The door to the rooftop groaned open under Henrik's push, its rusted hinges wailing like something alive. The air outside was thinner, windier. The city stretched out in all directions, blackened, silent, and drowned in mist. From this height, the fractured skeleton of Brookside revealed itself—collapsed buildings like snapped vertebrae, fires smoldering in alleyways, wreckage from war and neglect carved deep into the streets.
Rhett stepped out behind him, cradling the makeshift shirt-bag against his hip. He'd stuffed the sardine cans, bottled water, and even a mostly clean towel inside. His new shirt flapped like a bedsheet in the wind, and he held it closed with one hand.
"Nice view," he said, voice quieter than usual.
Henrik didn't answer at first. He walked to the edge, one boot scuffing against gravel and broken glass, and leaned his good arm on the crumbling ledge. His injured arm stayed tucked close, the fabric around it already soaking through with blood.
"That regen quirk, it wasn't the quirk you were born with, was it?"
"Huh?" Rhett asked, surprised by the sudden rise of the topic. "I mean, yeah, I was given it. Is it that easy to see?"
"I suppose. I don't think you would still be mentally stable if you had this quirk when you were a child." Henrik sighed as he leaned on the rooftop railings. "Then again, I doubt you're mentally stable even now."
"Damn, I saved you and all I get are these roasts?" Rhett complained as he joined Henrik at the railing. The rain had stopped, barely. The dark clouds still rumbled menacingly overhead, pregnant with the threat of another downpour.
Henrik didn't answer. Instead, he picked something out from his pocket. Fumbling with it with shivering fingers, he plucked out a cigarette stick and shakily lit it up with a handheld lighter. The flame danced briefly before catching, casting shadows across his gaunt face.
"Where the hell did you get a cig?" Rhett chuckled.
"Looks like someone tried to hide it under the mattress." Henrik said nonchalantly as he puffed out a cloud of white smoke. And then he began coughing. Furiously.
"Don't they write on the back of these things that they kill?" Rhett asked, eyeing Henrik's trembling hands. "You're literally on death's door right now."
"Doesn't. Fucking. Matter." Henrik wheezed, his bones rattling under his skin until he eventually stopped, standing straighter. His knuckles were white as he gripped the railing.
Rhett motioned for a cigarette and after a moment of reluctance, Henrik handed him one and a lighter. Rhett lit it, watching as the yellow part of the cig glowed red in the dark and put it in his mouth without thinking. He sucked in through his mouth, only to immediately start coughing, throwing the cigarette over the roof as he spat, trying to get the foul smoke out of his mouth.
It burnt his tongue and he could already feel his eyes watering. He reached for the water bottle wrapped in the cloth and took a huge chug. "How the fuck do you enjoy this?! And to think people get addicted to this shit! This is so ASS."
"Don't shout. Don't want to draw unnecessary attention." Henrik droned, almost automatically. His eyes were distant like how they were in Room 203, looking at no one in particular. "Besides, it takes the edge off."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tensions. They stood there for a while, absorbing the dark scenery. On Rhett's guess, it was some time around evening, maybe 5pm, but the stormy clouds above made it feel like it was already night, the dark clouds blocking the sun's light.
Henrik took another drag, his movements mechanical. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain and decay from the streets below. When he spoke again, his voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"What do you want, Rhett?"
Rhett slowly turned his head to Henrik, as if to make sure he just asked that out-of-nowhere question. "What do you mean?"
"I mean. . . I mean what I said. What do you want? Exactly that. What do you want out of this miserable existence we've found ourselves in?"
"You're such a drama king." Rhett laughed, but it sounded a little hollow, even to his ears. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because you're a fucking contradiction." Henrik spat, surprising Rhett by his harshness. His cigarette trembled between his fingers. "I never know what you're gonna do. I take you as bait. I brutally maim you, and then what? You help me out of a tunnel at my lowest, and not only that, you die multiple times for me. For this fucking piece of trash!"
The same Henrik that told Rhett not to shout exploded at him in the last sentence, leaving Rhett momentarily stunned. A few flakes of ash fell from Henrik's cigarette onto the concrete.
Henrik sighed again, the fight leaving him as quickly as it had come. He rested on the railings and took another puff, this time without coughing. His eyes were red and puffy, like he was in another world. "If you weren't born with that quirk, then there's only one person that could have given it to you."
His right fist clenched, crunching the cigarette in his thin hands. "King."
King. Where had he heard that? Right. In Marina and Henrik's confrontation. Henrik had mentioned something about King's experiments, and firsthand experience with him. Was he some sort of leader for the villains? The name sent a chill down Rhett's spine that had nothing to do with the wind.
"But you aren't doing anything a normal villain would do." Henrik growled, his voice gaining an edge of suspicion. "You should have brought me back to the Palace, you should have joined forces with the Hybrid bastard, or Natos and Daimon, and yet, you chose to stay with me."
His eyes hardened and met Rhett head on. Rhett realized that even though Henrik might be seriously injured and tired, he was still a threat if push came to shove. The distance between them suddenly felt much smaller.
"So, Rhett. If not King, then who gave you your power? And what are you going to do with it?"
Rhett gulped, his throat suddenly dry. This was sounding more and more like an interrogation, or a threat. The casual atmosphere from moments before had evaporated completely.
"Geez, Henrik. I saved your life, twice, and no thank you? Just threats?" Rhett joked, forcing a laugh, but that only seemed to infuriate Henrik more.
"Don't fucking play with me!" He growled, spittle flying from his yellowing teeth as he shot forward and grabbed the collar of Rhett's over-sized shirt, cinching him. "I won't take your fucking kindness, because mercy always comes with a price!"
"Like I said, Hen, can I call you that?" Rhett replied, trying to lessen the tone even as his heart raced. "We're comrades now. We've got each other's back, right? You need me, and I need-"
"Don't!" Henrik spat, his hand already leaving Rhett's shirt as he turned his back on him. "You don't need me to survive. You literally can't fucking die."
A beat of silence passed between them as Rhett watched Henrik take some more shaking breaths, as if to calm himself down. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less intense. "So what do you want, Rhett? And what does it have to do with me?"
Rhett kept silent for a moment, then he turned his back on Henrik too. The wind whistled between them, carrying the promise of another storm. In a low voice, he muttered, "I want to be a hero."
"Don't hit me with that cliche bull-"
"No it's true." Rhett said, laughing with a small voice as he rested back on the railings, feeling the cold, wet breeze brush against his skin. "I don't want to be a conventional hero like you were, but I want to be a hero because I have people I want to save."
It was Henrik's turn to stay quiet for a while. His cigarette had burned down to the filter, forgotten between his fingers. "Your 'list'?"
"How did you. . ." Rhett was about to say, then he remembered Henrik had been watching his brutal fight against the Iron knight, when he burst out of his chest and told him he was not on the list of people he wanted to save.
Good times.
"Yeah, my list." Rhett continued, his voice taking on a different quality—softer, but with an underlying steel. "Wanna know the people on it?"
"I don't care-" Henrik was saying, but Rhett was already in a chattering mood, rolling the names off his tongue like a prayer.
"Casey." Rhett started, and Henrik noticed how his posture shifted slightly, becoming more receptive. "She is basically my big sis. I was like eight, and she was like ten. In my foster home, she would basically fight all my bullies. She took all the beatings and bruises just to make sure I was safe. She was taken away from my foster home because they said she was 'too violent' and had 'behavioral issues', or whatever. But I'll never forget her. It's been 10 years, and I really want to see her again."
Henrik found himself studying Rhett's face as he spoke, noting the way his eyes grew distant. Despite Henrik's resistance to conversation, he ended up resting against the railings with Rhett, though he maintained a careful distance. "Didn't Marina say something about her being in Otoku?"
"Yeah." Rhett answered, his enthusiasm dampened somewhat. He still couldn't wrap his head around how the blue-haired girl said he had been with Casey, a memory he had zero recollection of. Was she lying? But what benefit did that give her? She had no ties with Rhett. The confusion flickered across his face like a shadow.
He had no other choice but to assume the war hadn't gotten to Otoku yet, and that Casey was actually there, since he had no other leads.
But if that was the case, should he just. . . forget about her and focus on his other people? There didn't seem to be any other option.
Henrik watched this internal struggle play out on Rhett's features, filing away the information. Something wasn't adding up about this kid's story.
"Then there's Ryoji." Rhett continued, pushing doubts away with visible effort. "He was my big bro when I was like thirteen, and he was like fifteen. He didn't step up in fights like Casey did, but he always pushed me harder to get up and keep moving when I had been beaten to the ground."
"Convenient how all your saviors disappeared," Henrik muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Rhett to hear. There was something almost testing in his tone.
Rhett shot him a look but continued. "And there's Leon too. He was like my little brother from like two years ago back when I was in Ashdrift. The kid practically loved me and went everywhere I went because I saved him from his own bullies, even if I did end up with an ass-whooping. Guess I learnt that from Ryo and Casey."
AshDrift. . . yeah, that was his last foster home, where he lived for, what was it? Two years until the war hit, right? So how did he get here in Brookside? He tried remembering, but his head felt fuzzy. The gaps in his memory were like missing puzzle pieces, leaving him frustrated and slightly nauseous.
"What?" Henrik asked, his voice deceptively casual. He'd caught the moment of confusion.
"I'm probably just tired," Rhett said quickly, but Henrik's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Fourth on the list is Melissa." Rhett continued, eager to move past the uncomfortable moment. "She was a social worker from the CPS that would check in on foster homes to make sure the kids were okay."
"This is a funny story," Rhett said as he scratched the hair behind his ear, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "But one day my foster parents, they weren't the best people, were pissed with me for something I don't even remember, so they set their rottweiler on me to teach me a lesson, and they could just say it was an accident."
Henrik's hand stilled on another cigarette. The casual cruelty of the story hit him unexpectedly.
"Luckily, she was in the area that day, and when she saw me, she jumped into the compound without hesitation and dragged the dog away from me, even though she took bite marks and a scar to her face that never really healed."
"That day she taught me that suffering and pain are necessary prices for meaningful achievement. Hell, I was still like, nine that time, this was the home after Casey left, so I might have even died if she didn't come in time."
Henrik had been silent, letting Rhett talk. His eyes were red as he ingested Rhett's stories, and despite himself, he found himself asking, "And last?"
"Last. . ." Rhett continued, and Henrik noticed the subtle change—the way Rhett's voice dropped, became almost reverent. He was unconsciously twiddling with the ring on his left ring finger. "Is Lucille."
Henrik eyed the gold ring, its surface catching what little light filtered through the clouds. "Where did you get that?"
"Stole it from that room. It was just lying on the floor." Rhett chuckled, but there was something defensive in his tone. "You're not the only thief."
Henrik's face went sour at the remark, but Rhett continued, seemingly oblivious. "Lucille. . . Damn, where do I even start?" His voice took on a dreamy quality that made Henrik's stomach turn. "She's beautiful, sure, her clean white hair she always keeps in a ponytail bun, her cute, small rose-pink lips, oh, and she has the greatest singing voice, she usually has eyebags which somehow makes her look even cuter, her skin is as white as snow, and she has the sexiest hips even though she's kind of skinny. . .
"I did not ask for all of that." Henrik scoffed as Rhett just softly laughed with dreamy eyes as his over-sized shirt ruffled in the cold breeze.
"She's beautiful, but it's not just that. She's always had this look in her eyes like. . . the time passing by her eyes is meaningless. She feels. . . immortal almost. But when she looks at me, it's like I'm the only thing in her universe that matters. Or at least, that's how I feel."
Henrik noted the shift—how Rhett's usual bravado melted away when he talked about this girl. It was almost painful to watch.
"I met her when I went to public school and the first thing that came out of my mouth was that I loved her. Surprisingly, she kept talking to me after that awkward attempt, and after a while she told me she liked me too. We had to stick together since we were one of the few people without quirks."
"Then I told her I'd marry her, and she agreed to that too, but then all this heroes vs villains bullshit war started. . . And I haven't seen her since. But I do know where to find her."
He pointed to the clock tower at the heart of Brookside. It was as tall as a three-story building, and housed a noticeable clock at its face, its fingers ominously stuck at 11:59pm.
"We all saw the signs of the war, so I told her that if shit hits the fan, she should head there and I'll come find her. She'll be safe, since it's isolated and no one would ever think someone was hiding up there."
Henrik followed his gaze to the tower, its dark silhouette cutting against the storm clouds. "And you think she's still there? After all this time?"
"She has to be," Rhett said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice. "She promised."
Henrik nodded slowly. "And how are you planning on finding the other people?"
"I honestly haven't figured it out yet." Rhett sighed, scratching the back of his head. The admission seemed to deflate him slightly.
"So fucking stupid." Henrik yawned, taking another puff. The smoke was immediately swept away by the wind. Rhett held his breath until the worst of the smoke cloud was gone. He hated that smell, but he was getting used to it.
"Yeah, but I'll figure it out." He shrugged, though his confidence seemed forced. "I always do."
"So, obviously I didn't help you because I want to manipulate you or some shit like that," Rhett said finally, his voice smaller than before. "That ain't me. I only helped you because. . . I want to be a hero. Like Ryoji, Casey and Melissa. And even Lucille. I saw you in me, collapsed against the floor, the deserter hero who was barely alive. And I thought, what would they do if that was me? And so, I became your hero. Does that make sense?"
"No it fucking doesn't." Henrik coughed, but there was less venom in it now. The vulnerability in Rhett's voice had gotten to him, despite his better judgment.
"So how about you?" Rhett prompted, grateful for the change in subject. "What's your backstory? Don't you have any friends like I did?"
Henrik was quiet for a long moment, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"I don't have a backstory." Henrik grunted. "But. . ."