[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/XV76TzX/Pickles.jpg[/img]
[color=a9a9a9][b]JACK PERKINS[/b][/color] :+: [color=a9a9a9][b]OUTSIDE WIT'S END, NYC COMPOUND[/b][/color] :+: [color=a9a9a9][b]MENTIONS: [@savannahssu][/b][/color][/center]

	"[color=c4df9b]Oh[/color]," he said on a tone usually reserved for small children, "[color=c4df9b]Probably not today.[/color]" He gave a faux frown of disappointment before continuing.  "[color=c4df9b]BUT I'm sure we can find [i]something[/i] to keep us entertained.[/color]"  His grin returned and he gave a little hop before beginning his walk forward, guiding his new friend along with him.

	[color=f7976a][i]What [b]are[/b] you planning on doing[/i][/color], asked Jack within his own mind.  Pickles didn't care to answer.  [color=f7976a][i]Listen, Pickles, we need to be switching back, soon.  You've been driving for a while now.  I still have to find a new job (thanks for that), get my last paycheck, take my meds...[/i][/color].  Pickles' smile was still present, but the clown was beginning to have to force it.  The thought of being put back into his mental cage while Jack did boring ho hum routines was unnerving.  Infuriating, even.  Pickles didn't put the thought into words, but a mutiny was in order.

	As they walked, Pickles' strained grin was beginning to hurt his cheeks.  He had to force himself to move past it, to get his mind off of the inevitable confrontation with Jack.  "[color=c4df9b]Have you ever felt like being yourself was a CRIME against humanity?  Like you're forced and expected to wear a MASK that isn't you just so [i]other [/i]people would be more comfortable?[/color]"  His eyes scanned the faces of the people they passed.  With ash in his eyesockets and browned blood lining his lips, it was unsurprising that he was getting looks.  He just looked right back, his crooked teeth on full display.  "[color=c4df9b]I've decided I won't be PUTTING my mask of mundanity back on anymore.[/color]"  He could feel Jack's mental wince.  Still, the clown couldn't argue with Jack's main concern.  Pickles' couldn't see himself getting a job, but getting money... That might prove to be an obstacle more easily traversed.

	As he stared down the passersby, he looked at their attire, their faces, their accessories.  Those with dirt painted on their skin, torn rags for shirts, clothing that looked like it was older than the person wearing it... Those people were of no use to him.  He also made mental note of the patrolling guards, the directions they were walking, the pace of their footsteps.  He anticipated where they would be and when with analytical observations.  Though he outwardly appeared to be a malfunctioning individual, Pickles' brain was extraordinarily capable, hosting the minds of not one but at least two identities within, each with their own mental strengths.

	Finally, he saw his mark.  A man wearing glasses, a fresh haircut upon his crown, an analog watch that looked to be quite expensive and a gray fine business suit with pristine shoes that appeared freshly shined.  He was not a small man.  His build was quite muscular.  Pickles made the educated guess that if he stood back to back with this captain of industry, he latter would be taller by at least four inches.  He wore what he wore in the compound because he could.  He probably never met anyone who would dare take him on.  Until today.  Today he would meet Pickles.

	His neck craned over Tzipporah.  He had just promised her they wouldn't hurt anyone.  He was going to have to get creative with this next step.