a black woman with blue eyes and silver hair," Mr. Valen spoke, a strange look in his eyes as he watched Carla as though she was crazy.
"I remember her as a blind Asian woman with black hair," Carla simply spoke, turning to Mr. Valen as she asked, "Do you understand what this means?"
Mr. Valen was quiet at her words. He understood what she was implying, but he just couldn't believe it. He trusted his mind wholly, but then he remembered what Carla herself was able to do.
"So I am to assume this is the reason for your fragmented memory? That Amethyst has tampered with your mind?" Mr. Valen asked.
"I don't remember anything relating to her. I feel like I know more of your childhood from somewhere other than that single memory but I can't remember; huge chunks of my memories are missing, Valen, and I don't know why," Carla spoke, her eyes widening slightly, her gaze peering into his void-like eyes looking for some kind of clue, emotion, something...
But there was nothing.
Mr. Valen then began to speak, narrating the events that happened in the club while Carla was unconscious.
Leo just drove, his ears rattling with all he heard, 'Dr. Carla, superhumans, gods, The Artist... They're gonna kill me, they're gonna kill me, they're gonna kill me,' he thought as he looked around for an escape of some sort.
When Mr. Valen finished speaking, Carla went quiet, her eyes narrowing as she spoke, "That exploding head thing, that must be one of Amethyst's minions... do you remember what the agent was talking about before he died? 82."
"Hmm. He spoke of a god named Ly-" just when Mr. Valen wanted to speak that name, he felt an oppressive chill lock onto him instantly, the same chill he'd felt at the bar when the NIU hellspawn uttered the same words.
Simultaneously, his avatar (the shadowy humanoid) popped out its head from the dashboard and smiled at him, the same terrifying smile that it had given him many times before.
"What? Don't you remember the name?" Carla swallowed and spoke, prompting Mr. Valen to slowly turn and look at her, his heart pounding against his chest as a small smile bloomed on his face. "This is why I like you with claws, now slam your head against the window!"