LMS – Regulation #6: “Apex”

I didn’t hear from the main office for quite a while. It was almost as if I was deliberately being ignored, passed over by the scanning, piercing gaze of authority. This had quite the positive effect on me.

Instead of spending the days pining away as I usually do, the destroyed campus gave me quite an electric atmosphere to bask in. Walking amidst uprooted trees and torn hills, I slowly replenished myself. My pace quickened, ever more and more, until I found myself running flat out, flying over hills and slipping across turns. As I neared the “Table”, I heard bass pounding, thudding through the damp air. A BMW 535i was parked next to it, doors open and speakers booming. Inside, a rather tubby, pale white teen with stereotypical asian eyes was sitting in the driver’s seat, pretending to drive, while a very, VERY fobby teen performed an odd dance in the passenger seat. I was practically FLYING now, so I leaped, aiming to jump over the car. Instead, I pierced through the windshield, landing in the backseat. The two individuals recoiled, screaming and shielding their faces from bits of glass. I regained my composure, and turned off the stereo. The tubby guy in the driver’s seat started screaming at me in a high-pitched voice and a badly executed gangster accent. 

“MUH-F*CK, WHAT Y’ALL THINK YA DOIN’ TA MAH BEEMER?” he screamed.

“YAHH, WHAT YOU DOING TO MY BEE-EM-DUBBOWYU?!” the FOB screamed in perfect harmony. Like Michael MacDonald, almost.

I raised both my hands, gesturing for them to calm down. “Pop open the trunk”, I said.

“WHAT? WHY, MUH-F*CK?!” The senseless screaming continued for quite a while.

“Trust me on this, I’m going to fix ‘your’ car”. I replied. The tubby one obliged unwillingly, and I stepped out of the back door, making my way to the trunk. Inside, I lifted the boot cover and pulled out a hydraulic jack. I carried it to the side of the car, and began jacking it up. 

“WHATDYA THINK YER DOIN’?!” The tubby one screamed. Again. “FIXING YOUR CAR” I screamed back. “Stay in the car, or else the balance will be messed up!”

The car was parked sideways on a hill, and I was jacking the car up from the side that was higher up on the slope. Within a minute, the car was perched precariously on two wheels. I gave it a good, solid kick, and it tumbled down the hill, kicking up tufts of grass. I then reached under the “Table” and pulled out the .45 that I kept under there for security reasons. Without aiming, I shot at the car, piercing the underbody and into the gas tank, causing the car to explode, jumping 10, 20 feet up into the air. I tossed the gun into the burning wreckage, and strutted away.

 

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

“Wait, wait. No. I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen” Lennon said testily.

“H-hold on” I told him, reaching for the light switch. A small lamp flickered on overhead, casting its glow on three bearded men standing amongst various articles of clothing. All three of them are looking dead ahead, at the closet door.

“So you’ve GOT to remember, this was seven years ago, so you can’t blame me if memory falls short.” I said.

“Yeah, well you certainly didn’t blow up some damned Bimmer” said the third man, donned in a fisherman’s hat. 

“Right, so what if I didn’t?” I retorted. “The details aren’t important!”

“So what really happened?”, Lennon asked.

 

I gave a small *ahem*

“Well…..”

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

So, truthfully, I didn’t blow up any cars. I did, however, make some new enemies. You see, I really WAS making my way along towards the Table, when a BMW 535i screeched along a service road, and stopped next to me.

“Yo faggot, what do you think yo’ doin’ on our turf?” a pale, tubby kid asked me in a poor gangster accent. “YEAH, FAGGOT!”, chimed in a FOB from the passenger seat. 

“I’ve got a question for you.” I said, bending down to look at the tubby kid face-to-face. “Do you think you can drive? Do you think you REALLY know a car?”

“Yeah, faggot, I do!” the tubby one screamed, his voice breaking.

“Move aside.” I commanded, pulling him out of the driver’s seat and throwing him in the back. I leaped into the driver’s seat, and my left foot stomped down, only to find that there was no clutch pedal. This tubby fellow drove an automatic transmission….

Making do with what I had, I decided to race across the school’s campus, taking a few shortcuts over hills and between buildings. The run-flat tires squealed in opposition, as I kicked the rear out while pulling into the main two-lane service road. 

“Why you driving all wierd-like, faggot?” the Tubby one asked. “YEAH, FAGGOT!”, the FOB chimed.

“I’M HITTING THE APEX, YOU FOOL!” I screamed, taking the Bimmer around an uncomfortably tight corner.

“APEX? HA, this faggot!” the tubby one screamed.  ”You hear that, Calvin? This faggot’s hitting the ‘APEX’!” 

I rammed my way up a hill, and launched into the air, and my passengers started screaming. Their screams were cut short, though, when the car jolted back onto earth and knocked the wind out of them. A flick of my wrist transmitted through the chassis, executing a Scandinavian Flick, causing both of them to fly against the side of the car. The car slid along the wet grass, kicking up a trail of uprooted grass behind it.

Having thoroughly frightened them, I made my way back towards the table, screeching to a stop next to the drink machines.

“Thanks for the ride, faggots.” I said to them, closing the door with a hefty kick.

The tubby one, trying to regain his composition, opened the back door and tumbled out onto the tarmac, screaming :”YOU JUST MESSED WITH THE WRONG B.A.M.F.S, MOFO! YOU MESSED WITH LOS MASCULINOS, AND WE GONNA KILL YOU. YOU WAIT, WE GONNA KILL YOU!”

“YEAH! KILL YOU!” the fobby one echoed, half-leaning out of a window.

 

“Los Masculinos” again. &@#$.

LMS – Regulation #5: I Smell a Scandal.. and Cheap Perfume

A storm was approaching Southern California. Specifically, the remnants of a Baja California Hurricane. TV stations went bonkers, blaring reports every half hour. The atmosphere was electric – and it energized me. My parents actually called me, screaming at me in a mixture of incomprehensible engsian (1) through the phone. “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. JUST LISTEN TO THIS!” I hollered, holding the phone up to the TV speakers. The NBC4 news was on.

Elita Loresca: “… so all you folks rest assured, because we’ll only be experiencing heavy rainfall, with slight winds – nothing like what Florida’s been getting…”

“Did’ya hear that, mom?” I said, before hanging up.

Of course she didn’t hear that. She was still screaming when I hung up.

 

I moved back to my kitchen stool, guitar-in-hand. Softly, unplugged on an electric guitar, I played out the melody to “Blackbird” by the Beatles. The music permeated through the room… emanating out into the grey world. 

- – - – - – - – - – - – - - 

It’s days like these that make me feel energized. I decided to take a walk, donned in an orange poncho. 

Slight wind swept across campus, bringing sweeping waves of misty rain. For the first time, in a LONG long time, the sprawling campus was empty. Most students and teachers were shacked up indoors, failing to appreciate the outstanding weather. 

A freshman came running across the grass with his Great Dane alongside. 

“HEY, WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” I shouted at him.

“NORVILLE!”, he replied. I pointed the way towards the dormitories, and told him to hurry up. “What are you doing out here, then?!” he asked.

“I’M SOLVING A MYSTERY!!” I yelled. Norville nodded knowingly, and scrambled comically towards the dormitories, his feet slipping on the muddy grass. I plodded on ahead towards the “Table”, disappearing into the mist.

- – - – - – - – - – - – -

My trusty poncho had served me well. I was relatively dry when I reached the “Table”. Someone – rather, Lennon, was sitting there. I tipped my head in greetings, and sat down on the table – partly because the chairs were wet, and partly because I preferred sitting like this. The rain swept gustily to greet us. 

There we sat – comedy gold. A tall asian in an orange poncho and a short white kid  sipping ice-cold colas in a rainstorm. Soon enough, I began to feel cold. The wind grew stronger, and the rain came down in big, fat droplets that could take your eye out. 

“Ayup. I guess I’d best be going now” I yelled over the wind. Lennon nodded, unfolded his umbrella, and strode away. Learning from him, I decided to take the table’s umbrella with me to shield me from rain.

It was massive – 5 and a half feet in diameter. I hoisted it over my right shoulder, effectively shielding me from the rain. My plan didn’t work out quite as well as I thought it would, though. A pause between gusts knocked the umbrella off balance, and before I knew it – the wind had picked up the umbrella in its grasps, with me holding on for dear life. I was tossed about in midair for a few seconds, before I saw a rapidly approaching building. I closed my eyes, and held on for dear life.

 

And ah- What luck! The wind directed me straight through a window, into an empty office.

Or at least I thought it was empty.

 

The headmaster stood in the shadows, holding a woman in his arms. The woman was skimpily dressed, but judging from the amount of fat and loose skin around her neck and arms, I’d say she was in her mid-fourties. And then I caught a whiff of her perfume. A gust of wind just to happened to direct a sample of her scent flying towards my face.

Oh, god. I was inundated by an explosion of cheap perfume inside my nose. It smelled metallic, sticky, and smoky – She smelled like a robot. 

Huckerhorn pushed her behind him, and reared on me. He lunged forward, right arm swinging wide for a hook – and I stepped in towards him, directing my palm into his chest. I stepped back, horrified, and scrambled the hell out of there.

 

Then I stopped, turned back – retrieved my umbrella- and then proceeded to run away.

 

(1) Engsian = A mixture of english and an Asian language of your choice. Like Spanglish.

 

LMS – Regulation #4: Fishing is a Man’s Soul (Harry Potter does it, why can’t I?)

A heavy wooden door slammed closed.

I was “helped” into a chair by two men with no eyebrows and short brown hair. “You may leave”, an old man with frizzy, silver hair said to the guards.

 

The headmaster gave me a solemn look across his grand, oaken table. “Do you know why you are here, Jack?”

“I could guess, yeah” I replied. – “It confuses me though. Rex is of no significance. All he does is hang around the dance studio, and harass girls. Why should I be castigated for disciplining him?”

“That is of none of your concern”.

 

The headmaster and I exchanged glares for a few seconds.

“Say, why do you have such a big desk?” I asked. ”I’m a busy man”, he replied.

“Your name’s Huckerhorn. Nobody would take you seriously.” I retorted. ”Might you be ‘overcompensating’ for something else with that desk of yours?”

I leaped off my chair as if electrified. An uncannily sharp dagger-shaped letter opener flew at me. “Sir!” I cried. “You’re not setting a good example!”

 

Vases, books, paperweights, and jars of paper clips chased after me as I fled the headmaster’s office.

 

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

 

Soon after my run-in with our headmaster, my Regulation license was suspended for two weeks. During that time, I found numerous other things to do. I wrote, I read, I drew, I played music, I listened to music, and I movie-hopped for days, amongst other things. Most importantly, I grew ever more and more lost. Work, along with my tendency to analyze, are my two sole constants. One cannot exist peacefully without the other. If I should work too hard, and forget to analyze, then I would fall into a pit of monotony, utterly unaware of my situation. Should I lose my “work”, I would analyze far too much and fall into a pit of confusion and depression. 

Upon the second to last day of my suspension, I discovered a set of fishing tackle formerly owned by my grandfather. Fishing probably couldn’t be THAT hard… I figured. I spent the rest of the night digging around for worms, in preparation for tomorrow morning. 

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

 

This morning started to the tune of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.

I had my fishing tackle, my headphones, my iPod, and a dorky hat. There didn’t seem to be any need for me to change my attire. Hell, I felt as if I could go to war wearing the same clothes I usually wear. Harry Potter does it, why can’t I?

The on-campus lake was regularly stocked with fish, and featured numerous fishing spots along with loaner boats. The lake was about half a mile wide, and 3/4 of a mile long. A light drizzle dampened the mood of the morning. I sat alone in a small boat, a lone figure in an orange poncho adorning the center of a gray world. A mist slowly began to set in. It rolled in inconspicuously. Before I realized, it had tightly clenched me within it’s grasp. I relished in this atmosphere, absorbing the mood.

Sitting here, alone in this small boat leaves oneself with an excess of time at hand. I did not contemplate, though. I did not analyze, I didn’t ponder, nor did I peruse through the archives of my mind. The atmosphere percolated through me, refreshing and renewing. There was no need for me to search for an answer – understanding came to me. 

And with that epiphany came a light tug on my line. I quickly reeled in my line, raising my rod above my right ear in an attempt to hurry up the process. A silvery flash caught my eye, making feeble splashes in the water.

I raised my catch to eye level, watching a small, small fish wriggle about. It was scarcely larger than my index finger, in both girth and length. His gills dilated and contracted, it’s feeble body yearning for fresh water.

Smiling to myself, I carefully freed the fish. 

That would be all for today.

 

 

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - -

 

Hidden by the fog, a figure bent over the dock. He looked into the depths of the water as a small silver fish flashed by beneath him. Wild black hair peeked out from beneath his fisherman’s hat. This was truly, a man in his natural element. 

LMS – Regulation #3 : Enter Rex

I awoke to a swelling pain in my left knee AND my left wrist. Glancing down, I saw an IV sticking into my arm. Upon closer observation, I noticed that whomever had IV’d me, they did it incorrectly and missed the vein. “Tch.” I ripped off the tape and pulled out the needle, setting it aside on a nearby table. I clambered out of the hospital bed, feeling an unusual breeze go between my legs just as I was about to climb out the window.

I paused, reconsidered, and clambered back into my room. Glancing around, I noticed my clothes neatly folded up on a chair.

 

…

 

So after putting on some respectable clothes, I proceeded to climb out my window. The door clicked behind me, and a nurse entered.

She gasped, dropped her clipboard, and stepped backwards out of the doorway.

“Wait,” I said. “How did I get here?”

“Well, er, you were found sprawled out in front of the main doors.” she replied.

“Awesome. Thanks.” I replied, before hopping down off the windowsill. My knee gave out again when I landed, but I rolled into it in order to save face.

Damn, I felt cool. Who the hell left me at the on-campus hospital’s doorstep, though?

 

 - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

 

Today was Wednesday. The one day of the week when I usually go to class. Today, I chose to go to Science Class. There was a laboratory experiment today. I instantly regretted my decision to take Science today.

For in the same class, was Rex – probably my sworn enemy. I say “probably” here because, well… He’s not exactly the most CUNNING of nemeses. Not the strongest, nor the most talented. Malice and delusion are all that he has. All in all, I only want to kill him very, very badly because he annoys me. 

He’s a real unique one, that he is. It’s hard to find people like him, who live in SUCH fabricated worlds, built from a structure of lies. He says he plays drums – HOWEVER, he gave away his drumset to his cousin. So does he really play drums? No, not as far as I’m concerned. He says he dances, but he doesn’t partake in any activities that involve dancing. So does he really DANCE? Not as far as I’m concerned.

YET, he insists that he dances, and that he plays drums. This type of behavior.. truly makes me want to crush his head. He arouses my Barbaric intent from deep within the double helix of my DNA. It gives me a hard time, especially when I have to carefully handle chemicals in a laboratory environment.

The science teacher was about as tall as I am. Pale skin, rather gaunt, with shockingly black hair parted in the middle. His name was Dr.Chape (pronounced  ”shape”), and he was unnaturally unsuspecting and imperceptive.

Today, the teacher assigned a girl named Dana as my partner, a paranoid, schizophrenic fangirl who’s blissfully unaware of the world. I believe the proper term to use in a situation like this… should be : “F.M.L.”, no? Meanwhile, Alex Rex was partnered up with some no-name freshman. 

It seems that today should be going well enough. Rex was unusually reserved today, and so was my partner. Dana was reserved in more of a “I don’t give a shxt about this project so you can just go do it” kind of way, though.

FML?

FML confirmed. I ended up doing the project by myself, whilst Dana talked to herself (or imaginary Visual Kei rockstars) at a corner of the lab table. 

Suddenly, without warning… My Rex radar went off. 

I looked up to see him “Hip-Bumping” one of my fellow Juniors. She yelped, and accidentally tipped over a beaker of water onto herself. I didn’t know the girl too well. All I knew was that she rode horses. But upon seeing Rex commit such atrocities before the all-seeing eye of (1)”Saujon”, my blood boiled like the water in my beaker. I calmed myself by taking a few deep breaths… – and snapping the clipboard I was holding in two. 

As the girl left the room, I saw Rex tail her, trying his best to look inconspicuous.

I raised my hand, showing the two pieces of the clipboard, and motioned outside at the teacher. He nodded. 

I swiftly ran out into the hallway, where I saw Rex disappearing behind a corner. My Rex Radar knew the way.

 

I was no longer human. I am a F1 car. I am the epitome of automotive technology, capable of producing over 3 G’s of force during cornering.

I blazed through the corner, and spotted Rex embracing the girl in an odd Heimlich maneuver. She caught my eye, an intensely worried expression on her face. I leaped, carefully avoiding a collision with both of them, and beaned Alex Rex in the head with my right fist. It happened all in slow motion. I saw ripples form on his skin spreading out from the point of contact. His mouth gaped open with a dull look in his eyes while his neck swung sideways.

(Back to normal speed)

The girl wrenched herself free, and I hastened her away. Alex, having now recovered, gave off an odd combination of yelp, squeal, and scream as he barreled towards me.

I wish I could have seen myself take action… I brought my right hand up, next to my shoulder, and then whipped it across Rex’s face. He abruptly changed direction, having been knocked off course by my disciplinary hand. Rex ran into a wall, bounced off, and lay in a heap on the floor, breathing heavily. I wasn’t done yet, however. 

I grabbed him by the front of his bright, lime green shirt and pulled him up to his feet. Grinning, I threw an uppercut into his chest, aiming for his solar plexis. His mouth gaped open, and I once again slapped his face aside, catching him by the scruff of his neck. Gasping sounds came out from his mouth, along with quite a bit of partially digested food. 

Considering my work done, I released him into his own vomit, and strutted away. In the distance, I heard bass booming, along with the faint words : 

“You know how the Dogg roll, don’t get it twisted ’cause he bang out the East just in case you wanna visit…”

 

 

Notes:

(1) “Saujon” is a reference to “Sauron”, the all-seeing eye of Sauron that looms above Mordor in “The Lord of the Rings”.

LMS – Regulation #2: Lennon Whitley

I began my investigation on a bad day.

After waking up in the morning, I went to my dorm shower and hit my head on the bar running across the top of the stalls. I hit it hard enough to cut open my scalp. Too bad I didn’t notice before I washed my hair. So, after quite a bit of cursing and kicking, I rinsed the blood away and walked back to my dorm with blood trickling down my back.

I leaned over my iPod speakers, about to play some music in the morning, when a trickle of blood dripped off my cheek, and fell into the speakers, shorting them out. I cursed, and threw the speakers out the window, screaming mindlessly and scaring quite a number of Freshmen.

 

- – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – - – -

 

The air was cool and brisk as I walked out of the dormitory doors. I had a simple track jacket on, perfect for the weather. On the way out, I noticed the wreckage of my iPod speakers on the lawn. The shape of my iPod stood solid, amidst the jumble of plastic and wiring. It seemed to have escaped my wrath unscathed. I picked it up, went back indoors, and got my headphones.

Today’s investigation started to the tune of David Bowie.

 

I first visited numerous sites across the campus, where the letters “LMS” had been scrawled onto the walls. These areas were primarily staircases – High traffic areas, no doubt. I spent the rest of my morning questioning several students, to no avail. The “Men” were doing a good job of keeping it on the down-low. Having tired of searching about, I took my lunch hour at my favorite table on the East edge of campus. It was a circular wooden picnic table, worn smooth from years of use. Now, however, I was its only regular occupant. The crowds that once loitered here had moved on, leaving behind only names and symbols etched into the wood. Nearby, a pair of vending machines stood next to a bench, along the side of a small path leading here. I perched on the edge of the table, crouched in a relaxed pose. My neck began to stiffen up, and I looked up towards the sky to try and relax my neck muscles.

A thunk echoed from nearby, followed by another thunk. I sat up, and saw a rather short caucasian teenager with glasses approaching me, a can of Coca-Cola in each hand. 

“S’your name?”

“Lennon,” he replied. “Lennon Whitley”.

“What brings you here on this fine day?” I asked.

“Well, I should ask you the same thing.” he said, as he offered me a Coke, while pulling out a Twix bar from his pocket.

 

An awkward silence followed.

 

Only the rush of wind through the nearby trees, and the crinkle of a Twix wrapper disturbed our stubborn silence. I finished my Coke, thanked him, and went on my way. Within 500 feet of the Table, I spotted a group of teenagers loitering around the stairwell entrance of the Abandoned East Edge Laboratory. “HEY, YOU!” I hollered, breaking out into a sprint. My legs swung out beneath me, propelling me forward at astonishing speeds. I felt my body lighten, and my legs speed up. Before I knew it, I went down a hill practically flying. The truants saw me approaching, and quickly fled into the building. The metal door slammed shut with a resounding THUD. I dashed up to the door, only to find it locked. I kicked and rammed to no avail – There was something barring the door from behind. So, I ran to the back of the building, breaking in through a window.

I emerged into a former science classroom, bereft of chairs, containing only a mosaic of fixed laboratory tables. Feeling adventurous, and (dare I say) – daring, I planted one hand onto a table and vaulted myself over.

My beautiful plan hit a snag, though. Instead of flawlessly executing a Parkour maneuver and looking extremely cool, my foot hit the corner of the table mid-flight, causing me to fall down awkwardly on my left knee. My eyes watering in pain, I pulled myself up and hobbled out of the classroom, headed for the stairwell. 

It turned out to be empty as well. Cursing and spitting, I began my slow descent down the stairs.

After having taken a flight of stairs rather well, I grew a tad bit more confident, and sped up my descent. That’s when I came down onto my knee at a wrong angle, lost all energy in my legs, and tumbled down headfirst. My noggin’ struck the edge of the hand rail, and I was knocked out cold.

LMS – Regulation #1: Of Montecito.

Rumours spread across the campus. Soft whispers of a rebellious group of youths were murmured in dark corners, empty alleyways, and scribbled across the walls. This behavior was brought to the eyes of the Regulatory Student Council – the department in which I serve. 

I fancy myself a peacemaker. A Cop, in a way, although I’d like to be referred to as a Sheriff. Sheriff… of Montecito Hills Academy. 

The school that I attend, Montecito Hills Academy, is the largest, most influential school west of the Mississippi river. Our high school section alone has over 13,000 students currently attending. When combined with the Middle school and Elementary school branches, we number over 30,000 strong. The High School section has an elite student body, consisting of the school’s top students, best athletes, and the children of highly influential people. Benefits are granted to this “Upper Echelon”. Our school has it’s own private governing body, exercising jurisdiction over school grounds. Numerous crimes have been committed by the Upper Echelon, but legal action has not been taken – due to the fact that all crimes were committed on-campus. 

I could give less of a horse’s ass about that though. I only serve under the Regulatory Student Council for the benefits. I, myself, hold a rather prestigious position – Sophomore President of the Regulatory Student Council. It works out pretty well for me. I get easy girls, free food, easy grades, and all the free time in the world.

Sort of.

I’ve still got superiors, and they occasionally order me to investigate into occurrences which might threaten the authority of the School’s governing body. 

This time, I was to look into an improperly classified “gang group organization” called “Los Masculinos”.

“The Men”, eh?

LMS – Prologue

This is a tragedy. A tale of several brave men, many of whom fell whilst facing adversity. I, myself, am one of the few survivors of the “Gopez Crackdown”, or the “Extermination”. But don’t worry, the resistance still lives. In order to properly comprehend the situation, you must first study the history of our former organization, “Los Masculinos”. 

This is a tale of rebellion; of hate, of betrayal, of greed and desire, of rivalries, of camaraderie, and of youth. I present to you…

“Los Masculinos” – “The Men”.