[i]This city.  What a rotten place to live.[/i]

He couldn't exactly complain, he could be worse off he supposed, but the last couple months hadn't given him much reason to smile either.  Growing up  in the middle of nowhere like he had, he'd always assumed coming to the city was just what you [i]did[/i] to get ahead in life.  That somehow packing a million men together into a sardine can like this would magically result in a better life.  Instead the people of this city were anonymous and hungry.  he was just one face among many, and the tall buildings and crumbling brick walls were gathering to crush him.  That was how his life had felt lately.  But then it wasn't just him.  On the way home he passed several homeless men, and he tried to remember that it really could be worse.  Not that they were innocent, not every man hiding in the shadows was a victim.  The smell of stale urine permeated the alleys, and the bricks hadn't always been the same shade of red.  It could be worse.

It just got worse.

"...What?"

His mind immediately went into overdrive at the sight of the broken door.  He held no illusions about the poor neighborhood he lived in.  It could just be the busted locks he inherited from the last resident.  Then again, he wouldn't exactly be able to track down the previous tenant to complain.  Not unless he wanted to visit the local cemetery.  The locks were always broken.  But the door wouldn't just swing open on its own.  Were they still in there?  Or had they just not bothered to lock up as they left?  But the lights were on, and despite the silence Jack just couldn't imagine that everything would be settled so neatly.

[i]And who the hell breaks into a house in the BLIGHT?!  There's nothing to steal in this shit hole![/i]

He froze.  His legs wouldn't carry him.

Who the hell breaks into a house in the Blight?  Plenty of people.  People who know the locks are already broken.  People who aren't looking for valuables to steal.  People who are looking for something else.  Something he was just delivering to them.

Could he build something to salvage the situation?  His boots were in the apartment.  Oh don't look at me like that!  Why would Jack ever carry those things with him?  They were just sentimental pieces of junk.  Sometimes the springs fall loose and go off on a hair trigger, and what good would that do him?  But they did him no good in there.  Could he build something?    Was there something in the alleys he could use?  In the dumpster maybe.  But the noise.  Building this was usually loud.  Bending metal, twisting chemicals into strange powders.  Would there be chemicals in a dumpster?  Maybe the vestiges of some cleaning solution.  Right.  A cleaning solution in the fucking Blight.  If anyone cleans their homes that thoroughly around here.  The Bleach would probably be worth more than their carpets.

He was breathing heavily.  Almost hyperventilating.

He leaped for the trash can by the front entrance to his building.  His apartment was on the second floor, but he didn't have to go up there yet.  He didn't care that the lid made a horrible clanging racket as he tossed it aside.  He didn't care that the waste smelled like it had been ripening for several days.  A weapon.  Some kind of weapon.  A few cans of food with the labels removed, bulging from age.  Whatever was inside was decomposing.  Would this work if he had a source of fire?  But no, the spark wasn't there.  He couldn't think straight when he was panicking like this, and he knew he couldn't get inspiration like this and it [i]just wouldn't work.[/i]

Calm down.  He had to calm down.  He didn't need to Build something.  he could take the trash can lid, and use it as a shield.  They're probably only armed with knives right?

He tried to control his breathing, and met with some success.  Calm down, Archer.  His breathing was under control.

He took a few shaky steps up the stairs.  He was at the door before he knew it, the distance passing in a fugue.  He gulped, and pried at the loose planks, peering inside.