Two Page Shorts - Nick Venom (e book reader free .txt) 📗

whenever he walked. His pockets were often filled with lint and nothing else. He rarely had coins longer than an hour, often spending it on food or alcohol. 

Gene went to the break room, finding a moldy couch and some plastic chairs. The place had become ant-infested. The vending machine held old goods that spoiled years ago and ants that nibbled on the disgusting snacks. Carbonated drinks lay spoiled while water bottles remained unfazed by their surroundings. The water bottles that held the water had long expired, leaking plastic into the water. However, Gene didn’t mind the chemical water that was in front of him.

Using a few leftover hammers from the first floor, he broke the vending machine’s glass and grabbed all of the water bottles he could find. He took them downstairs, opening one and gulping it down. He had lost a lot of his liquids when he was foaming at the mouth earlier. The water tasted awful, but he needed something to replace the liquids he lost. Even so, he was okay with the water. It served its purpose.

He sat down on the first floor’s concrete, thinking to himself. I could turn this into my fortress. All I need is to fortify it and get a weapon… a weapon? I could phase into the wealthy neighborhood’s gun store. I’ll be armed and prepared. I will protect this warehouse. I will finally have a home. A home to return to.

***

A week after taking the warehouse as his home, he fortified the entrances to the best of his abilities. He pushed any lighter weight machines against doors and blocked out the windows, leaving only one open. He used the blankets that were used to cover the machines and tied them into a long piece of rope, tying one end to one of the machines. The other end would be thrown outside. 

With his escape route set, he laid on the cold concrete floor of the warehouse, his eyes looking up at the cracking ceiling. Who knew how much time Gene had before the ceiling cracked in half and all of the upstairs machinery fell on top of him? He didn’t care. He had a home.

As Gene leisured away on the cold floor, he heard chatter from around him. He shot up to his feet, brandishing a knife from his pocket. He had used his phasing powers to sneak into the gun store but was caught earlier on before he could reach the guns. He managed, however, to grab a small hunting knife before escaping.

He pressed forward, bending his ear to hear the direction of the chatter. After struggling for a few seconds, he figured out where it was coming from. The sounds of chatter belonged to a drug dealer, his men, and a client. They were making a transaction behind Gene’s warehouse. Gene could only hear the whispers of the man, not able to make out any words, but he could tell the subject of their conversation easily. He had heard the same spew of ugliness that the drug dealers would give their clients. 

Gene shook his head, turning away from the transaction. He had no intention of provoking the wrong type of people in the slums. The drug dealer could be connected with a large gang that Gene’s phasing ability could do nothing against. 

“Hey, why don’t we make this warehouse our place?” One of the people loudly said.

Gene’s eyes widened, spinning on his heels to face the wall. He squinted at the wall, activating x-ray vision, something that he learned of during his week of fortifying and scavenging. Whenever he squinted, it would activate, but he didn’t know what his new power was called.

He could see through the wall at the men outside. They were all looking in his direction, one of them holding a bag with a substance inside. The men stared at Gene for a few seconds before looking away.

“Impossible, the wall’s solid. It isn't some kind of mud hut. Plus, I was here a few weeks ago and all the entrances are chained locked. You need bolt cutters and several tens of men to break in.” The drug dealer shook his head. “It’s not worth the trouble. We’ll just be opening up the warehouse for another gang to take over. Let’s leave for today, maybe we’ll open it another time.” The men around the drug dealer nodded, following him away from the warehouse and towards their hideout. Gene watched them as long as he could keep up the squint before turning away.

“I need a gun.” He thought out loud. “If they had tried to take this place over, then I would’ve died. They would break down the doors and kill me with ease.” He slunk to the floor, his back scraping against the wall. His hand was trembling, moving a little faster than normal. However, it quickly slowed down before stopping as his body relaxed. 

Once he was calmer, Gene stood up, moving upstairs. He pushed to the open window, peering outside. He noticed some street rats moving towards his warehouse. Wherever the drug dealers were, the street rats followed closely behind. They attacked the area where the transaction was made for any bits of drugs that might’ve fallen out of the bags. Even a hint of the drug’s smell was enough for them. They were the street rats that Gene wanted to avoid becoming. 

Gene watched them closely as they reached the warehouse, headed for the spot where the drug dealer and his party stood at. He couldn’t see them from the window, moving towards a window facing the area. However, he didn’t reach the window, turning towards the stairs. He heard multiple noises coming from the entrances. 

Those damn brats! Gene quietly tiptoed down the stairs. He reached the first floor, looking around. He saw a couple of the entrances move, but none of them were able to get any farther than a few inches. The doors were chained tightly and machines that weren’t screwed in were used as support.

After a few minutes of trying, the street rats pushing at the door gave up. They turned around and left the doors alone. Gene let out a sigh of relief, turning away from the first floor. He headed up the stairs, towards the open window. If they had gone in, then what could I do? Those street rats are an entire breed of their own. Gene approached the window, peering out. The street rats that lingered outside were all on some type of drugs, more violent than any other type of street rats in the slums. When they didn’t have drugs in their system, the withdrawal made them violent and desperate. Gene didn’t want to mess with dirty, desperate, and violent kids. When you have nothing, you could afford to lose it all. When you have something, you have to fight ten times harder to keep it.

Gene kept his focus on the street rats too long, ducking out of sight after noticing one of the street rats staring at him. He was enthralled in his thoughts, never realizing he had been exposed. He dropped to the floor, hoping that the street rat would leave him alone. 

Maybe he didn’t see me. Yeah, he probably couldn’t see much of me, anyway. Yeah, I’m fine. He never noticed me at all. Gene thought, reassuring himself.

Unfortunately for him, he was incorrect. As soon as he ducked out of sight, the street rat that noticed him approached the building. He looked up at the open window with a large grin. “THERE’S SOMEBODY IN THE WAREHOUSE! THERE’S AN OPEN WINDOW HERE! HE HAS DRUGS!” The street rat shouted.

Gene stared at the ground with his mouth wide open. The street rat had used the violent street rats’ hunger for drugs against Gene. Now, he would be attacked by the violet street rats because of one street rat’s lie.

Damn you, Rat. He thought, giving the kid a name. Rat, as in a person who exposed a secret or purposely informed others to get someone in trouble. Rat’s aim was Gene for no other reason than envy. Many street rats lived in the mud. Only a small percentage lived in a place that had a roof. 

Gene inched away from the window, his hand gripping the knife tightly. He stood up, pointing the knife at the window. He heard the scrambling of bare feet against concrete. The sounds quickly shifted to the sounds of groans, shrieks, and shouts. The street rats were climbing up the wall to reach the window. It was a dumb and dangerous idea, but they were desperate.

Gene glanced behind him. He couldn’t hear anything from the first floor entrances. They weren’t banging on the doors anymore, focusing their attention on the open window.

“Drugs!” A random street rat shouted. The shout was closer to the window than Gene had expected. He inched closer, ready to strike if needed. He heard the closest street rat shimmy his way up the plastic gutter that was a few feet from the open window.

Gene turned away from the window, looking at the material near him. An idea jumped at him, seeing him rush into the break room and grab a chair. He picked it up and ran to the window as a street rat peered into the warehouse. Gene charged towards the window, sticking the chair legs at the street rat. He rammed the chair legs into the street rat’s stomach, throwing the kid to the ground. Gene didn’t wait to hear the squishy splat of the body hitting the hard concrete, propping the chair against the window before rushing to the break room. His eyes were quickly attracted to the sight of the couch, trying his best to move it. However, he was lacking strength. After struggling to move it out of the room for a few minutes, he gave up and dashed to the window where two street rats had poked their heads in. 

Gene sprinted towards the window with the knife brandished. He slashed at them, nicking their scalps and effectively dropping them to the ground. Although the immediate danger was dealt with, several more street rats emerged to fill the spots left vacant. 

Damn! There are too many for me to deal with! There has to be a way to get rid of them. He thought to himself while his eyes skimmed over his surroundings. Is there a way I could force them to stop attacking me? He looked around for anything he could use, another idea jumping into his mind. He sprinted to the break room, picking up snacks from the vending machine and returning to the window. He threw the snacks out of the window, shouting “that’s all of the food in here!”

The tower of street rats that had gathered under the window crumbled, scrambling for the food. They dove and fought each other for the bags of rotten food. Most of them ate the food with great intensity while others stared at Gene with hungry eyes. They didn’t trust his words.

Gene knew they wouldn’t. He slammed the window shut, testing the lock. The lock was faulty, meaning that the window would remain unlocked. He turned around, searching for the hammer and nails. He found them easily, returning to the window and nailing in shut. He made a large show to ward them away. A locked window would deter some of them, but not enough for Gene to take care of them. 

He turned away from the window, his hand trembling. “What do I do? They’re not going to leave me alone!” He exclaimed to himself. “What could I do?” He heard the sounds of the tower being rebuilt. They were returning faster than he expected.

He squinted his eyes, seeing them build the tower under him. His hand began to tremble faster and faster as he anxiously watched them climb up to him. By the time they neared the window, his hand was moving faster than the speed of light. His knife, which was in his trembling right