Jake sat on the edge of the halfpipe, twiddling Josh’s hematite ring in his hand. It had been only three days since Josh’s passing, and Jake was devastated: the views had plummeted. Of course he loved his brother, but he also loved his yellow Lamborghini just as much and the payment was coming up. It seemed that people tuned into the Rayna brother’s show for just that- the Rayna brothers. One was simply not the same without the other, and that truly affected the show’s humor, tone, & talent. How was Jake supposed to dance, joke, and misbehave without his dumbass brother? After the accident, the only thing the flaming semi truck left behind was Josh’s hematite ring, cast more than a couple yards from the explosion site. At least he went out like he lived- doing something incredibly reckless and stupid for the views.
So there he sat, loitering in the skate park long after close, waiting desperately for the view count to exceed 500,000. Now, being alone in a major city at this time of night would register to any human with even a moderate semblance of intelligence as a situation to remain cautious in. Knowing full well that stupid trust fund babies like this little dope are easy targets, the old homeless man watched Jake with voyeuristic intention. Hiding behind a palm tree in the far off brush, he planned his attack. A simple mugging would do just fine to secure some booze this evening. Mirroring Jake’s fiddling with his deceased brother’s ring, the old man twirled his old hunting knife in his Carhartt jacket.
The time was running out- Jake could bolt at any time, so the old man seized his moment and flanked the Youtuber from the rear. Placing the tip of the rusted knife onto his firm obliques, the old man spat out his demands.
“Give me your fucking money kid and no one will get hurt.” Jake did not flinch, nor did he even sputter a reply. He simply remained sitting and twiddled the ring in between his fingertips. Thinking the kid might mid be slow, or unable to hear him, the old man reiterated his intent. “Get the fuck up and give me your damn wallet.”
“Ain’t got my wallet on me.” Jake didn’t even meet the old man’s enraged eyes, seemingly unfazed by the gravity of his situation.
“What the fuck are you playing with, faggot?” Jake raised the Hematite ring to the man’s eye level, showing off the scuffed little stone still smelling of burnt gasoline. To the man, the ring was as good as it’d get. The longer their interaction lasted, the higher likelihood he’d be caught red handed. He snatched the ring from Jake’s fingers, not even realizing a smug smirk growing on his passive face. “This is mine then, bitch.” Jake shrugged, and stood up to turn and stare at the old man.
He was greasy and disgusting. Years on the street had hardened the old man’s skin and dirtied his calloused hands. Still holding the knife on him, the old man smiled a nearly toothless grin and slipped the ring on his finger. A snug, but perfect fit. As he began to back away from Jake’s grinning face, a strange nauseousness struck him. His vision blurred ever so slightly, but even through the haze, he swore he could see a translucent outline of a man. Like water standing free on it’s own, a distortion of the surrounding field of vision.
The old man stumbled backward, falling onto his back. The thing seemed to levitate about a foot off the ground and as it floated toward him, Jake’s smug grin shifted into a maniacal beaming. The old man was petrified, completely unable to escape. His legs were boneless sacks of meat, terrified and frozen in place. The thing took a nosedive and quick as a lightning bolt, it dove toward the man. His mouth permanently agape gave ample space for the gelatinous mass as it effortlessly plowed past his lips and down the old man’s throat. The sensation was bizarre: textured without a physical surface, slimy but not wet, savory yet tasteless. As the creature barreled into the man, forcing every square inch of itself into the tiny frame, Jake began to laugh. As the last of it slurped it’s way into him, Jake slowly sauntered over to his would-be attacker.
The old man began to shiver and quake. He felt like an overfilled water balloon, ready to burst at any time. Gasping for breath, he stumbled to his feet. Jake was mere inches from him, and in a last-ditch effort to assert any form of dominance, he swung a kill shot punch at the boy to whom he attributed his misfortune. His fist a millimeter away from the tip of Jake’s nose, the man was horrified to see his arm disobey his order and halt. Veins pulsed beneath his skin, and his fist trembled with dissonance.
“Quit fuckin’ with him Josh, we gotta go.” Jake spat between laughs, reveling in the irony of turning tables. The old man’s fist quickly relaxed and flicked Jake on the nose playfully. The surrealism of the situation grew too much for the old man to handle, and he began to scream for help. Jake, having had prepared for such a reaction, took out a boom box from his backpack, and hit the play button. Tyga began to pour from the speakers, drowning out any ounce of screams the old man desperately let out. Taking a perch on the rail, Jake observed with gleeful anticipation.
The old man doubled over in agony. The process could definitely be arousing ecstasy, but after years of mugging, murdering, and drunken escapades it seemed that karma decided against any sort of pleasurable sensation. Instead, the man felt his bones crack, break, and shift. His arms elongated and his hands burst in size. He felt each finger and carpal shatter and rearrange itself, doubling itself in mass. Within ten seconds the little 5'4 man had arms proportional to a man of 6'3, his knuckles touching the scuffed pavement. His biceps began to pulsate and spasm, followed in suit by his triceps and forearms. Veins pulsated ferociously beneath his sunkissed skin. Each muscle cell shredded itself, quickly increasing in size and strength, before he was able to raise his now youthful guns and flex a strong, well built show.
Jake could barely contain himself as he began to recognize his brother’s bicep tattoo, manifesting itself in vivid black ink on the freakish arms. The old man felt his spine align, cracking and resetting itself as it once was many decades before. His ribs expanded, and his pelvis dropped. His pecs spread wide across his broadening chest, like a butterfly showing off it’s wings. He felt his stomach spasm and contract, electric pain coursing like lightning flowing through his body. Dirt seemed to fall off of him like rain, replaced by sparkling beads of salty sweet sweat.
As his thighs and calves ripped themselves apart, building themselves up into rock hard muscle, the old man’s autonomous hands pressed against his wrinkled, weathered old face. His meaty fingers dug into the cratered skin, pressing, pulling, and pinching while his feet painfully burst from their confines in tattered well worn boots. Jake picked up his bag, and tossed it at his brother’s massive feet. As the very last of the old man faded into oblivion, Josh raked his fingers through his soft, sweaty hair; smiling that iconic perfect smile. Opening the bag, he pulled out his jeans, Calvin Klein underwear, red Supreme hoodie, and fresh Nike high tops. Slipping each item on, he savored the familiar feeling of the fabric, the scent of his Dolce & Gabbana cologne, and the perfect fit of the sneakers on his soles.
Being immortal has it’s perks. While most Youtubers would only dream of accomplishing insane stunts and sickening dances, these two douchebag brothers can do so without fear of injury. Throwing his arm around his brother, Josh led him toward the street, ready to hail a cab. They had one crazy stunt they had to retry with some gas tanks, a semi-truck, a ramp, and a few pigeons.
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