[h1][center][color=39b54a]Willard[/color][/center][/h1]
[hr][center] [color=fff200]Assignment[/color]: [color=39b54a]Pickup the intel on orphanage for 'the Gifted'[/color][/center][hr]

Bright neon holo-signs illuminated the densely packed, littered alley, and the constant wailing of sirens flooded through the thin corridor of brick, mortar, and stone. In the distance, gunshots could be heard, along with shrill screaming, bottles being broken, and the worst of urban chaos resonating across the still, chilling air. In this particular alley, despite the constant pain and rainwater that still dampened the streets, a cheery humming could be heard, along with the gentle tapping of small grey boots that skipped along the stonework. A couple firebins blazed to the east side of the alley, the faint heat being absorbed by the few bums that had nowhere else to go for warmth. Above them all, the ever-present rolling grey thunderclouds continued on, leaving the entire city in darkness. Occasionally, rain would fall, pissing off all of the hobos who had no cover for their fire, and making the narrow street all the gloomier.

Sure, it stank of crap and a kind of volatile sludge, but this was home for Willard. He had spent the past year and a half adjusting to this area, and found a kind of humor in the secrets behind all those dark corridors, though he knew better than to adventure out alone. This time, however, it was special - a pick-up job, just some paperwork, only a couple blocks south of New Haven. He was surprised himself when his master let him out alone, trusting him with this task. But then again, it was still daytime hours, and things didn't get really scary until it got dark out.

Blaque had said he was going to be at a meeting later that day, so he might not be back home before Willard was done. So, of course the little boy took advantage of this opportunity to explore for a bit. He had been told, straight there, straight back - but gosh, Willard had never been out on his own before - how would master know the difference? Granted, after only a terrifying run-in with some wild mutts, and a few shrill yelps from a gargantuan-sized crazy cat lady (the traditional kind - not the mutated variant, thank goodness), the child quickly adjusted his course to the rundown apartments where he was assigned to go.

After buzzing the apartment number - number 205, Willard made sure not to forget - and buzzing it again, and again, then hearing some angry yelling from upstairs, his source finally came to the front door: a tall, scrawny, wrinkly man, dressed in cargo pants and a beer-stained undershirt, with just enough teeth to adequately chew his next meal.

[color=39b54a]"'Scuse me, mister, but my master said you had papers for me to bring him!"[/color] Willard shouted up to the elder man, hoping that his volume would ensure his message could pass through the aged ears.

[i]"Eh? Who in deh... Ah, o' curse, yeh mus' be that there misteh Black feller's errand boy... Sure, sure, 'mon in,"[/i] A few creaky staircases up to the 3rd floor, and a fumbling of keys on more than enough locks on the already rotted door, and Willard entered the man's apartment - to his silent amusement, it was kept quite clean and orderly, with the rug looking spotless and most of the wallpaper still in place, along with books and dishes in their proper places.

[i]"Hum, 'kay... Where did I put 'em?"[/i] The man sifted through a stack of papers and holo-sheets, before finally grasping a few crinkled sheets of old notebook paper, and put them inside a black plastic bag.

[i]"Now, then, don't come back over 'ere fer more, yeh get it? Already went through enough trouble as 'twas, gettin' 'em and hidin' 'em. Tell yer mister ta 'ave a good 'un, too!"[/i] The man finished before settling into his couch, and flipped on the holovision.

Willard thanked the man and turned, starting his trek home, to Safe Haven.
[hr]
The bar itself was as lively as it could typically be - the few usual patrons, face-down in their booze or meals, oblivious to the little boy walking in. A song shifted on the ancient jukebox - it was truly a miracle that the hundred year-old machine still functioned, but Mr. Darric still kept it running. Willard looked up at the bulky figure behind the bar and smiled broadly - Mr. Darric was one of his favorite people at Safe Haven, and loved to talk with him whenever he could. After grabbing a cookie from behind the counter, Willard shuffled his way to the back of the bar, and took off his still soggy boots at the entrance. He glanced around, observing any changes made to the small space, walked over to the main table and put the plastic bag in the larger chair where Blaque usually sat during his work meetings and then scurried over to his room.

It wasn't big, but it was cozy here. Back before the war, it would've passed for a janitorial closet, just enough room for someone of Willard's stature to lay down in comfortably. Along the walls were old pre-war posters of cartoon shows, rock bands, and lots of maps. On the wall in front of his sleeping pad was an old holovision, or HV - back when holographic technology was first being manufactured for the general populace. It was small, but its catalogue was more than enough to keep Willard happy when he had nothing else to do. He flipped it on, switched it over to his favorite show - an old anime, late 20th century style - and waited for Blaque to come home.