[center][h1][color=f7941d]Ace Hendrix[/color][/h1] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLuwj4VAA-I[/youtube] [indent][sub][color=f7941d]Honey, I can’t stay awake…[/color][/sub][/indent][/center] [table=bordered][row][/row][row][cell=active][indent][sub]Heat clung to the ground like a fever, even as the light began to fade. The sun was sinking fast, bleeding crimson and gold across the endless stretch of the Arizona desert. Where cell signals died and bodies disappeared in sand, Holbrook was a dead-zone town. Abandoned buildings, gas stations, and telephone poles that hadn't buzzed with a dial tone in years. The only road for miles was a cracked, forgotten vein of asphalt, running like a scar through the wasteland. At its shoulder, dust curled in lazy spirals as two motorcycles came to a growling stop followed by an additional six. Dust slowly settled around them. [i][b]“After this, you're done…”[/b][/i] The older, much more grizzled, man said as he and Ace swung off their bikes. Boots crunched the gravel as they walked forward. The grey-haired man, eyes hidden behind aviators, lit a cigarette. Ace chuckled, hand resting near the pistol tucked under his cut. [color=f7941d]“Yeah, that's what you said last time. Time before that too, oh! And the time before that too-”[/color] Ace was cut off by the impending sound of two more bikes approaching from the road. Two bikers dismounted in unison, across from them. One carried a black duffel, the other a sawed-off shotgun hanging loose at his side like a casual threat. No introductions. No greetings. Just the wind, the thrum of cooling engines, and the faint whine of a distant coyote. A bag hit the ground. It was unzipped - only halfway - to reveal it filled with cash. It probably couldn’t zip much further in all likelihood. Ace continued to study the two, watching for the slightest hint of movement towards their weapons. The sound of the second bag hitting the ground followed. Tension crackled in the air like a storm building without clouds. Then came a sound. His uncle’s hearing began failing him during his time in the military, gunfire, explosions - which is why Ace was frontline during these deals. He could pick up on the little things and differentiate between what was good, or bad. In a dead-zone town? If it wasn’t a tire or the wind, any other sound was considered bad. Especially the click of a radio. It was a set-up! The cops must have noticed Ace coming to the realization as they drew their weapons just as quickly as he did. [b]“Police! Drop your weapons!”[/b] [b]“AMBUSH!”[/b] One of the six bikers yelled as cop cars began emerging on their position. The only explanation was an inside-job, there were supposed to be scouts here. Who was compromised? [i][b]“Ace… drop the gun son,”[/b][/i] His uncle pleaded, [i][b]“You can still make it out of thi-”[/b][/i] his words would be cut short as a bullet pierced his shoulder. Ace’s eyes widened as he tackled his uncle behind his already-burning bike, heart-hammering. The roar of a dozen engines hit like thunder. Another gang—black cuts with red skull patches—barreled down the hill from the ridge above. They poured in like jackals. They weren’t with the buyers. They weren’t with anyone. Just there to kill and take. Half of them opened fire on both sides, gunfire shattering like glass under a boot, the sounds deafening. The deal had been a trap inside a trap. Cops and bikers alike scrambled, some screaming, some fighting, most just trying to live another minute. Blood pooled fast on cracked pavement. Bodies hit the ground hard. A shotgun blast took a man off his feet. Muzzle flashes lit up the dust. Another biker dropped behind his bike, returning fire with wild eyes and a full clip. Ace looked to the east. Beyond the chaos. Beyond the blood. He could run. He should. But his uncle was still here, shot, and bleeding out. Tears began welling in his eyes - a mixture of sadness, anger, and dust being kicked up around him. In a moment’s notice, he and his uncle were suddenly at the next building over. Ace pressed his hand to the gunshot wound. [color=f7941d]“Stay with me old-timer, you’re okay, you’re okay…”[/color] Ace pressed harder in an attempt to stanch the bleeding. His fingers slick with warm, pulsing, blood, as it soaked through his palm and ran down his wrist. He didn’t ease up. If anything, pressed harder as if sheer willpower could hold the life in. His uncle forced a smile, reaching up to hold Ace’s face. [i][b]“I’m sorry Son, I’m sorry I brought you into this…”[/b][/i] [color=f7941d]“No, no, no! None of that sappy shit old man, just save your strength!”[/color] Ace began looking around frantically, for anyone or anything that would help. There was nothing around them but chaos. [i][b]“I love you kid, find your dad… your dad is… he… he’s…”[/b][/i] Ace had a singular minute to process the death of his uncle before a flash of movement clouded his vision. He never saw it coming. One second, he was turning his head—maybe mid-sentence, maybe just distracted—and the next, [B]CRACK![/B] A brutal arc of steel backed by full force swings out of nowhere and collides with the side of his face with a sickening, metallic thud. The sound was sharp and wet, the sound of metal meeting bone and flesh. The pain didn’t register right away—only the impact, sudden and massive, like being hit by a truck. Then came the burn. A white-hot explosion of pain bloomed across his cheek and temple, and blood surged instantly, thick and fast, pouring from his nostrils. His legs almost gave out, knees buckling, hands instinctively reaching for balance as he stumbled backwards. Ace didn’t scream. Just a gasp, cut short, as the dull clang of the crowbar being raised again echoed through the haze of ringing ears and fading light. Ace, moving off instinct, narrowly dodged the second swing before throwing a left hook. His fist slammed into his assailant’s jaw and sent him stumbling. Ace wouldn’t waste the opportunity, letting out a guttural noise of anger and pain that was barely human. Ace sprung forward, wrapping his arms around the rival gang member. He lifted with all his strength, before slamming the man on his back. Ace climbed atop the man and began bludgeoning him with fists. Left, right, right, left, both at the same time with unavoidable speed. Ace was now a mess, covered in dust and blood belonging to three different men. The sirens approaching broke him out of his trance. He slowly raised from the body now lying dormant. The crimson liquid dripped from his bruised and raw knuckles. Two unresponsive bodies in-between him and cops. No amount of explanation would get him out of this, and in his mind there was nothing to explain. So he did what he always did when he got into trouble with the law, and ran without looking back! Ran faster than he ever realized he could run! The desert, once silent and still, echoed with chaos—sirens in the distance, fire in the sky, and the howling fury of men betrayed by everything except the heat. The desert took everything in. Blood. Screams. Fire. And when it was over, it would give nothing back but silence…[/sub][/indent][/cell][/row][/table] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [table=bordered][row][/row][row][cell=active][indent][sub]Barely recognizing the face staring back at him, the blonde-haired man stood silently in front of the mirror. His features were swollen and bruised - his right eye ringed in a deep purple, tender and puffed. A faint crust of dried blood lined across the nostrils of his raw and crooked nose. He let out a heavy breath as his fingers probed the misalignment. His other hand gripped the edge of the sink for support. Ace knew it would hurt like hell, but he didn’t care. He set his thumbs on either side of the bridge. With a tightly clenched jaw and a brutal motion, he snapped his nose back into place. With white knuckles and lips curled back, let out a low grunt as the pain came like a surge of fire behind his eyes. Immediate, sharp, and nauseating. He just leaned forward, letting the blood drip freely now. His body shuddered. He gave himself a moment. [color=f7941d][i]’You should have seen it coming… that’s all you're good for is knowing when something is coming!'[/i][/color] He could tell himself that all day. Truth was, he [i]didn’t[/i] see it coming. The crowbar hit. The betrayal. The setup. Not [i]any[/i] of it. It’ll haunt him ‘till the day he dies, but it won’t be a mistake he’d make ever again. The flickering overhead light casts shadows across his battered face. The rusty pipes groaned in protest as he turned the faucet and cupped cold water into his hands. With slow, deliberate movements, he splashed his face, wincing as a sting revealed open cuts upon his cheek. Ace reached for a stained towel, gently dabbing around his nose and cleaning all the blood from his face and hands. A knock on the door would grab his attention. Who would come to the Crimson Piston’s Bar this late at night? Right after the incident as well? [b]“You’re probably wondering, ‘Who would come to the Crimson Piston’s Bar this late at night?’”[/b] A jovial voice called out from behind the door. [b]“Listen, I’m not ‘fuzz’ or whatever you hooligans call these people nowadays. Hell, I can’t keep up anymore. Hell… Hells… Hades, Underworld, you know it’s all the same thing anyway-”[/b] The door swung open. [color=f7941d]“HOLY SHIT WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!?”[/color] Ace yelled, at this point not caring to be discreet much longer. [color=f7941d]“I have no fucking idea what you’re going on about dude! Fuzz? Hades?? Dude - Look, I will [I]hurt[/I] you if you don’t tell me what the fuck you want!”[/color] The taller, slender, blonde-haired stranger smiled wide and opened his arms. Inviting Ace in for a hug. [b]“My son! I am Hermes, God of-”[/b] Ace slammed the door and turned. To his surprise, ‘Hermes’ was laying across the bar counter biting into an apple. [b]“I hope you don’t mind, I tend to enjoy these…”[/b] [color=f7941d]“I tend to enjoy avoiding bullshit… how’d you do that?”[/color] Ace tilted his head. [b]“Same way you just avoided cops for miles, while on foot. The same way you’ve always avoided them, and the rest of your problems at that…”[/b] Hermes muttered the last line, before standing and heading towards the door. [b]“But you’ve always known there was something different about you… that’s why you’re not really shocked about this.”[/b] Ace let the man walk past him. [b]“I left you a hoodie. There’s a bus ticket in the pocket - it’ll take you to Camp Athens. Take it or leave it, up to you…”[/b] [color=f7941d]“Why now?”[/color] Ace asked, before turning to face his ‘Father’. [color=f7941d]“If you’ve always existed, always ‘watching’... after all me and mom have been through… why show up now?”[/color] [color=f7941d][I]‘When everything is already taken from me?’[/I][/color] Hermes smiled wider. [b]“You’re my wildcard, problem-child. You’re my Ace in the hole.”[/b][/sub][/indent][/cell][/row][/table] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [table=bordered][row][/row][row][cell=active][indent][sub]Ace was ten years old, pressed up against the window as his uncle rolled into the gravel lot of the bar. Men laughed loudly alongside their steel animals - rows of bikes, gleaming, chrome and thunder. Stories flying around like fists - the kind a kid should never hear, at a place they weren’t supposed to go-but Ace always wanted to, badly. This place used to embody untouchable, eternal, freedom… Now he stood, just outside the blaze. Boots planted firm in the gravel, lighter still glowing warm in hand. Not even as the roof began to cave in did his eyes not move. They were fixated upon the flames-but he wasn’t seeing fire. He was seeing then. Flames licked the walls like hungry tongues, curling up the wooden beams and swallowing the Crimson Piston’s old neon sign. The crackling of burning wood mixed with the soft ticking of cooling engines; the smoke carried the smell of gasoline, charred leather, and something else—something older. He took a breath now, the smoke filling his lungs like old ghosts. The fire surged again, glass shattering as the flames reached the liquor shelves. Ace wouldn’t flinch. His hand finally dropped the lighter to the dirt, embers glowing against the gravel before fading to black. And he walked away—one last time. Behind him, the bar crumbled in on itself, the past turning to ash. There was only one thing left remaining that he had to bury. The night hummed with the low buzz of neon and the distant rumble of traffic. The alley smelled of cigarettes, wet pavement, and something sweeter—cheap perfume and memory. Ace stood behind The Velvet Vixen, under the dim orange glow of a flickering street lamp. Half-hopeful, half-regretful, his eyes scanned the door. His brain almost convinced him to leave until his heart caught sight of her… She hadn’t changed. Her quiet, magnetic presence drew him in. Something timeless in the way that she carried herself - even in a tight black hoodie zipped halfway, stilettos, and slightly-smudged makeup indicating the ending of her shift. Her expressive eyes, wide and dark, flickered with unspoken stories. Those same eyes, still sharp and tired, told him she knew why he was here. They didn’t touch. Words hovered in the air like smoke: apologies neither would say, questions neither wanted answered. She lit a cigarette, passed it to him, watched as he took a drag and didn’t meet her eyes. [color=8882be]“Now the bruises I’m used to, but not looking me in my face?”[/color] She moved her head, forcing his gaze onto hers. [color=8493ca]“What happened, Ace? What are you not telling me?”[/color] [color=f7941d]“I’m leaving, Jordan… I don’t blame you for what your family did, but they killed the old-man.”[/color] She clenched her jaw, saving face. Ace could see the hurt through the facade, anyone who knew her knew she loved the old-man just as much as he did. Jordan blinked the tears away, giving a nod. [color=8493ca]“So… this is it?”[/color] He nodded, turned, and began walking. Her hand on his shoulder halted him in his tracks. [color=8493ca]“Please, Ace… There's something telling me to leave this place, everyday. I know if I ever decide to, I want to live better than I was here. I want that for you too. So, please, use this as an opportunity to do [I]better[/I]. You can start over…”[/color] He placed his hand over hers, eyes closed. He let out a sigh. The past needed to be ash. [color=f7941d]“I don’t need the fuckin’ speech,”[/color] he removed her hand and pulled his hood over his head. [color=f7941d]“Take care of yourself, Jordan.”[/color] His words would fall on deaf ears as she had already walked away.[/sub][/indent][/cell][/row][/table] ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [table=bordered][row][/row][row][cell=active][indent][sub]Ace knew better than to fall asleep if it was possible he had a concussion. No books, no phone, no TV… just his thoughts, memories, and motion of the bus moving. On top of that he was exhausted, so sleep came with ease whether he wanted it or not. Eyes opening to the bright, white, scenery outside his window convinced him he had died and went to heaven. The bus was still. [color=f7941d]“Where… am I?”[/color] He whispered as he stood and made his way to the front of the bus. No driver. Was this his destination? Ace climbed off the bus, the cold immediately punching him in the chest. He approached the wall. The boots were Ace’s only saving grace as he yanked his hoodie tighter and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He felt like an alien. He placed his thumb onto the scanner, muttering curse words to Hermes for [I]only[/I] getting him a hoodie. Tricky bastard. Once inside, he kept a reasonable distance from the people standing around. New arrivals? Old ‘campers’? Whoever they were, the sight of them only added to the irritability of his soreness and the cold. Ace drew in a breath through his nose, deep and wet, and then let out a harsh, echoing [B]HAWK![/B] That came from somewhere below the lungs, scraping up through his throat like gravel in a pipe. He leaned to the side and spat hard, not too much caring of who or what was around him. With a sticky [b]splat![/b] The loogie hit the ground, like rusted syrup mixed with spit. The dark red, stringy, phlegm clung to the snow for a moment before oozing its way downward. The snow was stained red regardless. He wiped his mouth with the arm of his hoodie, smearing a little crimson across the fabric. His lip curled slightly, more in habit than disgust, and he glanced at the mess like it owed him something. As much as he wanted to scream into the void at Hermes, or scream for someone to get a fire started, he would be on his best behavior. The last thing he wanted to do was make a scene. Ace would cross his arms, patiently waiting on some type of explanation. If there wasn’t one provided in the next five minutes, he’d be damned if he survived all that just to die in the cold. He’d lay claim anywhere warm. Just where the fuck was he?[/sub][/indent][/cell][/row][/table] [hider=tl;dr]Too Long - Didn't Read: Ace gets into a fight, Ace meets dad, Ace says goodbye to an old friend, shows up to camp spitting a blood loogie in a random direction![/hider]