Origin

Sylvester sleeps on the chair, leaning on Mark, barely stirring. Mark shuts his laptop and breathes deeply. He goes to move Sylvester forcefully when he notices something. His vacuum resting on the other side of the room, not touching Sylvester at all.

Curious, Mark lightly rests Sylvester on the table and rises to investigate the vacuum cleaner. That thing confuses him, never leaves Sylvester’s side, comforts him, doesn’t even seem to work as a normal vacuum cleaner.

He reaches to it and a chill travels through him. Fear lingers in the back of his mind with no real source. Carefully, he took a screwdriver and began freeing the screws of the dustpan. Glancing back to Sylvester, in case he suddenly wakes up.

Mark loosened the last screw and removes the dust cover. Only to find himself paralyzed with fear and looks upon a form, a mass, resting inside the vacuum. His face doesn’t change but inside his head, he’s screaming.

A cold pale hand grabs Mark’s wrist, causing him to snap out of it and drop everything. He follows up the arm to meet a very wide awake Sylvester.

“Sylvester what the fuck is in this vacuum,” Mark looks between Sylvester and the vacuum, “It’s not even a vacuum it’s some kind of…”

“Oh, Mark,” Sylvester giggles, the fakest grin stretched on his face, “I told you Kahehe takes care of herself! I told you she can do things herself!” Sylvester’s light grip began to crush Mark’s wrist. He rips out of his grasp and looks at Sylvester, bright smile but dead eyes. He shoves past and runs out of the room.

Sylvester watches then his eyes trail back to his dear. His face shifts to blank as he robotically fixes her and puts her on his back. His face molds itself into a frown and he stares at the wall where she once rested.

“Sometimes the nicest people to you can be so cruel.”

Mark bolts back in, shotgun in hand, ready to destroy that thing. Only he doesn’t see it on the ground. It’s elevated and on Sylvester’s back. He turns to face him, his frown still masking his face as Sylvester makes eye contact with the gun.

“What a choice there Mark,” The corners on Sylvester’s mouth curl up but his eyes are distant, “She fits so nicely on my back, you know that right?”

Mark pauses, thinking over options. He had no real remorse for Sylvester, primarily not now. He aims the shotgun and fires. The gunshot strikes through Mark’s ears as he watches the bullets go through Sylvester, but he only smiles more, blood leaking out of him.

“That’s just mean now, Mark.” Sylvester stands before him, face as if he’d just heard the best news in the world, completely unchanged by the bullet wounds.

Mark fires once again, new holes finding their way into Sylvester. He looks down and gently touches one of the holes close to where his heart should be, blood spills from his mouth.

“You can’t keep thinking that’ll work,” Sylvester’s face sinks into a stare of pure disappointment, “You’re the powerless one here,” he raises his head to be greeted with the shotgun pointed directly at his skull. Sylvester opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by the gun being fired twice.

Mark drops his weapon, looking upon Sylvester as blood oozes from him. He feels his stomach turn as he looks upon the exposed wounds and takes a step back. Sylvester coos and giggles a little bit, advancing.

“Ohhhhh Mark…” Sylvester’s contorted grin returns, a part of his mouth gone to reveal broken teeth. Mark looks like a deer frozen in headlights as Sylvester reaches towards Mark, hands shaking.

He’d seen enough of this in movies to understand what would happen if he stood still any longer, Mark shoots straight out of the room. Daring not to look back, he frantically searches for an escape, scanning the empty base. He skids to a halt and notices the gas valve. A scheme forms in Mark’s head and he reaches for his lighter.

“Mark this isn’t fun… I miss you,” The thing that has Sylvester’s voice taunts him. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, adjusting the box of ammunition perfectly, making sure the chain will hold. Outside his hiding spot, he hears irregular footsteps. That’s him.

   “Oh, fun… You were always so smart,” The smell of rotten eggs becomes overwhelming, even Sylvester and that thing can smell it.

   Mark glances at a stacked box of cookies and charges into it, creating as much noise as possible. The boxes topple and he scrambles immediately out behind shelving to watch the door. Shadows dance under the door, jagged breathing follows. The door opens with a crash, Sylvester wheezing at this point. He takes a second to look in the room when the box slides right off, snapping the chain and throwing him onto the ground. Sylvester lays there, breathing deep and heavy.

   Mark snaps into action and speeds past the collapsed monster who reaches up to grab hold, ending up only brushing a pant leg. Mark slides on the floor, looking to the exit, fiddling with the lighter.

   “Mark... “ Sylvester calls out, voice weak and hoarse, “you’re not even gonna try and help poor ol Sylvester?”

Frantically, his eyes dart to the shell of a human on the floor, bleeding everywhere. Mark plays things back in his mind, flashing through moments and thoughts. An act must’ve been an act. He holds the lighter up, gritting his teeth.

“You’re not Sylvester anymore.”

The gas lights up in a blaze and the ammunition pinning Sylvester follows soon after. Within an instant Mark shields himself from the blast with his left arm, the destruction searing his sleeve and burning his skin. Shutting his eyes, Mark flings himself to the exit trying to be clear of the blast, he slides across the floor, fire lapping him, his sleeve tearing, his visor falling off. He opens his eyes to the place burning, sweet sugar in the air. Mark opens the door with his good arm and gets cleared to the outside, breathing in the fresh air. Wheezing and coughing, he staggers his way onto the sidewalk, watching everything he knew burn.

The fire dances, smoke stretches to the sky, meeting the clouds. The warmth holds Mark’s face, orange glistening off his eyes. He starts to shake, clenching his fists and biting his tongue, he tries not to cry. He didn’t want to see Matt just yet. Turning away, Mark holds his arm, quivering, beginning to walk away.

A low chuckle stands out of the crackling fire that makes him freeze in his skin. He turns slowly to see a piece of the building fall in, sparks flying with the smoke. Mark didn’t want to believe it.

There he was, Sylvester, roasted, bleeding, battered, dragging himself from the part where the building collapsed, his guts scattered behind him. A whirring noise followed close as a tube dragged up the charred legs. The monster inside the vacuum began to put Sylvester’s broken body back together, wrapping around his waist. Mark watched horrified as more tubes erupt from the creature that rests peacefully on the ragged corpse of a man. Two tubes slither to hold and support Sylvester’s right arm and left leg, the crunching of bones is heard as they contract. A bone begins to rip through Sylvester’s left thigh, the vacuum grabs hold of this form and it stands, grinning.

More tubes stretch out and attach to the ground, whirring. They move the mangled man from the building, reaching to Mark, holding Sylvester tall. Their eyes meet and Mark can feel the anger coming from the monster possessing the vacuum.

“Did you really believe this was really Sylvester?” Each word it says is drawn out, raspy, and strikes through Mark like needles, “He’s long dead Mark..”

Hearing this thing say his name snaps him right to rage, he spits out blood in his mouth and keeps personal eye contact. He knew there was never a Sylvester, he only regarded less for the well being of the body.

“No, but I had fucking hoped that would kill whatever you are,” He bites back.

“We can still get along, Mark,” It stretches out its arms, skin tearing as it moves, “I can forgive you.”

The fire roars in the background, seemingly growing bigger. Someone ought to have called the police by now, Mark thought. He hated to admit it but it’s either him or that.

“What the fuck are you,” Mark breathes strongly.

“Oh, I’m just Sylvester Harvester and his good vacuum cleaner Kahehe,” Sylvester cocks its head, neck cracking or was it the fire crackling, “I just wanna clean this world, Mark, I just wanna be useful!”

“There’s nothing clean about you.” The world seems to be moving in slow motion, spots line the edge of Mark’s vision.

“The dust has got to go somewhere, Mark, besides the same could be said about you!” The tube wrapped around Sylvester’s right arm moves and points with its burnt hand, “You think you can go around robbing people blind, threatening people, pushing everyone away, and get away with it like it’s nothing huh?” With what little control it has, it makes a fist with the hand, “Use me, hurt me when I just wanted to help? You’re just filthy.”

Mark’s head spins, so many things flashed through his mind. Anger, hate, disgust, fear, pain, rage. That’s when he notices something in the distance. He just needs to stay conscious a little longer.

“Maybe so. I might be dirty,” Mark murmurs, “I could be the nastiest most disgusting thing for a mile ‘round,” he stares directly into death’s face, “but you know what,” he smiles faintly, “at the end of the day I’ve got one advantage over you.”

Sylvester’s body splits as it tries to inch close to Mark, squelching noises as the guts slipped out from their protected embrace.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m waiting,” it wheezes in Mark’s face, hot breath harassing his face.

“I’m not the obvious target,” Mark steps to the side as a solid mechanical punch knocks Sylvester forward, gurgling in shock. Mark sees the cursed vacuum, breathing, and elbows it sharply.

Sylvester screams, or maybe it was the vacuum, and falls to the ground, twitching.

Mark breathes deep and looks at the first responder. A tired, angry, man with a robotic arm that transcends this time. Mancio Romani? Wasn’t he arrested? No matter.

“Move,” Mancio orders, “there will be someone to help you soon so get.”

“It’s.. the vacuum,” Mark staggers backward, relaxing for the first time in a while, turning and running to the end of the street. A car speeds past, the flashing lights blind Mark. He topples over, trying to support himself on a lamp post. Sirens fill his ears, a constant ringing swarmed him. Flashing lights and noises surrounded him, tightens his eyes, hands grabbed him. Mark wanted to scream, to get them off of him, to just go home. He struggles, he cries out but he can’t hear himself. His chest is heavy, a weight seems to be pushing into him, he can’t breathe. Mark felt a hand on his face, it felt cold. He screeches, as tears fall and he feels everything leave him.