[center][h1][color=deeppink]Ѧasks[/color][/h1]
[color=turquoise][h3]Chapter One: The Spark[/h3][/color]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a91ptz1W7gg[/youtube]

[b][color=turquoise]Sunday[/color]//[color=deeppink]August 15[/color][/b][/center]
It was the worst kind of weather. Hot and wet. Sunday morning churchgoers' hair curled itself out of fashion, clothes quickly became unbearably [i]moist[/i], and neither a cold drink or hot drink would really be of any comfort. It was dank and swampy, and the only pleasant thing to do would be to stay inside. All around San Marzano, the hot moisture of the sumer air became a palpable [i]force[/i], like a static charge brought on by some [b][u]oncoming storm[/u][/b].

In particular, there was one citizen who felt [i]particularly[/i] put out by the morning, a lone tiger sauntering down Borouse Street. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his shorts and he wobbled with a concerning, almost sick-looking walk.

[i]Sunlight. What bastard invented the stuff?[/i]

Timmy could hardly see through his scrunched up eyes but he preferred to stumble through the sun bleached streets than to open them properly and let the light scorch his hungover eyes. His head was already thumping fit to burst, his hands twitching like spiders on speed and legs protesting the task of carrying him [i]all the way to the store.[/i] Better to bounce off the odd street lamp and pedestrian than add significantly to his other woes.

Still, Timmy knew the way well enough. Down the stairs, out of the apartment block, turn right, turn right again, walk down the street, cross the road and so on. Nothing complicated, nothing hard. Well, nothing hard if you were healthy, sober and using your eyes properly. As it was, Timmy was pretty sure he was almost there but couldn't swear to it. In fact, there was nothing for it.

Slowly, with both hands shading his eyes, he allowed his face to relax and took stock of the street in front of him. Through the sizzling sound of his brain cooking behind his retinas, he made out the faintly flashing red letters; [color=red][b]GAS! GROCERIES! GUNS![/b][/color] Hallelujah, he had made it. The electronic door opened with an irritating woosh as Timmy struggled to keep his feet on the slick floor. What did he need? Drink? No, no point, he could always swing by the Grotto later. Food? No, he had plenty of salad in the fridge and more than enough yoghurt. Ah! Yes! Milk! There was no milk in the fridge and no coffee in the pantry. How could he start the day properly without an adequate caffeine kick?

Confident in his purpose, if not his walk, Timmy set off towards the dairy section and snatched a couple of cartons of milk, resisting the urge to indulge in the pleasant cool of refrigerator by sticking his aching head into it. [i]One down.[/i] Turning around, he perused the various sorts of coffee by sitting on the aisle floor and bringing the packets up to his still mostly closed eyes. Squinting hard, he could just about make out the different brand names and searched, albeit with questionable efficiency, for his favourite. Nothing compared to the sheer kick of [i]Bengal White[/i] for Timmy.

When he found the packet, he gathered up four or five of them, reasoning he might as well restock properly while he was here, and staggered to the counter. During his search for that special substance, his disobedient hands had mostly behaved but now they rebelled, suddenly spasming out of his control and sending the coveted coffee flying in all directions. The spike of adrenaline had no reason to course through Timmy's system at that moment but, considering his previous abuse of said system, it was surprising that it had waited so long to arrive.
With a light growl, Timmy bent down to gather up his goods when a voice spoke up from above him. 

[color=304095][b]"Let me help you with that."[/b][/color] A hand placed itself gently on the packet in front of Timmy, and he looked up, squinting through his hangover at the figure in front of him for a few moments before focusing his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't really believe it. The [i]Goat[/i]. He wasn't sure, but he had a suspicion that he wasn't even a real guy, just some urban tall tale. The horror stories he had heard about him didn't quite match to the goat mask he was staring at, nor did the bag of frozen shrimp he was carrying, with a cartoon shrimp on the bag serving up a plate of what were probably his friends.

[color=304095][b]"I been looking around for you for quite some time, Timmy. I need you to tell somebody somethin'."[/b][/color]

Standing up and trying to look a bit less ill or at least to not sway, Timmy looked into the Goat's eyes. He wondered if his hangover enforced squint made him look like he was glaring and decided it didn't matter; if [i]this guy[/i] wanted to start a fight, he'd do for his own reasons. The thought sent another, more justified twitch through Timmy's system.

[color=red]"[/color][color=cyan]Uhuh[color=red]?[/color] Who and what[/color][color=red]?"[/color]
BJ stood unfalteringly still, though there was a light crunching underneath his mask for a moment. "Tell [i]the big man[/i] I wanted to continue the [i]talk[/i]." He made no gestures or movements, but the dissaproving mother and her small, gawking daughter passing by and looking at their masks made it pretty clear that whatever shit was going down wasn't going to go down at a Guns 'n Grub. 

[color=304095][b]"Tell him to come to Aura Park tonight. Tell him to come alone."[/b][/color]

[color=red]"[/color][color=cyan]Maybe in the Bombers you tell each other what to do and where to go[/color][color=red]."[/color] Timmy hoped the the juddering spasms shocking through his chest weren't making him sound stupid. [color=red]"[/color][color=cyan]But in the Razors[color=red],[/color] we don't give orders[color=red].[/color] I'll tell Gary you want to talk at the Aura park tonight[color=red],[/color] maybe he'll come, maybe he won't. Who knows?[/color][color=red]"[/color]

Timmy extended his hand, palm up and open. Even though the rest of his body wouldn't stay still, quivering like a leaf in the wind with anticipation, his palm was steady as a rock. [color=red]"[/color][color=cyan]Can I have my coffee back now[/color][color=red]?"[/color]

BJ paused, as if he had forgotten that it was in his hand in the first place, and wordlessly placed the pack in his hands. BJ gave him a slow nod and began walking, shrimp-in-tow. His clunky boots made a quiet [sub]thumpthumpthump[/sub] as he stepped, stopping abruptly after a few seconds.
[color=304095][b]"We're on a [b][u]Merry-Go-Round[/u][/b], Tim. If Gary doesn't get off, everyone else will."[/b][/color]

[hr]

It was the worst kind of weather. Hot and wet. Sunday morning churchgoers' hair curled itself out of fashion, clothes quickly became unbearably [i]moist[/i], and neither a cold drink or hot drink would really be of any comfort. It was dank and swampy, and the only pleasant thing to do would be to stay inside. 

Fortunately for Gary, he was [i]very[/i] inside. His curtains were drawn, the lights were off, and the door was shut, locked, and chained. The apartment didn't have anything huge enough to put in front of the windows, but that would've drawn unnecessary attention to his location anyway, so he was as safe as he could be. He currently sat hunched over a toilet seat, newspaper  in one hand and a phone in the other, trousers to his ankles.
That's right, a [i]goddamn newspaper[/i]. Gary wasn't some young punk in a fucking gorilla suit, and he didn't read comic books and play dress-up to be 'with it' or whatever kids called [i]cool[/i] these days. He was a grown-ass fourty-three, his blonde hair had already started to creep up his forehead, his eyes had formed bags, and the only thing that remained appealing about him was his well-tanned skin and well-done dental work. He wore a short-sleeved magenta polo shirt, white shorts, and hair slicked back.

"Yeah? Yeah, I know."

He leaned awkwardly to the right, struggling to keep the phone's stretching cord coming through the door connected. He grimaced, and tossed the newspaper to the floor with a grunt. "Alright, I'll see him there, and I'll bring a dozen big ugly motherfuckers with me."

He paused for a moment, before laughing at whatever the other person on the phone said. It was a long, loud, overly-eager laugh you'd find in abundance considering the neighborhood's cocaine problem. "I'm gonna tear his fucking heart out, you hear me? I'm gonna tear his heart out, and I'll [i]fuck his heart[/i], I don't give a fuck. I'll go to the beat of his pulse and everything." He laughed again, grabbing the roll of toilet paper in front of the sink to his side. "Alright, talk to you later. Ciao."