Chapter Text
Volcadera Bluffs, the city of dreams and home to the majority of saurian population and Section 8 trig housing. A place built on nothing but delusions and false promises, big fancy words, and unicorn shit sprinkled with snowflakes. Only the dumbest people fall for such crap like that.
… Unfortunately, I am one of those people who took the bait, hook, line, and sinker, not so much on the propaganda but on a primal instinct, survival. I wasn’t looking for a bigger house, or some get-rich-quick scheme like that, but just a chance to live.
I slowly gaze down at the little luggage bag beside it, filled with nothing but the bare minimum and a little under. I was completely at the rock bottom of my life, and I don’t think anything could get much worse.
Fuck me.
The bus station reeks of piss and desperation, a fitting welcome. I pull my bag closer towards my feet, and watch the residents pass by me with the same hollow expressions that I probably have plastered on my face. They don’t make eye contact; neither do I.
It’s probably safer this way anyway.
I check my phone. Three percent battery. No missed calls or text messages from my mom or dad. Of course. It’s not like I care or anything anyway; the warmth from that relationship died ever since that day.
Fuck, why am I even thinking about them? They should be the least of my worries; right now I need to concentrate on finding a place to stay for the night.
Maybe there’s a motel that isn’t a rat-infested one-night-stand dump.
I’ve got a little bit of cell service, so I'll pull up some decent spots. Pulling up Gruungle for the nearest motels, to my classic Mous luck, everything in town was already packed.
Damn. But it makes sense; Volcadera is known as a major tourist attraction, especially the bluffs. Well, anywhere here is out of the question; expanding my options, the next best place was the next district over.
Skin Row.
I’ve heard horror stories of this place from the news. Gang shootings, police brutality, and serial killers on the loose. Though most of that is just talk at best, only the bad is talked about rather than the good from news channels.
The crime statistics show about one-fourth of major crimes are near the southeast region of the city, and it is also known for being gang territory, while the north side is rather tame; it's still a shit hole.
Motels and apartments are fairly cheap here too; maybe if I search hard enough I can snag a deal on a nice spot. Hopefully I have enough money to last me for two weeks. That should be enough time to find work around here.
A little more scrolling later, an old, beat-up bus came to a screeching halt in front of me. A fairly large triceratops; he couldn’t be older than maybe late forties.
Stepping on the bus, he gave me a small smile and tipped his cap. I nod, paying the fare and taking the furthest seat at the back. The stop to Skin Row wouldn’t be till 30 minutes later, giving me enough time to search for an apartment.
A long sigh escapes me; I try rubbing away my drowsiness. Hopefully I can find somewhere to stay soon.
—Salem—
“Come on, give me some more time. I’ll… Find a way to come up with more money.”
The Ankylo tyrant gives me a disappointed nod. “Oh sure. You’ll magically poof some money out of thin air like you usually do, right?”
“Do I not. I pay rent, maybe not on time, but it still gets paid, doesn’t it!”
“Paid? You're still two months behind on rent, two months!”
“Tch. So what, I’ll come up with something. I always do, don’t I?”
“Two days.”
The words sent a chill down my spine; the ominous sound of the words was all too familiar to me. I’ve heard those words before, and they did little to move me; usually it’s a hollow threat with little to no malice backing them. But that glare, that vacant glare of his was all I needed to know that he was dead serious.
A small chuckle escapes me, “Come on Frank, no need to get so wound up—”
“Three days. I’m done fighting you on this.” He turns towards the door. “Have me money in two days or get the fuck out of my complex.”
No further explanation was needed. He turns, letting out a sigh of what can be described as disappointment. Disappointed at what? Me? It’s not like I like being behind on payments; if it was up to me, I’d pay every penny I could muster if it wasn’t for the fact… fuck.
I just need a little more time; I can work something out, I always do.
“Wait! Frank, look, I can pay you double, please don’t kick me out.” My tone came out as a half-pathetic whimper. If my pride wasn’t in the dumpster by now, it surely would be with what’s to come next.
“I need this place. Please! You can’t kick me out of here on short notice. This is all I have… please.”
Not a flinch nor a backhanded comment was thrown my way; his posture was unwavering, his pace showed no sign of slowing down, only quickening instead.
“Frank!” I reach towards his hand. “Don’t do this to me. Don’t treat me like one of your other clients.”
His hand goes for the railing. He was persistent; I’ll give him that, but he couldn’t put up with this act forever; he’ll break eventually, like he always does. As much of a crude, rude asshole he can be at times, I know his heart is made of gold.
A few inches away from me, I quickly close the distance between us, grabbing onto his free hand. He flinches but doesn’t bother to turn around, and keeps his head faced forward.
Why won’t he look at me?
“Let go, we’re done here.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“F-Fuck that! You can’t just up and do this to me. I’ve given you everything I have to this place, busted my ass just to make sure I could afford to live in this dump, going from paycheck to paycheck for months on end, having to choose between starving or paying bills.”
…
“I bet you don’t since your life is peachy perfect; you practically get a check every single week with no stress of having to choose what you want in your life. Hell, you don’t look like you have a care in the world.”
“Watch your mouth, brat. You don’t know jack shit about what I go through, what I have to deal with!”
He flinched; his hesitation became all the more prevalent. He twisted his arm away, trying to free it from my grasp, only to come to no avail.
“Let go.”
“Not until you talk—”
Before I could even react, something smashed across my face, knocking me down on the back of my head, making me see stars. The faint taste of copper filled my mouth as I tried spitting it out; my hand reached up to my nose, and sure enough, a small splotch of blood smeared across my hand.
Frank’s eyes moved frantically to me and to the small pool of blood that tainted the crystal white floor. He stares down at his hands, squeezing them in a fist.
I catch some small murmurs underneath his breaths like ‘why and stupid’. He squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.
“You’re… Such a fuck up. You know that? Every time, every single fucking time it’s always this song and dance with you.” His words were hollow. “I don’t want to do this, but you leave me with no choice.”
He backs away, taking one step down the steps, not before looking back one more time, and I wish… I wish he never did. There was no hint of malice or anything in his eyes, just a sunken, hollow shell of a person who was done with fighting in the world.
He shakes his head, disappearing down the stairway.
Great. Great. Greatgreatgreatgreatgreatgeat–just fucking great.
I want to cry, and I want to scream until my vocals are raw, but what difference would it make? I’m still stuck here with three days to magically poof up two months' worth of rent.
The stinging from my nose became all the more apparent, dragging me from my restless thoughts back to a silent and cold hallway. I think I wanna go to bed and just sleep forever until nothingness.
Silently, I picked myself up, using the wall for leverage as my knees start to buckle a little. Slowly but surely, I made my way back to my apartment and slammed the door shut behind me.
Holding a hand over my bloody nose, I made my way to the bathroom, letting blood drip into the sink as I took some cotton wool to plug the bleeding for now. There was still some hardened blood left on my lip that had unfortunately dripped onto my shirt, great.
I wiped away the blood on my lip and face with a cloth, and tossed my shirt into the trash. And I bought that shirt not too long ago; now look at it.
Whatever, it’s not like I liked it much anyway. I shut off the lights, making my way onto the living room couch, sinking deeper into the soft fabric. The silence was a little louder than usual, my head was an absolute mess, and I couldn't even make out any coherent thoughts as they all mingled together in random garble.
All I can ask for is for sleep to take me sooner rather than later… but that was only wishful thinking; I can’t sleep with all these thoughts buzzing in my head.
Maybe a walk around the block will help me clear my mind.
—Anon—
Raptor Jesus, I thought the place before was bad; Skin Row was on another level ghetto. Homeless men on the streets, random dealers out in broad daylight, and you can forget about your occasional gunshots in the distance.
Yep. This is truly a thriving community of well-intelligent and friendly folks.
… Why is that stegosaurus staring at me?
The pale blue eyes of the herbivore lock dead onto me as he eyes me up and down like a chunk of meat waiting to be sunk in. He flashes me a little grin, even throwing in a friendly wave. I don’t wave back; I sure as hell know this was some ploy to get me to let my guard down.
If I learned anything from… there. It’s that you should never put a target on your back; the weaker you look, the better the target. Being a human in a place mostly populated by creatures that could rip me to shreds with just their hands really makes me stand out the most.
My left hand goes numb, squeezing down tight on the cool steel in my palms. Even with my pocket knife at my disposal, I still don’t stand a chance in hell against most suarians, but a stego… I think I could probably take him.
As if he read my thoughts, the once idle stego starts to make his way across the street and towards me. His hands were concealed in the pockets of what looked like rags rather than a jacket.
Okay… he’s closing the distance. I pressed down on the button to my knife, flicking out the blade with an audible click. The stego paused, his eyes darting towards my hand, then me. I nodded, giving him the ‘try me’ look, making it loud and clear I wouldn’t go down easy.
The stego stood in the middle of the crosswalk with a wild look; his eyes darted from side to side, his posture slumping forward more as if a switch flickered in his head. His hand came forward, revealing a giant machete in hand.
What… The fuck.
Dude just pulling out fucking swords from their ass now?
His fingers brushed against the edge as his smile widened. He could tell by my expression that I was outmatched and outwitted.
“What’s wrong, skinnie? Is your spear not big enough?”
… I’m gonna die, aren’t I? No no, I just need to calm down. He may have the upper hand in his arsenal, but he’s far from beating me yet. There’s still one thing I have up my sleeve that hasn’t failed me yet.
I raise my hands slowly, “Alright, you got me, you can have whatever you want, just please don’t kill me!”
Groveling. It never ceases to amaze me.
The stego hunches over, breaking into a laughing fit, “You skinnies never cease to impress me. You’re as pathetic as the rest of your kind.”
“But first, before you rob me… your shoes are untied.”
“Huh?”
Now.
I quickly get off my knees, grabbing my luggage and hauling ass down the sidewalk as fast as I can. Why couldn’t the universe just not fuck with me for one minute? Can’t I just go one minute without some retarded shenanigans happening to me?
The stego tries calling after me, his voice quickly dissolving into the background noise of the city. The pounding in my ears becomes deafening, drowning out everything else. My lungs burned, my legs started to shake with exhaustion, and the adrenaline from moments ago was finally catching up to me, leaving me hollow and trembling.
I duck into an alley, pressing my back against the cold brick wall. I try to organize my breathing, taking one to two gasps of air at a time. I may have lost him for now, but who knows where he could be, lying in wait to ambush me.
I grimaced at the thought. If my gut feeling was true, he wouldn’t let me get the better of him the second time. Maybe I could hide out at some building for the time being. A pizza place. Gas station. Wherever it was was better than standing out in the open hoping for the best.
Staggering out around the corner, I checked if the coast was clear, letting out a sigh of relief when no stegosaurus appeared anywhere.
Now that the weight lifted from my chest, time to find somewhere to lay low. My stomach growled; now that I think about it, I haven't eaten anything since last night.
Turning around, a little light flickered from a building’s windows, giving off a cooling, inviting glow. A bright neon sign flickered above, displaying the letters ‘LJ’s’. It’s a weird name if you can call it that. What does LJs even stand for?
“I guess it couldn’t hurt to look.”
Approaching the glass doors, my attention quickly shifts towards an array of beautiful flowers that lined the walls under the windows; the petals give off soft pastel colors: pinks, blues, and oranges that fill with a warm home-like feeling. They seem well taken care of, judging by their lush petals and crispness.
It’s a shame something so pretty is stuck in this shithole.
The building seems to only be decorated by the flowers, as the rest of the outside was bland to say the least, with some metal tables and chairs for outside enjoyment.
My hand hovers over the glass door, tugging it open as the bell chimes at my arrival, and a friendly ‘welcome’ comes from the counter. Behind it was… of course, a lime green stegosaurus wearing an apron; she waves me over after finishing up with one of the customers.
“Hiii! I’m Stella, and welcome to Lava Java’s.” She puts a little bit of sweetener in her tone. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new around here?”
I scratched the back of my neck, as a brief chill crawled up my spine. As ridiculous as it may sound, please don’t pull out a damn machete. “Hey, yeah, I’m new here. I was just a little curious about this place and thought I should check it out.”
“I’m glad you picked us. What would you like today?” She hands me a menu of the catalog.
“I guess a black coffee and bagel.”
“Excellent choice! Will that be for here or to go?”
“For here.” I handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Also, quick question, but is there internet here by chance?”
“On the table.” She pointed, her tone still chipper as ever, “Have a Javatastic day.”
… What the hell does that even mean? Was that supposed to be cute? Is that what people say?
Don’t think about it, just nod and move on.
With the weird conversation out of the way, I settled at a corner table of the room while I waited for my order. A thin sheet lay sprawled on the table with some little scribbles on it that read out ‘STEGOPOWER64’.
The password gets a small chuckle out of me; it almost sounds familiar to an online friend of mine…. Blegh, that sounds wrong, rolling off the tongue. Friend isn’t close to the word I would use to describe them, more like a passing acquaintance.
I could only stand them in small amounts, but I won’t deny that it was sometimes fine to interact with them. Okay, I’m getting sidetracked. Apartments, motels, that's what I need to be thinking about.
A small Gruungle search showed that the area here was thriving with some vacant places, though the reviews weren’t anything to brag about. Mold infestation, constant noise complaints, the list goes on. That figures when the pricing is so cheap; there’s always a catch to it.
But I’m desperate, so it’s a home or nothing.
Four eighty for a two-star apartment—no. Too sketchy.
Three hundred for a four-star apartment—though there have been complaints of constant rent increases, with the landlord being sketchy with a history of prior complaints.
“Huh?”
A small studio apartment on the outskirts of Skin Row that's about four hundred dollars in rent. That’s about one–maybe two months worth of rent I could cover until I find a somewhat decent job to cover rent. Damn, that’s gonna be a pain in the ass trying to juggle school and a job at the same time.
“Your order, sir.” Stella sets down a steaming hot cup and plain bagel beside it.
“Thanks.” I nod, still keeping my eyes focused on my screen.
“So where are you from?” Her demeanor was still friendly as ever, her smile still wider as ever.
“Um… nowhere.”
“Nowhere? You’ve gotta be from somewhere.”
I sigh, finally looking up from my phone. “No. Where. Now could you please leave me alone.”
“O-Oh I… um.” She fiddles with her apron. “Okay.”
She scurries off back towards the counter, her tail dragging against the linoleum floor almost like a sad puppy. I get a few disappointed stares, which I shrug off as it’s not my problem that Ms. Sunshine and rainbows can’t take a hint that not everyone is as enthusiastic as her.
I shrug off their judgmental glares and busy myself with my coffee. The taste and pitch have an authentic kick to it that regular store-bought crap couldn’t bring, another point on the scoreboard against synthetic coffee bullshit.
A sudden notification swoops me out of my thoughts, a small little text message from an unknown caller ID giving out an address.
Oh right, it’s from the landlord of the apartment.
I sent a quick little text that I got the memo and that I’ll be over shortly.
Landlord: Can’t let you stay here just yet, but I need the payment upfront.
What? Am I getting screwed over right now? There’s no way this guy is serious.
Anon: Uh, what for? I kind of need a place to stay for today.
Landlord: Come over, and I’ll give you the details later, kid.
Yep, I’m getting ganked. Everything about this is setting off my danger alarms; the ominous way he’s trying to work this out only means two things. I’m gonna meet and get robbed at gunpoint or two…. I'm gonna meet up and get robbed.
Yeah, there’s no good outcome here.
Anon: Yeah, no. This wasn’t part of the advertisement; I’ll find an apartment somewhere else.
Landlord: How about I sweeten the pot for ya? I’ll give you a twenty-five discount on two months' rent if you take the apartment.
Anon: The catch?
Landlord: That is the catch, kid. Either take this opportunity while I’m generous, or you can go fuck off to some other crack den
… Is this opportunity worth passing up? That discount can go a long way for me to stock up on groceries and whatever else I might need for later, but the feeling about this place doesn’t sit well in my gut.
I mull it over for a few more minutes till the inevitable dread of FOMO takes its toll.
Anon: Deal
Landlord: I knew you came to your senses. Money up front, all of it. Don’t try to pull some honky bullshit about not having it or trying to pay me some time later.
Anon: Sure.
Landlord: Cash Only.
I still don’t have a good feeling about this place, but I’m desperate for anything at this point, plus with that big discount he’s offering, I would have to be stupid to not take it. That big cut should be good enough to feed me a month on ramen if I ration my meals a day.
Skip breakfast, one for lunch, and one for dinner should keep a hermit like me nourished enough to not pass out during the middle of the day.
Forging through my pocket, I leave a small tip for the coffee and bagel. Luggage in tow, it’s off to the apartments; hopefully when I get there I can find some motel room until my apartment is ready.
…
I think this is the address. Looking at the apartment, I kind of expected it to be a little more… ghetto. So far the only thing that stands out is some busted windows and a little graffiti against the walls, but other than that it looks decent enough.
I sent a quick text to the landlord, saying I’m outside and that I’ll wait. Not even a second more, a gaff man steps outside; he looks to be about early to late thirties with a fully shaped black beard that had some girth to it. He wore a casual white tee with some brown stains underneath his armpits, and sweat dripping into his shirt; his pants were baggy and caked with dirt and… some reddish hues at his knees.
A lot of red to be at that.
“So you're the tenant?” I give him a light nod. “Cash up front.”
“Are you not even gonna show me the room? Or at least explain what’s going on?”
“Do you want a place to stay or not, kid?” He shakes his hand with an authoritative ‘gimme’ motion. “I’m not talking till I see some payment.
I sigh, slapping a few bills in his hand, which he quickly counts, every single bill before going back and recounting them.
“We square or what?”
“Square as rectangles, kid.”
Rectangles are rectangles, retard.
“What was that? You have to speak up, my ears aren’t what they once were.”
“Nothing.” Nice mumble mouth, dumbass.
“Well anyway. Long story short, the apartment is a mess; let’s just say the last tenant had a… come to Jesus moment.”
“As in…?”
“As in…” He makes what I’m assuming can only be a shotgun with his hands, cocking back the imaginary barrel. “The brain matter's all over the floors and walls—”
“Alright, I get it.” I cough into my fist, trying to hold back the bile creeping up my throat. “I get it.”
“Yeah. I would hire a cleanup crew, but that requires paperwork, talks with police and—hehe let me tell you, I have had way too many of those over the years.”
The hell type of conversation is this? It's like he doesn’t even hear himself talking about some person’s death like it’s a minor inconvenience to him. Hell, I don’t know the person personally, but you can at least have some decency to sound concerned.
“Okay, whatever. When can I expect to move into the apartment?”
“Mmmm… in about three days, give or take.”
“Three days? Where the hell am I supposed to stay during those three days?”
He shrugs, “Hell if I know. Get a motel or something; it’s not my problem.”
“You sleazy fucking bastard. I want my money back.”
“Sorry, no refunds. It was in the fine print.”
“What fine print?! I didn’t sign any paperwork.”
The man rustles in his pocket, producing his phone, and turns it towards me, “The fine print. Learn how to read it next time before making deals.”
I squint at the screen, reading out the ad I’ve seen already, and reading it again when my eyes slowly wander to the very, very bottom of the text. There are barely legible words that I can hardly make out, until I start to put two and two together.
This was a setup from the jump!
I fucking knew this piece of shit advertisement was too good to be true. Damn the fine print and damn this apartment complex.
“Fuck! Fine.”
“Hey, don’t get mad at me. It’s your own fault you’re too retarded to read. I mean, if it makes you feel better, you could always help with the cleanup to make it go by faster.”
The clinging stench of iron in the air made my stomach churn at the thought. Yeah, no matter how desperate I am for a place to stay tonight, nothing will make me resort to scooping up someone’s brain matter.
Desperate, but not that desperate.
“No. I’ll go find a motel.”
“Sounds about right. Welp, I’ve got some scooping to do. I’ll let you know when the apartment is ready.”
I don’t even acknowledge him anymore; I turn and leave, already fed up with him and his sleazy attitude. Hope that big back bastard slips and cracks his head open on some dresser or dies of a heart attack at most.
I’m already halfway up the street, still fuming. I really have to be the luckiest, unluckiest bastard to ever exist. I thought the universe or Raptor Jesus was finally starting to let Anon Y. Mous catch a break, only to pull the rug from underneath me and curb stomp my head into the floor.
At least I’m not actually getting curbed stomped; at most, it’s a kick in the gut.
Whatever, life’s a bitch, no need to get so worked up about it. I can still work with this situation; the down payment is out of the way, all I need is another place to stay.
There are a few motel spots that I saw on the bus here; most look like run-down crack shacks, but it’s better than sleeping on some bench. The nearest one is nothing but a hop and a skip away from here; don’t need to read the ratings. The price for three nights is bearable enough to justify the price.
“Yo fleshie! You lost something.”
I pay it no mind, quickening my pace with the hope of losing them.
“I know you hear me, punk bitch.”
Some footsteps quickly caught up behind me on my heels; the scuffling of shoes sent off all my danger signals on high alert, with me instinctively reaching down for my knife.
“Aye, check it. Skinnie seems to hear us after all.”
“Don’t get too close, he’s obviously reaching for something.”
“Trigga, you think I don't know that.”
Turning around to the unintelligible rambling between the group of trikes dressed up in some casual streetwear, the group matched a similar purple, from their hats and shirts, as they wore two of the three wore purple bandanas covering their faces. The main lead wore a headband, which I’m guessing means he's the ringleader of this gaggle of trigs.
“What do you want?” I still kept my hand on my knife.
The group’s leader stepped forward. “You know where you steppin?”
“Pardon?”
“Bitch, I know you got ears. Do you know where you steppin?”
“Uh, sorry I didn’t comprehend. You mean the street?” Yep, just keep playing stupid. When talking with stupid, always step lower than their level to confuse them.
“Yo, I think this trigga is retarded or something, mud.” One of the taller members wearing a purple bandanna steps forward, reaching into his pockets, “Let’s just jack this mark bitch and get on our way.”
The ringleader stops his goon; the short stubby arm barely holds back the towering trike. “Hold up, dumbass, it’s broad daylight. You tryna cause a scene?.”
“Like I give a fuck, I’m on house arrest anyway. Might as well make the most of my time out.”
“This trigga is stupider than bitch cuh.” The other goon laughs, “Cuh bout to catch another charge on house arrest.”
“Man fuck you, Tyrell!”
The other goon steps closer, coming face to face to the point it almost looks like they’re kissing if it weren’t for the mask. The ringleader was not but a guardrail between the two as he was standing at their junk level.
“Wanna repeat that, you punk ass bitch!”
“Get the fuck out my face, or I'll blow yo shi smoove off!” The goon reaches down in his waistband.
“Is that what we doin, trigga? Up that pole and see if I won’t lay your ass out right.”
“Will both you dumbass cool your—”
“Man fuck a pole, run them bitches cuz.” The tall goon backs away, leaning forward with his fists above his head.
“I Ain’t no bitch. You know I love my fades.” The other goon gets into po—
Wait.
Why the fuck am I narrating their little gang drama? I’m literally getting robbed, and I’m over here doing sports commentary.
I bend down, firmly grasping my luggage bag in my arms and backing away. The three are none the wiser as the two goons start throwing a flurry of blows, with most missing and the middle leader trying to talk sense into the two.
Okay, I need to—
“FUCK!”
It’s not when my misfortune somehow finds a loose end in the sidewalk, causing me to twist coming down into the ground face first. A good bit of blood immediately starts to leak out my nose.
“HEY THAT MOTHERFUCKER IS TRYNA TO RUN!!”
Shit!
I quickly scrape myself together, pushing off the concrete and bolting down the street.
“I told you dumbasses, he would try to run!”
Shitshitshit—
I hit a quick left down an alleyway, knocking over trash cans and whatever else I could use as an obstacle; despite throwing everything but a kitchen sink at them, the pounding of footsteps only seemed to get closer and closer. Even with the occasional change through alleyways, these trigs knew this place like the back of their horns.
Flight could only work so long before a fight would have to kick in, but maybe being in this narrow alley is my only advantage, just needing the right amount of space and objects.
Out of the corner of my eye, I found a narrow alley with a small enough gap to make a complicated enough space for maybe one or two people to squeeze through.
Stepping between the gap, putting my back towards the other end of the exit, I produced the knife from my pocket, flicking out the blade. Its glint halts the three in their tracks.
“Pffft. What? Are you gonna fight now?” The taller one steps forward; he narrowly tries cramming his way through the narrow gap, shoulders scraping against the brick walls. “You're really making me work for this, huh? How about you hand over the case and we won’t jack your ass too bad.”
….
“You’re testing my patience, man.” He tiptoed slightly towards me, reaching down into his waistband, “Put that knife down before—”
Too close.
Before he could reach down for his waistband, I quickly closed the distance with a downward strike towards his thigh and twisting the blade for good measure.
“FUCK—AGH SHIT!”
Not enough.
He falls forward, trying to pull out the knife, but I don’t give him the chance to breathe, delivering a shoulder check to his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbles backwards, hands still on the protruding knife in his thigh, trying to desperately rip off the knife.
“OH SHIT!” The ringleader stumbles backwards, creating some distance, but he’s not my priority right now. I need that gun that this goon is hiding.
Delivering a quick and precise stomp to his chest, I take advantage of the opening, reaching down into his waistband. The look of fear was all the more evident; desperate, he wrestled with my hands, making mistake number two on the board.
I reach from behind, grabbing the handle of the knife, twisting it and pushing it deeper.
“AGH—STOP!” He claws at my chest and neck, desperately trying to get me off.
I smash a fist downwards on the side of his snout, scraping the side of his nose horn. A sharp, hot pain flashes across my knuckles, but I ignore it—I have to take advantage of any chance I can get. I can feel the cold steel of the gun loosening from the jeans with one more snag away from coming loose.
“GET OFF HIM!”
Suddenly I felt off balance; a jarring throbbing pain flashed across my face and frontal head area.
That fucking munchkin finally joins in; he leans forward with another punch barley giving me time to react as it lands clean, throwing me off balance.
Delivering a punch of my own, sending a quick left jab his way, clipping the side of his maw, not before following up with a more dominant jab to his nose as the ringleader stumbles backwards, tripping over his goon.
The goon nearly has the gun out of his waistband, clinging and slipping his hands off the handle, his hands slick with his blood as, desperate, he tries fiddling with the tool.
Diving to the gun, we wrestle with it for a bit till I rip my knife off him and begin repeatedly stabbing him in his calf until the pain compliance kicks in, his hand dipping down to grab the knife. Finally, I have what I wanted, pulling the gun out of his pants, the 9mm with a dumbass extended mags trigger that was shown on those shitty music videos.
I point it down at the two, their eyes wider than saucers. Both of them go towards a surrendering expression, raising both hands in the air like their instincts were already pleading for their life.
Damn, my jaw hurts; the adrenaline rush was wearing off. The unknown injuries started making themselves present, with the bout of tiredness starting to seep in, making the gun slightly difficult to hold.
I gingerly search the ground, finding the outline of my luggage while maintaining eye contact. I finally find my luggage and I slowly back away and out of the alleyway. I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I’m forgetting something—
Corners of black and gray filled my vision; the floor came faster than expected when a face full of concrete clouded my vision.
“…took you long….”
“….Around…. happened.”
A third voice, that voice. I forgot that there were three of them.
The bickering continues for what feels like hours, till the three looming figures tower over me; the look in their pointy, predatory eyes told me everything I needed to know.
I don’t know what I’m feeling at this moment, but it’s not fear but… indifference. I’m not really a fan of the dying, but who is? It’s almost comical how much my life turned out as I expected.
The flurry of blows started some time ago from the kicks and punches I pathetically attempted to block. Vision is blurry and drowning in ever-darkness as I slip in between consciousness and unconsciousness till darkness takes hold, sinking further below into its cold and unforgiving embrace.
“....”
“...hey…”
“....Hey…”
—Salem—
“Hey!”
Fuck he’s out cold.
Why the hell did I have to get caught up in the middle of this shit? All I wanted was a casual stroll through this crappy neighborhood, and oh no, I can’t have that, I have to get in the middle of some bozos.
I didn’t even stroll too far down the block when a trio of the damn stooges bumped into me before slamming a case into my chest, saying, ‘It’s your problem now, babe’.
Damn cat-calling son of bitch.
I shake the unconscious man one more time with no signs of consciousness, just faint gibberish and groans. A heavy sigh racks me as I scratch the back of my neck, while pacing back and forth between the small alley.
Alright, my previous situation has stepped it up from bad to being screwed ten ways till Sunday. If I’m piecing this together correctly, they robbed the unfortunate skinnie for everything he has in his pockets and dumped the evidence on me.
I could go to the cops and just explain everything, but I don’t think they’ll buy that gimmick with me, hold obvious evidence, and not to mention my history with law enforcement—definitely don’t want a run-in with them.
“FUCK!” I send the small luggage skittering across the concrete; its contents flew open and spattered across the floor.
Another weak groan comes from the guy.
I lean down, putting a hand on his chest, patting down the rest of the person, finding no puncture holes or… blood on his body other than his face; at least he didn’t get stabbed or shot for God’s sake.
With that possibility out of the way, I carefully lean down, wrapping an arm around his torso. Damn, this dude is heavy–I mean, I expected some weight, but he weighs like a dead body. Not to mention smells like one too, blegh.
Whatever, the apartment isn’t too far away. I hope I still have that first aid somewhere; once I patch this idiot up, I’ll send him on his way.
The walk back to the apartment felt like an eternity, hauling dead weight over my shoulder. By the time I made it back to the apartment, I didn’t even have to gently lay him against the couch, instead dumping him unceremoniously on the soft cushions.
“Okay, Okay, Okay.” I gasp for breath. “First aid. Where the hell did I put the first aid?”
Retracing my vague steps, I frantically search through the cabinets and other small crawl spaces. I know I store that stuff somewhere here; the last time I remembered was… was during that.
I think it was—yep, of course, underneath the sink.
I dust off the small plastic red box with a crimson red cross logo on the front, its edges showing wear and tear with scratch marks and thin specks of… of blood, of course.
Not a bunch of pleasant memories with this thing, but maybe I could at least put it to a better use this time.
I gingerly open its contents; a thin veil of gauze, antiseptics, and band aids were all that was left. I don’t remember not using so much of the kit.
Looking at the open living room, there he lay still on the couch, having hardly moved an inch since he got there.
“Alright, dude. I’m no doctor, so don’t give me any shit if I botch this.” I carefully clean the wounds, then wrap them in gauze or a stamped band-aid for the smaller cuts. The work looks good enough to do the job with the cuts.
Exhausted, I ease myself on the couch, sinking into the cushions beside him. Speaking of which, I should probably call you something other than skinnie or dude.
I lean over, rummaging around through his pockets, knowing those guys from before; I’d be surprised if they didn’t snatch his wallet. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case; a small leather wallet was comfortably tucked in one of his inside pockets.
“Anon?”
Weird name.
Well, Anon, today’s your lucky day.
I stuff the wallet back into his pocket; that’s enough snooping around for now. I want to relax without having to worry about anything else today.
I pull out my phone and browse through social media, tuning into the daily boring lifestyle postings of popular celebrities and even the niche micro-celebrities. I don’t even know why I bother to doomscroll through social media; in the end, I always walk feeling bitter or resentful about others' lives.
A shaky sigh escapes me; the addictive lighting of the phone ceases.
Oh right, Rent. Forgot that’s still a thing, but it’s not hard after a night I had.
Three days and all I have to show for it today is a bruised stranger bleeding on my couch instead of a plan. What great use of your evening, Salem.
I glance over at the busted-up case still sitting by my door with God knows what in it. Whatever it was had to be good enough for him to get robbed; I didn’t exactly stop to count it or anything when I was stuffing it back together on an adrenaline rush.
He doesn't scream trust fund, but maybe I could extort something out of him—it’s not like I’m being rude or anything, but he owes me, I know that at least. I patched him up, and hauled his dead weight three whole blocks.
That’s gotta be worth something.
A big yawn escapes me. I should catch up on some sleep; at least there I don’t have to worry about my problems.
My eyes grow weary; the couch cushions feel like silk as I slowly lull myself to a dreamless slumber.
I take one last look at Anon, “You owe me big time, skinnie; I’ll make something good come out of this.”