His eyes matched the crimson embers of his morning cigarette. Striations of light beamed from the blinds and painted the wall in its usual morning coat. Today, like everyday, signaled the tiresome parade that is to follow after each dawn. His disorganized foot steps led him to the bathroom mirror where he viewed himself in the near anonymity of low light.786Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCsl5bosRsl
(C1), with his cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, combed through his stubble with the unkempt talons he called nails. His fingers slid across his cheek and up to meet the thin creases under his eyes. While manipulating his face he had edged himself closer to the mirrors surface, tilting his head in obscure directions. Attention soon shifted to his hair which was ravaged by the irregular sleeping conditions of the couch. Renegade follicles erupted from the uniformity of his short hairstyle forming horn-like shapes which through much effort seemed to be untamable. After a defeated sigh, the neglected smoke was pinched from his mouth and discarded into the bin adjacent to the sink.
"Here we go again." he muttered under his breath. Recovering his backpack from the hallway he slung it over one shoulder and set out through the doorway. The coolness from the night lingered around the town seeping into the bones of the poor and sick. Icy puddles lay in wait for any misjudged step or unwitting victim. The sounds of laughter and merriment of last night was replaced with the coughing of morning workers aggravated by the dry air.
(C1) followed the line of workers exodus the run down slums out towards main roads. Ranks of unskilled laborers banked along the curb waiting for one of the many daily recruiters to trade their toil for a pittance. Mothers and wives occupied with daily chores of cleaning and buying foodstuffs often overlooked the squalled lives they were forced to lead. The townsfolk were reduced to mere cattle, eyes cast downward and penned by desperation, living just to survive.
The crowds ebbed and waned as minutes passed leaving the runts to disappear back into the side streets. (C1) slipped by the remnants to proceed along his pickup point, passing street signs which wore coats of rust as the residue that built up in the canopy of vine-like cables above drip-fed the life below. The iconic sound of the work truck rumbled from the alley behind Hicket's corner shop. The vehicle's bonnet peeked out from behind the brickwork wall to reveal (C2) reaching for the glove compartment.
"What are you looking for?" (C1) asked as he clambered into the cabin.
"Todays work summary; Seems that I must have left it at work. We'll have to swing by the depo to get a copy." (C2) replied.
"I'll leave you to dash inside for it; there is no way I'm going in there when Marie is working at the front desk. I'm not gonna say that she's a bad person but she is one mad bitch."
"Can you really say that about someone else? Look at your hair, it's like birds have been nesting in it."
(C1) let out a single laugh. The truck then pulled out into the street and joined the line of traffic that continued up to the highway access ramp; every inch towards the destination carried a congruent increase in temperature. The sun's rays climbed over the guard rail casting a blinding light across the windshield and illuminating the dust particles lying on the dashboard. Minutes felt like hours stuck on that road, breathing in the choking fumes that spewed forth from the moving junk piles. (C2)'s patience could only bare so much and decided to take his chances with a small gap in the traffic. He pushed the car to its limit, smashing the peddle to the floor and with a screech of the tires managed to dash into the closest lane with just a meter between him and the car in tow. Now with strong winds buffeting against the car the vile smog filtered back out into the surrounding world.
"Do you have any clue to where we're working today?" asked (C1) with cigarette packet in hand.
"Yes and put that shit away, I've got enough cancer from those bloody fumes earlier. As for the job it’s at 'Knight Lockers' which is a rental storage place."
"What's the problem?"
"Wasps. One of the storage units has been infested with them. Remind me to bring an optic cable when we grab the bug bombs from the depo."
By the time they had arrived at their work the omnipresent sun rested on its throne atop the sky once again. Light reflected off the tall windows of the council building and onto the railed steps that led up to the front entrance. Through the glass door was the unmistakable blond bob-cut hair of Marie, bouncing around as she abused someone over the phone.
"And you thought the desert was inhospitable." (C1) joked to (C2).
Without a moment's pause (C2) jumped out of the truck and waltzed into the front office. (C1) watched his co-worked shrink into the near distance and enter the building. Lacking any reference to what they were saying, he could only guess what was going on between their interactions. (C2) stood as motionless as an old movie monster blankly staring across the counter at Marie who wobbled and moved erratically like a marionette caught in a celling fan. Her habit of using gestures to emphasize her opinion was at best a niggling annoyance and at worst considered to be a flurry of flying fists, both of which caused (C1) to avoid any future contact with her. The conversation ended with an exchange of paperwork and (C2) returning back to the truck.
"Knight Lockers, 22B Vismith Road, Caspasian. Owner is a Mr. Ken Knight who called in yesterday with the aforementioned wasp infestation. He said that an occupied storage unit had buzzing noises coming from it and when he yanked up the roller door there were nests along the walls. Said it was something out of a science fiction movie." (C2) stated.
"Isn't that place like 30 kilometers away? What happened to the council helping the closer community? It seems like we're being dragged further and further away on jobs these days." (C1) complained.
"You've got to remember that we're working for an independent company, it’s a 'council' building only in name. This place was privatized when the government sold off the trains to the Hatter Group." (C2) noted as he returned back to the road.
"Those pricks in Royar hills always find away to fuck over us over. You try and go to the public hospital for a heart attack and you've gotta wait six hours 'till a nurse comes around and tells you to piss off because you're too healthy looking. Unless you come in with your head missing or an A-380 impaled in your chest they won't bat an eyelash."
"Don't bite the hand that feeds you." (C2) reminded him.
The vehicle picked up speed as it returned back to its natural habitat of the scorched trail. Small road-side shrubs blurred past the window and disappeared in the cloud of sand that was kicked up by the read wheels, small stones bounding out of the confusion trailing small brush stroke sized whisps of dust. The unsealed roads unleashed assaults of gravel into the underside of every vehicle causing that distinctive sound of steel rain that brought with it the dread of scratched paint. (C2) didn't mind, it was more likely to scratch the rust away than do any actual damage to the truck.
"We could have taken the M3; it would have taken us straight to Caspasian." (C1) noted.
"I don't like driving in multiple lanes with trucks around me. Blind spots, cars and trucks never turn out well."
"You'd rather drive out here with the fissures and chasms in the road? Smart." retorted (C1) as he rested his head against the window.
"The difference is that I'm confident in my driving, it's those lunatics that are the danger."
Their conversation continued until they reconnected with the town. (C2)'s semi-cheerful expression became that of a stone faced grimace at the sight of the 4 traffic lights within 200 meters of each other. Horns blared. Aggressive drivers raced for openings. The still air boiled people alive in their cars. It truly was motorists’ hell; One that lasted for just over an hour before finally bringing them to their destination. A sign for Knight Lockers directed the duo into a gated cluster of factories that was seemingly devoid of workers. Industrial behemoths lurched over the roadways, their backs scarred with an abundance of cracks and their eyes peppered by the machinations of hooligans. Stockyards were populated with a sea of tarp-covered products that rippled as the breeze swam between the pallets. The walls were brazenly tattooed with unintelligible scrawls and markings to ward off rival larrikins and their cohort. The truck slowed to a cautious pace as (C2) checked the street numbers.
"Are you sure we're on the right street?"
"We saw a sign for it just as we turned in. We're looking for number 22, should be on your side."
"Well I can see a 22 but I don't think it’s the right place. I don't think a storage place needs smoke stacks." replied (C1)
"It's 22B remember, so it could be just behind it." (C2) assured him and drove into the front gates.
To the rear of 22A was a row of roller doors in line along a long building. The cement outer walls were painted white and red in two think horizontal strips. Small cooling units jutted out from the flat roof, most of which were seized up and motionless. At the far end of the building was a single doorway that led into the employee station with its shudders half closed. (C2) brought the truck beside the window where he saw a man sitting at his desk leaning towards a small table fan to cool himself. (C1) and (C2) both hopped out of the truck and entered the room to meet the cooling sensation of the fan's breeze.
"Pest exterminators, what seems to be the problem?" asked (C2) as if he was reading it out of a handbook.
"Jeez you guys were fast. My name's ken, I've called about some wasps that have gotten in to an abandoned unit. I've already marked it and put up some tape to seal them in there." He informed them.
"How long has it been out of use for?" Queried (C2).
"I was paid for in advance up until a month ago, and I haven't seen the owner it about three."
"And when did you go in to investigate it?"
"Last Friday; I went to post a notice on the front of the unit and heard the buzzing. I grabbed my key and opened it a little to see what was going on and as soon as I did it sounded like a hive. I don't know why but I stuck my head under the door and saw the walls were covered in all sorts of gunk. Needless to say I slammed it shut and ran into this office to call up you guys." Ken explained.
"Ok. Well we'll have a look for you and see if we can do something about 'removing' them." reassured (C2) as he gestured for (C1) to leave and followed him back through the door.
"(C1), you grab the stuff and I'll check out the infestation."
"Which stuff?"
"The gas bombs and the..." stumbled (C2)
"... We forgot them didn't we? I told you to remind me to grab them!" he scalded.
"You dashed in and came back out with the paper work and before I could say anything you got us into that conversation about who owns our work!" yelled (C1) trying to defend himself.
"Doesn't matter now, we can do this the hard way. Grab the hand sprayer we use for making deterrent perimeters and mix it with one of the pesticides. I'll scope out how we'll go about this."
(C1) unlatched the truck's tray and clambered onto it. Inside one of the steel tool boxes was a cache of toxic substance bottles, all of which were clothed in numerous warning stickers. As he fumbled through the assortment of poisons (C2) reached the taped-up roller door and began to peel off the copious layers of tape.
(C2) slid the door up an inch and peered into the unit only to see a dense darkness. The buzzing sound that was once muted by the tape sealing the door now built to a deafening roar. His hand grasped the torch that was lodged into his utility belt, bringing it to his face and casting its investigative light into the darkened space. Ridges of pale yellow honey-comb were cemented to the ground and proceeded up into the enigmatic darkness. Silhouettes of insects darted across the fibrous insectoid metropolis congregating into super highways of food stuffs and freight. Pools of sweetly fragrant liquids fermented in specially made reservoir maintained meticulously by a task force of workers. A small mass of bugs accumulated at the edge of (C2) peripheral vision and began to leek under the door towards him.
"Stuff that!" exhausted (C2), pushing himself back his feet. Placing the sole of his boot firmly onto the door handle he kicked it back to the floor, sealing it in a single tumultuous event. (C2) turned his head to see (C1) hunched over the insecticide bottle staring back at him with a puzzled look on his face. After a few seconds he jogged over to (C2) with the juiced-up mix in hand.
"What was all that about?" (C1) inquired while handing over the sprayer.
"It seems that they didn't like me intruding into their world; they sent a few comrades to investigate what I was doing there. Now they're all kinds of mad and it's your job to go back in there and clear 'em out." he said returning the instrument.
"So in short you've stirred the quite literal hornet's nest and expect me to kamikaze into a swarm of angry bugs with very pointy appendages." retorted (C1).
"I would go myself but I can't overlook this as a good sign to see your willingness to grow in this business. You know when I was working in your role I would jump at the chance to do this kind of job. Every time my boss would send me into a vent the size of matchbox I would go with a smile on my face clinging onto a stick because we didn't have those fancy 'pest capture devices'. And when I popped my head back through, covered in dust and viscera, he would place five dollars in my hand and tell me to walk back home by myself." rambled (C2) as he looked skyward.
"Didn't you tell me that you were a panel beater just 3 years ago until you applied for your job here?" (C1) instantly rebutted.
(C2) paused for a few seconds. Cradling his chin with his thumb and forefinger he contemplated about how to respond to the statement.
"If you do it I'll give you ten bucks."
"Ten bucks for the chance of immeasurable pain and slash or death by stingers."
"Twenty-five"
"Deal" (C1) blurted in response, trying to conceal a smirk.
"Your either an idiot or a thief, most likely the former. Just remember to be careful when spraying and always douse the area methodically." informed (C2) as he positioned himself further from the door.
(C1) turned to face the doorway with sprayer in hand. He wedged the toe of his boot underneath the door and shifted his weight onto his back foot careful to counterbalance the next action. The door wailed as (C1)'s foot dragged it skyward unleashing the sun's rays to purge the ambiguous unknown.
"Be purged vile creatures!" announced (C1) in a tone similar to that of a Victorian officer. He held the sprayer outstretched, leveling his arm to brace himself. The nozzle belched forth it's foamy death onto the newly illuminated swarming mass sending them spiraling off into every direction. Airborne guardians deployed in a defensive sortie strafing across the breadth of the room coordinating an attack. The wings of the formation collapsed towards the center and beset (C1) with an unstoppable barrage, ensnaring him inside a cyclone of activity. His arms swept through the cloud collecting tens of bugs in their wake and distributing them to the furthest corners of the storage unit.
"Stop! Calm down (C1)" yelled (C2), trying to restrain his co-worker.
"Get of me! This is dangerous!" pleaded (C1) as he attempted to wrestle him off.
"You idiot! Look at them!"
When he looked back the ball had dispersed into the confines of the hive structure. Stragglers scuttled back to the dark corners of the room leaving their dazed comrades to the mercy of the intruders. Both men composed themselves; the lack of danger gave them leave to investigate the culprits of the infested architecture. Wasps they were not. Lying at their feet were grey beetles with deep hemispherical exoskeletons, no bigger than a finger nail. Stout in shape and void of armaments the bugs seemed to be defenseless or at least non-aggressive.
"Any clue?" questioned (C1)
"My only guess is that they are builders, like termites. You stand guard and I'll grab the insect bestiary."
"Aren't we meant to clear 'em out?"
"They could be endangered, explode with chemicals or something worse. You know what they say "First do no harm."." (C2) replied, jogging back to the truck.
"That’s doctors."
In the distance (C2) rummaged around in the glove compartment for a few seconds before returning. He thumbed through the appendix skimming over chunks of information before opening to middle of the booklet. Inside was full page of diagrams depicting cross-sections of the bug accompanied by tables of measurements. The adjacent page talked about the origins of the creature, known pesticides and distinguishing characteristics, all of which sprawled into lengthy paragraphs spanning half a page each. He flipped the page once again to see an identical image of the bug before them, "Loenar's Paradise Beetle", also known as the "Grey Paper Beetle".
"Docile... works as a hive... forms large nests out of wood pulp. I'd say that's what we've got. It says that they're not too common outside of cool places, I wonder how they've been living out here?" he asked himself.
"So, are we still gonna kill 'em off?"
"As the book says: "Each beetle can consume huge quantities of Phorbol found in native plants, known to cause acute allergic dermatitis and skin irritation to humans. I think if you spray enough of that on them they'll probably bathe in the stuff rather than die." (C2) joked as he gestured to the hand sprayer.
"I guess we're shit outta luck then." he exhaled and leaned against the door frame.
"Just because we can't kill them doesn't mean that we can't clear them out. If we break apart the hive and cut off their water supply they will most likely die off. I'll also get someone to drop by tomorrow and pump this place with the strongest stuff we can get hold of. Maybe some DDT or Cyanosil will do the job."
A visible grimace etched itself on (C1) face. He tilted his head to look back into the room watching the frenzied movements of the workers securing the entrances with their probing antennae. (C1) turned back to (C2) who was still planning out how to deal with the follow-through procedure.
"What's the go? Are we gonna rip up this hive or what?"
"Yeah. Gloves and goggles."
(C1) extracted the worn gloves that dangled from his belt. With an absence of goggles on hand he ambled into the depth of the room and began to pull away the edge of the hive. The composition of the structure made it tear away into clear-cut sections revealing the stained walls that lay behind. Its density was that of compressed wood and was laced with the ridges of fibers giving it a rugged surface similar to a sea of sand dunes.
The two men lay wasted to the stronghold, taring down the soldiers bastions, destroying the nurseries and ravaging reservoir of ripened rot. Organic masonry encased the entwined catacombs that were cemented deeply into the structure. Concealed in a large chamber lay a pool of fresh water that trickled from a crack in the wall. The embankment was ringed by fleeing refugees all trying to huddle to their last symbol of sanctuary.
"Looks like I've found their well spring. Little bastards are everywhere."
"Good, put a lid on it and we're done. Just jam your hand in there and find a way to seal it up. “ replied (C2).
(C1) prized a large segment from the exterior to gain access to the mikveh. His hand dipped into his utility belt retrieving an all-but-used roll of electrical tape, each side carrying an entangled mass of felt and dust. The tape was fashioned into a square shape and plunged into the chamber. His fingers navigated past the shelled swarm and pressed the corners of the tape construct around the fissure, sealing away the nourishing water. (C1)'s hand tingled with the sensation of heat that slowly began to climb up his arm. He twisted his torso clockwise wrenching his arm from the edifice revealing the chitinious cretins and their handiwork, large patches of painfully red skin.
"Argh fuck! I thought you pricks were non-aggressive!" (C1) yelled as he raked them from his forearm.
"What the hell happened to you?" (C2) asked, turning his body to see (C1)'s arm.
"I thought you said they were defenseless! Look at this shit; they've burnt through half of my god damn arm!"
"Let me have a look." requested (C2), carefully manipulating his arm around to see the extent of the damage.
His arm was coated in a shimmering, semi-transparent liquid that dripped off leaving spindles of fluid that hung like stalactites. Long, deep red lines ran the length of the sore patches caused from (C1)'s frenzied scratching to remove the culprits.
"Looks like that’s gonna leave one hell of a mess. Since we're done here lets go back to the truck and see what we can do about this."
They stood up with (C1) holding his arm by the wrist to avoid any contact with other objects. Across it he felt a deep throbbing that would react to the lightest of touches or breaths of breeze. The immense pain jolted through his body for every step toward the truck, his eyes contorting into a wince. (C2) opened the passenger side door to let him sit side saddle to give him enough room to assess a short term solution.
"I'm not a doctor but it looks like a chemical burn to me. There isn't much in the first aid box so I'll put some skin lotion on it and cover it with a bandage for now." (C2) reassured.
Inside a toolbox on the truck's tray was a small medical tin case that was covered in scratches and dents. Relatively unused, it lay at the bottom of the toolbox to scrap against the dust-covered metal and tool cohort. An orange beard of rust clung under the lock seizing it in place with a vice-like hold, resisting (C2)'s ham-fisted attempt to turn it to face him. He placed one hand on the tin and the other onto the lock before fiercely turning it through the loop, grinding the residue into flakes of metal and corrosion. The now more obedient lock gave in to his demands swinging open effortlessly and unlocking the weary case.
Inside was a layered system that was stripped bare of trays, leaving various bindings and sealed instrument to interact as a miscellaneous mound in the corner. (C2)'s large fingers prodded and pulled at the cluster to finally extract a roll of cotton gauze. Returning to his patient he upturned a bottle of generic skin cream, liberally coated the wound with its blissful coolness. He brought the gauze to (C1)'s arm, which now started to form small blisters, slowly winding it around and up to seal the cream in.
"I know it hurts like hell and this isn't going to be much of a consolation but it'll have to do as a temporary fix. We did enough on today's job so I'll close up and drop you off at the clinic. They'll probably give you some drugs and the rest of the day off.” Said (C2), leaning again the door.
"Yeah."
(C2) shut the door and headed back to the storage unit to leave (C1) to tend to his injury. He held his arm in front of him slowly rotating it and clenching his fist watching the tendons at his wrist painfully tighten. The cream gave little comfort as it failed to alleviate the deep muscle pain that throbbed in tandem with his pulse. Itching and irritation panged beneath the binding tempting him to dig his nails into the sensitive flesh, potentially rending large rifts into his arm. (C2) returned from the front office stuffing the work summary receipt into his pocket.
"It's all done. I've shut the unit off and talked to the manager so we should be good to go; You just take care of that arm and make sure not to bleed all over the interior." he joked.
"I may be in pain but that won't stop me from breaking my arm off in your arse if you keep acting like a prick to me" (C1) retorted, shaking his arm at him.
"You wouldn't stand a chance against me; you’re 'armless."
(C1) gave a deadpan stare to (C2) before looking out the window silently. The engine wheezed to life coughing forth a plume of smoke from the tailpipe and sending the men back towards the fetid slums from which they came. An endless sea of salty sorrows seamlessly stretched to the sky, its bleak reality made traversing it tiresome and mundane, prolonging (C1)'s pain and impatience to breaking point. Whippets of wind flicked through the gap in the window and down onto his arm with dogmatic precision sending sand granules to infiltrate into his dressing.
Disregarding his ill fortune (C1) reached out with his bad arm and pinched a cigarette from a pack he had left in the glove compartment. He squashed its slender body between his fingers, imprinting it with a deep concave depression then cupped his hand over his mouth and ignited it. The smoky flavor permeated through his mouth taking attention away from the world for a few fleeting seconds, enough time for him to drift away into a daydream. The flow of time quickened bringing with it a change of scenery. They found themselves back at the boundary of the town, still as decrepit and soul-crushing as they had left it.
"When I drop you at the clinic make sure you get it checked out thoroughly, there's that rumor that one of our workers didn't clean out a gash on his leg; found out after a week that he took his work home with him and they'd been living in his calf. Some real sick stuff." (C2) cautioned his wounded partner.
"Trust me, first thing I did was check out my arm. Other than the couple that clung on to me there nothing left par the few chunks of flesh that didn't melted off." he joked.
"You should be a bit more serious about this kind of stuff. Small things usually turn out to be worse than you'd think. Nerve damage... skin deformities...the works you know. Just have it checked over; it'll be for the best."
"Right... right" (C1) apathetically agreed, lightly nodding in tandem with the words.
The truck turned into Rrow st., formally Barrow St. before the sign's top was bashed in by some drunkards. Near the middle of the road was one of the only 3 medical centers in the city, the Anthony Dam Ambulance and Medical or the ADAM as know by the locals. The buildings that surrounded it were large, concrete tenements packed with co-habituating families, wailing children and draped in banners of washing lines. The area was built by the Hatter group as a way to grease the wheels of the government and get the rights to privatize some state assets.
Near the entrance of the clinic was a short line of people that trailed from the front counter. Some coughed and wheezed while others shifted their weight from one leg to the other to stave off boredom, all were wearing stained or stitched clothing. Amputees, drug addicts, under-age pregnant women and those wracked with poverty associated diseases stood and arms length apart, those who are considered 'untouchables', shouldering their misery as pseudo-comrades.
"This cheerful place is your stop. Don't forget to call the office when you have the chance, they'll be wondering why you disappeared."
"Sure thing" (C1) replied as he climbed out of the passenger side door.
They exchanged farewells before the truck disappeared into on of the side streets leaving (C1) to wade through the crowd that ambled in the street. The distinct smell of the sick wafted from the open doorway mixed with an after taste of bodily fluids. Through the glass people sat gripping bandaged limbs or holding infants who squirmed in their mother's embrace. The receptionist working behind the front desk wore the blemished mask of feigned friendliness, greeting new patients with a forced smile and quieting the murmurs of unease that built amongst the crowd.
He strode past the infirmed gates and traveled back along the cracked pavement towards the slums. Of the daytime it suffered from a whole different breed of squalor then that of the torrential downpours. Blinding light beamed off all matter of windows and fixtures, projecting its light perpendicular to the shade cloths that flapped above (C1)'s head. Refuse and untreated sewerage left to decay on the streets reeked rancid fumes known to knock out those untrained to the smell. Small storefronts positioned just outside dwellings offered small families to display produce and herbs, all of which sweltered in the midday heat wilting their leaves and mottling their fleshy stems. Porters jogged through the narrow pathways carrying poles over their shoulders which bowed under the weight of the items that were suspended at the end.
Mobs of rabble huddled at the sides of the path murmuring to each other as (C1) passed by them and headed to his tainted sanctuary, the Crimson Flower bar. The establishment gave little to its name as its red neon light, once a beacon to the shuffling masses, now stands shattered to the four winds. The giblets rend from its wire veins now decorated the earth in glittering commemoration of its intoxicating, eye-catching nature. Without it's vibrant heart crooning into the streets it was just another tap house that plague the intellectual graveyard that is Grentin.
Breaching its door (C1) stepped onto the water damaged floor boards and scanned the room to see the same statuesque regulars glued to their seats. Near motionless, their unfocused gaze rested on the table in front of them, hands clasping drink glasses, silently sipping intermittently. The bartender greeted him with a blank look whilst wiping down the counter with a tattered rag.
"What'll it be?" asked the bartender, resting his upper body on the counter.
"Something strong. Strong and cheap."
"Nick's Mix, ter'ible but cheap. Gives meanin' to de words 'Blind drunk'."
"Yeah, anything that will make me forget this." (C1) replied as he lowered his bandaged arm onto the counter.
"Not bad. Did ya get it fixed up at ADAM?"
"No, I hate those places. This is just a temporary fix until I get it sorted out. Looks like you've done quite a number on yourself too."
"Dese old fings? I've had 'em fer 4 years, bloody itchy fings. Doesn't 'elp de alcohol dries me skin, makes 'em flake 'n split." he explained in his thick accent.
The barkeep pulled a transparent bottle from underneath the counter and placed it in front of (C1). On its body was a section of masking tape with the words "Nick Mix" in solid permanent maker; the boarders of the inky penmanship has been slightly absorbed into the tape leaving a rippled effect surrounding each letter. Behind the yellowing label was a turbid emulsion, now disturbed, stirred and vortexed leaving creamy white trails to drift through the clear supernatant.
"Jeez nick, this is some serious looking shit." joked (C1) while he manipulated the bottle, letting it slowly mix into a homogeneous fluid.
"Nick's de old owner; used ta sell dis stuff when 'e first opened 'ere. Won't tell ya what's innit." the bartender reminisced, slightly smiling to reveal the four discolored teeth left in his mouth. Each of them looked like they were carved from wood, areas of decay made intricate patterns like that of the rings of a tree's stump. His breath wafted past the ridges of swollen gum line and down onto the shot glass that he retrieved for (C1). The neck of the bottle clinked against the foggy shot glass pouring the unknown drink into it.
"At least its cheap." (C1) reassured himself as he watched a thin film coat the surface of the concoction. Tilting his head back and with a flick of the wrist it disappeared down his gullet, thankfully missing his taste buds along the way.
"Keep 'em comming"
" 'S long as your payin', I'll keep porin'." the bartender replied topping up his glass.
The next three hours saw (C1) get through two and a third bottles of the mix before promptly excusing himself to 'clear his mind' near the front door step. His ill-prepared deal with the devil traded his throbbing arm for his other 4 senses and a handful of cash. Outside the usual sights and sounds were ever present but filtered through the perverse logic of the inebriated mind. The afternoon sun lurked over the rooftops and pierced his photosensitive eyes sending pain radiating through his skull. (C1) set off homeward in a staggering saunter, ploughing the soil beneath his feet as he dragged them along the dusty trail. He passed by the ramshackle markets once again to see the various traders collecting their excess stock from various tables; Their silhouettes slowly creeping upwards onto the walls, fading into the dwindling light that projected them.
Under one of the shaded walkways a cluster of ramblers began to part to either side revealing the unmistakable profile of Ryter and his goons. The two thugs walked on either of his flanks as they accompanied him, pushing the crowd away with their grotesquely large hands and leaving those in their wake confused and angered. (C1) stood by one of the stalls motionless watching the trio barge through people like a tyrant would through a swarm of peasants. Ryter turned his head to talk to his underling but stopped when he met the eyes of (C1) standing across the way; adjusting his warpath he made his way to engage him personally.
"How good of you to meet me here on this Wednesday; Quite bold of you to pay me in person after what you put me through yesterday." Ryter greeted him with a disingenuous smile.
"Cut the act, no one thinks you’re smart because you talk like that, not even your two girlfriends here. How about we just say you were in the wrong and we'll call it even. I even won't complain about that blue cheese deodorant you bathe in." antagonized (C1) while steading his footing.
"How can you smell anything when your breath reeks the bitter scent of Dutch courage. It'd be wise of you to give to me what I am owed before you do something foolish."
"Dutch? The guy behind the counter said it was a German beer. I'll have to have a stern talking to with my barkeep!" asserted (C1) feigning ignorance
"Listen here arseface, I given you two chances now. Give. Me. My. Money." he worded out as he leaned towards (C1).
"What you need isn't money, it's a new set of teeth!" he exclaimed. His upper torso rolled counter clockwise and delivered a clean punch to Ryter's lower jaw sending him flying back into his guards. All parties took a second to regain their composure from what just happened; a bewildered Ryter held his hand against this left cheek and looked up at his assaulter who looked equally surprised at the attack.
The bodyguards lunged towards (C1), their fists clenched into large, meaty balls the size of a roasted chicken. The first blow landed shallowly across his right collar bone and glanced off his body causing him to recoil from the impact. Within a fraction of a second the other goon closed distance and dispatched the final hit which came from a left hook that aligned straight on with his face which was unfortunately positioned by his injured posture.
(C1) stumbled back into one of the tarp covered stalls that collapsed into itself the instant he made contact its brittle timbers. The broken structure wrapped around his now limp body smothering him in debris and encasing him in the suffocating grip of unconsciousness.786Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMMCwC80WsL
