"So, what I'm trying to ask is: what would I need to make my body become resistant to everything?" Ricky finally said, after laying out his skill along with what he wanted from him.
"R-Ricky, th-that question-ha~" Barko stammered, struggling to put such a phenomenon into words before breaking into a shaky laugh.
"You'd have to be exposed to every possible thing, letting it tear you apart over and over again," Barko said with a shaky laugh, pacing in place, each step marked by a nervous twitch.
"To put it simply, it would take until infinity."
In essence, it was literally. impossible to adapt to everything.
The short reason for this was at any given time, properties within the universe were constantly being born and dying.
Every moment, reality shifted in some way within this universe: new elements surfaced, strange diseases evolved in silence, and forces unknown to man flickered briefly into existence before vanishing again.
To endure one was to already fall behind another.
Adaptation was never an end but a pursuit, a desperate chase after a horizon that retreated with every step and Barko understood this phenomenon well.
"But Slick, you're already so powerful-"
"It's just not enough." Ricky laughed, shrugging as though the very idea of contentment had become impossible for him.
"Slick-"
"It's not enough, Barko." Ricky cut him off, his eyes burning with an unwavering intensity that made the small Labrador flinch.
"I need more."
"Slick, you're asking me to torture you." Barko whispered, horrified as the realization struck, his steps faltering as he backed away.
Understanding now exactly why Ricky had come to him.
"You owe me-"
"You're asking me to torture you-"
"I came to you because you understand how f*cking insane this is," Ricky said, rising to his feet and stalking forward, matching Barko's retreat step for step.
"Even I don't fully understand the depths you're thinking about," Ricky admitted, aware that Barko saw this from a completely different standpoint.
"But I know enough to know you're the only one who can help me."
One of the reasons Ricky had come to Barko of all people was simple: he was a genius.
Even though his X-gene had turned him into a dog, Barko had navigated DNA strands that hadn't even been discovered, uncovering findings that had never before been recorded, and all of it without any assistance.
Ricky might have grown smarter over time through the system, but he was no match for Barko's cognitive prowess.
Not now at least.
"Please don't ask me to do this Slick, please~" Barko said, shaking his head at Ricky with a mortified expression.
"I-I just can't."
Although they had their ups and downs, Barko still considered Ricky one of his closest friends.
He had given him a home when no one else would have spared him a single minute.
But even as friendship urged him to trust Ricky, Barko's mind raced ahead of the conversation, calculating the grotesque reality of what Ricky was proposing.
To become resistant, Ricky would have to endure every conceivable form of harm;poison, heat, pressure, radiation, deprivation, and things that would break the human body again and again until it learned, at some cellular level, to adapt.
And then, once it adapted, they'd have to do it all over again with something worse.
This didn't feel like he was helping Ricky.
This felt more like deliberate, sustained mutilation of the body in pursuit of something beyond mortal limits.
"You're asking me to-.....to break you," Barko said slowly, his voice shaking with the weight of the thought.
"Not once. Not twice. But every single day. Until your body grows resistant to this brutalization and then, you're asking me to start over," Barko explained again, almost as if trying to be the voice of reason within this insane conversation.
"If that's what it takes," Ricky said, nodding as he hastily agreed, while Barko stared into his eyes, searching for any trace of hesitation and found none.
It was then that Barko realized Ricky wasn't asking for permission. He was subtly demanding it.
"I-I can't-"
"Barko-"
"No, this is too much." Barko shook his head, trying to walk away as he quickly bolted to another corner as Ricky simply watched.
"I am and will forever be eternally grateful to you not only as a friend but as a person." Barko began, trying to let Ricky down gently.
"You've always given me anything in my pursuits, but this-" Barko tried to continue, yet even as he spoke, his own words faltered, falling into the same excuse he had been offering Ricky throughout the entire conversation.
"I just can't."
"If you don't help me, I'll find someone who will." Ricky's words hit Barko like a physical blow, filling him with horror as he watched himself being guilt-tripped in real time.
"Ricky, this is insane-"
"No, what's insane is someone being able to stop a f*cking concept of something." Ricky laughed, almost hysterically, marveling at just how utterly insane his own words sounded.
"I need to become stronger-"
"THIS ISN'T ABOUT STRENGTH, RICKY!" Barko screeched, his paws rising to hold his head as he shook them violently.
"Your-"
"What is the end?" Barko had to ask, knowing that the second Ricky stepped onto this path, it would devolve into something he could hardly bring himself to imagine.
"When would it be enough?
SIGH
"Do you know the two factors that make an animal test subject get discarded?" Barko sighed, trying to steer the conversation into an analogy, hoping to dissuade Ricky from this path.
"One: they stop clinging to their will to live and give in to death."
"The second? They become so unhinged that they have to be put down."
Barko immediately listed the two reasons test animals are removed from studies, and in both cases, the result was the same: they lost themselves completely.
Their minds, their instincts, their very sense of being, eroded until what remained was barely recognizable.
"What you're asking me to do is stress-test your cells until they form a resistance, then do it all over again," Barko explained carefully, choosing his words slowly so Ricky couldn't misinterpret them.
"It will break your psyche-"
"Oh c'mon, it won't-"
"IT WILL!" Barko yelled, knowing that if he didn't halt this train of thought, Ricky would either devolve, or evolve, into something entirely unrecognizable.
"The human mind is far more delicate than people realize, this-"
"Barko." Ricky's words cut through Barko's relentless attempts at persuasion, his gaze absolute and unyielding, leaving no room for doubt.
"I need you to do this."
"You don't need to be set on fire, electrocuted, frozen, and cut open, Slick!" Barko's voice cracked as he paced back and forth again.
"This isn't like poking a muscle to see how it twitches under pressure, this is torture." Barko was hysterical, almost shocked that he even had to say it outloud.
"You will be exposed to repeated, consistent, relentless trauma like burns, stabs, chemical degradation. And that's just day one!" Barko screamed, watching Ricky slowly smile at his words.
"It sounds like a-"
"DON'T YOU DARE MAKE THIS A JOKE!" Barko screeched, jabbing a paw toward Ricky, who only chuckled and raised his hands in mock surrender.
"THIS ISN'T FUNNY! DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO MAKE THIS ENTIRE SITUATION FUNNY!" Barko yelled again, watching Ricky press a hand to his mouth, still smirking despite the gravity of the moment.
SNORT
"STOP LAUGHING-"
"I'm trying~" Ricky cackled, wheezing slightly as he gradually found it impossible to take Barko seriously.
"You're literally laughing at your own torture," Barko said in a deadpan, staring as Ricky turned away.
COUGH
"Alright, I'm done, swear," Ricky assured him, though he still couldn't meet the poor dog's eyes without breaking into laughter again.
"..."
Barko stood there, motionless, waiting for something as Ricky slowly looked over his shoulder.
PFFFT
"I'm leaving," Barko said, turning toward the door as Ricky started laughing again.
"C'mon-"
"I'm not doing this with you-"
"I was just joking around-"
"THIS ISN'T FUNNY!" Barko roared, spinning back to face Ricky, his expression a mix of hurt and anger as his own laughter slowly faded.
"It just isn't." Barko said bitterly, unable to even stomach the taste of these words in his mouth.
"Barko," Ricky said suddenly, calling out to the small Labrador who slowly lifted his gaze to meet Ricky.
"I'm asking you as a friend."
For all his retorts, all his careful reasoning, and all of his refusals to accept anything Ricky said.
That single sentence stopped him.
Because Ricky had always been Barko's lifeline, someone who gave him whatever he needed to find meaning after one failed experiment after another.
He had always wanted to repay Ricky, but never like this.
In truth, Barko wanted to prove his genius through the results of his experiments, not by turning Ricky into the experiment itself.
The thought made his chest tighten, caught between gratitude, loyalty, and a horror he could barely contain.
But Ricky never asked for anything outright, and when Barko met his genuine stare, all he could do was duck his head.
"This has to be controlled."
The words made Ricky's smile stretch upward, a quiet triumph hidden in its corners, as Barko's paw trembled while he slowly set it down on the cold floor.
"I'll need shielding, fail-safes, a medical team, and equipment to record every spike, every change in heartbeat, every weird tendril that grows from you," Barko said firmly, pressing his paw to the floor as if making it clear this wasn't negotiable.
"Done!" Ricky said excitedly, clapping his hands together as if he hadn't just agreed to endure endless torture.
"But if I were to do this, i-if I even could do it." Barko suddenly said, looking off to the side before slowly returning his gaze.
"I would need to guarantee that whatever I put you through, you'll heal." Barko's words scraped at the back of his throat, hoarse from even having to speak them aloud.
"How do I know that one day, you won't just stop regenerating?" Barko asked, needing to hear the answer he was looking for, but Ricky only chuckled in response.
"You don't," Ricky said, watching as Barko's face paled before a slow smile crept across his own.
"But I can."
For a long moment, Barko stood frozen, lost in his own thoughts, until he finally let his gaze drift back to Ricky.
"Alright, I'll do it."
5 hours later,
Meanwhile In The Bronx,
"Hissssssss, I'm Dracula, hisssssssss~"
A kid playfully controlled his hair into bat ears, holding a towel to cover half of his face like a makeshift cap.
"Ahhhhhh-hahahahaha!" a smaller girl tried to scream in mock terror, but her soft giggles only annoyed the kid, who was attempting a star-studded performance.
"Millie~" Another kid whined suddenly from the side, peeking out from a corner without revealing his entire face.
Cough
"I sure wish somebody would save me!" Millie called out, laughing, as the kid slowly emerged from the side.
He wore a greaser jacket and combed his hair until it was slicked completely black, flashing a bright smile as he surveyed the scene.
"Aye, buckteeth, get your hands off my girl!" The kid declared, doing his best to act like someone impossibly cool.
"You won't stop me, Ricky Luciano! She's mine!" the mutant kid hissed, his stellar performance worthy of an Oscar.
"Not for long she isn't," the other kid, pretending to be Ricky Luciano, replied with a grin, before running straight at him.
"Bam!" the kid narrated, voicing his own punches as the child playing Dracula perfectly contorted his face in pain.
"Arck, my spleen!" Dracula hissed, the actor fully inhabiting the character completely as he recoiled backward.
He stumbled dramatically to the ground, writhing back and forth in mock pain before slowly pointing a finger at the child.
"Curse you Ricky Luciano, curse you~" Dracula hissed, gradually going limp on the floor, tongue sticking out, signaling that he was truly 'dead'.
"Don't worry doll, your safe now-"
"Alex, ALEX!" a kid suddenly shouted, interrupting Alex's monologue as the pretend mobster furrowed his brows and turned away from his little sister.
"WHAT?!" Alex screamed upwards, while Millie chuckled from the side while Dracula slowly opened his eyes, curious to see who was disrupting his captivating performance.
"ARE YOU PLAYING RICKY LUCIANO?!" a kid shouted from the second story, sticking his head out of the window with stars in his eyes.
"DUH!" Alex replied, pointing to his slicked-back hair and leather jacket, something Ricky didn't even wear.
"CAN I PLAY!?"
SIGH
"FINE, BUT YOU HAVE TO BE CHORSE, THE GENTLE GIANT!" Alex relented, but insisted the child take on the role of the notorious gentle giant.
"YEAAAAAAAAAH!" The kid cheered, racing back into his room to prepare for his part and join the others in the game.
Over the years, Lucky had made it his mission to shape public opinion in Ricky's favor.
At first, he did it out of concern that the mutant perception would tarnish his son's image.
But over time, the effort began to snowball, until Ricky's likeness became a hot topic in the culture of New York.
It started with the Italian kids, slicking their hair back just like Paolo had before that long night.
They gazed at Ricky's achievements with stars in their eyes, imagining him as a hero straight out of the comics, and began playing pretend in his image.
And it wasn't just the Italian kids, they were simply the first to start the trend.
"Hey, Joshy! I wanna play too!" a girl called, running over to the star-studded performer who had captivated Dracula for all to see, Joshy.
"No," Joshy scoffed at his little sister, sitting up and brushing away the dust that had gathered around him from his fall.
"Why not~" his little sister whined, tugging on her pigtails and pulling them downward as if to show her disappointment.
"Because you're even worse at playing pretend than Millie is," Joshy scoffed, fluttering his makeshift cap as he turned his back to her, giving the gesture a touch of dramatic flair.
"Fine, then I'm telling mom!"
The sudden influx of mutant families had introduced countless mutant children across the city's many boroughs.
And it was only natural that these kids would look up to Ricky, given the stature he had begun to carve within the mutant community.
His nickname, 'Mutant Jesus', wasn't merely a label the system had assigned him, it was a title the community had started to genuinely regard him by.
Within this minority, his influence stretched beyond whispers and rumors; it was woven into the everyday lives of those who saw him as a symbol of hope, resilience, and power.
Now, in the Bronx near the Harlem Bridge, children from various boroughs, each with different backgrounds, abilities, and experiences, were coming together under one shared admiration.
They united, knowingly or not, under one figure, one umbrella, drawn to the legend of Ricky Luciano and the image he had cultivated from his insane experiences.
"Argh, you're so annoying, Cara!" Joshy said, tugging on his little sister's hair with his own.
"Ow!" Cara yelped, retracting her hair and running a few steps before letting it fall back into place.
"AND I'M TELLING MOM YOU USED YOUR HAIR ON ME AGAIN!" Cara screeched, her face red and her eyes brimming with tears.
*SIGH
"Fine, you can play-" Joshy heaved an exaggerated sigh, frustrated but relenting under the unspoken threat of their mother intervening.
"I want to be Mistress Raven-"
"No, I'm Mistress Raven!" Millie yelled from the side, crossing her arms and puffing out her cheeks.
"You're not even a mutant—"
"And you're not even pretty!" Millie shot back, her words sharp and spirited, every bit as fiery as her Italian heritage, while yearning to be a mutant like Raven.
One reason Ricky's life often felt like a patchwork of different stories was that each of them never shared the same heroine.
In total, there were about three main tales that the kids played make-believe with: Dracula, The Trial, and Xarus, listed in the order in which the children typically acted them out.
Each borough had its own rendition of these stories, giving each version a slightly different flavor.
The Trial mostly appealed to the mutant and African American kids, while the other stories, Dracula and Xarus, tended to capture the imaginations of the white kids.
The variations weren't just about preference but reflected the communities' perspectives, backgrounds, and the ways the kids connected with the heroes and villains of each story.
"Ladies, ladies, relax, there's enough of me to go around-" Alex began, only to be cut off by Joshy's scoff.
"He wouldn't say that!" Joshy yelled, tearing into Alex's performance, convinced it sounded too forced
"Yes, he would!" Alex yelled back, convinced he was giving the best Ricky Luciano impression in the entire tri-state area.
"Nah, the kid's right."
Then, all the kids froze in shock as a familiar voice, one they had only ever heard over the radio, rang out in the air.
"I would've said something like, 'Woah, chick fight,' or something along those lines," Ricky laughed, grinning from ear to ear as he looked over at Alex, who was supposedly dressed like him
After an extensive conversation in which Barko needed constant reassurance that everything would work out, Ricky finally managed to pull himself away from the exhausting exchange.
He continued his walk through the city, taking in the fresh air and giving himself a moment of respite before the meeting began.
"Also, the jacket's alright, but you gotta remember that I wear suits." Ricky chuckled, gesturing to his pinstripe suit as he walked past and shrugged his shoulders.
"And make sure you kids get into some trouble, ya hear me?" Ricky added with a wink, turning and laughing as he strolled down the street.
Bam
"I told you he doesn't wear leather jackets!" Joshy huffed angrily, jabbing Alex's shoulder before stomping back onto the set.
"WAS THAT RICKY LUCIANO?!" The kid from the second story yelled, having donned overalls to channel Chores' performance.
But Alex ignored everything around him, his eyes sparkling with stars as he watched the man he idolized materialize right before him.
"Woah~"
As Ricky walked down the street, a small smile tugged at his lips, accompanied by a quiet chuckle at the sight of kids trying to emulate him, pretending to live out fragments of his life.
It was almost surreal.
Watching someone else don your experiences, your hardships, and your triumphs, only to parade them around for fun.
There was also a strange humor in it: being the centerpiece of someone else's imagination, their hero, their villain, or whatever role they assigned you.
Most of all, it felt completely gratifying to see your life placed on this pedestal by others.
Yet for all the innocence a child possessed, their cruelty knew no bounds.
"C'mon Isaiah, be real."
While that lighthearted interaction had been brewing, another confrontation was quietly unfolding nearby.
"Do you really think someone like Ricky Luciano is gonna look after you?" a teenage boy, no older than sixteen, asked Isaiah, flanked by a few other black kids who were slowly circling him.
"You're like us, and he doesn't care about people like us," the teenage boy said, his eyes fixed on Isaiah as he shifted nervously under the weight of their combined gazes.
"But he said-"
"Yeah, my dad says he's using us like all the other white men," one of the kids interrupted Isaiah, chiming in as the others surrounding him nodded in agreement.
"Exactly, Isaiah." the teenage boy said, gesturing toward one of his kids surrounding him as if using him as an example.
"He hasn't done nothing-"
"Please, Franklin, I really need your help-" Isaiah said, wiping his eyes and rubbing his shoulder while giving a small, pleading squeeze.
"Here we go," Franklin interrupted with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he gestured toward the same thing Isaiah kept asking him about.
"I really need to see him and I don't know how to find-"
"Stop. Stop. Stop." Franklin cut Isaiah off, repeating the words until the small boy fell silent under his interruption.
"First of all, you come to me, suddenly begging to be taken to Ricky Luciano, someone I've never even met," Franklin said, placing a hand over his heart as Isaiah ducked his head.
"And secondly, you won't even tell me why," Franklin said, raising his gaze with a small, amused smile, while Isaiah kept his eyes lowered.
"C'mon, tell me," Franklin chuckled, giving Isaiah a gentle nudge against the wall.
"I-I don't want to-"
"Yeah, tell him," another kid chimed in, laughing along with Franklin as he nudged Isaiah, aggressively pushing him toward another child.
"Tell us!" a kid shouted, shoving Isaiah hard as he stumbled forward, his small frame struggling to keep balance under their teenage pressure.
"Yeah Isaiah!"
"Stop being such a pussy and say it already!"
Slowly, Isaiah's body began to feel like a pinball, bouncing from one kid to another as they pushed him across the playground.
Laughter and taunts surrounded him from every direction, a dizzying feeling that made his head feel like it was spinning.
His eyes darted frantically, searching for some escape, but before a single coherent thought could form, another shove sent him tumbling again.
Isaiah squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hands against his ears as if trying to shield himself from everything around him.
Until finally, the pressure became too much.
"MY DAD IS DEAD!"
The encirclement went silent for a heartbeat, the laughter dying abruptly as the weight of his words hung in the air.
Sniff
"He's dead~" Isaiah sniffled, raising his arm to his eyes as if to hold back the tears threatening to fall.
It had all happened so suddenly.
Isaiah had woken up that morning, moving through the motions of his routine as he always did; preparing for school, making his own breakfast, and bringing his father his daily glass of water.
But when he entered Elijah's room, he wasn't met with the familiar, tired smile.
Instead, all he saw was his father's limp form.
But even with the truth staring him in the face, Isaiah couldn't see it or perhaps, he refused to.
Carefully, he set the glass of water on the nightstand and stepped away, pretending that nothing had changed.
But as if fate had cruelly twisted his hope, when he returned, the scene was exactly the same.
The glass remained untouched, and Elijah's body stayed motionless, a silent reminder of the reality he had tried to ignore.
The glass hadn't moved.
But more importantly, neither had Elijiah.
Even when Isaiah called out, his father's body remained still, motionless.
And for the first time, the full weight of what had happened pressed down on Isaiah's chest. It wasn't a sudden outburst of tears, not yet.
Instead, he moved slowly, almost mechanically, crawling onto his father's bed.
He laid down next to Elijah, careful not to touch him too abruptly, as if afraid that even the slightest movement might shatter the fragile reality.
But when his hand finally made contact, it was as if that last flicker of hope died as his father's skin was ice-cold, and the truth he had been denying hit him all at once.
In that instant, the suffocating weight of loss settled over him, gripping his chest like a merciless hand and forcing the unbearable realization that his father was really gone.
Then, after an unbearable amount of crying later, Isaiah slowly left his home in a daze.
He wandered the streets without any direction, knowing only the routes to school and back home.
Because of one reason, one thought:
'Come find me when your pops passes away.'
The words echoed in his head, repeating over and over until they became all he could think about, pushing him to ask everyone he saw if they knew where Ricky Luciano was.
"W-Wait, Elijah's dead?" Franklin asked, almost star-struck as the others looked at each other.
The group shifted uncomfortably, some glancing at the ground, others fidgeting, embarrassed by the weight of the news and the thought of the kind man who had always treated them with respect now gone.
"Geez, sorry Isaiah."
"Yeah, sorry Isaiah."
The kids all mumbled awkward apologies around the quietly sobbing Isaiah, unable to meet his eyes as the sudden silence pressed down on them.
Yet, as the moments stretched on, Franklin's mournful expression gradually hardened, transforming into one of quiet resolve.
"Y'know what? F*ck Ricky Luciano." Franklin's words cut through the air, making everyone in the group visibly flinch.
"What are you-" One of the kids tried to interject, rushing toward him while glancing nervously around to see if anyone had overheard.
"Isaiah, we all loved your dad," Franklin said firmly, shoving the kid gently aside as he stepped closer to the boy curled up in a tight, trembling ball.
"And that's why we're gonna look after you from now on," Franklin said suddenly, forcing a reassuring, toothy grin as he crouched slightly to meet Isaiah's eyes.
"Me and the guys got some good things going on-"
However, before Franklin could share his own plans, already envisioning the things he could do with Isaiah at his side.
His words were abruptly cut off.
"No, I-I need to see him," Isaiah said tearfully, sniffling as he struggled to hold back the stream of tears running down his face.
"Are you-" Franklin began, caught off guard by how swiftly Isaiah had shattered that future.
"Are you f*cking serious?" Franklin finally exclaimed, his eyebrows knitting together as an annoyed expression spread across his face.
"I'm literally offering you a spot in our group." Franklin clarified, spreading his arms wide, as if what he was presenting right in front of Isaiah could rival anything Ricky Luciano could offer.
"I-" Isaiah stammered, rubbing at his eyes as he leaned against the wall for support, trying to steady himself.
"I think I want to go," Isaiah said, hastily turning to leave only for Franklin to grab a fistful of his shirt, yanking him backward with a sharp tug.
"Listen, Isaiah, we're up next," Franklin muttered, half to himself, half to the boy, shoving him aggressively against the wall.
"We're the ones who are gonna take Harlem one day and tear it out of that freak's hands," Franklin hissed, his words sharp and venomous, the hatred for the current situation dripping from every syllable.
"Let me go-"
"We already got the white men breathing down our necks. You really think we need mutants poking around too?" Franklin spat the words, a cruel chuckle escaping as he pinned Isaiah firmly, making sure there was no way for him to slip away.
"See them? Acting like they own our blocks," Franklin sneered, forcing a crooked smile as he gestured toward the street just beyond the alley.
Mutant kids were everywhere, flooding Harlem's streets and spilling into the areas the white men had long tried to confine them to.
"Huh!" Franklin spat, his frustration barely contained since this was all they had, and yet even now, it was being taken from them.
"Someone like us should be in charge, one of us." Franklin said, holding up his skin to the same one that matched Isaiah's.
"Not like them," Franklin muttered, gesturing toward the streets before slowly, realization dawned on him.
He released his grip on Isaiah's collar and raised his gaze, his face twisting into an expression of disgust.
"Unless you're a freak now." Franklin's eyes hardened in an instant, his cruelty sharpening with every word, cutting through the alley like a blade.
"Are you a freak Isaiah?" Franklin then started to ask, shoving him repeatedly into the wall as if trying to speed up his response.
"St-"
"Huh?"
"Stop-"
"Huh!" Franklin barked, his eyes wild as he slammed Isaiah against the wall, each impact etching pain across the boy's face.
"I think he's a freak, Franklin," one of the kids muttered from the side, his voice laced with disgust as he scoffed at the idea of Isaiah being one of them.
"He seems pretty freakish to me." Another laughed, prompting the chuckles of some others as they started to make this into a cruel joke.
All of it swirled around Isaiah, a tide of cruelty pressing down as he curled into a tight ball, trying desperately to shield himself from the relentless laughter that echoed around him.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
The laughter poured into his ears like a physical force, relentless and inescapable, and no matter how tightly he pressed his hands against them, it wouldn't stop.
It towered above the alleyway, echoing off the brick walls and drawing the attention of anyone passing by.
As Ricky strolled into Harlem, his eyes caught the huddled group of black children, all cackling and pointing at something or rather, someone.
Curious, he slowly drew closer, peering through the cracks between them, realizing they were all laughing at a single, small figure curled up on the ground.
"Ha!" Ricky laughed at first, his cruel sense of humor finding it almost hilarious to see kids making fun of other kids.
Until he suddenly froze.
"Aye, kid."
A cold voice rang out behind Franklin, the teenager turning around only for his face to pale as the other kids stumbled backwards.
"Get the f*ck off my street." Ricky's eyes were blazing, furious to his core as he stood over this small child who started to shiver under his mere gaze.
He couldn't move, paralyzed under Ricky's glowing green gaze, each pulse of light making Franklin flinch as if his very skin were reacting to it.
"NOW!" Ricky roared, snapping Franklin out of his daze as his voice echoed down the street.
"HOLY SH*T, HE WASN'T LYING!" one of the kids yelled, yanking Franklin along as the rest scattered in every direction, abandoning Isaiah.
Huff
HUFF
However, even with Ricky's intervention, Isaiah's breathing didn't slow, it accelerated.
His chest heaved violently, each inhale stabbing through him like shards of glass, and each exhale escaping in uneven hisses.
His hands clawed at his ears as if trying to physically shut out the noise, pressing so hard that his fingers trembled.
His eyes squeezed shut, while his body curled inward, knees drawn to his chest, shaking uncontrollably as the panic washed over him in relentless, suffocating waves.
"Isaiah, listen to me," Ricky repeated, tightening his hold just enough to keep the child from wriggling free without hurting him.
He held Isaiah close, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest, each shaky breath a storm of fear and panic.
"It's ok-"
"N-NO!" Isaiah screamed, his body thrashing violently as he tried to flee from his hold.
"Isaiah, hey, hey, just look at me-" Ricky's voice rose over the panic, as he gently but firmly kept the boy from running.
"HE'S DEAD, HE'S-"
HIC
Isaiah's hysterical screams broke off into violent sobs, his sniffles rattling through him as Ricky froze, his expression locked in shock.
Slowly, grief softened Ricky's features, a mournful weight settling over him as he realized something while staring at Isaiah.
"A-A-A-A-AND T-T-T-T-THEY ALL HATE M-ME!" Isaiah gasped, his words choking on sobs as he pressed one arm to his face and flailed the other toward the side, desperate to push the world away.
"It doesn't matter."
The words echoed in Isaiah's ears, but even when he looked up at Ricky's serious expression, he didn't see the comfort he was searching for.
Ricky wasn't staring at him, not really.
"B-But they-"
"It doesn't matter, 'cause you don't need them."
When Ricky looked at Isaiah, he didn't see the little boy crying.
He saw himself.
The same kid who had once bolted from that courthouse, the same one who had only ever wanted to run away from it all.
Although that part of him was now gone, he recognized the cycle about to repeat in Isaiah's eyes.
And that's when Ricky remembered that he too needed closure.
The words forming on his lips were the same ones he had longed to hear on that fateful day, the ones that would have steadied him when no one came, now ready to reach Isaiah before the boy faced it all alone.
"They saw you at your weakest and now it's all you are to them."
Ricky still remembered those faces, those expressions, and how they stared back at him from the stands as his tearful eyes pleaded for someone, anyone, to believe him, and all they did was glare.
"And no matter what happens, they'll never forget what they saw."
Even after he was proven innocent, those stares never left; they trailed him at every street corner, everywhere he went.
"I mean, they'll smile, apologize, try to go back to how things were, but it'll never be the same."
Ricky let out a bitter laugh, knowing the truth in that: life could resume its rhythm, people could pretend, but the world had shifted, and he could never step back into the life he once had.
"As far as they care, it's just who you are, all you are."
After that, whatever Ricky had been before was reduced to the miserable existence everyone in that courtroom assumed him to be.
An existence that stretched not only across the remainder of his first life but seeped into and consumed most of this one as well.
"But just listen to me, really listen." Ricky said, his voice firm yet gentle, almost as if he had to grab hold of himself to make sure he absorbed the words he had always longed to hear from someone else on that day.
"They just don't f*cking matter."
"You're gonna be better than them, eventually," Ricky murmured to himself, letting a small, wry chuckle slip at the thought.
"You're gonna do whatever it takes." Ricky added, watching his younger self's tears slow into quiet sniffles.
"You're gonna go your own way."Ricky assured, knowing he'd get lost at first but find a path only others could follow.
"You're gonna do what they won't do," Ricky said, a small, knowing laugh escaping him as he could already hear his younger self sniffling and chuckling, muttering about him being insane.
"But you're gonna be smart," Ricky said, wishing the boy would learn from his mistakes early on and not repeat the idiocy of his younger self.
"And most of all,"
"You're gonna win."
In that moment, Ricky had bent the tragedy of Isaiah's father's death into a reflection of his own journey.
It wasn't purely selfish, more like an urgent need to ensure that Isaiah wouldn't become a reflection of him.
And as Ricky's gaze lingered, the image of himself slowly dissolved, fading away into the quiet appearance of Isaiah.
Huff
"Oh man, I feel way better," Ricky exhaled, a satisfied breath escaping him as if the whole moment had been completely about releasing his own burdens.
"Ok." Isaiah muttered awkwardly, caught in the wake of Ricky's intense self-assurance, still trying to process the torrent of words.
Ricky lowered himself into a squat next to Isaiah, his back resting against the wall as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar.
"Man, I totally should've said that sh*t to myself," Ricky muttered, flicking his lighter and igniting the end of the cigar.
"That would've hit way harder than just saying, 'I will,'" Ricky joked, a wry grin spreading across his face as he teased himself in a way that Isaiah couldn't possibly understand.
An awkward silence settled over them as Ricky continued to puff on his cigar, sending up short bursts of smoke and savoring the bitter, rich flavor.
"I-I'm sorry-"
"Oh, c'mon, don't do that," Ricky laughed, turning to see Isaiah curled up, hugging his legs and resting his chin on his knees.
Sniff
"Do what?" Isaiah asked, rubbing at his tear-stained eyes as Ricky gently nudged him.
"Don't ruin the moment, you were supposed to say something funny back," Ricky teased, giving Isaiah a gentle shove that made him tumble onto his side.
"Stop it~" Isaiah whined, nudging Ricky's shoulder back as a small laugh escaped him.
"I mean, you're kind of a pussy for crying, but it's alright," Ricky teased, a grin spreading across his face as he watched Isaiah futilely try to push him away.
However, after failing, Isaiah let out a small, reluctant laugh, the sound breaking through the tension like a crack of sunlight.
His smile returned, timid at first, but slowly growing as he let himself surrender to the moment.
"You feeling any better?" Ricky asked, glancing at Isaiah from the corner of his eye, the cigar still wedged between his fingers.
Sniff
"Yeah-"
"Good, 'cause we're leaving," Ricky interrupted, standing up and glancing at his watch as the time crept toward six.
"W-Where are we going-"
"To my meeting, let's go," Ricky said, holding up his hand to conjure a portal and grabbing Isaiah's wrist, pulling him through.
"Woah, wait!" Isaiah yelled, his voice echoing in surprise as he was yanked through the portal, landing in the cool, air-conditioned lobby of a Manhattan office building for the first time.
"Relax, Isaiah," Ricky said, raising a hand to calm the boy, who was frantically taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
"I meant it, what I said back then."
"I got you." Ricky smiled, nudging Isaiah's shoulder gently.
For the first time in a long while, the boy returned a small, trusting smile to the man who his father had entrusted him with.
"Thanks, Slick," Isaiah muttered, ducking his head shyly as Ricky ruffled his hair gently, a small grin tugging at his lips.
"Now we get to talk about the best part, what house do you wanna live in?" Ricky asked, watching Isaiah weirdly turn his expression upwards.
"Huh?"
"Well, I don't really live at any one place but sort of move around the places my girls live at," Ricky emphasized, realizing he was technically homeless since he didn't really live in any of the houses he owned.
"I-I-I-"
"If you feel more comfortable around someone like you, I bagged Madame St. Clair a while back-"
"WHAT!" Isaiah blushed, fully aware that every pubescent boy in town had a massive crush on Madame St. Clair.
"You could be like an older brother, yeah, that sounds cool," Ricky said, imagining his child growing up with his own Elijah.
"Alright, it's decided. I'll drop you off at Madame's after this," Ricky added, making the decision for Isaiah, who stood there frozen.
"Wait, older brother?" Isaiah suddenly realized, knowing that could only mean one thing as he blushed harder.
"Y-You-"
"Oh man, did you have a crush on her?" Ricky suddenly asked, watching Isaiah recoil as if startled by the accusation.
"N-No-"
"You totally do-"
"I DO NOT, I LIKE FAITH!" Isaiah screamed, squeezing his eyes shut and shouting at the top of his lungs, while Ricky wore a mischievous expression.
"Whose Faith?" Ricky wriggled his eyebrows, nudging Isaiah, who scrambled around the table to get away.
"N-No one-"
"Seems like you've got the hots for her," Ricky teased, following Isaiah as he began pacing faster around the large meeting table.
"I DO NOT, I-I WAS LYING!" Isaiah yelled, starting to run as Ricky chased after him with a maniacal laugh.
"Hey, look, your pants are on fire," Ricky cackled, setting Isaiah's pants ablaze as the boy looked down.
"AHHHHHHHH!" Isaiah screamed, immediately rolling on the ground as the small flame on his pants slowly burned out.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
At the sound of his laugh echoing through the door, the man now standing in front of it just hit his forehead against the door.
"Just do it."
SIGH
With a heavy sigh, the man slowly reached for the doorknob and turned it open.
CLICK
The door clicked, prompting Ricky to look up after pinning Isaiah to the ground.
The young kid struggled under his grip, already treated as Ricky's little brother.
"Holy sh*t!" Ricky's laughter barked out a little louder as he looked at the one man he hadn't expected to walk through the front door.
Holding up a single card with Ricky's signature, the man slowly slid it down the long table, revealing himself to be the very person Ricky had been waiting for.
"Look who it is," Ricky said, spreading his arms to the man he wanted but never expected to actually come.
"Hey, Slick." The man nodded, slowly taking off his cap and holding it with both hands.
"I think I'm ready to be Bumpy Johnson again."
Author's Note: I know I owe yall a chap and the reason I stayed up so goddamn late was to mesh it into a future chap that will drop soon but I did make it up to ya'll it's just gonna take a while LOL