Bebop'n along

Interestingly enough you could find law in a city governed by the lawless. A kind of moral code that kept life going for those who weren't gunfighters or gang-members. It wasn't the citizens that followed the code; the sweetest irony was that the ones with the guns (be them metal or metaphorical) were the ones that followed the law they made themselves.

In a cold small store-house that might of once been a store there was a cot, one of those old green military cots that you'd find in a surplus store and buy for your kid's first campsite extravaganza. Next to it was a set of cinder-blocks with a piece of plywood on-top riddled with DVD cases and a small TV; if the mess of empty coffee cups and cases was smaller, the handgun with a single bullet in the clip would be quickly visible. It wasn't some age-old grudge or the feeling of being the last real hero with one shot left to save the world that kept a single bullet in that gun. It was simply the luck of the draw; a simple fact of funding. And brother, I lack the funds.

The day's were simple. Wake up and brush the teeth, then go out and see what can be found. Random little corner shops on the street offered food and other enticing items to the men around who have nothing. It wasn't a pretty part of the city; hell it was downright ugly. But people made their way though life on a day-to-day, paycheck-to-paycheck basis. The most amazing part was the fact that those street-rats found joy. You'd see them sitting out together drinking, talking, playing music. There was a pulse to the city like a heartbeat. Every now and again bullets would ring out and cause the heart to stop for a second; like a computer defragging the hard drive to make sure everything was still there that it needed to run. He was part of it, but the gunshots didn't bother him. He would always seem to wander towards them, hoping there would be a paycheck of sorts for him around the barrels of those guns.

Shaking his head and burying his hands in his pockets, Sephr turned up his MP3 player and put the headphones in his ear. There was some loose change in his pocket that he picked up from the gutter of the street as he walked about to the coffee shop around the corner. He liked these little spots where coffee was cheap, the only thing that came cheaper was the information around them. At least I can get a cup of coffee.

The rain came and had already gone. Brief showers weren't but a thing in this part of town, no one cared enough about what they looked like to worry about getting their hair a bit wet. Just gotta buy smart is the lesson of living without wads of cash in your pocket, like a nice wool duster with a high collar that will shed the water; rather than absorb it. Of course, there were the pretty girls who would "Rather be pretty than warm and dry." but to hell with them. In-fact, it was really to hell with most of the world. If you can't survive on your own, you're not wort' survivin'. Why depend on anyone?

Walking through the small cultural district made up of individual and distinct shops was nostalgic. Especially when you put the water-logged cigarette in your mouth; man, that's really 1920's there. Even though the jacket and Lucky Strikes may be a blast from the past, brother those shades are straight hip. Gotta' check that fly bandanna tied around your neck too, that's poppin' just like your collar; real 1999 right there. Add in that MP3 player, and you're just a mongrel of style, a mutt of fashion. I never did have much taste of'a for those high-end stores that pick your outfi' out f'ya. What's th' use if I can't be myself?

The small shop windows were splayed with adverts, both hand written with soap and taped up on paper stright from the printer. Some were made for convincing you to come in and spend all that money, others were made to protest the current mayor's ban on whatever he-was-talking-about-last-week; but some... some offered work, and money to buy more coffee. Just have to hope that you can do that work, and not screw up the job. Just so happens if you can use a gun or scare the piss out of someone, you got a good chance of getting some money in your pocket. God damn, I'm broke brother; and I coul' really go for some coffee.

Bending over to read the signs, he instinctivly put his hands in his pockets as he read through what he considered trash. Adverts were nice to look at, but he wasn't here to window shop, he wanted to find some money and that meant finding some work. As his eyes glanced over the newly taped up notifications and the old one caught his eye:

Looking to make quick money? Call---

Odd enough as it was, that was all that was there. Some joker had apparently torn off the rest of what was posted with it. Someone had beaten him too it, and that pissed him off. Quick money usually was a way of saying "Illegal" or something along those lines, and that was what he was all about. The quicker the better, and it was much more fun to deal with gunfights and bloody fists than waiting a table. As he scanned the store-front window for more his ears perked. Damn, over already? That was a good jam... Let's see what I can find next.

"This is going t'get messy... I hope."

He ran his fingers carefully and slowly across the lines that defined her body, taking care not to leave any marks. She sat still as he reached the sharp edges that defined her face, perhaps she shuddered at the touch but he couldn't tell. Walking around her and cupping her only latch; Hooking his fingers and giving a slight tug she breathed a sigh of relief. The old air expelled from within her, letting new air run in. He couldn't wait any longer, he had to get in.

He pulled on the visor of the old car as keys fell down into a waiting palm. She used to belong to the man that taught him everything he knew, but now she belonged to him. A beautiful machine clad in a dull black that despite it's age looked to be fresh off the lot. It was a throw back to the late 1960's and maybe the early 70's, power and rage is what spewed out of the exhaust pipes in the rear. A fitting growl for the new owner, it matched perfectly. The power-plant under the hood was just as violent as it sounded.

Nervous as a child with a new toy he had begged for, the key went in the ignition and he pushed the starter. She roared to life as he expected, fresh gasoline and new plug-wires were well worth it; though he didn't exactly 'pay' for them. The chassis rumbled he sat there, gripping the short-throw shifter in his right hand and the steering wheel in his left. Was this real? Did the old man really leave him this as a final farewell so long ago, only to make sure it wasn't found out about until much later? Tha' mellow-dramatic bastard. He'll keep me thinkin' of him one way or another.

The door to the warehouse opened as the car slowly lurched forward, a steady chug from the exhaust sounding like a quick heartbeat as it rolled onto the street. He snorted to himself and smirked as he searched through his MP3 player. No use keepin' you contained, eh? ... Thanks old man...

The pedal jammed to the floor as the rear tires unlocked, the beauty became a beast in an instant as it fish-tailed through a turn and back into the city.

(Remind me not to write without due rest. I must of proof read this thing 3 times and there were still horrible mistakes. Thanks Ecks for pointing them out quickly!)


Parking his new-found love only to get out and double check to make sure the doors were locked and windows rolled up he walked back inside his makeshift home noticing how much of a mess it was. He wasn't concerned with it really, it only bothered him for a fleeting moment when he walked in the door. What he was more worried about was that the view was enjoyable, and had a good view of everything around him.


He tossed the keys with little care onto a small table that was littered with old paper coffee-cups, trying to make a mental note of exactly where they landed amongst the mess. Walking through the store-front he made the short distance over to his bed letting out a sigh of comfort as he took his jacket off and rolled it up, placing at the head of the bed as a makeshift pillow. Sitting down lightly on the old cot it let out a creak as if the weight was too much to handle. So... wha's on the agenda for t'night?

The DVD cases stacked on the table next to a small TV had no order as to their importance, in fact most were just thrown about and it was a moment of luck if the right DVD was in its' sibling case. Grunting as he popped the cases open and closed he finally decided on one of his favorite movies. To him it was a classic; the idea of the truth being something that you had to earn that he liked so much, and a some good gunfights never made a movie bad either. He took off his glasses with one hand as he slid the DVD into it's respective player and laid down rubbing his eyes before starting the movie. As soon as it started Sephr turned on his side away from the movie; it was late already and he was tired from starting off a day looking for money, only to finish with following an old paper trail from an old man who taught him how to shoot a gun and survive.

Looking over his shoulder he pulled a makeshift curtain over the window that was just above his head. A towel served well from keeping the passing headlights out from the interior as it did to giving him a quiet place he could hide away at. It wasn't much, and most would consider his living conditions horrible; but he loved it because it was a struggle just like life should be. Nothin' good ever came 'round for those who didn' earn it

"Hmph..." Sephr let out a long sigh. "I'll find some work t'morrow, and then some bullets, a cup of coffee, and a big assed burger." He let a small smirk trail along his lips as he thought about a huge cheese-burger with a massive pile of french-fries next to it. "Yea, that sounds damned good..." With that, he drifted off to sleep just in time to miss his favorite scene of two ghosts chasing down a locksmith.

"Hey, you! You want to shoot a game? We can throw a few bills down if ya' want. You look like you could use some money." The young man laughed as he finished his sentence. He looked over the man he offered the game too. The new face stood a starch six foot and a few odd inches tall with bright red hair that was obviously dyed. A pair of sunglasses hid his eyes and the bandanna around his neck made him seem like some sort of bandito; the kind that only ride into town when they need to quench their thirst. He didn't belong in a high class place like this with that kind of look. "Alright, just for fun and then if you want to throw some bones down after we can talk then!" Being much shorter the younger man looked up at his chosen mark for the next game and waited for some sort of response. Being a normal at the pool hall he was as confident in his skills as he was a shark. His M-O was finding new additions to the smokey interior and taking from them anything he could, just to send them packing as a way to claim his territory for he and his friends. They didn't like this guy who was dressed too differently and obviously didn't spend big bills on his wardrobe; he was way out of his desert-bandito territory and needed to be taught a lesson.

"What do you guy's think? I think he's scared!" The short little shark looked back at his group of finely dressed friends as they helped to prod on the quiet man.

"Yea Aaron, you got him shaking it looks like!"
"Nah, you mentioned money and he froze solid."
"Yea you said it, Just look at him. He looks like some sort of hobo!"

"Aaron, eh?" The man that was just set like stone finally pushed off the small bar that he had his back leaning against and stood up straight. A smirk crossed his face as he removed his jacket, tattoos running up and down the length of both arms. He spoke again as he pulled a lighter and pack of cigarettes from his jeans, "Sure, why not. We ca'have a friendly game first, then if I'm an' good I'll play ya' in another." He finished his statement by shaking his hand that held the smokes to pop one up and bite down on it. "Rack'em up."

"So what's your name, bandito?" Aaron asked, a smirk crossing his face at the backhanded nickname.

"Sephr." The read-headed man leaned down to make the break, obviously taking time and being tentative to the table. His left hand laid out in-front of him to form a bridge as his right arm pulled back on the cue, he pushed hard forward. The cue-stick made a loud clack as it deflected off the cue, barely sending it into the freshly racked balls. "Damn! How 'bout a do-over? Y'can break." He laughed it off and turned his back to the table towards a cup of coffee he had left sitting on the bar as the punk and friends broke down in laughter.

"Tough break man, but I think I can bust 'em up though." Aaron reset the balls in the rack and took his position behind the cue-ball. As he released the cue forward it collided with the perfect triangle of balls, sending them running across the table, and putting a few in as they slammed into one another.

------

"So what'd'ya say? How about, Oh I dunno... $500? I think I can make that pocket a bit lighter." Aaron laughed as all of Sephr's balls remained on the table but two. "I mean, do you think you could afford that? Especially after the ass-whoopin' I just gave 'ya?" He waved a wad of twenties in the air as a cheap taunt.

Sephr looked pissed off, his brow furrowed as he gripped the cue tight. "$500? I'll write you a check for a cool grand if y'put up cash..." he shook a bit, obviously nervous to the naked eye. Aaron and his friends laughed.

"Yea, sure why not. If it bounces I'll just come find 'ya, oldtimer! You break, bandito."

Sephr leaned down again, his eyes behind the sunglasses locked in on the top most portion of the cue ball where his stick was aimed; though his head moved as if he was concerned with the world around him. "I'll give it a shot..."

"Hey hobo, better be sure you can afford this before you touch that cue." chimed in one friend.
"Yea, hobo's and checks? C'mon..." laughed another.

He pushed forward on the cue, a perfect hit sending the cue ball forward and meeting harshly with the pack of balls. As it hit, the english on the cue kicked in; spinning the cue ball forward into the furthest cushion and pushing a ball into the pocket. It came to rest perfectly in the center of all the remaining balls left on the table as he stood up with a smirk, "Beginners luck I guess?". A dead silence fell over the group as Sephr delicately and precisely pushed each ball into a pocket and laughed at each shot. "Oh, you wan' a chance?" he quipped as he glanced over at Aaron.

"A shark, eh? Give me one chance and I'll clean the table on you!" Aarons rage was obvious as his face grew red and the veins in his neck pulsed. It was a game of finesse, and he was loosing it with each ball pocketed that wasn't his. His concentration was broken completely from the table, and more on the rising anger toward his red-headed competitor. "One shot an' you'll be sorry, bandito!"

"Fine then. Here's your chance, kiddo." Sephr grinned as he deftly sunk the eight-ball without any hesitation. "Oh wait... I didn' have any other balls lef'!" He laughed as he set the cue-stick on the table, "I guess that means this 'hobo' gets a payday af'all?".

"Like hell, I ain't givin' you nothin'! You think you're some hot shit, but I got news for you hobo..." The punk nodded at his friends as they moved around the table. "We don't like any competition, and you ain't gettin' paid." As he finished speaking he pulled out a box-cutter from his back pocket, holding it far out in-front of him trying to intimidate the far more experienced shark. Aaron made a few trial swipes through the air with it, trying to show that he meant business.

"Oh, I think I am..." Sephr just smirked as he watched Aaron with a mild amusement. "It looks like your han's are shakin'. And if y'use that lil' knife as well as y'shoot, y'might end up sendin' yourself t'the 'ER'." As Sephr laughed that was the breaking point that pushed the younger man into a rage, sending him lunging forward with the small box-cutter. Sephr calmly sidestepped as he grabbed the kid's arm in one swift motion; twisting the arm and pushing on the punk's head hard toward the table. With a hollow 'crack' against the hard slate table the challanger's eyes become bloodshot and confused, his vision blurred. "I'm def' gettin' paid kid. You jus' bought me a lot'a coffee." He reached in Aarons pocket with his free hand and pulled out a rolled up wad of twenties. "Thanks!"

"My dad's an enforcer, wait 'till he finds out man!" Aaron struggled against the man holding him down, but the pressure from the older man was too much and he couldn't move. All he could move was his eyes, looking at his associates who stood in a stupefied silence. He growled as the veins in his face pulsed from the pressure being applied to his head, causing his nose to start leaking a crimson hue. He sniffed trying to keep the blood from running all over the table.

"Wha? You gonna' cry to daddy?" Sephr laughed at the thought as he removed his weight from the kid. "Thing is, I was never here, and y'happened t'lose that money by chance." As he let the young punk push himself off the pool table and stand, he grabbed his coat and began to walk out. Passing the pool table, he tore the check up that he had prepared earlier and tossed it down onto the felt of the pool. Sephr simply shook his head with a smirk as he flung his jacket behind him as he held onto the collar, his arms found the sleeves as he immediately jammed his hands in his pockets and walked off.

Aaron and his would-be-partners stood frozen until they were sure the professional was gone. When they finally got their confidence back they made a slow shuffle over to the pool table where the leader's head had just made a familiar few blood-spots. As they rustled the torn up bank-note around, something reached out and slapped them in the face; like a nun handing out punishment in a Catholic Sunday-school. They turned over each of the larger pieces one at a time and arranged it back to something that resembled the check as it was. The leader of the gang looked at it, he made out what was written on the back in an indelible ink: thanks.

Like a spring storm he had come and gone just that quickly, leaving behind the smell of fresh rain and even some decay in his path.

What a night! Worked as usual at the diner, but it was interesting instead of the usual boring day. I made some good tips and ran into some interesting people! This city seems to get more and more colorful people by the truckload each day with all the stuff going on. I used to think that the Law Enforcement was going to stop all these gangs and criminals popping up (Most who seemed to be just in it because they grew up on the wrong side of town), but I saw something that changed my mind.

It was late and the diner was pretty empty. I was about to leave early when we had a small rush of customers, all who took a big interest in what kind of pie was on special and a cup of coffee. But one guy showed up wearing his sunglasses (At about 2AM!) and a bandanna tied around his neck. He had this brightly died red hair that made it seem like he had just left a rave, but the classy wool-jacket was a complete fashion disaster when you put it with the hair and bandanna! Talk about no taste! Yuck!

He sat down and kept looking toward the windows and refused to order. I told him that we have a policy of no-soliciting and that he would have to order something or go wait outside if he was expecting someone. I don't get that rule myself, but Jeff (My boss) says his dad would be mad if we changed how we did anything. Those old-timers don't change! Anyway, the guy just looked at me. Talk about fierce, I decided it was best that I just let a guy who could look that mean in an instant just sit at the table.

Eventually a girl came and sat across from him, she just kinda stared at him for a while. I thought at first this was the guy's girlfriend or something, but the way she looked at him kinda made me think it was his sister. She had long blonde hair that had the black underneath (You know, that 'scene-girl' look). She was wearing a cute coat with a fur hood on it, and a plaid blue-and-gray pattern. I came over and explained that if they are just going to sit there, they would have to order something. She smiled and said that they would both have a black coffee.

After I got them the coffee, I couldn't help but eaves-drop a bit. It was kinda slow anyway, so I figured no harm and they wouldn't notice me listening in. At first it seemed like they were going to just stare at eachother, the guy with his sunglasses on still seemed daunting but the girl's stare was more frightening than his! It's like that stare a mother will give her child in line at the grocery store when they won't behave, and it seemed like it had an effect on him because he finally said something.

"So... It's been a while."

"Yea, it has "Sephr"." She was so stern in her tone, and her emphasis on his name makes me think it's some nickname that he insists is his name. "You know, I worry about you. It's like I'm the only one that even thinks of you back home anymore."

"Sephr" (I guess that's his name) just shook his head. "It's for th' best. Even you should forget. I made these choices and 'ave to live by them, Jeska."

She hit the table with both fists, boy did that make me jump! It looked like she was ready to kill him, and I think she could of. But he reached out and grabbed her left hand with both of his and said "Listen, I made this choice. The old man taught me for a reason, and I like the life I lead. I have regrets for leaving you and mom behind, but I couldn't stick around. That little hole-in-the-wall town just wasn't fun."

Her eyes softened a bit from the rage she had just shown, but her face quickly turned bright red as she gritted her teeth. "You mean you left us behind for 'fun'?!" She pulled her hands away quickly and looked out the window, trying to keep from making eye contact with "Sephr." He sat there though, calmly drinking his coffee and really enjoying it! We make really good fresh coffee at the diner, and it always makes me happy when I see people enjoy the effort we put into it. She finally looked back over at him, her eyes had turned red with the tears she was holding back. "You mean you actually like this life? You didn't have a coffee when I came in, I bet you can't even pay the buck-fifty for it can you?" He actually laughed and bit and nodded to her like it was some sort of game to him. How rude! His sister comes to see him, and he can't even pay. But what the masked man said next made me realize what this was all about.

"It's just kinda slow to get work out here. Lots of business, but lots of half-rate wack-jobs taking up the work for cheap. I'm thinking of starting in with a few people, maybe jam a few people for some info on who's working with the highest payer at the moment." The way he said it kinda made it clear. He wasn't some bum, but I think he was a criminal! How cool is that?! Here he is, a guy who lives by his own law and chased by police sitting here like it's nothing! But then again, it must suck because he didn't even have the money to pay for his own coffee. The red-head quickly perked up though. "I 'eard of a small group. Nothin' to big, but by no means small in terms of wha's possible. Just gots t'run into them. Y'know?"

Jeska's eyes went wide like he had just pulled out a gun and shot her. She actually came close to yelling! "A gang?! You've got to be kidding me! How old are you!? And you're trying t'join a gang?!" I saw her jump and then he did too. He leaned down rubbing his shin and grumbling something that I'm sure wasn't nice.

"Stuff your shin kicks, 'Sis. And no, not your typical gang 's far as I know. Word is tha' they are real classy-cool about the way the jam suckers." He seemed so confident about what he was talking about. "Only catch is, I 'unno who any of them are, or where t'find 'em."

Another shin kick and stern look came from across the table from his sister. "You mean with everything he taught you, you're going to try to find people you know nothing about? And join up with them t'top it off?" She giggled at him, which was kinda weird. "You're still just a kid playing cops and robbers, y'know that?"

He stood up and popped his collar on the jacket making it hard to see the bottom of his face. I saw the glint of two guns jammed in his belt as he did that (How "Transporter" is that?! SO cool!). Shaking his head he looked at her. "Thanks for the coffee, 'Sis. Be safe getting home." He leaned down and kissed her on top of the head and walked out into the street, gone as quick as he came in. She sat there for a bit, staring at her coffee before she left me a $20 on the table and looked at me.

"Here's somethin' extra for keepin' quiet." She handed me a $50 and walked out just like her brother did! I kinda wonder if she's a criminal too like her brother. But she didn't seem like it the way she was yelling at him for doing that kind of stuff. If she's not, she sure played like she did with handing me the big bill! But the way they pay people off is almost like they are taking care of the people around them. Like modern-day Robin Hoods, caring for the poor. I hope that the other criminals and their friends are that nice! (I bet they aren't though.)

Well, I have to go to sleep. Goodnight fellow bloggers!

('So I'm sitting in this cafe listening to the old timers in the background, enjoying some slow coffee on an even slower evening... but what are these 'Rain Dogs' and how do I find them?'

Almost, almost, already there.)

(100th post celebration! Ok, celebration over!)


"Th'sun was scorching hot, like the flame to a frying pan and I was th'egg. Cooking until I was done and then some, pretty much like one of those bad rubb'ry omelets that you get at th'shitty diners in the warehouse district. He 'ad taken me out here when I turned 12, insisting that th'ard work 'n mindless labor would teach me something.

Now that I look back at it, it may not of been th'worst idea; though I sometimes wish I had more of a simple high-class life. Y'know what I mean? But then 'gain, if I haden't learned what I did... Life'd be a lot more boring."

A slight pause came between the two men as the one talking lit a cigarette and waited for a response. The only thing visible of him was his silhouette and the burning cherry of the smoke he just lit.

"Bah, y'er no fun. Y'know that?"

The smoker gave the other man a shove and the mannequin fell over. It's arms scattering across the ruined store like cockroaches running from the light. As the man walked through the trashed store, he took what he wanted and stuffed it in the pockets of his wool coat. It was just as if he was a shopper at the local corner store. Taking time to even check the labels as he shopped in the dark.

"Hmm... Gourmet coffee. Worth'a shot. I mean, it's free after all, right?!" Looking over his shoulder with a devious smile broken only by the cigarette locked between his teeth he waited for a response. "... Y'are borin'! I guess I only 'ave myself t'blame. I did jus' ruin y'arms."

He laughed, maybe because he knew the broken statue wouldn't respond but more-so because this was fun to him. He was a criminal, loving every part of his 'job.' But time was growing short and he was sure the silent alarm had sent out an APB on him. It was time to finish both shopping and the job he was hired to do.

As he walked out from the broken front window he raised his bandanna over his face and flicked the finished filter-less stick behind him. The explosion echoed throughout the neighborhood as he hopped in his car and lowered his sunglasses, waiting for the cops to show up as the car shook from either excitement or anticipation of what it's driver would do next.

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̛̲̝̦̖̭͌̎ͨG̴̪̮̝̖̠̭͖͇̐̐o̢͇̺͈̫̦͓̬ͦ̚ ̣̲̞̯͙̇̄́f͖̱̱̳̘͕̞̔ͣ̉i̲͍̗̫̱ͯ͂n̡̳̰͋͜͢d̡̦͙̻̱̹̣̭̮̯́ͬ̆̃ ̴̯ͭͯͮͦt̨̥̭̥͈̰̫̝̠̐͡ḩ̨̥̬̮̠̥̖̦͑̍̆͋͐̐̾ͅͅe̟̩̪̻̘̙̳͎͐ͮͤ̂ͥͥͬ̚m̶̮̲̻ͫ́ͯ̒͂́͠.̭̭͍͇̠̝̞̑ͤ̅ͫ͟
̟͚̻̟͙̺̈ͤ̈͑̏ͯ̚
̪͚̐T̰̫̝̻̅̆̔͋͌͑̊̏̕ḧ̼́̋ͩ̃e̿̓̏̿̄̔̾̂͌͏͓̱̼͎̟ȳ̞̩̉̇̂̎ͬ̽ ̜̦̯̳̥͖̅̚͝ĝ͇̙ͭͪ̃͡ö̯͍́̐͑ ̫̱ͫ̑ͪ̓̈́̿͘͡w̱̳̼̟̼͆ͩͭ͐i̭̘̜̘͙̅ͦͬ͊t̸͎͍̮ͤͯ̈́͒̍͊͋̑͘h̡̻̰ͧ̎ͭ̍̂̓͑ͯ́ ̧̛̣͈͓̒ͥ̐̀t̴̪̖̜̝̻ͩ̈́̾̾̓̆͑̀̏h̲͚̥̠̲ͭ̀ͤ̒ͥͯ̚͟ȩ̲̻͔̼̑̾̈͐̒̍ͤͨ̍ ̐ͣͯͧ̌͆̔͏͚̤̲̰̲w̸̻̣͋̌ͨͬ̐i͂̌͏̮͕͇̙̙n͇̞ͬ͛ͯͩ͘d͉͕̲̳̘̬̞͍̈ͮ͝,̨̢̬̺̱̮̙͊ͮ͗̋̏̔̽ ̗̻̤́̉ͤ̄̇ͥͭ̚͘͠c̜̗͍͙̠͔̥̊͐͑̾ͅḫ̶̜͇̖̯͇̯̖́̎ͣ̓̎͢a̴̞͔ͯͫ̾ͣ͘ó͕̻̹̦̟̯͙̣͖͢͜͟s͎̥̻͇̠ͬ̉ͣ̿̍́ ͊̔ͥ͒͛̉̍͏̛̘̝̼̫͇̘͜a̢̳̲̪̜̰̎̊͟͠n̵̜̬̰̳̉̽͆ͥͯͩ̚̚ͅd̢͉͙̒ͫ̄ͥͭ͛̚͝ ̵̭̞̘̐̏̂̋ͭc̡͓̗͎ͥ̋̀̚͘a̱̻͒ͦ̅̉̐͗̾l̨͖̇̍ͩ̅̽͊ͪ͟m̴̛̂̊̈̾ͨ̿̋̅͏̮̯̟͓.͇̱̹̞̙̠͗͂̋̀͞ͅ
̸͕͕̖͂͌ͬ̑
̷̲̯͙̾̑̌~̛͉̪͕̩̲͉̫ͮ̆̏̒̃ͨ̆͐͘ͅM̦͚̰͇̂̑̎̿͗͑͒͌͛̕i̷͉̭̱̪̰͎̲͖ͧͥͧ͌͐̕͞ŗ̘̭̤͎̻̘̺ͫ͐̇ͧ͛ͧ́r̙̳̳̯̝̦̻̻̄͗̉͞į̸̷̲̖͙̙̜͙̱̜͒̓͊ͅ ͥ͒҉̣͇̝͞K̷͔̙̳͚̯͚̦͈ͣͩ̓̚͝͠e̹̬̲̫͉̹͌͋͑̚͜n̗̘͙͚͙̭ͯ̇̄̀́̀t̢̤͕̳͎̙̲͋ͧ͡
̽̈́͏̶̱̼͇̥̲̣
̵͇̹̭͍̫̭͒ͯ̕

He bent over and picked up the cellphone of the enforcer he had just killed. So distorted with blood and marks of rough pavement all over it. The screen was cracked and nearly broken completely. They? Maybe I'm gettin' close. Sephr thought. He took note of the name barely visible, Mirri Kent; a mid-level enforcer contact who knew a bit of where and why. Just as well, he had been searching for a while now and his sister was calling him begging to come home if the mutt didn't find the dogs. He didn't want to leave San Paro though, he wanted to stay amidst the chaos and empty shells that littered the streets like garbage. He liked it too much to just stop and make the trip home.