• Prologue

    Phil Conners flashed a small white laminated card with his picture and a long randomized ID code on it to the old man that seemed to always be in the booth where he worked. The man silently glanced over, barely even checking the identification before pushing a large red button to temporarily buzz open the bottom half of a door that served as the only entrance to a long, old wooden dock. Phil heard a loud crack as the spring slammed the metal against metal, closing itself behind him. It made him jump the first few days into the job, but now, two weeks later, he only flinched as he made his way to the ferry that was always waiting on the right side, near the end of the walkway above the water.

    The ferry, unlike the dock, was exceptionally new looking. It was painted a pale blue that almost blended into the ocean. It was small, to the point where if twenty-five people decided to ride it looked as if it would sink, or at the very least everyone would have to stand. But only three others ever rode with Phil, and it was always the same three, every morning. Each one wore the same white shoes, cloth pants, shirt, and a long thin trench-coat on which they displayed several small pins, buttons, and patches of honor. Two of the men, who were maybe in their forties, were always inside the small captains room, steering the ship. The last man, who looked slightly younger than twenty-four year old Phil, always sat upon one of the benches that lined the side of the boat, across from Mr. Conners. He, though, never spoke a single word, instead sitting perfectly upright with no emotion on his face, as if being inspected by his superior officer.

    Phil sighed and slouched in his hard wooden bench. He worked so hard in college, but even after he graduated he had to wake up early anyway. He didn't really have a choice in the matter. His childhood dream of working his own hours, enjoying life with a wife and maybe some kids, helping those who needed him disappeared as he realized he needed to devote more time to his studies and less to socializing. Then the economic decline hit and less people started caring about their mental health, and more about their wallets. He couldn't find a job for the life of him. But he was lucky enough that one of his former college professors had a few friends in the military. They pulled some strings and got him a job at a high-security prison, and though he had to move to the other side of the island, he was thankful for the cozy apartment he lived in by himself and the food that he was able to put on the table.

    Phil glanced to his right. The island was getting closer. It wasn't that big, maybe a mile or two in diameter, but that was enough for the concrete “L”-shaped two floor building and the three barbed wire fences that surrounded it. It was not the ideal place to treat people, but it was where the most people who needed help were. The only problem was that Phil's expertise was treating the suicidal and depressed, not those who had anger issues or received their thrills killing the innocent.

    Phil rubbed his eyes. He wasn't able to sleep the night before. Dreams of his sister laying there on the floor in her room, sobbing and cutting herself with the pair of scissors she kept with her school supplies. He could see her blood ooze from her wrists down her arm and drip onto the carpet as his seven year old self watched helplessly through the slightly cracked door. In his arms he held a teddybear that he received when he was born, which was wet from his own tears. He gathered his courage and took a deep breath, opening the door. He slowly walked up to his sister, now laying with her head on the ground.

    “Sis... please hold Teddy... he always makes me feel better... he'll make you feel better too...” His chocked words were only answered by silence. But that was okay, he thought, she was only sleeping. He knew she needed her rest. He set his teddybear next to his sister and took her limp arm, putting it around the bear. He whispered goodnight and walked out the door, softly closing it behind him.

    It wasn't until the next morning that he learned that his sister had bled herself to death before his eyes.

    Phil shook his head in an attempt to ward off the unhappy thoughts. He told himself that he had to get his brain in gear for today. Today he was going to finally save someone. Save them from the same fate as his sister. Yes he was nervous, he hadn't seen his patient for five days, and he knew that today was the last day he would be allowed to try to convince the boy not to kill himself. Phil shivered at the thought.

    Phil sighed. This job turned out to be much more interesting than he originally thought it was going to be. Just six days before he had learned of humans that had powers beyond his wildest dreams. It just so happened that one of these super-humans were in need of his help.

    Phil recalled the chaos that ensued just five days ago. He was a week into the job, just learning the ropes, when sirens rung, so loud that he thought his ears were going to bleed. He barely remembered where the emergency shelter that he was assigned to was, with the instructions that he was to run to it whenever alarm rose for any reason. It just so happened that the shelter was on the exact opposite side of the complex than where he was at the time.

    As he made his way though the courtyard where the inmates got their exercise he came across a boy, no older than twenty, calmly walking towards him. This man wore only a faded black hooded long sleeve shirt and a worn pair of black jeans. His long light-brown hair stuck out from his attire like a sore thumb, swaying as he walked. On his face he wore a child's smile, as if he was in the schoolyard playing with his little friends, content with life. His eyes, his shining blue eyes, sparkled a greenish tint in the evening sun. They were wet with tears, and as he walked they fell to the ground, one by one.

    Suddenly a spotlight from above shines down on the unknown man. A turret mounted in one of the towers that rose above the prison began firing countless rounds with uncanny accuracy, hitting the boy over and over again, each bullet peariicing his cloths, then his skin, going all the way through his body and digging themselves into the dirt. Phil, who was not even three meters from the target, watched in awe as green and black goo appeared out of thin air and fill the holes in the man, only for skin to creep over the gel and totally heal the wound in a matter of seconds, leaving only a hole in his shirt as proof he was even shot.

    The unknown boy, unaffected by the rounds, only stood and stared at Phil. After several long seconds the man finally speaks. “Where can I find the man that runs this place?” His voice was unexpectedly kind.

    Phil only stood there, unable to run and hide from this... thing. So many questions flowed through his head, so much confusion that he could only utter the word “why”.

    The man's smile shrunk. “Because I need him to help me.”

    “Help you do what?”

    The man's gaze slipped pass Phil as he blankly stared at last bit of the orange-yellow sundown. “... kill... myself...” He whispered, as if to himself. The neverending stream of bullets cut through the words, making them inaudible to the only person that was around him.

    But Phil had nightmares where those two words were silently mouthed over and over again. Images of blood and tears would always follow. He could read the words on the man's lips. He knew his intentions. “Why do you want to die?”

    The man's smile returned once again, but this time it seemed sad. “I deserve to... I can't continue living in this world... I've done too much harm to too many people...”

    Phil steps forward as the tower torrent finally runs out of bullets. “You can't just kill yourself! Nobody deserves to die!”

    The man only shook his head. “Just take me to your employer.”

    Phil turned around. The chaos in his head was replaced by only one thought: I can't let this person kill himself. But he found himself stomping his feet in determination as he made his way to the gray bulletproof door that led to the administration office. Phil pulled the white identification card out of his back pocket once again, slipping it through a magnetic scanner. The door then unlocked with a magnetic click. Phil grabbed the silver handle and pulled, letting the strange visitor go in before him.

    The reception office, which was very unnecessary in such a place, was a simple square room with maroon carpet and off-white walls. In the center of the side across from the entrance were a pair of large stained hardwood doors. To the right of those doors was a matching L-shaped wooden desk that took up a whole corner of the room. It was though, without a receptionist.

    Phil barged forward and was taken off guard when one of the doors opened for him. A pudgy old man walked out in full army attire, badges and pins everywhere. Opening his arms, he smiles. “Takato, my old friend, what a surprise.”

    Takato's features became hardened. “Friend? First you try to destroy my world, then you call me your friend? Look, you b*****d, I only came here for a favor. I think you owe me something this small, at the very least.”

    The old man lost his smile. “What do you want?”

    “I want you to kill me.”

    Phil only stood there, his anger rising every time Takato spoke.

    “That's it?”

    “That's it.”

    The old army veteran laughed deep in his throat. “Let me get it organized right away.” He turned around and walked into the dark room, attempting to close the door behind him. Phil caught the door with his foot before it could close and walked in behind the man.

    The old war veteran's office was very open, with only a mid-sized desk in the center and a few file cabinets against the walls. On top of the desk sat folders and papers organized in various piles, as well as a lone desk lamp, the only source of light in the room.

    Phil began to finally let out his anger as the man sat down at his desk. “You can't say that you are actually going through with this, sir.”

    The man shuffled some papers around. “I am indeed. I at least owe that poor child a painless death.”

    “Sir, dealing with suicidal patients is my expertise. I can't just stand by and let you do this.”

    “You don't have a choice in the matter. Now get out of my office.”

    Phil walked up to the old man's desk and slammed his clenched fists on its top. “Just let my try! I can't just stand around while you let this person kill himself!”

    “No.”

    “At least give me a week with him! The people in this place don't need me even close to as much as this man does! I'm begging you!”

    “Get out of my face!”

    Phil did as he was told.

    “Only a week?”

    “Yes Sir.”

    “And if he still wants to go through with this after the week?”

    “I won't object.”

    The man sighed. “Okay, you can go through with your plan.” Then the war veteran stood. “But if you ever,” He stabbed Phil in the chest with his finger, “ever give me this kind of disrespect again you are going to be living on the street.”

    Phil could barely contain his joy. “Thank you so much sir!” He bowed, then made his way to the door, opening it and bowing to his employer again before leaving.

    Takato watched from his spot against the wall as an odd man practically skipped out the door. He learned several minutes later that he was to stay at the prison for the next week until his death could be organized.

    Phil stepped off the ferry trying to muster his confidence. The day after “the events” was tough on Phil, and when Takato and him finally agreed that Takato would write his whole life's story out in an attempt to convince even Phil that he should be dead, it made him even more nervous. Takato didn't even want to be seen as he typed away at the keyboard on the laptop issued to him by Phil himself. That meant that Phil had no clue if Takato realized that he was only overreacting about how bad his life really is, or it made him sure that he didn't want to live anymore.

    Takato's work was due today.

    As Phil walked down the long hallway to the prison cell they let Takato live in for the last week, a burly security guard walked up to him, asking his name. When Phil answered the man took out a laptop that was almost hidden under his huge arm. “I was ordered to give this to you.”

    Phil took the black rectangle and walked away as fast as he could, not wanting to take his chances being too close to the man who looked like he could be a bouncer at a club in a bad neighborhood every weekend. He went the long way to the cell where Takato was to be staying at, only to find to his surprise that the dark cinder block room was empty, without a trace of anyone ever being there.

    Curious, Phil sat down on the hard bed that was covered by a thin faded blue blanket. Sighing, he flipped open the netbook, holding down the power button until the screen turned a deep maroon. Soon the desktop showed. Two lonely word processing documents sat at the top right of the screen, one named “READ ME FIRST” and the other called simply “why”.

    Phil double-touched the first file on the screen with his finger. The letter opened speedily, and Phil began to read.

    Dear Dr. Conners,

    I am happy this has made it to you. In the last several days you have asked me a myriad of questions, many of which I have asked myself. The other file on the desktop, named “why”, will give you all of your answers. This, Dr. Conners, is the story of my horrible past. Even you will understand after you have read this. Hate me as I hate myself. Hope that when the sky bleeds in hell I feel the pain of all those who I have caused harm under the same blood enshrouded sky.

    Sincerely,
    ~Takato

    Phil closed out of the window, quickly tapping on the second file. Not wasting a second, he began to read.

    /End of prologue. Continued at http://romanceotaku.com/when-the-sky-bleeds-wtsb/