Curate, connect, and discover
(TW some strong language and minor blood)
Tang could feel himself wake from unconsciousness. His body became solid as he was pulled from the void that made up his dreams.
His eyes and limbs felt heavy, as if he was buried beneath the ground. Still, he could barely feel a cold breeze flow over his forehead as he listened to the sounds around him.
The rustling of curtains, birds chirping outside, distant voices of people on the street, and his own breathing flow into his ears. The sounds distant, yet too loud as they rushed into his head.
Then he tried to focus on his surroundings instead of losing himself in the white noise, as that wouldn't help him move any time soon.
Now Tang felt the smooth and cold surface he was laying on. The grooves of age in what seemed to be hardwood flooring gave him an idea of where he'd been placed after he collapsed outside...
How did I even get back inside, in my bedroom, no less? My apartment's on the 5th floor...
The hard floor dug into his side as he felt his clothes and hair had layers of grime on them. It gave an uncomfortable weight to his clothes. Then he remembered this was what he had on while at the library.
Don't think about that.
The point being, he was covered from head to toe in dust and other debris. He must have looked crazy yesterday when he ran panicked through the streets.
I shouldn't have left.
With a sigh and with his eyes still heavy, he planned to start pushing himself off the floor to stop the stabbing pain in his side.
However, he could barely sit up straight before he felt two hands grab harshly onto his shoulders. His eyes flung open as he was pushed up into a standing position by the hands, stumbling forwards from the excess force like a rag doll.
He snapped his head around to look behind him, but he couldn't see anything because of his damaged vision. A blurry silhouette was all he could barely see before it seemed to dissipate back into thin air.
Tang froze in place, waiting for the thing to make another move. Yet, he didn't hear or feel anything else for the minutes he stood completely still.
A small chuckle broke out from his short, silent breaths. He then broke into manic laughter as tears ran down his face and onto the hardwood floor. He could barely breathe as the laughter kept getting louder and louder as he doubled over.
'...Geeze, has he already gone insane?'
'From our efforts in stopping the big guy, I don't really blame him.'
Tang's laughter abruptly stops, his vocal cords stinging from continuous use. He shoots up, grasps his glasses, and looks around his room frantically for the source of the voices. He finds nothing other than a breeze from the open window.
The laughter returns, now louder than before. "I'm going insane!" He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling strands into his face. "I just wanted everything to go back to normal! I JUST WANTED TO BE FREE OF THESE FUCKING VOICES! I never wanted any of this!"
Smoke started to rise from where Tang stood on the hardwood floor as tears started to run down his face once again. "But no! I have to almost die! I have to see someone I care about LOSE A FUCKING LEG! I have to be tortured every night through my nightmares and have them FOLLOW ME THROUGHOUT THE DAMN DAY!"
Everything was suddenly too quiet for Tang as his labored breathing echoed through the bedroom. Tear streaks ran rapidly down his cheeks and onto the steaming floor.
He stared as the drops fell and dispersed among the ground. He could hear more whispers enter his mind, but he couldn't care less at the moment.
A small chuckle was the only warning before he bolted out of the bedroom, through the complete mess of a living room, and into the bathroom.
He wanted to be free of the filth covering his body. The dust and debris that killed maimed Allan when those monsters attacked the library...
Monsters?
Don't go farther down that road.
Tang only sighed at his thoughts before stripping and seeing the scorched handprints on the back of his overcoat. He grimaced before dropping it onto the ground, putting his glasses onto the edge of the sink and throwing himself into the shower. The scalding hot water turned his skin red as the stinging replaced the grime that used to cover his body.
Still, he scrubbed and scrubbed at his skin and hair until he was sure there was no more filth stuck to his body. Afterward, he let the water flow over him as he stood unmoving. Closing his eyes, he relished over the burning feeling.
He only opened them again when the water started to turn cold: the heat no longer being supported from his overuse. He slowly turned the knob to stop the water before stepping out and grabbing a towel off of the door handle.
After ruffling his hair with the towel and wrapping it around his waist, he sat down onto the toilet seat to take a breather. The cold air from the door left ajar helped him to cool down and think.
Am I really going insane? He thought. This has happened too many times to write off by now. Why is this even happening to me?
Why can't everything just end?
He choked up quiet sobs, putting his head into his arms. The lights above him flickered, and yet he just couldn't care anymore. He looked up blankly at the light bulb before rubbing his eyes and standing up to walk to the mirror.
He took his glasses off of the sinks edge and leveled them onto his face. He noticed the left side was cracked as he looked into the fogged up mirror, seeing the left side in pieces.
Tang grumbled as he wiped the mirror to uncover his eyes so he could see the damage done.
The lights flickered. He gasped as he saw his eyes suddenly turn blinding orange with blood splatter caked over his face in the mirror-
*CRACK*
Pieces of the mirror fell to the floor. His knuckles barely stung from the force he put into the punch. The mirror was now cracked and scattered onto the tiled bathroom floor.
With his heartbeat steady, Tang slowly pulled his fist from the reflective remnants. A hole through and mirror and into the back wall was now shown, some blood speckled in from his cut hand.
Holding his curled up hand, he saw the small shards now embedded into his knuckles: small trails of blood running down his arm.
He stared blankly at the cuts before rummaging into his cabinets and taking out a nail kit. It took some effort, but he was able to wrangle out tweezers from the case eventually.
He washed the hand with warm, soapy water before taking the tweezers and slowly pulling out each shard. His face was blank the entire time as he took each chunk out of his skin, even when washing his hand again and wrapping it up in bandages.
The whole debacle was over in a few minutes, even though it felt like hours to him. He looked back at the mirror. I guess I have to put another thing onto the to-do list.
Brushing the shards off the ground and clothes he left on the bathroom tile, he threw them into the bin and walked back into the living room.
In the messy state that it was, he could see many random pieces of clothing all over the floor and broken furniture. He could see leather jackets, old headbands, and even a Pigsy's shirt from when he used to work there.
Yet the thing that caught his eye was his matching jacket and pants he used to wear for special occasions. The soft navy fabric of the jacket and gray fabric of the pants Tang remembered helping calm him in those high tension situations.
The overcoat was long and had silver floral designs at the bottom near the calves and on the cuffs of the sleeves. The pants were similar, having those same floral designs at the pant cuffs. They were both hung over what was left of the coffee table.
He barely had to think before putting them on with underwear, a tan turtle neck, black flats, and the maroon scarf he snagged from his old clothes pile. It had the least debris on it.
Now feeling snug against multiple layers, which made him feel less cold and empty, he could finally do, erm...
Why did he dress up anyway?
He really didn't know why he put in this much effort, but now he supposes he might as well go out and do something other than being cooped up in his apartment.
Walking into his bedroom, he noticed the window was still open from the night before. The breeze barely bothered him as he shut the window yet again.
Now, hopping onto his bed, Tang reaches for his cracked phone to see if anyone messaged him for something. The only things in his notifications were a text from Pigsy and some ads about manga sales and new releases.
He then suddenly remembered how he had promised to see Pigsy. Yesterday morning, where he basically had a mental breakdown the entire day...
I am going to get so much crap for this.
He sat up and out of bed before turning off his phone. Maybe if he got there quick enough today, Pigsy would be a bit more forgiving? Who is he kidding, but maybe it was better to get it over with and a good distraction from what happened yesterday.
With that plan set in his mind, Tang took quick strides out of his apartment after locking it, of course, and started to walk the regular path to Pigsy's noodles.
The day was cloudy, yet no rain was supposed to come down today. With the sun blocked out, everything seemed a bit less vibrant than usual, which he was glad for as it would be a bit overwhelming otherwise with all the neon to go with the sun's rays.
The walk was quiet up to Pigsy's, putting him on edge as he looked back, on top of roofs and into alleys to see if anyone was following more times than he could count. Yet when he got to the shop door, there was something wrong with it: it was closed. Pigsy's was closed, on a weekday, during rush hour.
Oh no, did something happen to him?!
Tang quickly took out his phone to text Pigsy and realized he still had a message from him he hadn't read yet. Sitting on one of the outside benches, he opened the text from Pigsy
Pigsy 🍜🩷
10:46 AM
Pigsy: Hey
Pigsy: Just letting you know Mk dragged us onto a trip to Flower Fruit Mountain to help wrangle some Monkeys for Monkey King or something, might be gone for a few days.
Pigsy: I couldn't tell you earlier because Mk just grabbed me and Sandy out of the shop and I could barely close it in time.
Pigsy: I tried to tell them what we had planned but Mk and Mei were too energetic to reason with
10:47 AM
Pigsy: I'm sorry for ditching you yesterday, but we're still having that talk when I get back. No excuses.
Tang just stared at the message, trying to reason with what it said.
Mk took Pigsy and Sandy without me? I know they haven't talked to me much lately, but they still would've dragged me along to whatever stunt they were going to pull. Even if not, they would have told me before doing anything! There wasn't even a text...
That left a gross feeling in Tang's chest.
And what if I had shown up yesterday? I wouldn't have even known if they were okay until this mornings text! Did they not even think about how worried I would've been? Did they even consider how I could have felt at all?
He only shook his head at the thoughts, trying to drive away the bad feelings that came with them. He knows he and Mk haven't talked much lately; the same goes for Sandy and Mei, but he still knows what's going on with them! He still talks and tells them what's happening through the group chat to show he's still there!
Yet why does it feel as though I've been forgotten about? Why do I feel a sense of doubt now? He thinks as he leans back onto the bench.
He thinks back to the library, an unwanted thought crossing his mind. Mk didn't even try to keep the damages to a minimum as he redirected the strikes to the roof instead of blocking them with his staff.
And he looked so carefree and happy after the incident! Did Mk even know Tang was there? Did he even think about the possible damages he had caused? And he just leaves afterward, posing with tea and smiling!
Do they ignore or filter everything he says?
...Does Mk even care about him anymore?
...
...
I should stop.
All this self-loathing is getting him nowhere. It's not as if he was hurt during the battle. He doesn't have a right to be angry about a lack of care when someone got it worse than him.
Now, his thoughts were back to Allan. He didn't deserve anything that happened to him that day. He had gotten it so much worse than him, so why is Tang complaining?
Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind. He could check all the hospitals near the library to see if Allan was registered anywhere! It's not a full proof plan, but it was something worthwhile he could do while he was already out of a slump.
So he started to walk to the library, or what was left of it, to see if he could start there. When he arrived, he could barely believe what he could see. The entire roof is gone, save the few glass panels still stuck on the back, the walls were seemingly about to crumble at a slight breeze, and different holes ranging from sizes were stuck throughout the building, making it dangerous if most of it weren't already crumbled onto the ground.
Yellow tape covering the premises swayed back and forth as Tang walked onto the parking lot sidewalk, not daring to get closer lest something were to fall again.
He already had a bad feeling when he arrived, and it almost got doubly worse when he stopped at the sidewalk. Nevertheless, he had wanted to see what the remains looked like, and now he knew. Taking a deep breath and looking away from the building, he checked his phone for the nearest hospitals.
Among the list was one that looked eerily familiar. MSH was listed near the top, and it seemed like a fever dream to be seeing it here.
Now, along with this feeling of familiarity, he felt compelled to follow this lead. Maybe to help the new bad feeling in his stomach from those letters, but he'll try anyways.
The walk isn't that far; it's about the same length it takes to get to the docks from his apartment. When he arrives in front of the hospital, he suddenly gets a sense of deja vu, like he's been here before.
Ignoring the feeling, he steps through the doors and heads up to the receptionist at the desk. "Hey there." Tang greeted a bit awkwardly. The receptionist just smiled. "Hello there, how can I help you today?"
Tang seemed to lose vigor as he continued to speak. "Erm, I was wondering if you had any teenage admitants named Allan? I-I was just wondering since I was his colleague at the library when it got attacked, and I know it's probably personal information but-"
The receptionist held her hand up halfway through his ramble. "I understand your concern, and if he is permitted here and allows friends to visit, you're welcome to see him. I'll just have to see if he's registered in our care, so please give me a moment."
Tang sheepishly sat down at one of the lobby seats as the receptionist went back to typing on her computer. After about 10 minutes, she called him back up to the desk. "We do have an Allan Bentley in room 1225. He's in for an injured leg, is allowing visitors, and he came from the library attack. Is he who you're looking for?"
He knew it was Allan from the leg injury; he saw him get wheeled away himself. He quickly affirmed the receptionist and thanked her before moving towards the elevator.
Following the signs on the walls with little difficulty, he was able to find room 1225. Yet, Tang hesitated in front of the door. Did Allan even want to see him? Did Allan blame him for what happened? He wouldn't put it past the kid if he did.
But he wanted to see if he was alright. Wanted to see Allan breathing and alive, even if that was a bit selfish of him since he's the one who slowed him down in the first place.
So before he can back out of it, he opens the door. The room is steril and white, with the acception of some window stickers from previous patients, most likely.
He walked slowly up the bed and gasped at what he saw. Allan seemed more thin and pale than he remembered. His brows were creased even in his sleep as he breathed slowly in a rhythm.
Tang thought Allan would be awake since visiting hours were still open, but he must be lucky to catch him right after he fell asleep.
Looking at the bedside table, he could see comics of some kind, with the first addition of Monkey Cop at the top. It seemed like Allan was able to keep it, even through the whole debacle.
This lifted a weight off of Tang's shoulders. Seeing how Allan kept the comic must mean he doesn't completely hate him now and is coherent enough to read already, as it seems to have more wear than when he first gave the comic to him.
He gives a small smile as he slowly puts his hand on Allan's head, comforting the kid to uncrease his brows just a bit and feel his chest rise and fall.
He left quickly after that. He couldn't stay in that room much longer when he knew how much pain Allan was in right now. He could see the void where his left leg used to be under the blanket.
The feeling of regret only got worse as the sky started to dim on his way back. Why did Allan have to suffer like that? Why couldn't I save him? Why wasn't he able to make it out okay like everyone else?
It was the fight.
Tang was now in front of his apartment door. He had stopped in front of it as the voice spoke from behind.
That child took to fight too recklessly. He directed the strikes to the ceiling, causing it to fall onto you and Allan.
No, no, it wasn't Mk's fault. There was a lot going on, and everything was just chaos-
Yet the child seemed to deny those stakes. You saw how he moved on so quickly, how he smiled and joked about it afterward, taking nothing about it seriously.
Tang looked to the ground, a gross feeling climbing up his throat.
But he did care! He even reached out to me after he found out I was there!
And that is the problem. He only cared about the companion he could have lost, not for the other lives he'd endangered. Heck, he only started to care when someone else showed him you were there.
The voice spoke with certainty, venom apparent in its tone.
Do you think he would have worried were it not for that reminder? Do you really think he would have looked twice if you were someone unrelated to him?
But Mk is a good kid! He didn't look only because he thought everyone had made it into the shelter.
He started to shake with rage as the voice kept going with its remarks.
Yet he knew you were there, and he didn't even stay to check if you were alright? Did he even know you were there? Did he not give you the simplest time of day that he completely forgot about your existence.
Stop.
Do you really think you matter to him anymore? It's not like he even bothered to tell you about the trip yesterday, where he left you completely alone with no contact. Do you think someone like that is worthy of having those powers?
Stop it.
Someone like that shouldn't be worthy of anything, nonetheless powers to destroy whole cities. You know what happened, and you couldn't save Allan that way. That boy doesn't deserve the abilities he has, and takes them for granted.
Why are you doing this?
Tears roll down Tang's face yet again.
Why should he get these powers? Why should he be the chosen one when you are much more deserving? Why does he get to take power for granted when you struggle every day to keep people safe and survive? Why does he get to feel happy and live without worry while you have to lie down and suffer from how many people you have had to watch die?
"JUST GO AWAY!" Tang's voice cracks as he yells into the open air. Silence is the only thing that greets him as he numbly stares at the door in front of him, still unopened.
His face is now blank. The tear streaks on his face have dried to the point they're stuck on his face. He slowly brings his key to the door and numbly walks inside, seeing the mess of his living room and bathroom of the doorway.
He only ignores the mess, stopping briefly where The Origins of JTTW had been left open before grabbing it and beelining to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and walking towards the window. He lifts the window up and lets the breeze blow through the room, ruffling the sheets and blanket on the bed.
The cool breeze doesn't bother Tang, though, as he only turns towards the bed and bats the loose strands out of his face from the down hair he didn't bother to put up.
He doesn't lay down on the bed. He instead kicks off his shoes to the side, takes off his cracked glasses, and puts them on the side table with his matching phone.
Then he stares out the open window, looking towards the blurry figures of stars and planets as he lifts up the barely decipherable book showing Golden Cicada.
I can't keep going like this. I need to leave. Maybe that's what these horrible dreams have been trying to tell me. I just want to get away from it all.
He roughly shuts the book and throws it into the wall. Whatever he's dealing with, he's not gonna put up with it anymore starting tomorrow. He's going to leave, and he's going to get better.
That's what he thinks as he falls back into his bed and looks back to the blurry lights once again before blacking out, hopefully for the last time.
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