What if life did have an ultimate purpose? What if their purpose was to entertain some greater being with the constant fuck uppery that went on here? What if Yoohoo chocolate milk wasn't actually milk? Dylan had a lot on his mind at the moment. All it was very important. He was, as per usual, drugged up and dopey. A big, goofy grin sat across his face as he pondered life. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling above him, and the Twilight poster that was taped up there.

He was brought back down to Earth when a weight was suddenly lifted from him. The girl he was with climbed off the bed and went to pick her clothes up off the floor. Was she done already? How long had he been here? Dylan turned over and leaned down to grab his jeans off the floor. He pulled his phone out and checked the time: 8:00 PM.
You have one unread message.

He made a 'not my favorite' kind of face when he saw Amber's name above the text.

432 Harbor Dr, apartment 203.
She has a box just inside the door. Change into whatever the fuck she's got in there before you go in the bedroom.

Dylan wondered what he would be this time. A firefighter? A burglar? A cowboy? Just as long as it wasn't another dead husband. Dylan heard the shower turn on in the bathroom, and took that as his cue to leave. He grabbed the money off the dresser and started putting his clothes back on. He headed out the door and began to make his way to Harbor Street. Dylan spent just as much time walking from place to place as he did in bed. He didn't mind, however; it gave him time to think. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit up. It wasn't a blunt like he would have liked, but Amber was pretty clear about how she didn't want him showing up to clients with red eyes and stinking like pot. He puffed smoked into the cool night air. If it was 8, his night had only just begun.

Meanwhile, back on the southside, people were shutting and locking their doors. That is, if they were smart. Jack had no such luxury. He found himself out on the street, trying to get some quick cash to make up for the loss the gang had recent taken. Cops had busted one of their drug runners, taking thousands of dollars in drugs with them. The gang had been depending on that money to get new weapons.

Jack lurked in the shadows of an old shack, watching as some hooker strutted her stuff out on the corner. She wasn't one of their's, he was sure. After watching her get picked up and dropped off several times, with no pimp in sight, he knew she had to have at least a couple hundred stuffed away somewhere. Although she looked small from where he was standing, he knew better than to underestimate her. A lot of pimps these days gave their girls tasers, or mace at the very least. Jack slipped on his sunglasses and scarf to cover his face. His hand settled on the gun at his side.

He slowly crept out of the shadows, approaching the prostitute from behind. Without warning, he jabbed the barrel of the gun into her back. "Alright sweetie, no need to make trouble here. Don't do any stupid shit. Just give me the cash and you won't get hurt."

Flint lifted the hood over his head as he left the large metal container holding some of his stash, he picked up the large case by his side and began walking.
The address had been clear. 127 Little Lane, it wasn't too far from where he stood now and so he began to walk.
As Flint got to the address he knocked quickly on the rotting wooden door. A young man answered, probably late teens.
"Flint?" He asked sniffing and wiping his nose, the scrawny man looked like he was the usual drug addict. Probably needed something to keep his paranoia at bay.
"That's me" Flint said softly and professionally as the man led him inside.

The inside was dirtier than the outside, pizza boxes and takeaways littered the tables and chairs and a thick layer of dust covered everything. A large TV was blurring some reality crap and the scent of intoxicating substances filled the air. The man sat down on the couch and offered Flint a seat, which he politely declined.
"So... Liam..." Flint said having minor trouble remembering his name.
"You are in the market for a handgun? Something to protect you in these rough times? Well I am sure I have something for your... acquired taste"
The man spoke up "Well my mate said you where the best around... Jim. you know Jim.. Said you where the best he did." Flint did not remember Jim but was glad he was telling people his expertise.
"Well, I can not argue with that" Flint smiled then went to his large metal case. "Now I am sure I have something in here... What price range where you thinking?" Flint asked
"Ermm well something around 500 alright? " Liam muttered hopefully
"Well... yes.. I have a few handguns here..." Flint pulled out a small handgun. "9mm, 8 round magazine, reliable, produced 2018, used mostly for concealment..." Flint placed it on the cluttered table
"Or would you prefer something larger?" Flint removed a larger handgun, similar looking to a 1911. ".45ACP, 7 round magazine, Produced 2015, it has been used by military personnel all over the world." Flint placed it down next to the other handgun.
"Or maybe you are looking for something with more reliability than a semi automatic.." Flint removed two revolvers from the case. "Now call me old fashioned but I feel there is nothing better than a wheel gun. Reliable, sturdy, and can pack a large punch. These revolvers both come in .38 and .357 Smith and Wesson. Made in 2024, the smaller one holds five rounds, whilst the larger holds six."
Flint allowed Liam to examine the guns and hold them.

"Ill take this one" Liam motioned to the small handgun.
"Great a perfect choice for everyday carry" Flint chimed placing the other firearms in the case. "Now that firearm markets for, about... 460 and I can throw in a box of 9mm rounds for 10 .. so 470 for the lot." Flint removed a small box of ammunition from the case and placed it on the table, as the man went to a shoebox beside him and removed a large wad of cash. Flint was unsure where it was from but as long as it was legal tender he didn't care, happily excepting the wad and quickly counting it. He locked up his case and walked slowly to the door
"Well I hope you the best of luck in any future endeavours. Be sure to tell you friends" Flint friendly remarked as the other man nods
"Will do" Liam said loading his handgun and looking down the barrel, by this point Flint didn't care and so he left the man with his firearm.

Soon Flint was on his way home, another successful deal, his wallet now larger than it was before. He wondered if he should go to the local watering hole later, after he dropped off his money. He was particular thirsty for a glass of whiskey and sighed to himself as he continued the treck home.

The body dropped to the ground with a thud, an arrow lodged in his head. From the top of a building, where the smoke coming from the building kept her concealed, Eva stood still holding her bow in the starter position. Her now was advanced. Produced in 2035. A beauty. Eva pressed a button and the bow broke off into pieces which she stuffed into her messenger bag.

She then carefully and silently jumped down from the building, wasn't too high up. She then walked to the body and removed her arrow. No evidence. Her arrows were ordinary though the arrow head was a sharp metal. Allowing easy killing.

She wiped the blood from the arrow on the man's shirt. Before placing the arrow, after breaking it in 2, in her bag. No-one would notice the body, and or care. Dead bodies were fount all the time. What's one more?

Eva walked away from the body before peeking out from the alleyway. Not a soul in sight. Considering it's night, no surprise. No-one is out at night. She glanced behind her. Except for this guy. He's an idiot though.

Eva pulled her hood over her head as a wind blew. She then walked out of the alley to her employers 'hideout'. Wouldn't call it that. The guy lived in a rundown apartment building in Vermont. Then again, everywhere is rundown really.

When she got to the apartment she walked up the steps before entering. She walked up 2 flights of stairs before reaching door number 2C. She knocked 4 times quickly. There was some rustling on the other side of the door before it opened revealing a tired looking man around the age of 30-38. "Come in, come in." He rushed, his eyes taking in her form greedily.

She walked in confidently and wasn't surprised to see a disgusting apartment. Food all over the place and the tv showing nothing but static. Need she go on?

"Did you kill him?" He asked hurriedly, the slight twitching of his left eye revealing he was a drugging. The subtle scratching at his exposed skin that was already quite red revealed her hadn't had a fix in a while. She noticed all this as she took a good look at him.

"Yes I did." She said with a twinge of annoyance from his doubt in her.

He nodded, his eyes going light with the good news. He then shuffled to the couch reaching under the cushions to reveal a wad of cash. "$420."

She took it from him quickly before counting it quickly. Just the exact amount. She smirked. "Nice doing business with ya." She said giving him a 2-fingered salute before turning on her heel of her black high heeled boots and leaving the apartment quickly.

Once she left the apartment she pocketed the money in her jeans before she stuffed her hands in her leather jacket pockets and left the scene. Her bed was the only thing on her mind.

Renton sat in his pub staring at the television screen fixed on the wall across the room. The room was almost completely silent, most of the customers were regulars and even if they weren't they were still from the same place as the rest. Renton's bar was renowned for being one of the only Scottish bars in New York. Anyone could come in, it's just if you weren't at least British the welcome probably wouldn't be as warm as it would if you actually watched football.

Right now the entire bar was fixated on the match on television right now. Rangers vs Celtic. The two rivals had been butting heads for years and this time was no different. Renton had a $300 bet on Rangers winning, and if he was distracted from the final moments he wouldn't be happy. Right now the match was tied and the ball kept getting ever closer to Ranger's goals. Renton's head snapped to the direction of a rather loud American eating a packet of crisps. Just in time to distract Renton from the final goal, in which Celtic won. Renton felt the rage well up inside him, his workers and regulars had learned that it was better to just let his anger set its course rather than try to stop him. One of the veteran drug dealers got up with Renton though, to stop him from doing too much damage.

Renton made his way across the room, grabbing a pool cue on his way to the podgy man. He swung it ferociously against the man's midsection, snapping it in half when it made contact. He threw the handle still in his hand to the floor before grabbing the man and throwing him to the ground. The entire pub watched him as he began to kick the everloving shit out of the man who had merely distracted him from a lost bet. He reached into his jacket pocket to reveal a small jackknife. He flipped it from its handle before attempting to stab the man right in his fat face. His arm was stopped though by the veteran dealer who then tore the knife from Renton's hand.

Renton realized how much the situation had escalated, and what the repercussions could be if he actually did stab the fucker. He gave the man one last kick before making his way outside. When he got outside he lit a cigarette and began to smoke. Soon enough, a few of Renton's loyal workers dragged the man outside and onto the street across. Renton grinned as his men poured liquor onto the unconscious man, no one would believe a drunk over a 'respectable' bar owner. Renton finally flicked his cigarette onto the street in front before returning to his pub. He picked up his mug of whiskey and took a swig before slamming the glass back down onto the table and spinning to face one of his new recruits who had just finished his first drug run. The recruit hastily made his way to Renton before handing him the money and expecting payment. Renton grinned, he carefully counted his money in front of the recruit before pulling a $5 bill from the pack and handing it to him. The recruit stared at the bill before speaking.
"B-but Geoff told me he gets p-paid at least $100 a run" Renton laughed to himself a small bit before replying.
"Aye, but Geoff's been working for more than a day and doesnae have a stutter that makes me want to punch him in the jaw" The recruit stared for a minute as if expecting it was some cruel joke. Renton denied his suspicions by saying
"Well? Fuck off and come back tomorrow without the stutter if you want more" The recruit hastily made his way out of the pub which was now back to it's usual loud and cheerful manner.

The light tap of her footfall reverberated against the sheet metal structure of the slums' rooftops. Her rapid, soft breaths boomed in her ears; at this moment, there was Nicole, and there was her route ahead. She glanced back over her shoulder momentarily. The victim of her latest steal was drunkenly following her on the street below, taking potshots with his handgun. She wasn't worried; his shots were so off he was more likely to kill another bystander on the street. Nicole refocused towards the route ahead. She took rapid notes of her environment: street below on the left, alley on the opposing side. Four story brick building on the other side of the alley providing a series of fire escapes and catwalks mirroring her position atop a two story building. Up ahead, there was- wall incoming!

Nicole took note of the wall a split second later than she should have. She kicked off the rooftop with her left, and also her off, foot. She planted the toe of her right on the wall in front, the pressure of the unexpected impact pulling at the muscle. It hurt, but there was no time for pain. She pushed herself backwards off the wall into a flip. Her landing was subpar; the toe injury had already thrown her off balance, and her faulty landing only added to the pain. Nicole winced, looking towards the fire escape across the alley. The jump wasn't far. Ten feet, give or take two, easily done with a running start. Nicole took off towards the alleyway to the right.

As she evaluated the jump, she slightly adjusted the length of her strides in order to place her left foot as her vault foot. She was less practiced with it, but accounting for the pain in her right foot and the distance of the jump, Nicole knew she could make it with her left foot but not with her right. The launch was solid. She kicked her legs forward and threw her arms out in front of her, gripping the railing of the fire escape. The impact was harder than she expected; she took a moment to catch her breath, then threw her body up and over the railing. Nicole ran up the staircase to the top floor, and pulled herself up onto the roof. From the streets below, she heard the drunk screams of a man who had lost his quarry. She smiled, reaching into her pocket. She pulled a slice of bread and silver watch from within, taking a bite from the bread. Food for the day, she thought, taking another bite. Nicole moved towards the edge of the rooftop, hanging her legs over the side. As she ate, she looked down upon the streets below. It was by no means perfect, but it was home.

When Angel left the room, his eyes were sweating and he was coughing his lungs out. God, he thought, Please bless that smoker with a window. He ignored the buzz in his shorts as he instead focused on bending over and lacing up his shoes. No matter how tightly he wound them, they always seemed to come loose. Straightening himself up, he tugged on his shorts, as though the small length of it would somehow cover the several bruises and marks on his legs if he pulled on them enough. Angel zipped up the much too large women's coat over his small, undernourished frame before heading out of the complex, meeting with stale, smoky air littered here and there with bums high off their asses.

Pulling his coat more tightly around him, Angel finally reached from in his pocket, reading the text from his boss. He wasn't sure which boss- he'd made the mistake of accidentally writing both Amber and Rachel's names in as simply "Boss" and never found it in himself to actually need clarification. So, whoever it was that texted him, they told Angel to hurry his ass to his next destination, and to make sure this client paid first before he took off anything. Polite as ever, Angel texted back an "ok", shoving the phone into his shorts before heading his way.

As he walked, he saw in the distance a worker, just like him, waiting for customers. Angel saw a potential make his way from behind her, only for that potential to pull a gun out. No matter how much he tried, the only things that managed to leave Angel's mouth were small complainative grunts, grunts that could no way be heard from the distance he was at. When the man pressed the gun against the worker, Angel's sneakers were already beating against the ground as he ran forward.

Panting- he'd just been ravaged and now you expect him to run like an olympian?- he waved his arms towards the two, shaking his head side to side vigorously. He knew better than to grab onto a guy with a weapon, but Angel did it anyways, reaching and wrapping his arms around the man's hand holding the gun.

Light from the computer screen reflected in Lilith’s eyes and illuminated her face, turning her already pale skin an ethereal white. She was reclining in her comfy office chair, typing furiously on her computer keyboard. Music blasted into her ears as she successfully hacked into an investment company, and then tweaked the system so that several thousand dollars were diverted to one of the bank accounts she had made under a different identity. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to use that alias anymore, when they find out - if they find out. She wiped her trail and checked her email. There was only one, from a gunsmith who had bought one of her designs and was informing her that he wouldn’t be able to pay her until next month because he didn’t have the money yet. Bullshit, Lilith had hacked into his system, did some quick calculations, and he had about double the amount needed, stuffed away in a safe. Complete shit-for-brains for recording the thing on his computer and forgetting she was a freaking hacker.

Getting up, she washed her face and brushed back her pitch-black hair, sweeping it back into a ponytail, and grabbing a baggy black hoodie to wear over her gray t-shirt and navy jeans. Under it she fitted two metal plates with straps over her heart, in case of a fight breaking out, and grabbed a modified Sig Sauer P238 fitted with a silencer and a switchblade. She then put on her combat boots and steeped outside, walking towards the alleys. She could climb, and with the cops that have been about lately, she’d rather not risk her chances. The apartment building wasn’t far from the gunsmith’s house. She used a fire escape to jump to the next roof, a pub, which was, judging from the noise inside, was watching a game. It didn’t really matter to her, as she was busy climbing down a roof a building away from the asshole who thought he could skip out on paying her.

A minute later, the fat, pale-faced man was cowering behind his counter, his white wife-beater soaked with sweat. The few hairs on his balding head were matted down on his forehead from perspiration, and the Sig Sauer Lilith had brought was pressed up under his chin. The aforementioned was leaning slightly over the service counter, her blue eyes flashing. “I told you I don’t have the money!” He yelped waving his arms around frantically, “I swear I’ll pay you next month!” Lilith growled.

“And I swear that if you don’t pay me now, you’ll get a bullet into your brains! Really, I’m a hacker, and you saved a file on your computer with information of your earnings. Not to mention the computer you have is an old model. Did you really think that you could hide from me?” The man shook his head rapidly. “I’ll get the money for you, here!” He ran to a framed painting of a rifle, an M1 Garand used in World War II. Lilith snorted. It was behind a painting, cliché much? He then grabbed the correct amount and shoved towards her. She carefully examined them. Satisfied, she thanked the gunsmith for his cooperation, and then walked towards the door. The man’s watery gray eyes narrowed, and he grabbed a pistol and aimed for Lilith’s heart, then fired. The bullet bounced off the metal plate on her back, and it alerted her. She immediately spun around and fired a bullet into the man’s arm, who howled in pain. It wasn’t life-threatening, and even though Lilith hated leaving loose ends, she let him go. After all, once she got home she would be sending out false information to her clients that he was a spy for the police. The others would either kill him outright, or stop buying from him. Either way, he’ll die.

Persephone pulled her hair out of the jacket and threw it over her shoulder. Rusco liked it long so that was the way she kept it, no matter how annoying and in the way it got. The jacket was leather and a few sizes too large, but it wasn't like they were about to go out shopping. Especially now, with the other day's loss. Just now had been the first time Rusco had called her since the cop caught their runner, and he had just let her go early so he could keep figuring out how to get the money back. She reached the stairs and hopped down them, ignoring the glances she got as the others heard her coming down. It wasn't some big secret where she'd been, and she knew they were only waiting to see if she was alone or not. Once they didn't see Rusco coming up behind her, they turned back to what they were doing. A bunch of the guys were playing poker over the table, and everyone else seemed to just be laying around. The hit had been hard and unexpected, and no one was doing much of anything about it.

She grabbed some of the food the guys had spilled open on the table for dinner and crossed the room to watch the poker game. There was nothing the guys loved more than a good game, and after watching about twenty of them Per was sure she would have been able to play with them. The only problem was she didn't own anything, so she couldn't gamble anything. The closest she ever came to playing was when Rusco had thrown her into the pot as a prize - but he had only ever done that when he was sure he'd win. But Rusco wasn't playing this round, so she was safe for now. Per reached the table and leaned against the wall where she could snack and watch without being in the way. It looked like one of the guys was winning by a lot, but it didn't take Per long to realize something was off.

Tensions where high. Two of the boys had already folded, leaving three left in the game. Orren's hard stare and perpetual scowl gave away nothing. The guy across from him, Tito, pushed a few more chips into the middle of the table, a smirk across his face. The guy to Orren's right cursed as he slapped his cards down on the table.
"Fold."

Orren laid down his cards with confidence. He was sure he had the better hand, until Tito spread his out on the table. Orren's face dropped, then scowled. "You fucking cheater," He snapped, standing up. Tito stood as well.
"What are you talking about? I ain't no filthy cheater. I won fair, so pay up!" Orren growled as he lunged at the man, grabbing his arm and pulling a few spare cards out of his sleeve.
"Then what the fuck is this?! What kind of fucking, shit eating morons do you take us for? Everyone knows you're a fucking cheat, Tito. Your own goddamn mother wouldn't deny it!" At that, Tito took a swing at him. The two started a full out scuffle, knocking the table over and sending chips flying. Orren was pretty short in statue, but he had muscle to make up for it. Tito was lean and lanky, but he wasn't exactly a fair fighter.

Meanwhile, Jack was about to make some money of his own. The hooker, not wanting to get her brains blown out, handed Jack her wristlet. Jack away about to walk away when someone ran up and grabbed his arm. His sunglasses fell off his face and landed on the cement. Acting out of instinct, he ripped his arm away from the smaller man and brought the butt of his gun down on the guy's head. About that time, a SUV turned the corner and began speeding towards them; Jack assumed it was the pimp. He shoved the kid down and hauled ass. The first rule he'd learned on the street was to never fight if you could run. He ran across a couple yards and hopped a fence, just as a couple men piled out of the van after him. They gave a short chase before giving up when Jack hit TI-32 territory.

On the other side of town, Dylan was privileged with the ability to walk down the streets without worry of being shot or mugged. Most of his clients were from over here. He was approaching the apartment complex of his next client when his phone buzzed again. He pulled it out as he walked and looked at his new text. A new client had already been added to his list; hopefully this woman wouldn't take too long. As Dylan climbed the stairs, he pulled out a couple little pills from his pocket and popped them in his mouth. He swallowed dry, something he'd learned to do a little too well over the years. One was essentially Viagra, a gigolo's best friend, and the other was cheap Oxycontin. Dylan was rarely sober when he saw his clients; he wasn't such a chill guy when he without his pretty little pills.

By the time he reached the door, his head was swimming in the clouds. Dylan found the box that had been mentioned just inside the door and began to inspect it. He was a little relieved, if not also amused, to find a pizza boy outfit inside. Old classics never died, he supposed. Dylan undressed and changed into the uniform before lumbering off to find the bedroom, pizza box in hand. He pushed the door open to find his client, a middle aged woman, sprawled across the bed.
"Oh there you are," She crooned, "Is my pizza still warm?" The woman was doing her best to make her voice sound sultry. If Dylan wasn't high off his ass, he may have cringed.
"Hell yeah. Shit's burning my fucking hands off." It was usually better for Dylan to keep his mouth shut in the presence of his clients, but he rarely ever did so.
"I hope you have lots of extra...meat."
"Why don't you be all coming over here to find out?"

The lid of Eros' zippo closed with a familiar click, taming the red flame within with just one small 'click'. She sat, right leg crossed over her left, as a puff of smoke blew from her mouth into the cold, night air, the cloud of toxic chemicals blending with it's surroundings until it had dissipated completely, leaving no trace it was ever actually there. That's how Eros liked to be, intrusive and toxic, only to disappear minutes later with no signs that she'd even been there in the first place. Unfortunately, however, the only thing she had in common with the smoke was the cigarette it'd come from, as it was currently residing in her hand, placed lazily between two bony fingers as she leaned back in her chair, one eyebrow lazily raised at the guy in front of her. It was a man she knew well - Reed Clarke, in the flesh. Honestly, she had no idea why he was here, but something about him seemed to reek desperation but, then again, that could've just been the cheap cologne he insisted on wearing when he went out to 'pull' girls.

"'ight, I know what you did, and I know that the chances of hearing anything that even sounds like sorry from you is about as likely as pigs hijacking a jet and flying to Mars, but I just wanted you to know that you owe me, bitch. The crap you stole? It's actually worth something to some people because, unlike you, some people do actually care about something other than how they look in the mir-" he was interrupted by a puff of smoke blowing in his face, disrupting his speech for long enough so Eros could stand up, pulling the flimsy nightgown she had on tighter to ensure she wasn't showing skin without intending to. Her face was pulled into a pout, lips painted a bright shade of red in a stark contrast to her almost porcelain skin, as she slowly faced him, a long sigh escaping her lips.

"Reed," she began, pout slowly dropping to form a disappointed frown, "I didn't take anything of yours, no drugs, no nothing, so get the fuck out of here and leave me alone, will ya?" The words fell off her tongue effortlessly, even the dirtiest of words sounding almost velvety. That was the trick, to sound like you meant what you were saying, no matter how big the lie. Sure, maybe she'd stolen some of his stuff, but she'd doubted he'd miss it. Besides, taking a woman's necklace you were sure he'd never wear in his life practically counted as 'nothing', right? She sure as hell thought so. She offered him a small smile, taking another long drag of the cigarette as her gaze lifted to look him in the eye, almost daring him to call her out on the lies.

"I think you forget that I know you, Ero. I know the way you act when you want to pretend you're right, or that you're telling the truth, I know how you pretend to be so very, very confident about absolutely everything, even when you're quaking in your six inch heels; I know you," he replied quickly, the volume of his voice dropping quieter and quieter with every word as one hand stretched out to Eros, pulling at the strings of her nightie to pull her closer to him, not stopping until the pair were uncomfortably close, Reed's breath warm and wet against her neck. His hands somehow moved to her hips, running his fingers along the fabric of the nightie, tracing invisible lines into her skin. "I know you." His gaze lifted to meet hers then, blue eyes meeting green eyes before he leaned in to kiss her, only to be greeted by an eruption pain in his downstairs area, Eros having kneed him in the balls.

"I think you forget that I'm not your whore," was all she said, taking a step away from the figure that had now fallen to the ground, clutching his privates like his life depended on it. Dainty feet deftly walked over to the door, pulling on an oversized black parka to cover her nightie, hands ditching the cigarette to a glass ash tray in favor of the coats pockets. She knew she probably looked like some kind of hooker, but she honestly didn't care. She quickly slipped on a pair of strappy black heels and turned back to look at him, cocky smile spreading over her lips.
"If you find it, you can have it. But if you're still here when I get back, or if I find anything that's not yours missing, I won't hesitate to shoot you in the head, okay?" She purred, grabbing her keys out of the bowl next to the door before slipping out into the night, the door slamming shut behind her. She'd pay for leaving him in there alone, she already knew that, but she wasn't all that bothered - Reed didn't even register when it came to dangerous people in the South. It was time for an evening adventure, she thought, just as long as she didn't accidentally get herself killed along the way.

Per finished her food with a rumble in her stomach and watched the game. She was starving, but as always there was no food. They could afford plenty of drugs and whores, sure. But food? Never. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched one guy fold as another pushed more chips into the pot. It was only Tito and Orren now, both pretty good players. But Tito was known to cheat at everything, and Per wasn't the only one who realized it. Tito threw down the better hand and Orren practically lunged at his throat. Cards flew out of Tito's sleeve and then Tito's fist flew at Orren's face, and pretty soon everything was flying. The table flipped and everyone in the vicinity scattered to make room.

Per stepped backwards as far as she could keeping a close eye on the brawling men to make sure she didn't get caught in the flurry. She turned to leave - and slammed into a hard wall of flesh she knew way too well. She looked up and caught Rusco's eye, and he looked mad. "Ice," he snapped, nodding back towards their makeshift kitchen. She nodded and headed towards their freezer, and he took a few large steps towards the men. Others spotted him and the room hushed as Per came back to his side with an armful of ice. "Yo, Pussypants and Crackhead, what the fuck are you guys doing?"

The bacon sizzled beautifully as it hit the frying pan. The heavenly aroma permeated the air of the small apartment, and little drops of oil flew about, causing Lilith to hiss as some hit her hand. She was just turning them over when someone knocked. However the sizzling of bacon and the heavy metal music coming from her cellphone drowned it out, causing the interruption to go unnoticed. They only knocked harder, which rattled the door dangerously. Lilith noticed this time, as she had turned off the stove and was setting her snack onto a plate. ”The doors unlocked, shit stain and stop banging on it or you’ll break it off its fucking hinges!” She was really pissed at the moment. Later she had to make sure to bill whoever was at the door for repairs.

A moment later, an eighteen year-old boy stumbled in. He was probably fresh out of college. “You aren’t a regular here. The fuck sent a son of a bitch like you?” Lilith asked, stuffing a piece of bacon into her mouth. The kid turned pink, his brown-green eyes flicking to the floor and back. “Adrian sent me. I’m his cousin, Javier. He told me you were a hacker and an information broker.” Lilith choked on her bacon. “Like hell Adrian sent you. You probably heard it from him when the fucker was rambling after five shots of Budweiser’s, Carlsberg if there’s none of that.” Javier reddened. “It doesn’t matter where I heard it; I have money and can pay you.” He held out a wad of cash. Lilith held out her hand and he placed it in. She quickly counted the money. Five hundred dollars sat in her palm. The kid must be desperate. She mentally sighed.

“Okay shit stain, what job do you need done?” He swallowed nervously. “I need information on someone. I have their email right here. My email is underneath.” He handed her a slip of paper. “Alright, stay here and don’t move.” She grabbed her bacon and booted up her computer. Hacking in was easy. She quickly collected all the files and copied them, emailing them to Javier, then wiping her trail. “I’m done” She said, walking back in. “And only this once will I help you stalk the girl you like, and this was only because you’re that child-fucker’s cousin. If you show your shitty-ass face here again, I will shove my knife in. I can hack fucking companies and you ask me to hack a little bitch’s computer through her email, God damn it!” The kid practically rushed out of her apartment. Lilith glared at the door, and then picked up her cellphone, calling her ‘friend’ via Skype.

“Hello?”Adrian’s heavily accented voice rang out. His face appeared on the screen.

“Adrian. Your delightful cousin Javier came over today. He was so fucking nice that he offered me five hundred dollars if I helped him stalk his bitch. Isn’t he so. Fucking. Wonderful?” Lilith seethed, the slight British accent coming out in her voice, though it was marred with the Italian one she acquired from speaking with her dad. Her blue eyes flashed. “He told me you still have a very loose tongue when it comes to drinking, too…”

About fifteen minutes later, the rant was over, Adrian had gone to get some more booze - he never learns - and Lilith lay sprawled across her creaky single bed. It was only eight and she was still severely pissed. She started taking it out on some innocent online gamers, who were complaining that the boss in one of her games was invincible and no one had ever beaten it, and then really dished it out to some guy claiming he had defeated it. Lilith eventually got bored of modifying his Facebook, grabbed her sketchbook and a mechanical pencil from her nightstand, and started on a new design.

"Look, I don't sell this stuff alright. You buy it from my people. Now get out of here you make a scene." John told the man outside who showed up on his doorstep early on that morning. He's temper was beginning to flair but he tried to be calm and casual. He scratched the back of head to try and tone down his frustration. He kept a soft, calm and low voice as he talked with the man though a small slit in his door.

"Look, John, I can't get the stuff from dealers. I have... some money that I owe them man. I'll pay them once I get my fix, I swear. Look just hook me up this one time and you'll never see me again, I promise." The man tried to reason with John but it wasn't going to work. He already owed somebody cash so it wasn't likely that he was going to pay up here too. There was also the subject that he owed a dealer. Whether it was one of one of John's friends or some of the gang's, it was bad either way. John needed to get rid of this guy and get rid of him fast. Normally, he would ask Raymond to take care of this situation but he didn't know if he was still asleep or making his rounds on the streets. John had all but himself.

"That's not how it works and you better keep you voice down in case somebody is listening." John said with a sharp tone, making it clear to the junkie that his patience was running out. "Now, you get the fuck away from here you get in real trouble. Is that understood?"
The man began to get down on his knees. He head pointed down at the concrete sideway. He's long, blonde, scruffy and grimy hair covered his face as he began to sob. "Just give me some crystal man and I'l be gone. Please man, I need it. I really need it."

"You seriously can't be giving me this shit right now." John muttered to himself. "Get out of here before now pal or else." He tried to warn the junkie one last time before he got really upset.

The other guy just knelled there in front of his door, his arms and faced pressed against the steel-framed door. "Just this one time man, I really need it. Please, I just need it."

At that moment, John snapped as he couldn't handle himself anymore. He unhinged all of the locks on his door and with all his might, he pushed it open. The man outside was thrown by the force and the poor sucker got a bloody wound on his left cheek because of it. John stepped outside with a look of utter anger as his eyes full of rage focused on the man.
"Look here asshole, if you don't get out of here I'm going to bash your face in with my fist. Do you understand?!"

The man ran down the street, not even looking back once at John as he did. John hurriedly got back inside his home and locked the door. "Goddamn asshole." He muttered to himself. He reached for his mug of coffee that he placed on a small plastic coffee table in front of him. He then proceeded to go to work. He headed for his house's basement where his lab was located.

With a final, satisfying bite, the slice of bread was gone. Nicole missed it already, but there wasn't much to be done about it, and there was no reason to mourn the loss of a slice of bread. So instead, she began to scan the street and alleyways below for anything that caught her eye. For the most part, it was quiet; some brawls in the alley, hookers standing around, druggies huddling together in a circle. There was nothing of real interest to Nicole; nothing to be stolen, nothing to eat. The relative lack of activity surprised her. Then again, you learn quickly in this town to stay inside at night. Clearly not a lesson Nicole's learned quite yet. But, to be fair, she was a small thief, whose goal was simply to survive. As long as she stayed under the radar with her activities, she would be okay. Theoretically. Anything could happen in this place.

A door slammed from the street below, grabbing Nicole's attention. A hooker-looking woman emerged from the door, and she walked like she owned the city. It was entrancing, to say the least. Nicole hopped down from her rooftop seat onto the fire escape below, keeping an eye on the woman as she moved through the streets. Her choice in makeup was questionable, but when you lived on this side of the river that probably didn't really matter too much. Regardless, Nicole couldn't decide if she wanted to take this woman's money or touch the ponytail on the back of her head. Nicole maneuvered her way across the rooftops, carefully watching the woman. There was just something about this woman that screamed for Nicole's attention.

But then Nicole paused. The last time she had found herself this enthralled by a person she had spent six months completely subservient to a man only wanted her around as a silent fucktoy. And the time before that she had been worked relentlessly day and night as a runner across the city, delivering packages to the shadiest of people until she nearly dropped dead. And the time before that... Nicole didn't need to go on. She knew of her submissive tendencies, and she knew she was helpless to stop them. For a moment she considered turning back around and leaving the enthralling woman in question to her evening of adventure, but one more glance at the woman in heels and Nicole was helpless. She sprinted across the rooftops once more, stopping about twenty feet in front of the woman. She climbed down onto the street and planted herself in front of the woman.

He’d been told that, at the turn of the 21st century, South Side wasn’t a bad place to live. It was a middle-class area, and the sprawling manor, white picket fence American Dream existed as a much more modest apartment, but the people were still the same. They had hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Hopes that the economy would turn around some day, dreams of their children living an even better life than them, and aspirations to live in the high rises to the north. Somewhere along the line, however, the South Side lost sight of their goals. Perhaps all the wealth moved north. Maybe it was some conspiracy to further the gap between the classes. Some were even bold enough to state that the government was at fault for South Side’s decay, intentionally pulling almost all police forces out, fencing the river off, and diverting all funding from the South to the North. Of course, this was all speculation. Nobody would ever know the truth. All that could be said is in 40 years, South Side transformed from a blue-collar haven into a monstrous shell of its former self, filled to the brim with poverty, drugs, and violence.

Clint Parker heard these stories from the few older residents, most of them having died at the hands of criminals or simply jumping ship. When these hollow-faced men and women spoke of the glory days, the bright glint in their dull eyes suggested they told the truth, although it was hard to believe when looking at the sprawling shanty town. Clint, having only arrived a year ago in Calson City, usually failed to spot these tiny shards of the past, though they did occasionally shine through the layer of grime that coated the city. The crumbling brick building of a dentist’s office, shattered windows looking like gaping maws. Abandoned hospitals filled with the homeless, no longer receiving the care they desperately need. In truth, the old city was long-forgotten, with the current youth concerned only with how to survive today instead of laying the brickwork for tomorrow. Every day, the shards continued to fade, and soon none would remain.

Clint’s shadow appeared only as a faint, shimmery avatar of himself on the cracked and beaten sidewalk, as the only light in the street was that illuminated from the neon signs of businesses. The purple, blue, and yellow neon lights, advertising loose whore and slot machines, were obnoxious to most, but Parker found them comforting, having lived much of his life beneath the bright signs of Las Vegas; still, Main Street in Calson City was a far cry from The Strip. Prostitutes lined the streets, but they weren’t the voluptuous, eager girls like the ones in Sin City. These men and women were walking skeletons smeared in make-up, their clothes loosely draped around them and track marks marring every inch of exposed flesh. Their advances were not playful or teasing, but straight-forward and desperate. One truly miserable girl, looking only 18, practically threw herself onto Clint as seductively as she could, though she just came off as pathetic. Her low-cut grubby shirt revealed little, save for the bones beneath her skin, and the girl’s miniscule shorts were held up only by her pelvic bone. The prostitute wrapped her scrawny arms around Clint’s neck and whispered the dirtiest things she could think of, her voice barely choking back the sobs in her throat. Clint’s heart sank, and he gently pulled the girl’s arms off, but as she began to fall, he swiftly caught the woman in his rough hands.

“Please, mister, I’ll do anything, I haven’t eaten in days,” she begged, looking up into his eyes. Clint looked into her face, but failed to see the sunken eyes, filthy skin, and matted hair. Instead, he saw the woman she could be. Bright blue eyes full of life, healthy dark complexion, and a white smile that never ceased. He was startled when he realized the girl bore a striking resemblance to his own mother when she was a girl. Parker slowly helped the girl to her feet, and gently placed a crumpled hundred dollar bill into his skeletal hand. Cash was rarely used in the North Side, replaced largely by transactions via smartphone, but cash remained king in the crime-infested South Side. 30 years ago, when Clint was a boy, one hundred bucks would take you a long way; his mother managed to stretch one bill for an entire week, making sure her only son was properly clothed and fed. Rising costs of living quickly ensured this would no longer be possible, and the girl would be lucky if she could feed herself for a day or two. Still, she trembled with excitement as she clutched the bill, but her face rapidly twisted into a face of horror when she realized the man had just handed her more than four times her usual charges. What degrading acts was he about to inflict upon her?

Clint saw this look in her eyes, and shook his head. “Consider it a gift,” he said softly. “Just make sure you hang onto it, alright?” The young woman nodded and squealed with joy before running down the street, apparently reinvigorated by the cash in her hand. Clint stood idly for a moment, watching as she disappeared into the night. For all he knew, she could be running to the nearest dealer to buy zydrate, the newest drug that plagued South Side. Zydrate was unlike any other drug on the market, as it used nanobots to deliver mood-altering drugs to the brain, thus rapidly decreasing the time it took for the effects to be felt. The glowing blue substance was injected intravenously, and gave the user similar side effects to heroin, but much more potent. Many users die their first time, as they always believe they can handle larger amounts like the longtime addicts. The streets were becoming filled with bodies, and in their hands they clutched little glass vials half-full of zydrate. Still, the girl could very well be rushing off to buy food for herself, or possibly her child. The thought sent chills down his back. Maybe he should have given her more.

Clint cleared his mind of the incident and continued walking down the busy street. The only cars that drove past were from 2020 and under; the year Congress passed a new law that required all automobile manufacturers plant tracking devices in their vehicles. Shortly after, in 2022, another law passed that required weapons to have the same chips. Nobody wanted to be tracked by the cops in South Side, so they opted for older models, sacrificing performance for security. However, there were those capable of removing these tracking devices from the object; Parker, having worked on cars for most of his life, could remove the chip from any vehicle with the right tools. Firearms, however, were a little more difficult as the work was more precise, and many newer models were including fingerprint identification systems that prevented anyone but the owner from operating the weapon. These added difficulties made weapon designers and weapon smiths invaluable members of the criminal community. Clint took a turn off the main road, burying one hand into the pocket of his jacket, and pulling down the bill of his simple black baseball cap. Clint stopped suddenly at the mouth of the street though, as he heard feet gently pounding on the corrugated metal roofs above him. He looked down the narrow alley and spotted a solitary woman walking in his direction, evidently oblivious of both his presence and the individual above her. Parker hated those types; the South Siders who ran on the rooftops, preying on the weak below, safe from both fist and bullet. Perhaps he was a little jealous as well, knowing fully well that his injured knee would never allow him to perform such acts. Clint felt the familiar metal grip of his extendable police baton in his coat pocket, and had a feeling he might need to use it as the figure jumped down from the rooftop and before the woman. He decided to hang back and wait to see what would happen before barging into the peculiar encounter.

Flint unlocked the door and walked into his home. He flicked on the light as he stretched his arms, he walked over to the safe and slid the case he had been holding inside. As well as the large amount of cash he had gotten from his most recent sale. He looked around the apartment, it was small but comfortable and the electronics showed that the owner had money to spend. He flicked on his phone, checking for any new messages from buyers but there where none.
With nothing to do, Flint left his apartment and made his way to the pub, he had become quite a regular in the last few months.
Despite the place being owned by an utter psycho, who led the notorious Glasgow Razor Gang, it still was one of the best places to drink nearby, especially for business.

Flint was back on the streets, and as he walked to the pub a scrawny man confronted him
"Flint? Flint!" The man said, as he smiled "You don't happen to have some zydrate? Do ya buddy?" He asked twitching a little.
"Sorry I haven't been dealing in awhile, guns are where the money is at." Flint removed his wallet and gave the man a few bills "Now go away"
The man nodded and left as Flint couldn't help but sigh.
He soon made his way to the pub and walked quickly to the bar, the atmosphere was warm despite the man, who seemed to have been recently removed, lying outside covered in alcohol. Flint ordered his usual cheap whiskey and glanced around, seeing a few regulars. He noticed that the owner, Renton, was present but made sure not to exchange eye contact. The revolver on his hip seemed rather heavy whilst inside the pub, reassuring Flint that it was there if he needed it.

When she'd left her house, it hadn't actually occurred to Eros that she had very little to do out here, most of the things she'd needed to do that day having already been done. Still, the clip of her heels against the cold ground were a welcome comfort, the monotonous familiarity of each night strangely relaxing. That was the thing in the South side of the city, nothing ever really changed. Sure, people died, lives moved on, hell, some even made it out of the slum, but even with an influx of people arriving and leaving, it never changed. The attitude of the people was a constant, driving them to prostitution, drug dealing, arms dealing; if you could think of it and it wasn't exactly legal, there was more than likely at least three desperate vagrants selling it. Need someone killed? Done. Need your next fix of a drug? Done. Hell, are you just damn horny? Done. It was a brutal and dirty place, but it never pretended to be anything other than that, and that was exactly the way Eros liked it.

Digging around in her pockets for another cigarette, she glanced around at the street she was on, admittedly having not strayed too far from her own home. On the corner sulked the usual suspects, scantily clad women that were more rib cage than boob offering the little aesthetics they had by wearing pants that were practically knickers and oversized transparent tops, draped over what was essentially just bone. Nothing was left to the imagination, and Eros hated every second of it. Hadn't they any decency? Did the word 'subtly' mean nothing to them? Hell, was that word even within the grasps of their vocabulary? It sure as hell didn't look like it. She shrugged the feeling of disgust creeping up her spine off and turned away from the group, trying her hardest to ignore the obnoxious cackle that seemed to explode from one of the girls, laughing as if one of them had actually managed to say something funny. Another even dared to shout some lazily thought out insult Eros' way, but it was hard to understand someone that had that few teeth, and so all she did in return was blow them a kiss, even bothering to wink just to show how undaunted she was. Continuing on her way down the road, her hand finally clasped around a spare cigarette in her pocket, and she was about to light it when a figure crashed down in front of her, pausing her hand as it twitched against the lighter.

She stood, frozen for a minute, not quite sure what to do. It wasn't often people planted themselves right in front of her, showing a certain amount of courage by even looking her in the eye. Her hands still paused where they were, Eros cocked her head to the right, a look of pure curiosity passing over her features, her head panicking slightly as she tried to figure out how to handle the situation. She wasn't great with new situations, it took her a while to adjust at the best of times, but she'd just have to try.

Unsticking her hands, she finally managed to light the fag, an unsatable tremor running through her right hand, something she hadn't been able to rid herself for some time. Dropping the lighter back into her pocket, she offered the woman in front of her a curious smile, one eyebrow raised as she took a long drag, letting the smoke blow out into the air as she finally spoke, silk tones filling the air, "uh, you okay there sweetie? You seem, how do I put this nicely?" she paused, running her tongue over her teeth as she thought, "frazzled," she finally concluded, gaze not once leaving the petite, black haired woman. She'd caught Eros' attention, that was for sure, because she didn't even see the man observing the pair from a far, and she was usually one to acknowledge (and judge) everything.

The two guys didn't look like they intended on breaking the fight up anytime soon, until the boss came storming down the stairs. Orren shoved Tito off of him and stood, glaring at the other man. One of his eyes was already forming a black ring around it, and his nose was dripping blood. He was proud to see Tito's face just as busted up, with one of his obnoxious golden teeth spat out into his hand.
"Just horsing around," Tito grumbled with a lisp, his missing tooth impairing his speech. Rusco looked them both over, clearly not too happy about having to come down and shut them up. He was too busy for this shit. He looked as though he was about to lay out some kind of punishment when someone came jogging into the room, panting. Orren perked up a bit at the sight of his older brother. Jack gave him a glance. An inexperience spectator wouldn't have caught it, but Orren saw the look of "what the fuck did you do this time?" in his brother's eyes.

"Hey boss. I got some extra dough. If the other boys come back with something, we might be able to make up this loss in a couple days."

Rusco seemed to defuse. Everyone knew that Jack was the teacher's pet. He knew how to brown nose with the best of them. Jack may have gotten more flack for it if he couldn't beat the shit out of every other guy there. He pulled the wad of cash he'd gotten from the hooker out of his pocket and handed it over to the boss. "That's what I'm talking about, man," Rusco said in an approving tone. "You other shitholes could learn a thing or two from Dog, here. Instead of sitting on your asses and sucking dicks."

Rusco turned to Per and motioned for her to give the guys the ice. He then turned and headed back up the stairs to count the money. Tito took his ice and slunk off, cursing and grumbling up a storm. A couple of the other guys followed him out.
"What the hell were you doing?" Jack said as he turned to his brother.
"Tito is a cheating piece of shit, what was I supposed to do?" Orren crossed his arms stubbornly, his nose dripping blood all down the front of his shirt. Jack rolled his eyes.
"Were you at least winning?"
"Yeah, I beat the shit out of him." At that, Jack smiled.
"At least something I taught you made it through that thick skull. Go get some ice for your face you faggot."

Orren lovingly flicked his brother off as he headed for the kitchen, where Per was getting another bag of ice from the fridge. Orren paused in the doorway, watching her bend over into the ice chest. He always knew the boss picked the best looking girls, but he always wondered where the guy got a girl like Per. And better yet, were did Per get that a- Oh shit, she was looking at him. Orren quickly turned away, rubbing his neck and pretending like he hadn't just been caught looking at her ass. His cheeks turned a light shade a pink, luckily hidden under the swollen lip and black eye.

Ray woke up in bed. This was a much more pleasant place to wake up than where he was in his head. He was dreaming of Iraq again. He leaned up and tried to dispel the lingering dream-wisps clinging to his mind like cobwebs. His eyes settled on his prosthetic arm and sat there, his slowly awakening mind coming to the slow and gradual realization of what exactly he was staring at. The doctor at the veteran's clinic said that it could take him two to six months to fully adjust to his prosthetic. That was two years ago. True, he has physically adjusted, but mentally....

The doctor was kinda pretty, probably younger than him, maybe. Blonde, glasses, not much of a rack, but definitely well formed. He'd thought of asking her out, but she'd just say no. She wasn't allowed to date patients. Besides, what would they have to talk about? She pretty much knew all his issues, and she probably didn't care, what with the dozens of other vets with the same fucking issues. "We're broken. Our nation broke us and we can't be fixed." She probably went home to whine to her sister or her girlfriends about how much she hates handling the stupid fucking vets and their stupid fucking issues. Why don't they just ship them off to asylums or prison or death row or just shoot them. Why couldn't they just die in Iraq and save us all the trouble.

And that was the core of it. Why couldn't he just die with his arm in that goddamn ditch in Iraq?

He got up and walked into the kitchen, shaking from the anxiety build-up. A panic attack was coming and he could feel it. He grabbed a bottle of pills and poured a couple out. A couple more than he intended, but he didn't care. The pills went in his mouth as he opened the fridge. Thank god: there was one beer left. He was sure he drank them all last night. Ray chugged the can and then stood there, feeling the anxiety ebb and the cloud descend on his head. He had less than half-a-dozen pills left; he'd have to get his prescription refilled.

Ray just stood there in the middle of the kitchen, vaguely enjoying the sensation of nothing in his head until John came into the kitchen. "We need more beer." Ray said.

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kill me it double posted ignore this