Rich's expression mirrors Robbie's but then creases into something deeper than little kid "oh no, that's bad." That's a death scream, he's heard enough of them, high screams among all the chittering of mandibles and the shredding sounds as the bugs fed --
It's also a familiar scream. The voice calls to him from somewhere far back in his memory. They run out into the rain and are quickly soaked to the bone, and then they see it, they see neighbors starting to gather around something grotesque, something yellow and red. It turns out to be a little boy in a raincoat. Blood runs down into a storm-drain from the space where an arm should be attached to a shoulder -- it's the same arm that Rich had lost against Thanos, as a matter of fact -- and the currents tug at a small pair of glasses that have fallen off of a pale face.
A face that's far too pale.
A face that's also very, very familiar.
He forgets where he is, he forgets who he's grown up into, he forgets this isn't his world or his town or his street. All that matters is he knows that face.
What rips out of him is a scream and a sob somehow compacted into one hard and terrible thing.
"ROB!" he screams, dropping to his knees next to the body of his little brother. The terror sinks its hooks in because it's not an alien fear -- this has happened before, when he came and helped his little bro against the Strontian war criminal Robert had pinned with Nova Force for hours. It had been a more fortunate outcome then, but this time, Rich comes a moment too late, and the horror feels just as real and tangible as the last time he saw his brother's blood on the ground.
"Rob! Robby!"
Some of the adults there try to drag him back, and he fights them, lost to his hysterics.
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It's also a familiar scream. The voice calls to him from somewhere far back in his memory. They run out into the rain and are quickly soaked to the bone, and then they see it, they see neighbors starting to gather around something grotesque, something yellow and red. It turns out to be a little boy in a raincoat. Blood runs down into a storm-drain from the space where an arm should be attached to a shoulder -- it's the same arm that Rich had lost against Thanos, as a matter of fact -- and the currents tug at a small pair of glasses that have fallen off of a pale face.
A face that's far too pale.
A face that's also very, very familiar.
He forgets where he is, he forgets who he's grown up into, he forgets this isn't his world or his town or his street. All that matters is he knows that face.
What rips out of him is a scream and a sob somehow compacted into one hard and terrible thing.
"ROB!" he screams, dropping to his knees next to the body of his little brother. The terror sinks its hooks in because it's not an alien fear -- this has happened before, when he came and helped his little bro against the Strontian war criminal Robert had pinned with Nova Force for hours. It had been a more fortunate outcome then, but this time, Rich comes a moment too late, and the horror feels just as real and tangible as the last time he saw his brother's blood on the ground.
"Rob! Robby!"
Some of the adults there try to drag him back, and he fights them, lost to his hysterics.
"Let go! Lemme go!"