A loud screech permeated through Blank’s heavy skull as Trinity opened the front door, rocking his eyeballs and jolting him out of his drunken sleep. Long ago, he had rigged the simple security system, which triggered a short but piercing alarm through a speaker embedded into his pillow. He had never told anyone how to circumvent it, nor did he have any plans to. The price of this vigilance, however, was the feeling that someone had cracked his head open with a sledgehammer. His mouth was dry, his bladder was full, and his stomach growled with nauseating discontent at the amount of poison that had passed through it the night before. This was usually how Blank started his days.

He heaved himself off the couch in his room. The blackout curtains shut out any source of natural light, which he was extremely grateful for. The only source of light at all was the dim blue light coming from the monitor of his laptop, which sat open on his desk. It was more than enough for him to slowly walk into the attached bathroom, and relieve himself. He glanced around hazily and noted that he should clean it sometime soon. Ever since he let her move in, Blank had left the guest bathroom for her use and limited himself to this one. That way she could keep her bathroom up to her feminine standards, while he could do whatever he wanted in his. Normally, he would tell her “put up with it or find somewhere else to live,” but even he was not so tyrannical as to force her to put up with his piss stains and pubic hair.

Blank found and slipped on the pants he wore the previous night, tucked his gun into his waistband behind him, and pushed himself out his bedroom door. He heard Trinity putting away groceries in the kitchen, so he stumbled down the hallway and through the living room, onto the neat white tile of the kitchen. “Hey,” he grumbled at her, holding out his hand expectedly. “Receipt and change.”

Every time they needed groceries, Blank left the money and a list on the counter. He always gave her more money than was needed and always demanded a receipt. He claimed it was for business purposes, but really he was checking to see if she was taking any for herself. If she was, then he would kick her out. He didn’t give a shit about the money, but he wouldn’t tolerate anyone stealing from him. It was never anything he had explicitly told her, but he wondered if she had figured it out yet. Was it cruel to test a former addict? Regardless, these were his terms. Trust had to be earned slowly and steadily, and everybody started with not just zero, but negative trust, as far as he was concerned.

Tapping. Tapping.

Fingernails clinking against the polished wood of her desk, dark eyes focused with a sheer intensity on a computer screen, waiting with tensed muscles for those files to finally send.

Tapping. Tapping. Had time stopped? It was sure starting to feel like it.
And it was sure starting to get to her.

Demi slowly stood up from her chair, her face's utterly blank look betraying her clenched hand and grinding teeth as she grabbed a pair of scissors off her desk and made her way to the other side of the room.

Her room was actually an office: a velvet-curtained window just behind her chair gave her a lovely overview of the city below, the walls exquisitely painted with proper care and attention to color and tone, the odd painting hung along those very same walls. Her large, imposing desk sat in the very middle, its exquisite, shining hardwood make taking up much of the room. Pens, stacks of paper, scissors, hole punchers and office supplies galore take up much of its space, the rest alloted to her personal computer, itself chugging dutily along to send those files she needed sent.
Indeed, it was a beautiful room, with lovely decor fitting her station.. though she put none of it there.
It was simply there when she got her position.

Indeed, she only added one thing to the office.. the hanging target dummy she ferociously drove her scissors into. Just another of many, many holes on the poor thing.

That felt better.
Demi, Chief Minister of the Ministry of Peace, returned to her desk to check on the progress.

The Ministry is a pivotal government organization within the Inner City, one of few who answer to none but the highest authorities within the Government. Their task? To enforce peace and order within the Inner and Outer city. Peace.. order.. compliance.. addiction.. fear.. all end with satisfactory results, so it's their job to sow those seeds along every inch of the Government's property.
And under Demi's watchful gaze, the harvest was bountiful indeed.
But try as she might, there's always someone out there sowing discontent instead.. discontent with their glorious city, their measured grip on the emotion of Man, the distribution of such..
And even worse, the whispers of rebellion.
Nothing brought the blood flowing through her veins to a hotter boil than that.

Her gaze slowly fell to the empty bottles in her open drawer. Her alloted emotions for the day.. pride, joy, peace. All empty.
She was an obedient girl. Whatever orders came from above the ladder, she followed to the letter. When they gave her a measured amount of emotions for the day, she accepted graciously: nothing she wasn't used to. Just another example of her glorious government's system working right.

But she was starting to feel those emotions slip away; withdrawal.

A little jingle from her computer, and her black eyes darted to the monitor; the week's report on the Ministry's status had finally sent.
She was strictly forbidden by higher ups to do anything else until the reports were in.. but now, she has plenty of free time.
And she needs a distraction from the small twitches of withdrawal kicking in.

Demi slowly approaches the door to her office, pulling her official uniform off the hook before slipping it on in a fluid, rehearsed motion. With just a flick of her wrist, something falls from her right sleeve and into her waiting hands.. a baton.

Why, yes.. a night out sounds wonderful to her.

It's time to pay the outer city a visit.