[center] [img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLmFjYWJhYS5SM0psZVNBLC4x/stefan.regular.png [/img] [hr] [hider= It’s a Sin by Pet Shop Boys][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5OYtAauQRk[/youtube][/hider] [/center] [i] June 9th, 7:00PM [/i] The loathing came in bursts sometimes. Grey stood there in the empty warehouse, leaning against the railing of the second-floor catwalk and looking down at the gathered assembly of morons they called comrades, and it struck. It hit like a swarm of hornets, needled the base of their neck and the tops of their shoulders. They wanted to run away, go home and say it was too hard, it was too much to handle. They wanted to run home to Baltimore and climb in bed with their Joey and sleep until the morning reached through the blinds. But Grey didn’t do that. That wasn’t an option. There was too much money on the line to mess this up. Instead, Grey looked down at the blue plastic Gameboy in their hands and drowned themselves in distraction— Tetris, as usual. The scowl on their face felt like a permanent fixture these days. Down below, three men sat in a circle around a glass bong. The acrid smell of marijuana floated through the air like smog and mixed with the ever-present reek of urine, alcohol, and body odor. Off in the corner, a trashy rap song played from a boombox in front of a crowd of young men all tripping on Happiness. They all laid in circles on the ground, laughing and moaning and smiling Joker-esque grins. Grey hated that drug more than anything else in this god-forsaken place. The labs smelled of harsh chemicals and the addicts lumbered around like limp zombies, their constant laughter echoing through the cavernous warehouse. “You want a hit Grey?” a man called from the circle below. It was Enrique, one of Grey’s subordinates in the Boyz. He was a short, fat Latino man with a mop of curly black hair on his head. He spoke with a cuban accent. Grey made no reply, only scowled deeper and tried to look like they weren’t paying attention. Some grumbling came from below. “You gotta lighten up, my brother,” Enrique called. “Put that fucking artifact down and take a load off! The boss ain’t paying you to sit around and be a grump all day!” “Don’t call me ‘brother’,” Grey replied in a monotone, not looking away from the screen. “We’re not friends.” He rotated a straight piece and dropped it onto the left side of the screen— Tetris. “Ah fine, fuck you then,” Enrique replied. “You think you’re so much better than us because you got some dumb fuckin’ mask and dress like a [i]travesti[/i].” Grey lowered the Gameboy. One of the other men in the circle around the bong picked it up and took a deep hit. “The fuck did you just call me?” Grey’s voice echoed down, tinged with anger. “Oooooh,” one of the men in the circle said in the ton of a 3rd grader when someone is called to the office. He was a skinny and weak-looking guy with a mess of brown hair, a long beard, and eyes that flitted around constantly. His clothing hung from his gangly frame like bloated flesh on a corpse. They all called him Bible Bill. He called himself “The Second Christ”. Grey turned the Gameboy off and put it in their pocket. They walked to the end of the catwalk and down the stairs to the concrete floor of the warehouse. The stench of piss and marijuana was stronger here than before. Off in the distance, someone laughed raucously. They approached the circle. Enrique fell back and crawled on his hands and feet. “Hey brother, I’m sorry,” Enrique said. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Honest.” Grey stepped through the circle, kicking the bong over as they did so. The water spilled in the direction of the third man, a red-haired miscreant with bad teeth and gigantic tinted goggles taking up most of his face. He wore a Miami Heat jersey with a horrible yellow stain going down one side. Grey approached Enrique, who had turned onto his knees and struggled to his feet. Before he could get away, Grey grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar and pulled back hair. Enrique slipped and fell onto his back. Before he could react, the four-inch heel of a black leather boot rested on his throat. “Let me make one thing very clear,” Grey said monotonously. “If you ever say that word again as long as you live you’ll end up in a mental institution chewing on your own tongue. Is that understood?” “I-,” Enrique stuttered, short of breath. “I-yeah, yeah I fuckin’ get it. Won’t happen again b-boss. Sorry...” Grey’s boot hovered over the man’s throat. Suddenly, their phone pinged loudly. Boot still over the man’s throat, they pulled their phone out, a sleek iPhone 8. On the screen was a single notification. The app was a simple black box with “.io” in the left corner in white text. Grey scrunched their face up and signed into the phone, a seventeen-letter password, and scrolled to the third page of apps. The black square was on the third page of a folder titled “Misc.” It had no name under it and would not show up if searched. Grey clicked on the app and put their thumb on the home button. The phone buzzed and a white screen appeared with two words of black text in that same monospaced font: [code] Drake_Blackmore [/code] The two words blinked three times. Then the app crashed and the phone turned off. [hider= In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MN3x-kAbgFU[/youtube][/hider] Grey thought for a long time. Then they moved their foot from Enrique’s throat and turned back towards the other two, who were cleaning up the spilled bong and salvaging as much of the weed as they could. Enrique laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavy. “Albert,” Grey said to the man with the goggles. “Clean your shirt.” “Oh yeah sorry boss,” Albert replied, pulling out a plastic bag. Inside were several dime-sized nuggets of weed. “I’ll do it later tonight.” “What even is that stain?” Grey asked. “It looks like...vomit?” “Sauce from an everything dog from Brunhilde’s,” Albert replied. “It’s got mustard, relish, ketchup, chili, onion powder-” “That sounds carcinogenic,” Grey replied. “Don’t tell me about it anymore.” Albert shrugged and began to grind a nugget of weed with a small metal spice grinder. “To each their own, I guess,” Al mumbled. “We still got a few hours ‘fore we’re on duty, right?” “Yeah, Joyboy doesn’t want us on the streets until it’s safe,” Grey replied. “Cops have been getting wise, especially in our part of town.” “Alright,” Albert said, still grinding the weed up. “I’m gonna pack a new bowl. You want some boss?” Grey sighed hard and looked around. “Fuck, I guess,” Grey said. They found a spot on the floor around the bong that was...cleaner than the rest and sat cross-legged. Enrique lumbered up, limping a little, and sat down across from them. Across the room, Grey heard a commotion of obnoxious laughter. “RANDY JOHNSON!” someone screamed. The sound of a shattering bottle then broke the laughter. “FUCK,” a different guy screamed. “MY FUCKING ASS!” Grey groaned. “Alright, who did that?” Grey shouted across the room, turning their head. “Robbie fucked Gonzo’s ass up again!” a chorus of voices shouted back. “Oh fuck you guys!” Robbie shouted. “Robbie! What did we talk about?” Grey shouted back. “I know...I have to control my anger... sorry boss!” “Don’t apologize to me! Go take Gonzo to the med bay! And make sure there’s not any blood left behind!” Grey turned their head back towards the bong, which Albert was now lighting. They took their glasses off (round and clear with gold frames) and put their head in one palm. “And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out and cast it from thee” Bible Bill said, staring off into the distance. “for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.” “I’m a fucking babysitter,” Grey groaned. [hr] [i] Present-Day[/i] Grey walked down the boardwalk wearing high-cutoff jorts and a pink blouse tied off at the midriff. A straw hat rested atop their mess of platinum hair and round blue sunglasses covered their eyes. It was a nice warm overcast day, and a cool wind blew across the boards from the ocean nearby. The sounds of children laughing echoed from the carnival and mixed with the sound of EDM and trap music coming from the kitschy weed-themed shops on the boards. Grey sat down on a wooden bench by a light pole and watched the seagulls circle overhead. Off in the distance, a loud bell rung from a carnie’s booth and a little girl screamed with excitement. Albert walked across the boardwalk from a shop and sat down next to Grey. He wore the same Heat jersey as always, albeit freshly laundered, and a pink bucket hat covered in marijuana leaves. As he sat down, he munched on a large hot dog covered in a strange yellow sauce. “How do you stomach that shit,” Grey said cattily. “Look bro, I don’t hate on your organic vegan quinoa shit. Let me eat my hot dog in peace.” Grey grumbled and rolled their eyes. They began to look out at the people walking down the boards until they came across a man with spiked black hair. He was leaning on the fence of the boardwalk, looking out sunset and licking an ice cream cone. Grey opened their phone and looked at the picture he’d been sent. The face and hair matched exactly. Quickly, they deleted the picture, scrolled to “Misc”, and opened up the black app again. This time, a keyboard appeared on the screen. They typed three words: [code] Sighting_confirmed_Boardwalk. [/code] The whole screen blinked, and the app crashed.