The Revolution Factory

CHAPTER FORTY ONE


Boston Harbor, Massachusetts


"Vhut are we doing here?"

"I thought you'd enjoy a brief tour of this wonderful nation's founding cities." DarkFlood jested as he kept his eye on the looming alleyway.

"Then why don't we go to some landmarks?" Lazarus suggested.

"You're right..." Philip conceded rather quickly. He walked away with his focus remaining on the alleyway, and he looked forward to the street before the pier. There was something off that only Lazarus could see. Just before they got to the street around people, DarkFlood ran a cluster-jump, teleporting each member of his group 1-2-3 in a matter of two seconds.

DarkFlood brought them to a brick chapel with an immaculately white steeple, "One if by land, two if by see." But no one caught that one except us.

Back at the harbor...

Some kid walks out of a seafood restaurant and dumps the black trash bag he is holding in the dumpster. Except he is not a kid, he is a thirty three year-old dishwasher named Oliver. He kicked his shoe off and propped the door open as he stood outside in the cold smoking a cigarette.

"Ollie get the fuck back in there!" the chef yelled holding the door.

"Alright....take it easy...let me finish my bogie."

The stout chef huffed and puffed and went back inside. In doing so he unknowingly pushes Ollie's shoe inside and the door closes.

Ollie doesn't even notice until he finishes his cigarette, "That dick!" He bangs on the door but there is no answer. He has to go around to the front now. Ollie staggers out to the alleyway, trying not to put his foot on the floor or get his sock wet. Halfway to the street he falls, hitting his knees on the cobblestone road. It hurts like hell, not his knees but his whole body...like something is under his skin.

Ollie screams in the deep Boston downtown oblivion but nobody hears him. Nobody wants to hear him, he might as well have been murdered. Oliver grabs the stone. The pain seems to be subsiding. His gut feels a little off. But other than that he feels okay. He gets back up and checks his knees, but there is no need to. He already feels fine. In fact, he feels great, better than ever.

Ollie pukes in a flower-box on a windowsill.

But there is something different about him. He knows its there. He knows it was the cause of the pain, or... perhaps the effect... It was a terrifying notion, but oddly refreshing. It was like he was in a new life, one of infinite potential. Just as long as he fed...

Oliver tried to walk but passed out cold. He woke up seconds later with the back of his head wetting the cobblestone. He got himself up on his elbows and rubbed his scalp. When he brought his hand back over within sight he saw blood...his own blood. Ollie checked his head, there was a sizable gash created by the fainting and cobblestone. A wave of sensation reminiscent of the pain that covered him not moments ago shot from his chest to his head. When the sensation hit his wound his hand was still on it, examining the gash hesitantly with his fingers.

The sensation pulled his wound back together and all that remained was drying blood, even his hair was back. It was perfect length and he had just gotten a haircut not two days ago. He felt drained, his body oozing life. Ollie crawled over to the wall in the alleyway and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. His shaky hands could barely pull one out let alone light it. Just as he finally got the lighter lit, his stomach roars out as if he had never eaten before.

Ollie screams and clenches his gut in the shadow. The chef turns the corner and finds him sitting in the alleyway. "WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING OUT HERE!"

"Not now, Pedro...I'm-"

"You get inside right now or you're fired!"

"I'm trying to tell you that-"

"You're fired then."

"...What?"

"You're dirt, Oliver. You always will be..."

Oliver got up and walked over to the chef.

"You fat fucking bastard," Getting in his face, "You got a lot of nerve talking to me like that. I know you've been fucking that bartender, how does your wife and kid feel about that?"

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"No, I'm killing you!"

Oliver grabbed the chef's head. His fingers knock off his beanie as Ollie plunges both thumbs into his eyeballs. The chef screams out and Ollie breathes in his life, his pain, and his fear. The fat bastard falls and before he can hit the ground he turns to nothing. Oliver cleans the remaining blood in the street with a hose and burns the chef's clothes in the dumpster never to return again. He leaves the harbor and Boston forever. He doesn't have much money, and he knows he will kill again. It feels too good not to. To be invincible...a reoccurring dream from his childhood. He decided to go to New York City.

"Why did we have to watch that?" Lazarus asked Philip as they stood back in the alleyway while Vlad and Moses were busy exploring Harvard Square.

"Know your enemy."