Roxanne appeared at the scene of the crime before any other reporters were allowed in, but she hastily cut the cameras of with a wave of her hand, her eyes huge in the face of the destruction at Metro City's Prison for the Criminally Gifted.
The bars had been ripped clean off the door. The victim had been chased down the hall -that hall- into the cell. Roxanne's lungs heaved faster, but it was clear she wasn't allowed to move in. Megamind's chair, which has once been bolted to the floor, had been crushed forward, bowing to the entrance, prostate.
"Roxanne, gosh, I am so sorry," her camera man stuttered. They were ushered away by forensics, but their escort, a friendly guard who hadn't introduced himself, excused them. Roxanne couldn't get her eyes off that door. "D-did you know him? You didn't-"
"I knew him well enough," Roxanne whispered. The blood -blood?- formed footprints and scrapes, everywhere. From under that chair and towards the door, a warm trail formed a puddle beside the guard station, which was almost black with depth.
She… no. She pressed her back against the wall in the hallway, staring ahead. Megamind spent years here. This place was supposed to be safe.
Her cameraman squirmed beside her, and asked, "Should… we not-?"
"Yeah, don't," Roxanne mumbled. That blood. How? "I don't… Megamind won't want the public to see this."
"Everyone's going to know about this, Roxie."
She thrust her microphone into his chest and responded, "Well, I'm not going to report it. Good night."
It wasn't her fault. She didn't give them this damn emotional baggage; it wasn't her job to keep track of them. She was- she was reporter. And maybe a lover. And the fork-tongued bitch who apparently drove people to do terrible things. And she was going home. Or not. It didn't matter. Because this wasn't her fault.
She walked into the lair the usual way, stumbling, her bag held in front of her chest with both hands. Cars droned behind her, and in front of her the lair pulsated, an electric dungeon. There wasn't any blood on her shoes. No.
None of the brain bots came when Roxanne called them, and none were in sight. Only the somber presence of Megamind's old machinations remained. Their sharp forms heavy, like fossils of terrible sea monsters, still half-buried in the concrete earth. And Roxanne's footsteps echoes off them, like they were talking to each other, in repetitive clicks.
His chair, tall and dark, was facing away. Roxanne's breath was buffering wind in her ears, and she walked toward it. Like a bride.
It slammed forward. Blood oozed slowly from beneath it, toward her feet.
Or maybe it spurted like a popped water balloon, and rolled down like a wave.
Roxanne blanched. She looked behind her, but there were Megamind's creations. Boxes of TNT, and old bomb heads hanging from the ceiling, like they always did. Nothing else that could push the chair down.
But… she arrived at the back of the chair, and reached to turn it around, as she had so many times before.
She moved it slowly, and there was weight in the seat, Megamind's little body, curled up. He was in his pajamas. She could see only the side of his nose, his lips slightly parted, and the brow crumpled with the weight of his head against his hand, and the back of the chair.
"Don't tell him," she said aloud to herself. She swallowed her voice, startled, and thought silently, he's gonna find out anyway.
I wrote this September 3, 2017. It had some other little scribbles attached to it that I might add later.
got that email from Google Drive that files were gonna start getting deleted after 30 days... so I' just gonna drop these things as their own stories. I could publish them as new chapters in "Nuke," but I think these stinkers need more airing out than that. And that way I can just add new chapters to them individually whenever I want!