Ok so, this is it ladies and gents. I promised what, four years ago that I would rewrite Mood Music. And here we are, the first chapter of Geminus. I suppose the only warnings I can give at the moment are that it will contain violence, language, sexuality and that it will be TOTALLY DIFFERENT than its original incarnation. No, I'm quite serious. Please keep an open mind when reading this if you have read that old P.O.S I wrote so long ago. If you want, consider this a completely different story. That said, please enjoy and provide gentle crit if you feel inclined.

Geminus: Chapter 1

“ Jesus fuckin' Christ, Mackenzi! “

Hearing the dim buzz of a voice through the hard throbbing ache in his head, Kurt pushed himself off the rain-soaked catwalk grating. Unsteadily, he stood and spat. That had been a monstrous embarrassment, and a serious underestimation on his part. He hadn't thought the little motherfucker was armed, but they were making tazers that could fit on keychains nowadays. The shocks hadn't diminished with the reduction in size. His whole left side was numb.

“ I got a headache. “ He grumbled.

“ You'll have more than a headache when you have to report back that you let that brat bugger off. “

His partner, Mike, stood behind him with a bulldog scowl, arms folded crossly. It figured that the guy would stand and bitch at him without so much as lending a hand. He grinned back and rubbed the scorch holes in his uniform where the tazer prongs had bit in under his left pec. There were a few specks of blood, but it was more a blow to his pride than his body.

“ Yeah? And where the fuck were you? “

That deeply creased frown loosened up as Mike tapped the comset that was coiled around his ear. He grunted, “ I'm too fuckin' old to be grabbing slippery kids. Figured you'd be able to handle one teen on your own, Mac. “ He slanted his partner a disappointed look, “ We got a call while you was twitching on the ground. “

Kurt stuffed his numb hand in his pocket without comment and started back to the dock where they'd left their patrol cruiser. Mike followed, explaining. It was still raining and the chemical scent of it was heavy in the misty air. They were down so many tiers that the rain wasn't even rain anymore. It was dirty spilloff that poured down through the layers of steel and catwalk grating, picking up mud and garbage on its way down.

“ Got a report of some weirdo a few slices up from the slums. Central says check it out. He was causing some shit, but it seems he's mellowed out now and the civvies got it under control. Had another one like it earlier even deeper down over in sector 2. And you'd better not take this one home like a lost puppy, dammit Kurt. I'm telling you. You can't keep dragging these--

That was when Kurt started ignoring him with a smile. Mike was a grumpy, surly bastard, but sometimes he got so ridiculously motherly. Even so, they'd been working together for three years, and the Salvation Security administration had been kept blissfully ignorant of his humanitarian habits. Their confidence was still sound, he hoped.

---

Adrenaline continued to make vicious circuits through his body, even now that he—He? Yes, he, of that much he was aware. He was being held still, prone against the floor. Everything sounded so hollow, high pitched and tinny. Voices and footsteps vibrated gratingly in his ears despite how he crushed his palms against them. Where was he? How had he come to be in this place of cold and unfamiliar and not entirely pleasant smells.

The fear he'd felt upon first opening his eyes was still with him, made worse by the chaos of movement, of hands touching him, dragging at him. He couldn't keep them open long enough to see what was around him. The light stabbed at him, so he shut it out. They still gripped him, fingers digging into sore spots along his shoulders and arms. Bruises. Those fingers felt solid, unbreakable.

His knuckles were hurting. Sharply throbbing flaps of skin parted and came together again with every movement of his fingers. They were warm and wet with something that smelled metallic. It smeared across his cheeks and into his hair as he lay panting on a floor that was glassy and slick.

Someone was wrapping something sticky and clinging around his calves. His genitals were awkwardly trapped between his thigh and the floor. That discomfort became foremost in his mind the instant he felt it and whoever was jerking at his ankles only made the pain worse. Soon, they were finished with his legs and pulled his arms together to bind them too. He groaned in relief as the weight lifted from his back.

Suddenly, as though the pressure in his ears had equalized, the sound came rushing in with piercing clarity.

Someone slapped his flank and he flinched.

“ He's tied. You called the angels? “

“ Yeah. They're comin'. “

“ Good. God, he did a number on that guy. You got the blood washed off, was he ok underneath? “

“ If a broken fuckin' face is ok. Got a dislocated arm. He'll be pissing blood for a week. No health insurance either. Man . . . .Man. He didn't even do anything. Bet this freak’s psychotic . . . bet that's it. Who the hell wanders around naked in the rain? “

“ That's the case, then it's for his own good. Yeah? “

There were two voices. Two people. They shared a laugh and he shuddered. What had he done? He grunted softly, straining to roll into a more comfortable position on the hard, gritty floor. He was afraid to know and that cold splinter of fear kept him silent and shaking with dread.

---

“ What're you so sulky about? “ Mike growled at Kurt, who had sunk down so far in the cruiser's passenger seat that his knees bumped the dash.

“ Nothin' much. “

The rain pelted down in sheets across the windshield, swept aside by the rapid flip-flop of the wipers. Kurt looked up at him with a huff and touched the illuminated screen set into the cruiser's console. The steady thrum of the gravline engines was hypnotic and he was beat up and exhausted already from a full day of running around the city. 28 years old and he was already getting worn around the edges. To think that only three years ago Mike had laughed over his rookie enthusiasm. He stared drowsily at the map that appeared in luminescent, translucent 3D and stretched across the breadth of the windshield. The two blinking markers that hovered within the grid- theirs in green and their destination in red- were closing on eachother. Another few blocks and they'd be at the reported location. Ten minutes, maybe, and they'd be close enough to walk the rest of the distance. Down in the lower levels, docks were spaced further apart and it made it difficult for free flying cruisers to land at precise locations. At least up top, the catwalks were well covered with clear plastic canopies and protected from the spray of the traffic that sliced through the downpour. More docks there too, and closer together for the railbuses to pick up and unload passengers.

The twitching of his awakening arm was the only thing keeping him from falling asleep entirely. The pins and needles were overwhelming. He almost wished that it had just stayed numb.

Not long after, the jolt and click of the cruiser bumping up against the dock and securing itself alerted him that they'd arrived. Both men climbed out the passenger side and stepped out onto the soaked metal grating of the sidewalk. Kurt got his bearings and started off up the street at a slow lope. Mike slammed the hatch of the cruiser down and caught up with him moments later.

They jogged from there down the street, getting quickly soaked despite their efforts by the wind-blown spray.

The place that had put in the call was a shabby little parts shop on a block corner. The facade was patched with steel sheets and curling layers of washed out posters where the glass had been broken. A few people were clustered around the entrance, smoking or whispering amongst themselves as Kurt and Mike shoved the narrow, heavily reinforced door open and went inside.

It was warmer and dry, at least, although the floor was marked by a path of greasy wet footprints and spots of red that led to the counter. There was a man there, talking to some customers- another man and a woman in sleek biking gear. The group of them paused upon spotting the uniformed men in the entryway. All around them, the small shop was choked with hanging displays of gutted cruiser bits, weaponry, and stacked crates.

“ Call for a little intervention? “

“ Yeah. “ The man called, jerking a thumb in the direction of the door just behind the counter, “ Just in back. Rip's got him out flat and hogtied for ya. You can thank us by getting the guy outta here. He already knocked one guy around pretty bad out front. “

“ That vic still here? “ Mike questioned as Kurt squeezed between a cluster of stock boxes and the counter and headed for the door. It was draped with a curtain of steel rings. He pushed the heavy veil aside.

“ Neh. Gone. Sorry, we can witness it for ya if you need a report or some shit. Couldn't call the ambulance for him. No health. “

“ Damn shame. . . It happened outside, yeah? “

Kurt poked his head into the storeroom and was greeted by an older man and a boyishly dressed girl. She was short and wiry, looking barely out of her teens but her knowing stare and wry smirk and the blood on her white tank-top made Kurt judge a little higher. She raised a hand to him.

“ You the cop? “

“ Yeah, you must be Rip. “ Kurt nodded, scanning the room for some sign of the man they were there to collect. His hand hovered over the sculpted heel of his sidearm. Setting traps for the Salvation City military police wasn't an uncommon practice in the slums. The woman noted the wariness in him and jutted her chin in the direction of a small door that was set into the far wall. Her male companion finally got around to introducing himself and explained.

“ Got the guy locked in the can for now. Didn't put up much of a fight once we dragged him in outta the rain. I'm guessing he's on narcs or has a nasty case of net withdrawal. Naked as a jay and marching around in the rain. “

“ Naked, huh? Probably. “ Kurt went to the door and listened. Virtual withdrawal had become a common ailment since the use of digital submersion interfaces had spread from the military to civilians. Everybody was hooking up to the net nowadays, sinking their minds into full experience games where pain and pleasure were so real that they lingered even after logging off. Gaming and V.R social forums were the new drug of choice. Like any drug, the net was addictive, and the withdrawal from it often caused serious mania and hallucinations.

He could hear ragged breathing.

Mike finally came into the storeroom and stood protectively at his back as he pulled the door open. He had expected to find a crazed, ragged teen. What he discovered, laying panting on the bloody tile floor, was a full grown man, and one in decent physical shape, it seemed. Most withdrawal cases neglected their bodies, but this one had some meat on him.

“ The hell? “ Mike observed their find, perplexed at the sight.

Kurt took his cap off and scratched his wet hair. He'd seen some really freakish people in his life, usually as they were dragged through the processing room back at the station, kicking and screaming epithets. This one wasn't so much a freak. In fact he looked pretty regular. He was just so white.

Literally, he was white. On impulse, Kurt reached down and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the man’s bent back forearm, rubbing off flakes of dried blood. Under the grime, that skin was unnaturally fair and marked with patchy bruises that stood out in a ghastly array of colors. They didn't look fresh. In fact, they were turning yellowish already. His hair was a tangled mass long enough to make a coil on the tiles, greyed with filth and streaks of blood but snowy at the roots. His brows and fringe of his lashes, even the sparse curls scattered across his chest and legs were frosty white. He was shivering, eyes squeezed shut against the harsh unshaded glare of the bathroom light.

“ He some sort of albino or something? “

Kurt answered Mike with a shrug, “ Guess so. He looks pretty docile to me. “

He crouched down next to the bound man, clearing the wet twists of hair from his face. He watched with a pitying look as that pale face twitched at his touch. The guy's knuckles were mulched. Whoever had taken the beating from this stranger would be limping home for sure. It didn't look like there would be any more trouble from him now. Just in case, they would keep him restrained, although in something considerably more comfortable than twisted strips of duct tape.

“ Hey Mike, you want to run back to the car and get the emergency kit out of the back? This guy is freezing. “

Mike did so without complaint but tapped his com on the way out. Kurt nodded. He'd call if there was trouble. For now, he turned his attention back to the man on the bathroom floor. He stripped off his uniform jacket and folded it around that trembling body. The man was a good deal bigger than he was, but the partial cover was better than nothing

“ Hey. Can you hear me? “ He soothed, working his finger into the constricting band of the duct tape to try and loosen it. Judging from the reddened, creased skin and flushed fingertips, the circulation had been cut off for a while. He had his handcuffs ready. “ Can you tell me your name? “

There was no reply, but the man didn't put up any resistance to being handled. At one point, he looked up and tried to open his eyes and Kurt caught a brief glimpse of icy blue.

“ Hey . . . you know who you look like? “ It would be a minute before his old partner made the round trip so he figured it would do no harm to make some conversation. He managed to get the sticky strips of tape off and the deuce cuffs on. They emitted a soft bleep as their magnetic clasps clicked shut. “ That actor guy. What the hell's his name. Fucked Alicia Malone in 'Do or Die'. You know? “

“ Siegried Olsen? “ Rip offered from her seat on the crate, “ I thought so too. Sort of. Face isn't as ratty though. “

“ Yeah yeah. That guy. Only . . . Olsen's bleached. This guy's the real thing. Carpet matches the drapes even. At least, it looks that way. Needs a bit of a scrub. “ Kurt chuckled and patted their mystery man on the hip, the only part of him that was relatively unbruised. “ That's your name then. Siegfried. Sieg. Least 'til you tell me otherwise. Alright, buddy? “

'Sieg' just groaned and huddled deeper into the folds of Kurt's jacket.

Mike returned and they wrapped Sieg in blankets to warm him. They took statements from everyone involved and as they were leaving, Rip called to them.

“ You boys take care. He may look tweaked out, but we saw what happened outside. He moves like mercury. “

“ Noted. “ Kurt waved and went to help Mike haul Sieg out of the shop. The pale shivering man looked lean, but he was surprisingly heavy and Mike was struggling to hold him up. They couldn't force him to walk, as his bare feet were pretty chewed up from the rough steel and broken glass of the streets. Together, they arranged him on Kurt's back and tugged a fold of blanket up over his head to shield him from the rain.

Halfway back to the cruiser, Mike glared at his partner, “ Yeah, we're not goin' back to the station are we? “

Kurt grinned, “ Don't you think he deserves a bit of patching and a bath? “

“ Why not feed him up and call a psychologist for him while you're at it? Fin'll just love you when he comes home and you're all like, ' kin I keep him, honey?' “

“ Stuff it. I don't call Fin honey. “

“ You're so illegal that it hurts, Mac. “

---

“ Hey, Sieg. Buddy . . . you awake? “

There was a voice. It was soft and close and rumbly, not at all as frightening as the others had been. He was so warm and comfortable. The cold, unforgiving floor was gone. What was he laying on now? Something cushiony that gave around the shape of his body and cradled him. It was so soft and smelled a little like food. It made his stomach contract in painful protest to its emptiness.

“ Sieg? “

He opened his eyes and blinked, staring up at a fuzzy oval shape. A face.

“ Hey, you're awake. “

The face was speaking to him. He dimly remembered that voice. While he had been bound on the floor in that cold room, soaked and hurting, this person had come and put something warm around him. He had been wrapped up and carried away on a warm back. Suddenly alarmed, he tried to sit up, frantic to know where he was.

“ Whoa, whoa, easy. “ A hand fell on his shoulder and he realized that there was something on his body, loose and soft. Cloth. His eyes were still so blurry. He tried to rub at them and found that his skin pulled tight across the knuckles. Startled, he ran his fingers across the glossy coating of suture glue that held the ragged wounds together. He looked at the strange man in understanding.

“ You. “ he croaked, clearing his dry throat. His mouth no longer ached. In fact nothing did. Why was there no more pain? “ Who? “

“ Kurt Mackenzi, “ Kurt greeted him with a broad, dimpled grin, “ You feel ok? We got dermals on you. “ The man gently took his wrist and turned them over, indicating two flat greyish patches about an inch wide stuck onto his skin. Curious, he picked at one, but Kurt pulled his hand away, “ Hey, don't do that. They're painkillers. They stop you from hurting. “

“ Oh. “ He said. That was good. He took a moment to look over the rest of himself and take in his surroundings. He couldn't quite shake the eerie feeling that he'd seen this sort of place somewhere before, but he couldn't remember. Panic gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. His heart quickened in response.

Why did he know what it was he was sitting on? It was a sofa. And this was a house. But how did he know? He couldn't remember.

“ Hey. “ Kurt patted him on the shoulder and he flinched, startled, “ Relax. You're safe here. Nobody's going to hurt you, Sieg. “

“ Sieg? “ He blinked.

“ Yeah . . . we checked you out for an ID. Nothing. Can't do much without one. Can you tell me your name? “

He shook his head. He didn't know.

Kurt smiled encouragingly and picked up a mug of warm white tea from the coffee table. He offered it to his unusual guest who took it and stared at it. He could tell the man was suffering from some kind of memory block. He looked like an adult but he seemed so timid and uncomprehending about even simple things, as though he were seeing everything for the first time. On the way home, he'd ridden in the back with Sieg and checked him over carefully. There was no sign of head trauma of any kind. An attack in virtual could cause a period of confusion after log off, but he'd never heard of it being this serious before. Even withdrawal victims still had a sense of identity, whether it was their birth name, or pen-name. They all remembered something.

At least the man was clean and dressed now. Mike had helped grudgingly. They'd scrubbed him, cut his long, ragged hair and patched him up. With all the dirt and blood washed away, Kurt was all the more surprised by the look of him. Old hair, young face, and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He didn't look a day over 25. Mike was right though, Fin was going to shit when he got home and found that his lover had brought home another “pet.” The big redhead had a huge heart, but was always worried that one day Kurt's habit was going to get them both shot in their sleep. He'd only dug himself deeper by dressing Sieg in Fin's old sweats and a t-shirt. His own clothes would never fit the man's tall frame.

“ Well, I'm going to keep calling you Sieg. That ok with you? “ He watched as Sieg brought the tea to his face and sniffed, “ That's tea. For drinking. It shouldn't be too hot anymore. “

“ Sieg. “ the man repeated, slurping noisily at the rim of the cup. Some dribbled down his chin, but most of it made it into his mouth, “ Mmm. “

“ Good? “

“ Good. “

Ta da! I'm not sure when I'll be through editing the second chapters and onward . . . there are some things I want to iron out. But, what did you think: D

(EDIT: God, stupid upload program took out all my scene breaks, so I bet it was CONFUSING. Sorry, I fixed it now.