Page 35 of Fuse

It’s sure as hell not my balls.

“Holy. Fuck.”

“Hold still for me, sweet Reecey. It doesn’t hurt. Much.”

“Wh-What…”

As if I’m even going to finish that. As if he’d answer me if I did. All I can do is watch the squirming thing, which looks like a bright-red electric Mexican jumping bean with the worm half-escaped, as Kane lifts it closer to my ear. Then brighter and brighter, the little tongue squirming faster and faster, as that fucking thing nears my canal.

“Kane! No! Goddamnit!”

“Almost…”

“Alighieri! You don’t have to do this! Break free, man. Break—”

But then, I’m only capable of a scream. Hot, hostile, horrified.

My own.

The fucker is pouring magma from the fucking River Styx into my head. Which, upon further thought—using the three cells that are still functioning in my brain—might just actually be the gift from fate that I need.

At once, the agony ignites every circuit of strength in my blood. I twist my head free from Kane’s grip in time to watch the electric worm in its death throes next to my right knee—as I pin the guy down by both elbows again.

As I rewrap my hands around his throat.

Squeezing tighter. Tighter.

But as the authentic Kane breaks out and shows himself again, I’m unsure whether to roar in relief or sob in remorse.

One look at the guy’s face and I already see which option he’d urge me to. “Hey,” he gurgles and even attempts a wan smile.

I flash a tortured grimace. “Hey.”

“Th-That’s good, Richards. K-K-Keep going. Come on. Keep going. It’s— It’s all right.”

I flash a new glower. “It’s all right?” Out of every puddle of surreal bullshit I’ve had to slog through over the last two years, this has to be one of the deepest. “There isn’t one thing ‘all right’ about this situation, you fucking cretin.”

He laughs. Yeah, laughs. But at once, that has him wheezing for more air—though this time, I don’t let up on my hold. Karma has to be cackling over a cauldron of her most evil brew at this very moment.

Still, he manages to sputter, “Richards. It’s all right.”

“And what part of ‘that’s bullshit’ aren’t you getting?” The part before or after Faline fun-botted him into destroying every building around us like a child tearing apart a Lego set? Or the part where he came at me like I was just a bigger version of those plastic toys? Or the part where she compelled him into switching out the Legos for a goddamned Glo-Worm and feeding the fucking thing into my brain? As it is, the whole shell of my ear and part of the canal are still doused in the neurotic napalm of whatever that creature was dragging. But, thank fuck, my mind is completely still my own. I still abhor Faline Garand with every fiber of my being.

Especially right now.

Especially facing this.

My friend, struggling for air beneath my brutal grip. The sound of his breaths scraping the air mix with that ridiculous dance song, the yowls of more sirens, and the steady whops of helicopters in the smoky murk above. His forehead crumples as he wobbles another entreaty. “Reece…man…it—it is going to be okay…”

“Says the asshole not asphyxiating his friend?”

“F-F-Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

The snarl doesn’t help. Frustration and rage boil through my blood. Fear and grief engulf my senses. This is all leading to one immutable outcome. I recognize it in my soul. I watch Kane doing the same but confronting it with a lot more courage than me.

He tries to swallow, but I’m holding on too hard now. Crushing his air too deep. He changes tack, jutting his chin up, indicating he needs to say something and I need to listen the hell up. “Th-The tatts. Th-That scorpion. You n-n-need to know, man…I d-d-didn’t—”