What's black and white and read all over?

The city of Angels.
    California.

Michael Rickman stood smiling  at his boss who had been hen pecking him for the last twenty minutes.

“Look I know you worried, but I’m really close to breaking this story.” Said Michael, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest, taking off his fedora and laying it down on the desk beside him.

“You’ve already got a story here, you discovered the mob in running Roxxon Chemicals,” argued William White, a taller twenty years Michael’s senior, balding and overweight.

“But I haven’t discovered the why, or where they’ve been dumping the runoff, I only know they’ve been illegally dumping the runoff somewhere out in the dessert.” Said Michael, who held strong resemblance to James Dean.

“Who cares where they’re dumping it, it’s the damn dessert, and nothing’s alive out there anyway.”

“No,” Michael retorted, “There’s plenty of life in the desert, it’s a delicate ecosystem, one that deserves protecting. Plus, if we break the story about the mob and how they’ve been dumping toxic, and radioactive chemicals in the desert, which could have a great and very far reaching effect. Plus it’ll add more time on their sentencing.”

“Michael!” William shouted, red faced, “This is the Mob, have you even thought about what they’d do to you if they find out you’re a reporter? Do you think they’ll even let you live long enough to see their trial once this story breaks?”

  Michael shrugs, unimpressed, “First I’m an investigative reporter under deep cover and I’m close to breaking the rest of the story here wile open, besides think about the paper s it’ll sell.”
William frustrated, could only shake his head, “You’re going to get yourself killed, and I’ve already sunk enough money in this cover of yours, I’ve let you do this for 18 months and I still don’t have anything to publish.”

“You will…” Michael assured him with a smile, “have I ever steered you wrong before, haven’t my stories sold more papers then any of the others combined, and besides it won’t be too much longer now. As I said I’m very close.”

“How close?” William demanded.

Michael sighs, giving him a small shrug of his shoulders, giving the older man time to calm himself before giving himself a heart attack. “A day, two at the most, I’ve finally gotten their trust and the boss may have mentioned he wanted me to the see the rest of the operation.” Explained Michael.”

“Why didn’t you start with that?” William shouted. “Well, to be honest, it’s always been fun to see you get all worked up.” Michael says with a smirk.

“You’re going to be the death of me Rickman, I can already see it now…but wait, last we talked you hadn’t managed to make any headway. How’d you get so chummy so quickly?”

“Well…” Michael says with a shrug, I may have saved his life from a hit.”

“A hitman? I don’t like this at all, tell them you quit and let’s get you out of this before it’s too late…” Said William.

“Relax…” Michael sighs, “I hired the hitman…”

“You hired your own hitman?” William argued.

“Well, not for me, but for the man in charge...and since I kinda hired him I knew when to make my move and save his life before his aim could strike true.”

“Wait…that advanced you asked me for, you used it to hire a hitman?” William asked.

“Well...half…I  had to pay the half up front naturally, but luckily the Marcus’s men moved in and took him out. So I didn’t have to pay him the other half.” Michael elaborated.

“Don’t you feel any remorse over getting a man killed?” William asked.

“No, not really,” Michael shrugs, “He was a murderer, and a bad man. Who got killed by other bad men, who’ll end up going prison for a very long time thanks to me, a reasonably good man,” He says with a smile.

Will places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.
"Fine, alright, you win. I'm giving you two more days, then I'm cutting you off rather you wise up and get out or don't. You're the best damn reporter I've ever seen and I would hate to lose you, but this whole mess you got yourself in is taking years off my life." With that Will turns and storms to the door where he hesitates.
"And need I remind you, it's not just my paper you're putting at risk with all of this, it's my and my families life. You don't have anyone these guys can go after, but I do. So you better give me first look at your evidence and the story before you even think of passing it along the the cops."

"You want to leak the story to your rivals?" Michael asks, indignant.

"Don't be absurd," William snaps, "Just parts of it, they'll still have to read our paper to get the full story and details, but maybe if we spread the wealth around a bit no one would suspect it was you, or anyone at the paper." He says, reaching for the door and pulling it open.
"Just try not to get yourself killed." William says, making Michael think the old man was actually genuine about caring for him like a son. Before he disappears into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him.

Michael nods, "Two days?" I can work with that."

Michael turns to his bathroom, or his improvised darkroom, a knock on his door stops him in dead in his tracks and with a half smile he calls, "Don't tell me you forgot your keys again?" Michael asks, glancing over the documents he pilfered from Roxxon, and some of the photos he managed to take of some of the companies other illegal activities.

"Open up Miles." Called the voice from the other side, causing Michael to curse under his breath. The voice belonged to Blue, Marcus's right hand, who also the muscle and the company's hit-man. It wasn't unusual, Blue's visits were a relatively common occurrence over the past year.  

"Damn..." Michael whispers, quickly shuffling the files and pictures into drawers, and scattering various other dime books and papers across his desk that Blue often found boring.

"C'mon we don't have all day Miles." He called again, which was always reassuring to hear for it meant his cover was still intact.

"I'm coming, just making myself more presentable." Michael calls out, glancing to his darkroom door, debating on grabbing his still developing photos or to keep them there. He instead quickly opts to simply lock the bathroom door and pray he wouldn't insist on using the bathroom during his stay.

Hurrying to the door, he takes a moment to center himself before opening the door. But the surprise on his face was genuine when he saw Marcus was with him. Which was reason enough to be suspicious, but he hid the reaction well and simply smiled as Blue pushes past him with a hand tucked inside his jacket, undoubtedly gripping the handle of the gun he kept holstered there. Michel barely afforded Blue more than a glance as the professional killer  took several steps into his small apartment, giving the place a quick look around.

"Marcus! It's great to see you." Michael says with a smile.
"Well it is thanks to you that I'm still here Mr. Miles and figured I'd do you the courtesy of thanking you in person."

"Hey, i told you, I don't need any thanks, besides Blue did all the hard work."

"But still," Marcus says, "If it weren't for your quick thinking and reflexes I would have shot dead, which is why I'd like to take you out and show you something I know you've been dying to see." He smiles.

Michael's smile hadn't faltered while on the inside he could feel his heart leap against his breast. This was bad, real bad and everything about this impromptu visit seemed and felt wrong, and hearing Marcus's last statement caused his blood to run cold.

“Well I appreciate the gesture and the gratitude sir…” He says looking around the room, wishing to damn Blue would stop moving around his apartment, casually looking at his belongings. “But it’s really a bit late, and it’s been a long day, I was actually going to call it a night if you don’t mine.”

“But we’ve came all this way Mr. Rickman, and we’d hate to leave without showing you what you’ve been dying to see,” say Marcus frowning.
That one did it. Michael’s smile falters for bit fraction of a second, and his heart begins racing, not sure how much they knew, but hoping it wasn’t noticed and that he could somehow lie his way out of this.
“Rickman? Am I supposed to know who that is?” He asks, a moment before he feels the iron pressing into his back.
“Don’t patronize me Michael, “Marcus says his tone hardening, “We know exactly who you are.”
“I don’t understand, what is this all about?” Michael demands summoning all the false bravado he can muster. “No more games,” He says, raising a hand to his shoulder.
“That dame at the bar sold you out,” Blue growls, then leaning into his ear, “I always knew there was something not quite right about you, but still, I loved you like a brother and here you were about to betray the family like this. But could be worse, you could have been a cop and I would skinned you alive myself.”
Michael had no comments, all he could was close his eyes and curse Melissa, she was an ex, who was too vain and money grubbing for his taste, but now he suppose he could add vindictive to the list of her negative qualities.
“Now come with us Mr. Rickman, you saved my life, I’ll give you that and it’s the only reason why I’m not letting Blue here just shoot you and watch you bleed out all over your floor.” Marcus explains.

“So does this mean you’re not going to give that order?” Michael asks and despite what his common sense is telling him, he was admittedly curious about what it was they wanted to show him. He suspects that whatever it is, it’d be a scare tactic, scare him off the story and make him turn in all his evidence backing said story. Something he’d pretend to reluctantly to comply with, just long enough to catch his breath and find a safer way to break it that wouldn’t result in his immediate death.
“Relax Michael, if I were going to you’d be dead already. No, I’m going to show you the dumping grounds, which you’ve been so cleverly trying to uncover. Then we call discuss your future.”
Michael lets out a nervous breath, the fact that Blue hadn’t bothered to pull the gun from his side wasn’t lost on him, so he takes the only avenue available to him.
“Alright then, let’s go.” Michael agrees.

Michael’s heart never stomps thumping wildly against his ribs as he follows Marcus out of his apartment and to his car. Michael’s instincts begin screaming at him to run now, while his common sense told to not get into the car. But feeling’ Blue’s hand clasp his shoulder followed by the touch of the barrel into his lower back compelled him cooperate.

Sighing, he opens the rear passenger side door and climbs in, not surprised to see someone else who he didn’t know sitting against the opposite door, with a gun on his lap.

“Get in.” Blue says annoyed.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Michael glances up at Marcus who was watching him from the front passenger side door with a hint of curiosity in his features.
“Get in Mr. Rickman.” Marcus said patiently, with almost reassuring smile.
Still Michael hesitated study Marcus’s composure and body language and be well aware of the numerous guns that were on him. Even though it was just two so far, he knew they were still two more guns on him than he actually had on his person. Realizing he really had no other choice, he reluctantly climbs into the backseat with Blue climbing in after him with a crooked smile on his lips.
“I always knew there was something about you,” Admitted Blue.
“That’s enough,” Marcus ordered climbing into the front of the car and pulling his door shut behind him. “Let’s take him to the site,” Marcus says to the driver.
As the car pulls away from the curb Michael considers trying to fight back, to wrestle the gun from the goon on the left, shoot Blue, hell maybe even shoot Marcus and the driver then hope for the best.
“Heh, this one’s different, most are at the crying and begging this stage when they get this far.” Said the goon to his Michaels left, who he names skunk breath, and who’s statement made him feel even more unease.
“five bucks says he’ll be crying and begging soon enough,” Says Blue, playfully elbowing Michael in the arm, “Once the denial wears off.
That statement he liked even less, but he smiles despite the gnawing fear in the pit of his gut.

Michael not having anything else to do, resides himself to keeping his head straight, watching as the car ate away the miles, he had over an hour to consider his options. He wasn’t dead, so that was a plus and he knew Marcus well enough to know he doesn’t usually meet with anyone he wants dead, he usually just sends a hit-man or two, or in some cases he would send in Blue. And with Blue was with them now, which was bad. The Goon pressed in to his left was also bad. Driving miles out into the desert, also bad, yet he was still alive which was good, it meant he still had options. He would just have to wait for an opportunity and play whatever hand he has left very, very carefully. That is if he even had anymore hands to play.

Even still, Michael could feel his heart leap against his ribs as the car finally slowed and turned to drive several miles off road. Forcing Michael to fight the urge to begin looking around out the windows for possible landmarks.

Finally the car slows to a stop and Marcus and Blue open their doors in unison, followed shortly by the goon. Who Michael couldn’t help but notice still had a gun trained on him.

“Out of the car, Mr. Rickman,” Ordered Marcus, without looking back, as he stands outside his car, straitening his suit.

With a sigh, he Michael does his best to calm his nerves as he climbs out of the Car and Blue’s side. Albeit the recent revelation of their relationship and how Blue now claimed to have never liked him, he still trusted him more than he did the Goon.

“What is this? Why did you bring me here?” Michael asks, with all the false bravado he could muster, sounding almost convincing.

“We’re here, because this is the site you’ve been trying so very hard find.” Marcus says.

“The dump site?” Michael asks, stepping forward, and eyes already scanning the desert floor. It takes him a minute to notice the barrels under a desert camo blanket that had been pulled over what Michael could only guess was a man made hole in the desert ground.

“I don’t see why this is what you’ve been so concerned with.” Blue snaps.

“The Ecosystem….” Michael answers.

Marcus laughs.

Blue smiles and shakes his head, “This is a desert, what ecosystem, nothing can survive out here, which is why we chose this area.”

“You’re wrong, the desert is actually a very balanced system, and there’s life here. Things that can only survive and live here in the desert.”

“Well not you…” Marcus says, and Michael turns, feeling the color drain from his face just a moment before he here’s the thunderclap staggers back as he feels something hard slam into his gut.

Michael’s hand goes to his stomach, and as he pulls it away bloody, bringing his shaking hand to his eyes, before letting his eyes shift to Blue still holding the gun he held out at hip level like a quick shooter.

“You were going to ruin me, drag my name through the dirt, bring the law down on me, over a fucking desert!” Marcus snarls.

“You stupid rat, I still can’t believe you’re a damn reporter.” Blue says, bringing the gun up and aiming it at Michael’s head.

“No,” Marcus orders, let him bleed out, leave him to die in his oh so precious desert.” Marcus says. Turning to get back into his car, followed by the Goon and Blue who smiles at Michael before climbing back into the backseat of the car.

Michael watches stunned, pressing his palm to his stomach and feeling his mouth go dry as the car and Marcus drives away, heading back the way they had came.

Cursing, he Michael sighs, and turns taking a good long look at the camouflage tarp, and the barrels beneath it.
“No…” He breathes turning and taking a step in the direction the car had disappeared when he collapses into the scorching sands.

Pushing himself back up he sees a small scorpion crawl onto the back of his hand, where it sits for a moment as Michael debates what to do, knowing he doesn’t have the time to be careful and attempts to clumsily swat the scorpion away when it stings him. Cursing he rips his hand away, feeling something else crawling up his thighs, panicked, he tries to swat them away without looking when he feels two more stings.

“Jesus!” He screams flailing backward and as he falls back against the sand, he feels more of them crawling on him, across his body, followed by their many, many stings. Screaming, he has the idea that he had fallen in some kind of scorpion nest and as he bats and claws them away, as dozens more crawl over him. He screams again and fights his way to his feet and begins running haphazardly away from the nest, still feeling dozens of them crawling all over him, unable to feel any more of the stings, as his vision blurs, and he begins struggling to catch his breath. When he falls again, this time he finds himself being swallowed by the sand, which seems to drag him down, filling his mouth and nostrils with sand, before he falls several feet into cavern, and splashes down into the shallow underground river. The water quickly replaces the sand and he couldn’t help but to swallow a mouthful of the foul, chemical tasting water before he manages to half claw, half swim across the river, even though it was shallow enough for him to wade through if he had the strength before collapsing on the cold, hard shore of the cave, which Michael finds oddly soothing before blacking out.

Slowly, regaining consciousness with his entire body racked with pain, Michael slowly pushes himself up onto his knees, every movement send fresh pain lancing through body, his back throbbing. He brings his a hand to his stomach, surmised he wasn’t still bleeding, but if was he quickly surmised that he would have bled to death. Grateful for small favors, Michael climbs shakily to his feet, swaying as he stands, letting his stomach go to his stomach; afraid he’d tear or rip whatever it was that kept him from bleeding out.

Taking a moment to take in his surroundings, he finds the river has a dim bio-luminance glow, which he begins to follow, step by agonizing step, his feet ached, his vision blurred and his flesh felt like it was crawling with thousands and thousands of ants. Feeling out of breath, he wonders, staggering, through the cave, his mind turning to a single, simple task. Revenge and he would have his no matter what and its revenge that burned in him now, driving him, giving him the strength to keep going and not give up, to not simply lay down and die, so he walks, stumbles and staggers his way through the cavern, stopping periodically to lean against the cavern wall, as he rests. He doesn’t to sit or lay down out of fear he’d wouldn’t have the strength or the will to stand again.

It takes him a little over an hour before he’s rewarded by a small beam of sunlight filtering through the cavern wall. Hurrying to the shaft of light, he presses his hand against its rim, feeling it give away, much like dried mud, or harden dirt. Without hesitation he begins frantically clawing and pulling at the hole, until it’s large enough to allow him to crawl through the hole, and sent rolling down a sand dune, where he collapses in a heap under the hot dessert sun, where he passes out.

Several hours pass, with Michael’s body laying under the punishing desert sun, when his eyes slowly blink open. He’s surprised to even be alive, even more surprised that he felt strange. Not in agonizing pain, not as though he was burning up, only strange. Slowly, cautiously, he pushes himself up. Still no pain, only horror as he sees his hand, it was red, his finger nails had become claws and as he raised his hand to his face, he saw his flesh wasn’t flesh at all, but it was thick, harder than normal, reminding him of the thick carapace, reminding that of insects. Panicked he shoots to his feet, not noticing his strength or speed, with his hand going to his head, finding himself now bald.

“No…” He hisses, with his voice sounding different too, alien. Shaking his head, then stops himself before he can feel his face.
No he decides, he doesn’t want to know, not until he has a chance to see his reflection with his own eyes. Raising his head, he peers up at the sun, and sighs. He takes a step, feeling something behind him dragging along the sand and turns to look horrified at the scorpion tail, he traces to his lower back. It doesn’t take him long to learn he can manipulate his tail, with the deadly looking stinger at the end of his tail. Grimacing, he fights the urge to panic and have a complete mental breaking down, instead he just turns his face to the heavens and screams,
“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”
Lowering his head he whips his newly discovered tail in from him, and as he pulls his back, he discovers to his relief that he can call it recall most of it, which again he considered a small grace, for it would make it easier for him to attempt to pass for normal, how he’d pull it off he had no idea, but it was something.

His anger burned white hot as he let he becomes more determined to have his revenge. He would kill them all, he decided and begins the long trek back towards the city, wondering about his mutation how bad what he saw of it seemed, followed by what how he could use it to his advantage. He felt strong, fast and powerful, with his body showing no sign of his bullet wound. Yes, he decides, he’ll kill them all for what they’ve done. Something he already knew he wouldn’t be swayed from, nor will he make any of their deaths quick. No, they’d be begging him for a quicker end, so no longer content with simply walking he begins to sprint. Noticing once more how he didn’t just feel quick and strong, he was.

Michael ran for miles before he finally felt out of breath, finding himself wondering just how far out into the desert they brought him. What was more disheartening was he had been following the road this whole time, and had yet to see another car or sign of human life anywhere. In his fervor mind he begins to panic, believing he may have gotten turned around and had been heading into the wrong direction this whole time.

Panicked stricken he turns and peers down the long hot road behind him, before turning to look back down the road squinting he barely spots the sign in the distance against the horizon. Prompting a sigh of relief, he didn’t have to read the sign to know what it read, “The Last Chance rest stop” was the last gas station you’d have to drive pass before you reached endless deserted highway that stretched for miles and miles deep into the deserts.
His spirits briefly lifted, Michael continues making his way towards rest stop.

By the time he finally reaches the rest top, he begins feeling the beginning stages of exhaustion, with the gnawing pains of hunger reminding him how he couldn’t remember the last time he ate, which only made him feel only hungrier.

Stepping into the small lot of the rest stops, he stops and catches his reflection on a hanging hubcap that caught his reflection which drew his attention.

Tentatively he steps towards the hubcap, and stares horrified at monster he found staring back, revealing much of what he had already discovered. But seeing it now, in his face shook him to the core. His face much like the rest of him was red, and harden like the rest of his flesh, though he found some solace in the fact he still had some human features, two human eyes, a nose, lips, but upon examining his features he couldn’t help but notice his canines were longer, more closely resemble fangs than human teeth. What was the most disconcerting thing he saw was that he was completely bald and as he raised his fingers to his face he noticed for the first time how his fingernails had now become claws.

He barely has a chance to come to terms with the monster he has now become, even though he had suspected as much when had woken up, but he had still hoped that his eyes were somehow wrong, and what he was seeing was merely an illusion, when a gunshot booms close by, followed by what feels like a powerful kick to his chest and right shoulder knocking up and backwards, where he lands hard on his back.
“I told you damn carnie’s to stay away from my store, and I warned you what I would do!” Came the voice of an older man in his fifties, as he pumped another round into his shotgun.

Michael lifts his head just high enough to see the older man who ran the gas station.
“No wait,” he says, his voice coming out deeper and more grated than usually, which unfortunately made him sound more threatening. Prompting the old man to pump another round into his shotgun, the sound of which causing Michael to flinch and his tail to lash out at the man, knocking the weapon from his hands.

“Stop,” Michael orders seeing the old man racing towards the gun which had fallen several feet away from him.
Jumping to his feet, Michael’s tail whips forward slamming into the gun with enough force to snap it in two pieces. “I said stop,” Michael says again turning to the man who was now watching him fearfully, who then turns and begins to run.
Michael briefly considers just letting him go, but quickly decides against it and instinctively he leapt towards the older man, leaping several feet higher than he had anticipated, and further. Causing him to land just feet in front of the old man in an ungraceful heap, before he turns and quickly scrambles to his feet intercepting the older man’s path.

“Don’t make me hurt you old man,” He growls, watching as the old man skid to a stop, hesitate before turning and running to his left. Michael’s tail flicks through the air slamming into the ground in front of the old man, before coiling tightly around him.

Controlling the tail was becoming easier, but the feeling was different, queer. Using the tail to pick up the old man and pull him over towards him Michael glares at him, “You shot me…” He says glancing down at his shirt, which was already worse for wear much like the rest of his clothes.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” The old man began to sob, and in return he’s met with an incredulous look from Michael. “Hurt you? You shot me…with a shotgun…” He says glancing down again at his shirt. Realizing the implications of what he had said as he spoke, confirming the suspicion that his skin had harden into armor like shell.

Interesting he thought, with a slow, cruel smiling stitching across his face, for it was at least one good thing he had going for him, which would make his revenge against the men who did this him that much easier.

“It…it was only birdshot…” the man stammered, “I’m no murderer….” The old man answers, unable to keep his voice from cracking at the sight of Michael’s smile.

“All the same…you could have killed me, so forgive me if I don’t rightly trust you…” He says coldly, knowing if he had been normal he would have still been seriously wounded and still as pissed off as ever.

Glancing around he spots a few loose chains hanging from the post nearby from where he stood, which was where the old man could help out a stranded traveler fix up their cars. “That’ll do…” he says spotting the chains, and stepping over to them with the old man in tow. He grabs a length of the chain and tests it and to his surprises him and startles the old man who simply lets out a startled cry, which is quickly silenced when Michael glances over the old man.

“What’s your name old man?” Michael says holds up and begins examining the length of chains.
“S..s-Samuel…B-.Burns…. “He stammers.

“Well old timer, I’m going to tell you what I’m going to do. Firstly I’m going to tie you up in your store with these chains here. Secondly, I’m going to take some clothes, I figure it’s the least you could do since you shot me.”

“And then what?” Old Sam asks, trying to mask his fear of the Michael, but failing.

“Then I leave you and you don’t breathe a word about me to anyone….You tell people it was just ordinary thieves who robbed you and I’ll be sure not to tell anyone about your attempted murder…And I’ll be less inclined to come back and find you.” Michael says as he turns and stares into the frighten man’s face, then glancing incredulous down at the man as his bladder releases, with his eyes rolling back up to the old man. “Seriously?”