Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Malakh
Slash and Steven start looking for Izzy while the final pieces of Izzy's puzzle begin to fall into place.
1Exciting
They'd spent the night pounding the streets of Los Angeles, sticking their heads into every comic book store and head shop that they could find. And each time they'd entered they'd been greeted by the same looks. You're out of your depth in here boys. It seemed that the geeks and weirdoes could be as hardcore and nasty as they were.
It was nearing sunrise and, from behind the smog, the two intrepid explorers saw the first tendrils of sunlight break through. Reaching into their pockets, Slash and Steven pulled out identical pairs of sunglasses. With the cheap aviator glasses, the shuffled their way along the Strip. They'd been into every shop that had looked slightly out of their league. The kinds of places that they'd never dream of hanging out in.
“Look.” Steven nudged Slash.
Turning his head, Slash saw a flickering neon sign twinkling from down a side alley.
“We haven't been there,” Steven huskily said.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Slash nodded, trotting behind the enthusiastic Steven. The bubbly hair bounced around the blonde's shoulders as he headed for the shop.
The door was open and the musky smell of burning incense floated through the bead curtain that hung over the dark entrance. Oriental music drifted from deep inside. Looking at each other, both men shrugged before stepping through the clattering plastic beads.
Inside the shop was dark and it took Slash's eyes a moment to adjust. Looking around he saw shelves stacked with a vast array of different products; comics, incense, art materials and various other hippy and comic book merchandise jostled for attention on the cramped shelves. Metal and plastic mobiles, constructed in various designs and colours, dangled from the ceiling, the slight, warm breeze setting them off. The air was heavy with the smell of incense, Slash's nose wrinkling in response to the eye-watering scent.
“Can I help you?” a husky voice asked.
Swinging around, Slash and Steven found a short, fat man staring at them. Silver rings covered his short fingers, skulls and symbols hanging from his neck. His dark eyes echoed the lazy flickering of a candle, looking at them. Slash felt himself shudder under the man's gaze but Steven, every the bouncy one, stepped forward smiling.
“Hey,” he began, blonde hair bouncing as he talked, hands gesturing around. “We're looking for some info and you may be able to help us.”
Rolling his eyes, Slash leaned against an overflowing bookshelf, letting Steven get on with it.
The man raised his eyebrows, face falling into darkness as he pulled away from the candle.
“And what makes you think I can help you?” he quietly asked as he walked from behind the counter and into the low light. Thinning and greying hair was pulled away from his face, his middle-aged face the colour of leather and as lined and furrowed as an old couch.
Slash shrunk back into the shadows. But the man's attitude didn't seem to deter Steven who excitedly watched him.
“Yeah.” Steven carried on smiling. “We're looking for information on a project called -” He turned to Slash, eyes wide as mentally asked for help. “What was it called?”
“Malakh,” Slash quietly said, gritting his teeth with nerves.
This was useless, pointless. They were never going to get information from anyone. Ever.
The man raised his eyebrows and took a packet of gum from his pocket. Placing a piece in his mouth, he began to chew slowly, thoughtfully.
“And what makes you think I have any information on this “Project Malakh”?” he slowly asked, eyes sweeping over the pair.
It seemed Steven was all out of ideas as he turned to Slash, blue eyes wide with concern. Shrugging, Slash gave him the same pitiful look.
“It's a government project,” Slash quietly said, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.
How the hell was he supposed to tell people that his boyfriend, the one with angel wings, had been kidnapped by the government? He'd be laughed out and then promptly arrested and taken to the nut house.
The man snorted and nodded. “So you thought you'd come to see old Joe about it? Yeah, everyone comes to old Joe when they suspect the government's fuckin' with 'em.”
Slash looked at him, head cocked, curious. “Why?”
The man's dark eyes turned on him, narrowing. “I know things,” he hissed. “Things the government don't want you to know.”
Slash's eyes widened. “Right.” He turned to Steven. “We're leaving. Come on.”
He was heading towards to the door when a hand stopped him. Turning, he found a concerned Steven standing behind him.
“Dude, this could be our only chance at finding Izzy. Do you wanna run and never see him again?”
Sighing, he closed his eyes and shook his head, whispering, “No.”
Steven's grip loosened and Slash found himself turned back to Joe.
“Will you help us?” he cautiously asked.
The man shrugged as he pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Sticking on in his mouth, he lit it, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating his haggard face.
“Depends,” the man replied between clouds of smoke.
“On what?” Slash raised an eyebrow.
Joe took a deep breath and said, “Are you FBI, CIA, MI-5, MI-6 or any government employee?”
Looking to Steven, he watched as the blonde man shrugged, clearly at a loss for words. Slash shook his head.
“No,” he replied.
“Can you prove it?”
Sighing, Slash reached for his pocket and his wallet. Flicking through it, he pulled out his driver's license and handed it over. The man bent over the candle, reading it with narrowed eyes.
“Saul Hudson, huh? And you're not from around here.” Fingers were extended, wriggling. “Green card.”
Sighing, Slash handed it over, watching as the man examined it.
“You're a Brit.” Narrowed eyes stared at him. “Sure you're not affiliated with the British government?”
Slash sighed and threw his hands in the air, exhausted and exasperated. He wondered if this really was the only way to get at Izzy. He was ready to head for the door again when his final memory of Izzy flashed through his mind.
“SLASH PLEASE! YOU PROMISED!”
“And you poodle boy.” Slash opened his eyes to see Joe wiggling his fingers at Steven.
With a look of fear in his eyes, Steven handed over his driver's license, watching as it was scrutinised by the man. When he was finally convinced that Steven wasn't going to rat him out to the higher powers, he handed back the pieces of plastic.
“You.” He pointed to Steven. “I have no problem with. Your curly haired friend, on the other hand, maybe a bit of a problem.”
Slash opened and closed his mouth in shock but it was Steven who spoke.
“Why?” he protested. “Slash is cool. He ain't gonna tell anyone. Are you Slash?”
Confused, Slash shook his head. “No. I'm not going to tell a soul.”
The shop keeper stared at him, strands of willowy hair falling into his eyes. His forehead creased and eyebrows furrowed as he thought, weighing Slash up.
Finally he sighed and gestured towards the back of the shop. “Come on then.”
~~~~
Day and night didn’t exist in the bowels of Mesa. Instead, there were periods of waking and sleeping. Unable to sleep, Izzy sat on his bed, sheaves of paper spread out over the blankets. With his wings folded neatly behind him, he flicked through them, eyes widening as he read.
The yellowing pages were part of his file, part of PM015’s early life. They documented his family, his mother, his father. Most of the pages were lists of numbers and meaningless words. His fingers shifted through the paper, slowly absorbing it. A tiny piece of paper fluttered to the bed. Picking it up, Izzy looked at it, a slow smile crossing his lips. It was a black and white photograph. In it was a woman with long, dark hair and sparkling eyes. In her arms, she held a tiny baby, a shock of dark hair dusting its head. The woman was his mother and the baby was him. He turned the photo over and, on the back in fading handwriting, were the words, Jeffrey Dean Isbell, April 8th 1962 (PM015).
Sadness filled his heart as he slid the photograph back into the pile of papers. Izzy felt himself sag, the wings quietly rustling behind him. His parents had known about him, had known that he was a genetic experiment. The changes, according to the files, had been made in utero. His mother had been sleeping, drugged, while the doctors had inserted things deep into her, altering and twisting his DNA.
A knock on the door pulled his attention from the file. Dropping it to the bed, he got up, the wings rustling as they stretched. Opening the door, he found a pyjamaed Dr. Martin leaning against the door, hair ruffled. He gave Izzy a crooked, tired smile.
“Jeffrey,” he said quietly. “Follow me. I have something to show you.”
A little confused, Izzy nodded before following him, the sound of his bare feet echoing around the tunnel. He had no reason to distrust Dr. Martin.
“Where are we going?” he asked as he fell into step beside the older man.
Dr. Martin smiled as warmly as he could at such an ungodly hour. Even though they had no knowledge of what the time really was, body rhythms still set themselves. But now was the perfect time, most people were asleep and security within the compound was more lax.
“I'm going to show you where your wings came from,” he quietly replied.
Izzy couldn't help but smile. Finally! The last piece of his puzzle was going to be laid down. Silently they wandered through the tunnels. Flicking his eyes to the ground, Izzy noticed that they were following the mysterious red line.
“I always meant to ask, where does the red line go?”
The doctor turned to him and smiled before, touching a finger to the side of his nose. “I'm surprised you haven't already followed it,” he said with a wink. “Not that you'd be able to get in.”
Izzy looked at him, face screwing up in mild confusion.
“It's our greatest projection,” Dr. Martin continued. “And you'll be seeing it.” They stopped in front of one of the many huge, metal blast doors. “Right now.”
Head cocked to one side, Izzy watched as the scientist tapped at a keypad. As one set of numbers were pressed, the keypad rotated through twenty five degrees to reveal another set of keys. Again and again the doctor did it before finally stepping back. The familiar whine of motors and the screech of an alarm filled the corridor as the door slid open. Izzy watched, wide-eyed, as the massive room opened up before him, lights flooding it.
Stepping inside, Izzy took in what he saw. “Woah...”
It was nearing sunrise and, from behind the smog, the two intrepid explorers saw the first tendrils of sunlight break through. Reaching into their pockets, Slash and Steven pulled out identical pairs of sunglasses. With the cheap aviator glasses, the shuffled their way along the Strip. They'd been into every shop that had looked slightly out of their league. The kinds of places that they'd never dream of hanging out in.
“Look.” Steven nudged Slash.
Turning his head, Slash saw a flickering neon sign twinkling from down a side alley.
“We haven't been there,” Steven huskily said.
Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Slash nodded, trotting behind the enthusiastic Steven. The bubbly hair bounced around the blonde's shoulders as he headed for the shop.
The door was open and the musky smell of burning incense floated through the bead curtain that hung over the dark entrance. Oriental music drifted from deep inside. Looking at each other, both men shrugged before stepping through the clattering plastic beads.
Inside the shop was dark and it took Slash's eyes a moment to adjust. Looking around he saw shelves stacked with a vast array of different products; comics, incense, art materials and various other hippy and comic book merchandise jostled for attention on the cramped shelves. Metal and plastic mobiles, constructed in various designs and colours, dangled from the ceiling, the slight, warm breeze setting them off. The air was heavy with the smell of incense, Slash's nose wrinkling in response to the eye-watering scent.
“Can I help you?” a husky voice asked.
Swinging around, Slash and Steven found a short, fat man staring at them. Silver rings covered his short fingers, skulls and symbols hanging from his neck. His dark eyes echoed the lazy flickering of a candle, looking at them. Slash felt himself shudder under the man's gaze but Steven, every the bouncy one, stepped forward smiling.
“Hey,” he began, blonde hair bouncing as he talked, hands gesturing around. “We're looking for some info and you may be able to help us.”
Rolling his eyes, Slash leaned against an overflowing bookshelf, letting Steven get on with it.
The man raised his eyebrows, face falling into darkness as he pulled away from the candle.
“And what makes you think I can help you?” he quietly asked as he walked from behind the counter and into the low light. Thinning and greying hair was pulled away from his face, his middle-aged face the colour of leather and as lined and furrowed as an old couch.
Slash shrunk back into the shadows. But the man's attitude didn't seem to deter Steven who excitedly watched him.
“Yeah.” Steven carried on smiling. “We're looking for information on a project called -” He turned to Slash, eyes wide as mentally asked for help. “What was it called?”
“Malakh,” Slash quietly said, gritting his teeth with nerves.
This was useless, pointless. They were never going to get information from anyone. Ever.
The man raised his eyebrows and took a packet of gum from his pocket. Placing a piece in his mouth, he began to chew slowly, thoughtfully.
“And what makes you think I have any information on this “Project Malakh”?” he slowly asked, eyes sweeping over the pair.
It seemed Steven was all out of ideas as he turned to Slash, blue eyes wide with concern. Shrugging, Slash gave him the same pitiful look.
“It's a government project,” Slash quietly said, feeling his face flush with embarrassment.
How the hell was he supposed to tell people that his boyfriend, the one with angel wings, had been kidnapped by the government? He'd be laughed out and then promptly arrested and taken to the nut house.
The man snorted and nodded. “So you thought you'd come to see old Joe about it? Yeah, everyone comes to old Joe when they suspect the government's fuckin' with 'em.”
Slash looked at him, head cocked, curious. “Why?”
The man's dark eyes turned on him, narrowing. “I know things,” he hissed. “Things the government don't want you to know.”
Slash's eyes widened. “Right.” He turned to Steven. “We're leaving. Come on.”
He was heading towards to the door when a hand stopped him. Turning, he found a concerned Steven standing behind him.
“Dude, this could be our only chance at finding Izzy. Do you wanna run and never see him again?”
Sighing, he closed his eyes and shook his head, whispering, “No.”
Steven's grip loosened and Slash found himself turned back to Joe.
“Will you help us?” he cautiously asked.
The man shrugged as he pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket. Sticking on in his mouth, he lit it, the flare of the lighter briefly illuminating his haggard face.
“Depends,” the man replied between clouds of smoke.
“On what?” Slash raised an eyebrow.
Joe took a deep breath and said, “Are you FBI, CIA, MI-5, MI-6 or any government employee?”
Looking to Steven, he watched as the blonde man shrugged, clearly at a loss for words. Slash shook his head.
“No,” he replied.
“Can you prove it?”
Sighing, Slash reached for his pocket and his wallet. Flicking through it, he pulled out his driver's license and handed it over. The man bent over the candle, reading it with narrowed eyes.
“Saul Hudson, huh? And you're not from around here.” Fingers were extended, wriggling. “Green card.”
Sighing, Slash handed it over, watching as the man examined it.
“You're a Brit.” Narrowed eyes stared at him. “Sure you're not affiliated with the British government?”
Slash sighed and threw his hands in the air, exhausted and exasperated. He wondered if this really was the only way to get at Izzy. He was ready to head for the door again when his final memory of Izzy flashed through his mind.
“SLASH PLEASE! YOU PROMISED!”
“And you poodle boy.” Slash opened his eyes to see Joe wiggling his fingers at Steven.
With a look of fear in his eyes, Steven handed over his driver's license, watching as it was scrutinised by the man. When he was finally convinced that Steven wasn't going to rat him out to the higher powers, he handed back the pieces of plastic.
“You.” He pointed to Steven. “I have no problem with. Your curly haired friend, on the other hand, maybe a bit of a problem.”
Slash opened and closed his mouth in shock but it was Steven who spoke.
“Why?” he protested. “Slash is cool. He ain't gonna tell anyone. Are you Slash?”
Confused, Slash shook his head. “No. I'm not going to tell a soul.”
The shop keeper stared at him, strands of willowy hair falling into his eyes. His forehead creased and eyebrows furrowed as he thought, weighing Slash up.
Finally he sighed and gestured towards the back of the shop. “Come on then.”
~~~~
Day and night didn’t exist in the bowels of Mesa. Instead, there were periods of waking and sleeping. Unable to sleep, Izzy sat on his bed, sheaves of paper spread out over the blankets. With his wings folded neatly behind him, he flicked through them, eyes widening as he read.
The yellowing pages were part of his file, part of PM015’s early life. They documented his family, his mother, his father. Most of the pages were lists of numbers and meaningless words. His fingers shifted through the paper, slowly absorbing it. A tiny piece of paper fluttered to the bed. Picking it up, Izzy looked at it, a slow smile crossing his lips. It was a black and white photograph. In it was a woman with long, dark hair and sparkling eyes. In her arms, she held a tiny baby, a shock of dark hair dusting its head. The woman was his mother and the baby was him. He turned the photo over and, on the back in fading handwriting, were the words, Jeffrey Dean Isbell, April 8th 1962 (PM015).
Sadness filled his heart as he slid the photograph back into the pile of papers. Izzy felt himself sag, the wings quietly rustling behind him. His parents had known about him, had known that he was a genetic experiment. The changes, according to the files, had been made in utero. His mother had been sleeping, drugged, while the doctors had inserted things deep into her, altering and twisting his DNA.
A knock on the door pulled his attention from the file. Dropping it to the bed, he got up, the wings rustling as they stretched. Opening the door, he found a pyjamaed Dr. Martin leaning against the door, hair ruffled. He gave Izzy a crooked, tired smile.
“Jeffrey,” he said quietly. “Follow me. I have something to show you.”
A little confused, Izzy nodded before following him, the sound of his bare feet echoing around the tunnel. He had no reason to distrust Dr. Martin.
“Where are we going?” he asked as he fell into step beside the older man.
Dr. Martin smiled as warmly as he could at such an ungodly hour. Even though they had no knowledge of what the time really was, body rhythms still set themselves. But now was the perfect time, most people were asleep and security within the compound was more lax.
“I'm going to show you where your wings came from,” he quietly replied.
Izzy couldn't help but smile. Finally! The last piece of his puzzle was going to be laid down. Silently they wandered through the tunnels. Flicking his eyes to the ground, Izzy noticed that they were following the mysterious red line.
“I always meant to ask, where does the red line go?”
The doctor turned to him and smiled before, touching a finger to the side of his nose. “I'm surprised you haven't already followed it,” he said with a wink. “Not that you'd be able to get in.”
Izzy looked at him, face screwing up in mild confusion.
“It's our greatest projection,” Dr. Martin continued. “And you'll be seeing it.” They stopped in front of one of the many huge, metal blast doors. “Right now.”
Head cocked to one side, Izzy watched as the scientist tapped at a keypad. As one set of numbers were pressed, the keypad rotated through twenty five degrees to reveal another set of keys. Again and again the doctor did it before finally stepping back. The familiar whine of motors and the screech of an alarm filled the corridor as the door slid open. Izzy watched, wide-eyed, as the massive room opened up before him, lights flooding it.
Stepping inside, Izzy took in what he saw. “Woah...”
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