In the midst of a torrential downpour that engulfed the quaint Northern Californian town of Oakbury, Tristan Cunningham found himself standing, soaked to the bone, amid the gloom of the night. Enveloped by the unsettling gaze of human ignorance and cruelty, the 24-year-old part-time worker, striving for a philosophy degree at Flowerwell College, appeared to those who knew him as an ordinary, kind soul. Little did they fathom the inexplicable scene unfolding before them – Tristan surrounded by menacing thugs and gangsters, thirsting for harm.
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Converging from various corners, these thugs hailed from different factions – gangsters, mobsters, crooks, and ruffians, all united by a common pursuit of vengeance. Tristan, his gaze unwavering and demeanor resolute, delivered a commanding warning that cut through the tension-laden air.
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"This is your one warning... Give up now or else."
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Tristan's warning, seeking to quell the men thirsting for blood, echoed in vain as contumelious laughter reverberated through the air.
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An unknown voice sneered, "Oh, Tristan, my boy, surrender? Why, when the path to revenge is crystal clear."
Tristan's eyes widened in a slit of surprise as the ebullient voice resonated with unsettling familiarity. Reluctantly, the gangsters and hoodlums, initially obstreperous, yielded ground as a man with a red headband and long black hair advanced, a contemptible smile playing on his face.
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"Andrew Dawson."
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At the utterance of his name, Andrew Dawson's eyes swelled with a tempest of rage. “The Names Mad Dog!” He yelled out with rage.
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Mad Dog's smile returned as he brought forth a small, rusty dagger from his side, saying, "And it is time for you to pay for your labors!" His eyes gleamed with a menacing glint as he brandished the blade.391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFd6SvIRf5H
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Mad Dog's claim commanded the attention of every gangster in the vicinity, each sporting a sinister smile of approval.391Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDZeDw1YGfu
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Tristan, wearied, shook his head in disappointment. "So, I assume none of you are willing to surrender?"
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"HAHAHAHAHA!!! Kill this fool!" Mad Dog exclaimed with delight.
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Responding to their leader's command, the thugs surged forward like a stampede, brandishing wooden bats and rusty steel pipes.
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Tristan's eyes ignited with power. "This will end in an instant," he declared as his fist clenched.
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"BOOM!!!"
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1 DAY LATER
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Eyes adjusting to the morning light, Tristan rises from his bed clad in a wife beater t-shirt and black Nike boxers. Surveying his modest one-bedroom apartment, he lets out a tired yawn. "I'm so tired," Tristan mumbles, rubbing his eyes as he slowly stands.
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With a lethargic pace, Tristan heads to the bathroom to prepare for the day. It's 7:15 in the morning, and work looms at 8:00 am. Gazing into the bathroom mirror, he can't shake the annoyance triggered by the scars that weave tales across his body. Each scar tells a story, but the truth behind them remains locked away, concealed behind a tale of a past car accident he shares with those who inquire.
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Ten minutes pass, and Tristan emerges dressed in a plain white t-shirt, long blue jeans, and black boots. Ready to leave his apartment, he opens the front door, only to find his path blocked by an elderly gentleman with gray hair, just before he could take a single step outside.
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"Mr. Barnes," Tristan says in a worried tone.
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Mr. Barnes, 75 years old and the formidable owner of the entire apartment complex, ruled with an iron fist, much to the displeasure of many residents.
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"Mr. Cunningham, must I remind you that you're three days behind on the rent?" Mr. Barnes says, arms crossed.
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Tristan clasps his hands together, as if preparing to pray. "I'm sorry, Mr. Barnes. I promise I will be able to pay soon," Tristan pleads.
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"You have until tomorrow morning. If you don't have my money by then, you can start packing your things," Mr. Barnes declares, walking away without looking back.
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Tristan scratches his head, releasing a breath of air. "Oh well, I should be getting paid today."
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Glancing at his watch on his right wrist, Tristan's eyes widen. "Oh no! I'm going to be late!" he yells, darting down the apartment complex halls, determined to reach work as quickly as possible.
***
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"Sorry I'm late, Mr. Fritts," Tristan says, breathing hard as he bursts through the front door of his workplace.
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Mr. Fritts, stationed behind the front counter, shakes his head with a sense of excoriation. "Oh, Tristan, I swear if I didn't owe your dad a favor and if you didn't do such good work, I would have fired you a long time ago," he remarks with a small smile.
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A 65-year-old man with black and gray hair, Mr. Fritts wears small glasses on his face. In Tristan's eyes, he's the nicest man he's ever met. Mr. Fritts owns a thrift shop, and when Tristan needed a job, Mr. Fritts readily extended his hospitality.
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"Where's Danny?" Tristan asks, scanning the store.
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Mr. Fritts sighs in discontent. "My lazy son is in the back organizing all the equipment. Why don't you go and help him?"
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"Yes, sir."
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Tristan heads to the back of the store, surrounded by a diverse array of products—old furniture, clothes, shiny vases, handbags, and shoes.
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In the midst of this assortment stands a young man with curly brown hair and small freckles on his face, holding a clipboard with a white piece of paper in the middle.
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Tristan approaches his fellow college. "Hey, Danny."
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"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Danny says, arms crossed.
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Tristan rubs his head from embarrassment.
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"Yeah, yeah, sorry I'm late."
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"No worries, it's been pretty slow today," Danny shrugs as he gets back to work.
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Tristan looks at Danny curiously. "Oh yeah?"
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Danny smirks. "Yeah. Not a lot of people are going out today, not after what happened last night."
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Tristan raises one eyebrow. "Last night?"
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Danny looks at Tristan. "You didn't hear what happened?"
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Tristan stares at Danny without saying a word.
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"Well, word is, last night the police arrested more than 50 thugs, all belonging to their own gangs, and all wanted for a multitude of crimes," Danny says in a whisper.
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Tristan remains quiet as his face adorns a look deep in thought. "Is that right?"
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"That's not even the weirdest part," Danny says with a smirk. "The weirdest part is that not all of the criminals come from California, and none whatsoever come from this small town. In fact, they come from all around the country, and all of the gangs they once belonged to were captured by the police."
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Tristan's eyes become emotionless as he continues his work, listening to Danny's account.
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"Everyone is scared; no one wants to leave their homes, and everyone, including the police, is asking the same questions," Danny says with a serious tone.
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Danny and Tristan lock eyes.
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"Why? Why did all of these dangerous people come to such a small town? What were they planning, and are there any more of them hiding somewhere?" Danny asks.
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Tristan looks down at the ground, his fist clenched in frustration.
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Tristan smirks. "Why indeed..."
***
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Tristan accepting the white envelope from Mr. Fritts' hands smiles while standing in the doorway of the store. "Thank you so much, Mr. Fritts."
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Mr. Fritts lets out a hearty laugh. "It's no problem, son. Like I said, you do good work."
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Tristan's face begins to turn red from embarrassment. "Thanks, Mr. Fritts. That means a lot coming from you, and now I have enough money to pay my rent."
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"You have a good night, son, and see you on Wednesday," Mr. Fritts says with a smile as he waves to Tristan, who waves back.
***
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Tristan navigated Elmwood Avenue, a location not far from his apartment. Amidst the small stores and hotels that lined the bustling street, he scanned the teeming masses of people.
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With a smile, Tristan spotted a young woman with untidy long brown hair and disheveled clothes, sitting on a dirty rug in the far side of an alleyway.
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"There she is," Tristan exclaimed with a smile as he jogged over to the young woman. "Janice!"
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Janice, upon hearing her name, looked up, emitted a small laugh, and waved at Tristan. "Hey, Tristan!"
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"I knew I would find you here at 6:30 pm in the evening," Tristan said, putting his hands on his hips.
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Janice shrugged her shoulders. "Well, where else is a homeless girl supposed to go?"
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"Janice, you could go to the shelter. They could provide you with food, a bed, and a roof over your head," Tristan said with annoyance.
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Tristan pleaded with his friend, though deep down, he already anticipated Janice's response.
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"No way! That place is way too uptight for someone like me," Janice said, shaking her head. "I much prefer being out here, where there are no rules, and I can sleep all I want under the starry night sky."
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Tristan, familiar with Janice's steadfast nature, sighed upon receiving the all-too-predictable answer.
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"Okay, okay. Just promise me if anything happens, you'll come to my apartment," Tristan urged.
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Janice's cheeks turned red, and for a moment, she avoided his gaze, leaving Tristan puzzled.
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"Yeah, yeah, I will, promise," Janice said with a small laugh.
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Tristan smiled, reaching into his right pocket, and took out his wallet. With a sigh, he handed Janice a $20 bill.
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"Here."
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Janice's eyes sparkled with a certain radiance as she looked at the dollar bill in Tristan's hand.
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"Are you sure?" Janice asked, looking up at Tristan.
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Tristan smirked. "Yeah, as long as you promise me you won't spend it on alcohol like you did last time."
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"Yea, yea, I won't, okay!" Janice replied in embarrassment as she snatched the twenty dollars from Tristan's hand.
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Tristan, ready to head back to his apartment, walked away giggling.
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"It was you, wasn't it?" Janice asked.
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Tristan stopped walking and looked back at Janice with an awkward smile.
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"What do you mean?" Tristan asked with an awkward giggle.
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"You know what I mean. Those gangsters – you were the one who took them down, weren't you?" Janice said with serious eyes.
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Tristan stayed quiet for a few moments. "Me? No way could I do something like that," Tristan said, rubbing his head. "I'm way too weak."
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Tristan wasted no time as he continued his walk home.
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Janice looked at Tristan walking away and couldn't help but smile. "Weak? Yeah right, you could have fooled me."
***
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After a long day filled with work and unsettling rumors, Tristan lays in his bed, staring at the ceiling.
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Thoughts of the circulating rumors in the town occupy Tristan's mind, and he reflects on how fear has gripped the once-peaceful Oakbury. The paradox of small towns, typically quiet and serene, haunts him as he wonders if his actions caused chaos.
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"Should I have done something differently?" Tristan pondered to himself while getting dressed into his pajamas. "Was there another way?" he continued to contemplate. "Did I do the right thing?"
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Closing his eyes, he throws himself into bed.
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"I just hope that everything will go back to normal soon," Tristan sighs as he begins to drift into a deep sleep.
***
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With his eyes closed, Tristan gracefully glides through an ocean of pure white.
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Upon opening his eyes, he finds himself surrounded by an seemingly endless expanse of white space.
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Tristan wonders aloud, "Where am I?"
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An unknown voice responds, echoing from all directions, "Your wish shall be granted."
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Surprised by the feminine voice, Tristan scans the space to locate the source.
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She materializes seemingly out of thin air – a woman with light brown hair adorned in gorgeous robes. Though her face is not entirely visible, Tristan senses her beauty.
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"Who are you?" Tristan inquires, intrigued by the mysterious presence.
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THE NEXT DAY
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Tristan, grappling with the lingering remnants of sleep, rubs his eyes as he slowly awakens in his bed. Chaotic thoughts swirl in his mind as he reflects on the vivid dream from the other night.
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"It was just a dream," he reassures himself, yet his right hand trembles uncontrollably, betraying an underlying unease.
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Dreams were foreign territory for Tristan, accustomed to a vigilant sleep with one eye open. Despite this, the dream's realism left him unsettled.
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"Oh man, I must be really tired," Tristan muses with a tired smirk.
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"Hello," an unknown yet familiar voice interrupts the solitude.
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Tristan, now fully awake, turns his head to the right side of his bed, where the same woman from his dream sits on her knees, smiling at him.
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"Hello, my name is Loraura, and I am a goddess sent from the Radiant lands. Please tell me your heart's desire."
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"Huh?
***
Author notes: Please support my work on Patreon for early access to new chapters. https://patreon.com/DarkMatteromniverse
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