[center][url=https://fontmeme.com/booker-t-jones-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180210/73630cf8767d089861fb9e305cfea002.png[/img][/url][/center] Preston felt the cold slither of day-old lo mein noodles as they slid down his throat. Despite his chewing the only audible noise from his apartment was a surround sound display. “[color=bc8dbf]The 1970s, a decade of war and disco. On tonight’s episode of ‘Behind the Music’ we’re exploring the career of artist and local producer, Tom Marin. From concert tours, to the battlefield, and back to the recording booth; Tom Marin was a man of electrifying fortitude. His famed hit ‘Lightning’ used distortion and feedback in ways artists have struggled to reproduce. Between his dedication to the music industry, and his likeness serving as ammunition for firebrands and political revolutionaries throughout the United States you won’t want to miss this ‘Behind the Music’. I’m Kasey Chang, and we’ll be right back.[/color]” The intro was followed by a series of old photos of what must’ve been a younger Tom Marin. Preston recognized the song from one of his favorite 80s action films, Road to Glory. It was one of those ‘so-bad-it’s-good’ kinda films, and there was no way in hell it held up to the tests of time. Nonetheless, it was a good romp. Tom Marin himself sounded familiar. Preston found himself shamefully googling the artist. Marin seemed to have paved the way for a ton of local artists in the indie scene so Preston was sure he’d seen the name before. Kate would definitely know about this dude. He found himself ready to text her, but hesitated. He let the phone slip from his hands back onto the couch before picking his lo mein back up into his hands. Not two seconds later did Preston hear the buzzing of his phone alarm. He frantically picked up the device before looking down at the reminder. [hider=Reminder] [list] [*]Get your shit done, dude [/list] [/hider] Rolling his eyes and letting out some sort of strange combination between a sigh and a [i]fuck[/i] Preston forced himself from the couch before lazily tossing the carton of lo-mein onto the table. Some of the noodles inched their way towards the edges as he did so. Making his way through a small doorway he found his eyes tracing the walls of his room. Pictures, website pages, forum posts, social media accounts. Instead of pictures of friends and some dope-ass tapestry- this was the kind of shit that decorated Preston’s bedroom. He dreaded the thought of someone else seeing all of this. Jesus Christ...that’d be a rough one to explain. Sighing to himself he made his way over to the desk in his room; its glass surface was tucked away beneath mounds of papers, and a worn red marker. Much like said marker, Preston’s bedroom had a distinctive red color scheme to it. Like most of the house it was a mess with little regard for the items scattered about the floor, and beneath his queen-sized mattress. He peeled open the lid of his laptop. The light of its monitor revealed worn eyes, and discontent on Preston’s part. Then there was the name plastered on the screen. Timothy Ross The url haunted Preston. [i]Megan’s Law. Shit. What exactly was he getting himself into?[/i] “[color=9e0b0f]Finding you should be easy enough,[/color]” Preston muttered to himself. Running the name through the state database came up with a few matches. “[color=9e0b0f]Which district was it again.[/color]” Preston found himself looking down on his lap, brows furrowed, as he tried to recall information he’d already uncovered. “[color=9e0b0f]Right, Concepcion.[/color]” After a few clicks at the keyboard the results screen narrowed further. “[color=9e0b0f]Six-one,[/color]” said Preston to the sound of more clicking. Fewer results, now. “[color=9e0b0f]Twice convicted.[/color]” Finally, there was just one name beneath the search bar. It taking that many modifiers was particularly harrowing for Preston. Preston soon found himself exploring a few more tabs. Scrolling through social media, and dating apps was usually the best method of understanding someone’s day-to-day routine. Immersed in the screen before him Preston finally jolted back into reality. He pulled himself away from the monitor before making his way over to the myriad of pictures that dotted the brick and drywall. [i]Fuck[/i], skin-surfing this dude was a enough to send shivers down Preston’s spine. Would people recognize him? Then again, that’s kind of the point. Preston flipped through his sketchbook. Its pages were littered with Preston’s drawings of this… Timothy Ross guy. No angle was left unexplored. Preston closed his eyes and sighed before crashing down onto his bed. Velveteen and cotton sheets were his reprieve from this whole mess, but only for a moment. "[color=9e0b0f]Fuckkkkkk, this is so fucked dude.[/color]” Preston wanted to scream at this situation, but this gig promised to pay big. Big jobs meant a gateway to even bigger ones. Preston was in this, now. He could picture Kate and Scoob, now. [i]No pussying out[/i]. “[color=9e0b0f]No pussying out[/color],” Preston muttered to himself. As he made his way out into the kitchen he walked past an all-too familiar black cylinder shaped device. A pair of underwear hung from its rim. “[color=9e0b0f]Google, play [i]Boy Harsher[/i].[/color]” A synthetically feminine voice was his answer. “[color=0076a3]Playing, Boy Harsher.[/color]” [center][hider=][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1Zm6E6Sy4Y[/youtube][/hider][/center] Preston made his way to the icebox in his kitchen before aggressively pulling it open. It was time to get to work. The only items lying within the icy tomb were a number of large bags of ice, and one half-empty carton of cookie-dough ice cream. Pushing aside the ice cream the young man pulled out the legion of ice bags. The next small while consisted of Preston transitioning back and forth between his kitchen and his bathroom until pounds of ice filled his tub. The IV drip hooked up next to the tub rather clumsily had been provided by his mysterious benefactor. Too bad it didn’t come with a nurse or at least an instruction manual. He’d seen his mom do it a few times, but that was only enough to give him an idea of what to do. Luckily Reddit saved the day. The portable air conditioner was much easier to manage. Naked now, aside from the ace-bandages wrapped around his body for protection, Preston’s body collided with the freezing ice. [i]Fuck. That was cold.[/i] With IV drip attached Preston rested his head on the rim of the tub. The cold euphoria of skin-surfing was enough to tense every muscle in his body before releasing them all at once. Over and over again. His hand gripped the edge of tub. This was going to be trip.