The pair walked side-by-side in the warm late-afternoon breeze, a cigarette hanging loosely between Sydney's fingers and a cigar resting between Jackson's lips. The air was heavy, harbouring a dank aroma that had manifested steadily alongside the ever-growing poverty-stricken populace of the slums, and accompanying it, a sinister undertone that seemed to linger wherever one retreated. The scent of gunpowder, or of blood. Underfoot shattered glass crunched, and litter lined the edges of streets and alleyways in such a way that the ground underneath could rarely be seen. It was less of a home to the poor, and more of an elaborate trap designed to coax the non-contributing members of society into an early grave.

"This isn't good, is it, Jackson?" Sydney asked. Her voice was naturally raspy, seductive according to men of The Dust. Even in the gravest of situations it had the tendency to sound a little too laid back. 

"No..." He replied, breathing in a lungful of smoke and exhaling slowly. "It's not." 

They turned onto a narrow alleyway in silence. Against the decrepit walls lay groups of bodies, some afforded the luxury of a sleeping bag - despite the heat of the day not calling for one, others huddled beneath cardboard boxes or amongst a swath of rubbish. Jackson eyed each one with scrutiny. Their faces were obscured, but needless to say he recognized some simply by their size and shape, or the manner in which they curled up in an attempt to block out the fact of their bleak existence. It took only a moment before his gaze landed upon a luminous orange sleeping bag with the outline of a malnourished young man beneath its fabric. Jackson rested his boot on the man's side and rolled him over so that a pair of sleep-deprived eyes met his own.

"Money first," was all Jackson said.

"Jackson, hey..." The man's eyes were wide, and ringed with dark lines and creases. He was more a boy than a man, having only just passed by his teenage years - as drug-fuelled and hazy as they may have been - yet he looked older. His face was gaunt and the skin hung from his bones in an appalling fashion. It was a pathetic sight, really. "Look. I'm real sorry but-" 

"Cut the bullshit, Twitch, I know you've got something to trade. You pay up or we leave."

The young man, Twitch, sat up and looked about the alleyway. His head twitched to one side every couple of seconds and his hands clasped at the sleeping bag that covered his deteriorating wreck of a body. No one appeared to be awake. Even so, anyone who was awake would likely be uninterested in what he had to say.

"I... er, I can't buy from you no more, man..." He said.

"Hm?" Jackson knelt down on one knee so that their eyes were level. He regarded Twitch with a neutral expression for a moment before clasping his collar and forcing his head against the stone wall with enough force that rotting brick-work fell to the ground around them. Twitch let out a howl of pain, reaching for the back of his skull and finding his hands to be smeared with blood. He looked up to Jackson as if waiting for his next move. He didn't make one. "Why can't you buy from me anymore?" 

"I-I heard that... oh God... if you buy from, er, y'know small-time dealers they'll come after you..." 

"Who will come after you?" Jackson asked. There came no answer so he thrust the man’s head into the wall once more, raising his voice. "Who?" Around them the homeless began to stir, some muttering profanities under their breaths and attempting to fall back to sleep, others edging away from the scene or simply observing out of curiosity. Still Twitch refused to reply. Tears began to stream down his face and he sobbed into bloody hands. 

"Leave him, Jackson." Sydney said in a tiring tone while she tapped the ashen end of the cigarette and approached him. He felt her tender touch on the back of his neck, a warm hand snaking down the neck of his shirt. She was kneeling beside him. He withdrew his gaze from the bloody mess in front of him and looked Sydney in the eyes. "I know what he's talking about, alright. Just leave the poor guy alone and I'll explain."

Jackson still held Twitch firmly by the collar. His knuckles were drained of blood from clenching the fabric so tightly, but caked in Twitch's own. It oozed slowly from a wound that neither Jackson nor Sydney could see and was already beginning to dry in intricate patterns on his skin. With a grunt Jackson stretched his fingers and allowed Twitch to collapse back into the wall. Another round of brickwork fell from above and settled in his hair, or stuck to the mixture of blood and tears that streaked his face. Twitch thanked and apologized to Jackson in a barely audible voice in between sniffles and a gravelly cough. 

***

"The Castalias?" Jackson asked, preoccupied, his voice muffled by the cigar in his mouth. He worked furiously to try and remove some of the blood that was beginning to stain his hands, and picked at dried chunks that had settled underneath his fingernails. "I thought they were down in Serenity causing trouble. What do they want up here?"

"I don't know, I got wind of some planned expansion. I didn't think it would matter." She sucked on a freshly lit cigarettes, blowing smoke carelessly into groups of men and women who loitered on the streets. None of them seemed to care. "We've always had competition. We're only in this business to make enough money to get by-" 

"Pft, speak for yourself..." 

"-And as long as our regulars don't feel the need to change suppliers," she continued, "What does it matter to us?" 

"That's the problem, Sydney, they do feel the need to change suppliers. You saw Twitch, he didn't want anything to do with us." 

"That wasn't by choice." 

Jackson mulled on her point for a moment, eventually concluding that she was correct. "So, the Castalias," he began, "They're planning on expanding to Russel City?" Sydney nodded. "Crazy. The Wings will be all over them."

"Of course they will." 

"And you think it was the Castalias who tipped off the Wings about our operation?" 


"I think that's the only reasonable explanation. We're on good terms with the other suppliers. They all know that if one operation is shut down the Wings crack down on the rest. If the Castalias were the ones who tipped them off about our operation, I bet they've grassed on every operation in the city. Shit, Jackson, I wouldn't be surprised if some of them are dead..." 

Jackson put an arm around Sydney, pulling her closer and allowing her head to rest against his chest as they walked. The sky above them was beginning to darken ever so slightly, and the breeze was beginning to cool. It was a relief when the unbearable heat of the day gave way to a slightly less maddening warmth, but regardless it was still an uncomfortable temperature. In such a confined space the stench of unwashed bodies was also thick and pungent, and only seemed to add to the humidity of the day. Jackson swore that this resulted in a slight opaque quality to the air, but Sydney was always quick to point out that nearly everyone who could afford one held a lit cigarette in their hand.

It wasn't until they turned a corner onto a slightly wider street that they were met with quiet murmurs of unrest. Both of them could sense tension in the area, and the further they proceeded to walk the more prominent the angst amongst the men and women around them became. Some were hurriedly making their way in the opposite direction to Jackson and Sydney, while some lingered unsure of where to go. The shouting in the distance caught them both off guard. [i]30 years, Russel City![/i] Instinctively the two of them glanced towards each other before taking of at a light jog, and judging by the sudden movement of the groups surrounding them they had not been the only ones to hear the shouting. Soon they found themselves amongst a steady flow of slum residents, all making their way to the source of the shouting. 

"You've got to be kidding..." Sydney growled as the mass of bodies came to an abrupt stop.

Ahead of them Jackson could see the form of a man hung barbarically from a streetlight, his face slightly bloodied and his expression relaying confusion and terror. Below him stood a young woman. She was telling the assembled audience about crimes the man had committed, and despite being late to the party Jackson gleaned that he was something of a rapist. The woman’s words were harshly spoken, her whole demeanour ill-fitting of her soft features, pretty dress, and flowering hair. 

"That," Sydney whispered, "is Lucania Castalia." She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the woman.

"Ah, the young lady whose family are stealing our business."

"...Fucking entitled bitch..." Was all Sydney offered in response.

An animalistic how erupted from the bound man's lungs as his eye was slashed. Despite their death chants the crowd retreated back a step to avoid the splatter of blood, and then continued to spur the young woman on. She lashed out again, this time at his torso, and more blood gushed from the wound, creating puddles of thick crimson on the uneven ground.

"I don't know, she doesn't seem so different from you when you've got a temper on." Jackson said in a half-shout over the repetitive jeering of the crowd.

"Don't give me any ideas." 

It took a while before the bloodbath came to an end. Lucania was carried away by a figure who Sydney could not identify, and the crowd fell like vultures upon the near-enough corpse of the Guardian - who Jackson believed had been named Adam Worth. He was unconscious now. It was a lucky escape. From what Jackson had heard of his crimes he thought the man deserved to endure suffering right up until his death. He would liked to have seen just how the slums residents decided to enact the Wing's murder, but Sydney pulled him away from the scene before he could satisfy his curiosity. She was moving at a brisk pace. A purposeful pace.

"Come on, we'll follow them, see what rich bitches get up to once they're done with their tantrums."

Jackson agreed without argument, amused at the extreme dislike Sydney displayed towards a woman she had never met before.

***

Numerous wolf whistles fell on deaf ears as Sydney approached the bar at the Bitches Brew. Her scowls were hardly noticed by the intoxicated men whose bodies slouched limply in their chairs, let alone deterred them from admiring her slender physique as she perched on a stool and parted her lengthy brown hair. Jackson joined her, pulling up a stool and making his presence known. Angry mutters could be heard from a few men who quickly directed their perverse calls towards other patrons of the bar. Sydney then removed her jacket, catching the attention of a man to her right whose eyes landed promptly on her breasts, but following an [i]ahem[/i] uttered by Jackson he too turned away. 

"You need to stop being such a sex symbol for these people," Jackson remarked, signalling for a round of drinks

"Tell me about it. You should see what things are like when you're not around." 

"Worse?"

She laughed before saying, "Of course."

"That's why I worry about you." 

"You don't need to worry about me." She took a swig of the drink that had already been placed in front of her, testing it. After swirling it around in her mouth she swallowed and nodded her approval before downing the rest. "It’s good." 

"I just don't want anything to happen to you. Last time... I..." 

"Let me see your eyes." Sydney cut in, leaning towards him and taking his hands in her own. "It's been weeks."

She moved a hand towards the rim of his sunglasses, edging them down the bridge of his nose. Instinctively he moved a hand to stop her. He looked about the bar. No one seemed to be interested in what they were doing, and anyone who had been eyeing Sydney seemed to have lost interest. Reluctantly he allowed her to move his glasses just low enough that she could see his eyes, and a smile spread across her lips. Grey, wispy galaxies met her own comparatively dull eyes. The corneas of both eyes were grey, but not static as one would expect. They flowed and moved as if smoke were moving about behind the glazed surface, and specs of white seemed to sparkle as stars did in the night sky. But this isn't what she loved about them the most. What she loved the most was that the view of this strange galaxy inside his eyes was unobscured. There were no pupils to detract from their beauty. Only orb-shaped doors to another world. 

And then he blinked and pulled the glasses back in front of his eyes.

"Why don't you focus less on me, and more on Lucania. I can see her over there."