Alpha Dave: Find Bro

CUT!

Your name is Dave Strider.

You just finished filming another
ironic movie for the masses. No doubt you will be getting an award for this
piece of shit creation. It's practically the most ironically perfect shit
you've ever slapped your name on to date, like a fuckin' brand name sticker on
a dampened diaper laid out in the sun for weeks to ripen up. Definitely better
than that mess you were talked into making when you first got into this
business. What a huge ass waste of your time that turned out to be.

Whatever. You're a badass
self-producer now, making movies so fuckin' rad you have Norris and Stiller
practically kissing your shoes for a chance to star in one. Nah, you say to
Norris. He's too goddamn popular for your movies. And he sold his soul to
Warcraft. You don't need that bullshit.

Stiller, though. Stiller's pretty
fuckin' tight.

You bro-fist the dude and welcome
him to the Strider family with the traditional cool guy thumbs up. Followed by
a swift kick to the shin.

It's just how Striders roll, bro,
you would say. And if he wanted to keep his spot in the family, he'd better
smile and take that shit like a man.

At the moment, rather than kicking
shins and turning down douche bags, you are walking down the streets of a
rundown neighborhood, like something you would see in a horror movie before
some jackass jumps out from an alleyway claiming to be the 'Candyman', when
heÕs just some sick bastard looking to get off to someone running off and
screaming. You would just kick the guy's ass.

On second thought, with the broken
windows and kids running around in clothes from ten years ago, you suppose it
looks more like something from some shitty underdog flick, with orphans and
some old guy leading them on pick pocketing adventures while he lures more kids
into his creeper van with candy and food, glorious food.

You turn down another street, your
'I-Couldn't-Give-A-Shit-If-I-Tried-For-Hours' expression never once breaking,
or cracking in the least. And, really, you couldn't give a shit if you tried
for hours. Nothing really mattered to you. Your parents were gone, you weren't
sure what the fuck was happening to the world, and you had no idea where the
hell your next meal was going to come from.

Still, your movies were pretty fuckin'
rad.

Rad enough to piss off an aquatic
bitch.

You stopped right in front of a
broken down apartment building. It was a miracle the god forsaken structure
still stood. There were cracks all over the fuckin' thing, even on the doors.
Damn. What a fuckin' dump.

You walked into the fuckin' dump
that was your home.

Upstairs, you found your apartment
just as you had left it. Trashed. Posters all over the floor. Some broken
jamming equipment from the times you were wasted and trying to make some
ill-beats. Not one of your best ideas. You couldn't really afford any more
equipment if you wanted to eat next week.

You drooped your shoulders for the
first time since five that morning and crashed onto the couch. A spring flew
out and hit the wall, leaving yet another mark among the hundreds already
scarring your room. Fuck it. This room was shit anyway. You didn't fuckin'
care.

Your eyes, securely hidden by your
awesome Stiller shades, were red and burning from exhaustion. Goddamn, they
felt like they were burning in your skull. Time for some shut eye while you
could grab it. Lately you've had to stay on your toes, what with all of the
shit going down. Can't be too careful.

You closed your eyes, feeling a
sense of calmness envelope you for the first time in at least three days. You
had been awake for over 70 fuckin' hours. Jesus.

You were so fuckin' grateful for
the peace waiting for you as you felt yourself fall into the tight ass grip of
darkness that is sleep when-

FUCKING BOOM!

SHIT.
You really could not catch a mother fucking break, could you? No, of course
not. Not with Miss Queen Bitch of the Seven PMS Oceans taking her personal
issues out on your fuckin' planet. Man, fuck her. You really hate that bitch.

You grab your GOOD sword and run
outside, swag in tact with your sword at your back, ready to attack the rack of
this stupid sack of-

You stop. Well, fuck, your favorite
record store is burned to hell. Damn. That really fuckin' sucks. As if there
wasn't enough of a goddamn 'fuck you, Strider' feel to your day, now you can
tack the sea bitch destroying your favorite-

Wait.

What the fuck is that?

You approach the rubble hesitantly.
You'll be damned if she thinks you can be lured in and captured like some punk
ass squirrel following her trail of nuts right into her doomsday-floating
palace. Fuck that noise. Fuck it and then don't call it back. Ever.

Wait. Hang on. You dare to step a
bit farther into the demolition site than would be considered safe – But
you are being careful as fuck, making sure there aren't any trip wires or
whatever kind of shit would be pulled by an alien monarchy type broad.

You stop mid-step when you hear
some weird ass gurgling noises. Did she send tiny ass drones to get you? Some
baby caterpillars to crawl into your pants and-

You're stopping that thought right
now.

No. Wait.

Wow.

Wow.

What the fuck is this?

You hunch over and see a baby
– a mother fucking baby?!
– amidst the debris.

Okay. Shit. Fuck. Um. What the hell
are you supposed to do now? You sure as hell don't see how this could be some
ploy to get your aboard her murder happy floaty machine. Fuck, maybe she
dropped the little dude.

Oh, that heartless bitch. You
wouldn't put it past her.

Still crouching, you turn around,
seeing a few pedestrians stop and gawk at this beautiful fucking crater you've
perched yourself in like some feathery asshole protecting an egg.

What now? What do you do with this
thing? You could just leave it here. It's not your problem. And you don't give
a shit. Not your kid, not your problem. Just leave him there to fend for
himself. You don't give a shit, Strider.

You pick the kid up and look him in
the eyes for a moment. You hadn't even realized what you were doing until your
burning red eyes stared into his own.

Holy shit.

There was something about this
little guy. Something...You felt like you should remember. You stopped holding
him at a distance like he was some fucking radioactive glop in a jar and
brought him closer. His blonde hair was poking up all around, some of it
singed. His nose was a bit blackened, too. Little bastard needed a cleaning. You
couldn't stop staring into his eyes. He stared back silently.

Those few people had started
becoming a few more people, which started forming a crowd. You didn't do crowds
in a setting like this, man. You looked down at the kid still in your hands.

Fuck.

Alright, so, somehow, you ended up
taking the kid back to your hideous fuckin' apartment. Alright. Whatever. He
just needed to be cleaned before you took him to some orphanage somewhere. For
the moment, he was seated on your lumpy ass couch. You didn't have any baby
shit to put him in, so he'd have to deal with that.

You took a rag to his face and
arms, scrubbing that shit off. No one would adopt a fugly ass kid covered in
grime. Weren't babies supposed to cry or something? You looked back into his
eyes. He just stared at your bewilderingly. Okay. Kind of weird.

After you had that kid sparkling
like some shiny ass Pokemon card or something, you started walking towards the
phone.

You stopped when you heard a thud.

You turned to see the little shit
had fallen onto the carpet. He whimpered a bit, but otherwise kept silent. Your
heart skipped a beat and you flashed to his side.

Wow, what the fuck. All he did was
fall. Calm the fuck down, Strider. Jesus.

You regain your cool guy composure
and watch him sit himself up. He kept staring at you. You felt like he was
looking behind your glasses, behind your eyes, even. Like he was looking right
into you.

Fuck, that's disturbing.

Then he turned his attention to a
clear case across the room. He was staring at those stupid ass glasses you had
gotten years ago. How the fuck did you even get those glasses again? You didn't
even remember. Probably some weak ass con or something. Hell, maybe you had
gotten it from some A-list celeb. You didn't fucking care.

But that kid was giving those
shades this intense stare down. You look from the shades to the kid.

"Alright, you weird little meteor
bastard. Have 'em."

You take the shades from the case
and hand them to the kid. Obviously the kid doesn't know what the fuck to do
with them. He's eating them for God's sake- Aw, Christ, hang on.

You take the shades and put them on
the kid the way they were supposed to be worn. You step back and admire your handiwor-

Bro?<o></o>

Your breath hitched for a second.
Some word bounced in the back of your mind, like your brain was playing Pong
with the dictionary and this word was elusive as fuck.

You were focusing so hard on that
thought, a headache gathering like a storm in your brain, that you couldn't
hear the kid start crying for a few seconds.

When you did, the thought washed
away immediately.

"Shit." You had cursed yourself
earlier when questioning his silence. Goddamn it.

You pick him up and try bouncing
him, but that doesnÕt quiet him. You try feeding him some ramen, but he just
ends up choking on it. What the fuck were you supposed to do?

Finally, you just decide you can't
quiet the damn thing. Whatever, you'll just drown him out with your kick ass
stereo system.

Just as you are about to start
blasting to some seriously ill-beats from the best, the little bastard quiets
down. You look over at him. 

Wow, okay. When the fuck did that
creepy ass puppet get in here?

You didn't even remember seeing it
among the remains of your rad fuckin' record store. And you sure as hell don't
think that place is an undercover puppet smuggling ring, either.

Well, at least the kid is quiet.

You watch him for a minute or so,
not bothering to turn on your ill ass beats.

Something about that kid...

You look outside and watch the
crowd farther end of the group currently gawking at the impact site. You look
back at the kid. Your eyebrows furrow.

You could probably use something to
give a shit about.

Orphanages suck ass anyways.

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