Chapter 15: SAINT PABLO PT.1

  “.yats syawla seno thgir eht tuB .efil ruoy ni og dna emoc lliw elpoeP”

  September 23rd, 1989.

  Panting filled the air.

  The clock read 8 AM.

  Link II ran through the streets, hoping not to get caught by police or gangbangers and indoctrinated into the cult-like status of dealing drugs.

  The other kids at the local parks looked at him with confusion as he passed by.

  Yet their parents understood the dangers of the city, knowing the crack epidemic was far from over.

  Running, his feet echoed throughout the noisy cars that drove by.

  His mind was in a panic after the brutal fight against the gang members that jumped him.

  Each gunshot that took place, each fist that he tried to dodge, each grab onto his arms and wrists, he could remember it all.

  Even his torso having slight bruising and hand marks from the attempts at grabbing Link II.

  Eventually stopping into a clothing store; seeing its main gimmick, a hybrid store.

  Selling clothes but at a cheap price, also selling the adult versions of CDs, like Straight Outta Compton by N.W.A. Or The Iceberg by Ice T.

  Hiding behind the coats section of the store, Link II had noticed that many of the clothes he was hiding in.

  The fabric was designed well, the issue being that the design of the clothes had stitched random patches of different colors and fabrics all over.

  Almost like it had delicate care but not enough materials to make the full coat.

  Smelling like that new clothing smell that Link II never got to smell.

  Slowly stepped out of the racks, seeing the clock in the building to be 8:20.

  Checking if there was anyone else chasing him down, glancing at the windows near the entrance.

  But suddenly…

  “Hey Kid! Whatchu’ hiding from?”

  Quickly turning behind, Link II heard these words, instantly calming down when seeing the cashier at the counter.

  Their concerned and confused look as to why a 6-year-old boy would hide in a coat rack.

  Link II stared back with slight confusion as to why he would care about a boy like him.

  A few seconds later, Link II winced in pain, feeling a sharp knife like feeling in his leg again.

  The same pain that reminded him of the crash from almost a year ago.

  Glancing down at his legs, he noticed a bullet wound in his calf, besides the almost hidden stitches in his knee.

  The pain finally kicked in.

  Falling to the floor with a loud thump.

  His arms reached towards the door, trying to crawl away struggling to ignore the throbbing pain.

  The cashier immediately rushed over and lifted him onto a nearby chair that was on display.

  Just as the cashier went to pat him, Link II pulled out a Glock 19, thinking he wanted to either hurt him more or touch him inappropriately.

  The cashier slightly flinched, but pulled out a .357 magnum in the same amount of time that Link II did.

  They both stood at a Mexican standoff, both guns glistening in the air of dueling and fear.

  Both men and boy shed a single sweat tear from their heads, focusing on each other's weapons and triggers.

  They stood there for what felt like hours, till Link II silently muttered.

  “...are you here to kill me like the bad men did?”

  Instantly, the cashier almost broke his guard at his voice, not because of the fear, but his heart breaking at seeing a kid so desperate.

  Not like any other kids he found in the streets who wanted fame, riches, and bad bitches.

  Hesitantly, the cashier spoke.

  “No, I'm not here to kill you, but why are you running?

  But doesn't a man deserve an answer before you shoot him, I say?”

  Link II nodded hesitantly, and both of them slowly withdrew their weapons and put them in their pockets.

  The air filling with slow calmness.

  The cashier tilted his head, asking if he could pat him so he could check if there were no more wounds.

  Link II nodded, his eyes still looking down in meekness, almost in weakness.

  The cashier did so, and during this, he made conversation with Link II.

  Trying to reaffirm him as a friend rather than foe, “The Name's Garvin, by the way.”

  The cashier spoke, telling his name to the boy.

  “So, kid… what's your name? And, what's with the stitches on your leg?”

  Link II stayed silent for a moment before speaking meekly, almost hesitantly: “Name's Link… Link Duckworth The Second.”

  Link II had used a surname that he came up with because he didn't really have a full name without at least one surname behind ‘The Second’.

  As Garvin took care of the wound, almost surgically, he spoke.

  “So, are you gonna tell me where you got those stitches or you gonna keep dodging the question?”

  As Link II hesitantly asked back.

  “Why should I tell you? You wouldn't really care about a kid like me-”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Before being interrupted by Garvin.

  “Kid, I know that.

  Most of the kids I find in the streets barely care for themselves.

  So tell me, who gave you those stitches and how did you even get the money to afford them?”

  While Link II sighed, not liking the questions about his past “And what's your plan if i tell you? You gonna try and sell me out to the gangsters or those CPS fuckers?”

  Garvin fought back, asking more questions that the both of them were dodging.

  “Kid, what's the big deal with you? You treat everyone around you like they want to kill you-”

  Just as Link II fought back.

  “Probably ‘cause they want to.

  Have you ever seen these fuckers around town, Garvin?

  They want to kill. Garvin.

  It doesn't fucking matter if I'm 6 years old or a bumbling 40 year old, they will kill anyone at this point.

  …just because a young kid like myself is ‘a danger to their business’ all because they don't want to be arrested for sellin’ dope to suicidal addicts.

  Why do you think it's so hard to trust anyone here in this hellhole, Garvin?”

  His eyes slowly turned back to tears.

  “Isn't the answer obvious, Garvin, you random stranger?

  I have no one but myself…”

  Garvin was stunned.

  Not because he spoke similarly to those gangbangers in the streets, but rather he knew this kid survived way more than he ever could.

  But his glistening eyes made his heart break even more, believing maybe that this kid killed before.

  He stared at Link II, understanding that the kid may be damaged beyond repair, but also had to worried about himself and his child hiding in the back of the shop.

  While Link II sat, waiting patiently for any moves or judgment on him.

  So, Garvin stood between sides, wanting to protect his own son from the dangers of the streets.

  …but also seeing a kid with the mind of an adult, but the potential of an artist.

  Wanting both to survive the streets and make it somewhere rather than just dedicate his life to the streets, unlike himself.

  Garvin was an ex-gang member who actively participated in gang activity.

  Later, he decided to stop and leave his gang life to settle down and have a kid.

  Secretly participating back into gang activity to gain extra money so both him and his son could thrive in the town of sin.

  Sighing to himself, silently knowing the kid would run away in fear, but wishing it didn't have to be that way.

  “So, kid, what are you gonna do if I do tell CPS officers?”

  Link II sat, thinking of something to persuade him not to tell the cops nor CPS.

  Pulling out $1,000.

  Throwing it to the floor and bolting away, hoping that Garvin didn't tell anyone about him.

  Garvin was shocked at this amount of generosity, giving $1,000 just for some blackmail.

  Not wanting this, but thinking about the ways he could profit from this.

  The fabrics he could get to make better profits so that he and his son could get out of this hellish place.

  But then again, he saw a chance, maybe to save that kid from hell.

  Rethinking for a moment how bad profiting off of a 6-year-old might sound to other companies around him.

  So secretly disguising the 1,000 dollars as an order for clothes of every kind, coats, sweaters, socks, etc.

  Something to give to him once he returned to the shop.

  To return so he could offer a safer home than whatever he lived in.

  September 24st, 1989.

  Link II sat in boredom watching the TV yet again.

  This time watching the news of more black teens and adults combined getting arrested for distributing “Cocaine.”

  Secretly knowing how the cops planted the evidence.

  Everyone knew, but they couldn't do anything.

  The smirks on each white officer's face, the kids' wide-eyed expressions on them, stuck in a midlife crisis between them committing the crime and admitting it.

  Trying to deflect the planted evidence, or taking responsibility for something they didn't do.

  As he kept watching, he took note of two things being common with the framed people.

  They didn't know how to fight, nor a successful alibi.

  Link II had already been studying in high level colleges in secret.

  Still, by this time, he was already halfway through college with many degrees being accessible but not granted to him.

  Knowing the second best option, self-defense.

  So with little ideas on how to start training self-defense, he took to the books.

  Reading some like Guns for Beginners, gunsmithing, etc.

  Just the overall history of guns from the average Glock 19 to rifles and Submachine guns.

  Even reading the handbook for long-range and short-range shooting.

  After reading these books for about 2 hours, around 1 PM, Link II decided to begin the process of making a shooting range.

  Something that was mentioned in one of the books…

  But didn't know how or where to start.

  So he explored the house to find any areas that seemed slim enough to shape into a shooting range.

  Obviously taking off the rooms as an option, not wanting to see more bullet holes ruin more of his home.

  He looked in the attic and cellar, but they had the pipes of the toilets and weren't very ideal for a shooting range.

  Leaving only the garage and the concrete floor.

  And so, decided to take the material of the concrete floor and make a hole in it.

  Making it lead lower of the house, having to dig through the planted dirt and foundation of the house.

  Not taking as long due to Link II's abilities of super speed.

  Mapping out the room while the dirt fell on him, having to build the new fountain of the huge room on top of that.

  Around 3 PM, the room was made.

  10,000 square feet.

  Link II could finally plan where each section of the self-defense training would be.

  Firstly, he needed to summon a gun.

  He decided to use his abilities to generate a common handgun that was used in the streets.

  a Glock 19.

  Using a picture example to recreate the internal mechanics of the gun.

  The magazine and its slot, its recoil effects and the barrel of the gun.

  He took his hand out and began to create.

  The oils and coils formed around his hand, the metallic feeling of weapons came to mind when it came to recreating the weapon.

  Including the smell of gunpowder when creating the bullets in addition.

  And out came a pristine Glock 19.

  Black paint.

  The trigger and its socket.

  And the safety trigger on the side of it.

  Link II looked down at his hands, seeing the perfectly recreated weapon in his hand.

  Setting up the targets next to the metallic walls on the side.

  Diverging the other parts of the room so it doesn't destroy his work.

  Pulling the weapon up to eye length, remembering the three things the handbook told him to do when preparing to fire.

  One, to aim anywhere but yourself or another person, to think of the gun as an invisible laser.

  Two, to pull the slide back once the magazine is loaded in.

  Making sure the magazine was loaded in, he pulled back the slide, hearing the click of the sound of a bullet entering the weapon.

  Sounding like a light switch.

  Three, prepare for the knockback.

  Link II prepped his hands, one on the trigger and the other on top of it.

  Holding it from the knockback he was about to experience, as he pulled the trigger…

  Nothing happened.

  After hours of work, nothing happened.

  No bullet was fired.

  No gunpowder went off

  Not even a push was felt when he pressed the trigger.

  Aggressively trying again and again, but still nothing worked.

  He felt something in his mind, a little voice saying.

  “Back away, now.”

  Link II had heard it, but was hesitant, so he set the Glock 19 down gently on the floor.

  Walking back upstairs to grab the history of guns book to make sure he got the diagram right.

  Each step echoing like chalk on concrete.

  Looking back, he saw the concrete staircase he had made back up to the house from the garage.

  Walking back into the house, Link II quickly grabbed the book.

  Peering at the design, he realised the magazine was supposed to be separate from the gun itself, not attached to the weapon.

  Soon realizing his mistake, an explosion happened downstairs.

  While Link II realized how close he was to death if it was gonna explode like that.

  Imagining how it could've blown off a part of his head if possible, even just kill him on the spot.

  Having no parent to reassure him or point out how safe he really was.

  So he began to panic a little with tears, his mind was busy rationalizing what could've been.

  Eventually sinking to the floor, crying his heart out while his mind kept reminiscing on what happened.

  His arms and legs flailing around like a baby, his mind acting completely normal in comparison to his childlike body having a fit.

  A few moments later, the mirror of the damned appeared in the mortal realm in front of him.

  A soul reached out towards him and slapped him, grabbing his collar and yelling.

  “DAMN IT CHILD, CAN YOU STOP FUCKING SCREAMIN IN OUR EARS FOR 29 SECONDS?!”

  Link II immediately went quiet and listened to what the soul needed to say.

  Shyly admitting.

  “I-I'm sorry I whined… I was just afraid of dying alone…”

  While the soul, already feeling the guilt of yelling at a six year old, continued.

  “Alright, kid, look. I'm sorry for yelling at you, but to be fair, you do whine like a bitch.

  But anyway, you're gonna let a single explosion get to you?

  You're a kid, you got plenty of time to learn, and while Samuel may or may not be at rehab, you still have some souls in this DAMNED mirror with you.

  Good luck, kid…

  By the way, we still hate you.”

  Disappearing right after.

  Link II got up and walked back down to the concrete bunker, seeing the leftovers of the explosion.

  A small residue of gunpowder and charcoal.

  Now looking content, Link II realized the flaw in his recreation.

  And focused on recreating it again, without the magazine and how to remove the recoil from the gun.

  Hours later, the clock in the base read 7 PM.

  Link II was running around crazy, aiming each shot on the targets perfectly with the handgun.

  Having lots of fun, now being able to defend himself in the streets.

  His smile felt more real every time he shot, like a Gatsby smile every time he shot.

  Playing around now with a shotgun, instead of a handgun.

  Perfectly working like a regular gun, with the benefit of no knockback.

  Now being able to integrate a knockback spell into the weapon itself, rather than to constantly cast a spell every time he used a gun.

  Enthusiastic about his newfound hobby, even if it wasn't a very healthy one.

  It would be a thing that would save him from the streets.