... 7th of September 2047 ...
- -Who Turned Out The Light < Scattle- -
He could barely sleep a wink, everything seems to ache or creak. Staring down into the empty Melatonin pill capsule wasn't working either. There were occasions he felt himself drifting into that sweet decay of sleep, but then a commotion outside or the chatter of birds returned his senses beyond his volition. This wasn't ever going to work, deciding now was the time to accept that he wasn't getting any sleep whatsoever. His feeble paw clutched the handgun he held tightly with anguish, fluttering his exhausted eyes open to meet the visual of a ceiling fan above. It spun weakly in an endless loop, around and around he watched it go. It never dared to stop, not even while the silent squeaking in the mechanism was daring to betray it.
Sitting up, he accepted reality. His insomnia was growing stronger by the night and his eyes heavier by the day; time to do what I came to this shithole to do, he thought. Suited only with boxers, his skinny yet durable frame stood tall from the bed. Catching a glimpse of his skinny frame in the nearby dark reflection of a dusty television set; composure began to crumble, feeling the deep need to cover up as soon as possible.
Quickly, he went from standing to kneeling by his ruck-sack. Sifting through it's contents and pulling out a brown colored gambler's hat, organizing an outfit consisting of a black trench coat, jeans and a white shirt to cover up what laid underneath. The raccoon adorned brown fur with an even darker brown for the facial pattern surrounding his eyes, he was often made out to look like a bandit. His blonde hair was a mess, he'd proceed to tie it up into a stylish ponytail. Covering up the rest of his body in the clothing he provided for himself.
From beyond the rotten wooden windowsill was a conversation capable of being overheard from the decaying view of the frail town outside. Wind was kicking up gravel in an otherwise decimated town square. It was one long road outside with tenements, bars and various establishments bordering the crackled asphalt path, some roots were overgrowing in the road, not a car in sight around here.
After accessing the wild west environment outside, the raccoon would tear his baggy eyes away from the wooden board obscuring the window. Placing the hat over his weary ears and catching a glimpse of himself in a reflection smudged with dust, he would smile and wink at the silhouette of a handsome hatted raccoon behind the dust. Captivated by this, he approaches the reflection of the dusty television set and wipes it clean with his paw.
Jaklo was met with the visage of a tired, run-down raccoon with grizzled features distorted by the television's blackness. The sight was grotesque, painful to even call this handsome in the slightest. His smile dissolved into a frown, coming to a stance away from the reflection as soon as he felt confident he knew what he was looking at.
Although the electricity in this trash-heap of an apartment was budgeted, there was still enough for some toast. The raccoon would plant his ruck-sack along the table, opening the top-strap and reaching in to deploy a piece of bread shielded by crumbled paper. It was fresh and an exotic delicacy in this day and age. Unbagging it, he'd separate two slices for himself and place them evenly in the toaster to fire up. Making sure the rest of the bread is secure before it finds comfort atop two 9mm ammo boxes in his bag.
Through the wooden walls and insulation, the sound of sobbing could be heard. Jaklo perked his ears up, listening in his own silence. It was difficult to discern any words other than frantic sobbing. The man behind the wall was on his own, nothing can mistake that quiet sob. The raccoon would lower his ears, pressing his paws into the dusty counter in an agitated manner. The display of hurt was starting to make him uncomfortable, even if it was completely walled off from him. "... Fucking grow a pair, like the rest of us." Hatefully he seethed under his breath, looking to the side and jumping in a startled manner the moment the bread deploys from the toaster. It was crispy and good looking enough to devour in a matter of a few bites.
Finally, his slice of heaven was now dissolving in his mouth and hugging his taste-buds. Providing him the warmth he craved at last, closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of warm bread melting. It was nourishing, it hit the spot for now. Only crumbs remained on his paws upon his finish, as such the muffled sounds of sobbing next door would drone in like a bad joke. Someone from across the hall-way related to Jaklo's annoyance, they were equally pissed off. Sending a hammering fist against the wall, yammering and howling their complaint.
"IF YOU KEEP CRYIN' I'LL COME IN THERE AND WRAP THE NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK MYSELF, I'M A WORKING MAN. I WORK MY ASS OFF DAY AND NIGHT FOR THE F.F TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR FUCK-UPS?! SKIP TOWN YOU FUCKING PUSSY."
The banging on the wall from the room across was rattling the dishes in the sink, the raccoon stared through what felt like empty sockets. He'd gulp the last mouthful of toast with little to no satisfaction and made his way towards the front door. It seems the sobbing has come to an end, the man on the other side of the apartment could be heard grumbling in pity for himself.
"Roaches." Spite dripping from his hushed tongue, he'd unlock the door and step out into the claustrophobic hallway. The one illumination of light cast from the dreary window at the end of the hall, a coffee table with a flower-pot sat along the top alongside the windowsill; it contained a neglected arrangement of flowery corpses, it was like an ash-tray now. On the door of the crying tenement, there was a stapled black piece of clothing with a White-Hand symbol labelled upon it. Jaklo immediately averted his eyes, it was like staring at an eviction-notice except with a more lethal consequence.
Descending the stairwell to the small lobby of the apartment complex, it was just as small as the hall-way upstairs. The receptionist was nowhere to be found, two men were standing in conversation towards the waiting chairs in the corner of the room. It reeked of decay and damp in this reception, no better than the rooms upstairs.
"Delicacy, a real delicacy. You know what it takes to find these babies in perfect condition nowadays?" The men spoke amongst one another. Cereal was hard to find in good condition, it was rarely produced in this day and age.
Most of the wallpaper was tearing and faded, below the reception desk was a logo reading 'Turner Turn Inn'. Although, vandalism has made a name for itself here too; the logo was displaced with a tag in red spray-paint reading 'FREEDOM FIRSTS' followed by the same symbol of a White Hand below it.
"Yeah, I'm hoping it's right for my girl over in Stardown- she's been in a pretty poor condition, country's best surgeons are waiting on that damn cereal box. We've done right by Dime for a long while now so I'm just hoping our reputation with the brass calls for.. a discount?" The raccoon silently judged the two for a second as they haggled a deal over the box, who the hell wants specifically cereal in perfect condition? The sitting man appeared to have white-paint smeared along his back-hand, this was becoming a common sight for sore eyes.
Deep in conversation, the man standing was a Gila Monster and was dressed in a thin grey-coat that was bulged with the obvious body-armor underneath, along the coat were numerous pins and badges; each of them were representative of an Anti-Outsider protest. He even wore a grey flat-cap with several other pins indicating an extremist view of those born psionically altered. The term 'Outsider' was adopted as a slur, often used as a harassing figure of speech to berate people that possess abilities from their birth-right.
"C'mon, discount? You think I make dough slicing my bargains into quarters for petty fucks like you? You said it yourself, boyfriend- yer girl's life s' on a' line, you either pay full price or I'll find a cannibal to toss this contraband to instead. Hell, e' might even pay me a nickel er' two more!" He shit all over the man's humble request, chortling to himself before spitting venom to the stained tile-flooring below. Giving the man a look and eye-brow raise as if to push to close the deal on the set price, the Gila loves a hustle. "So, what are we saying? Deal or no deal? You don't skimp on price when it comes to life or death, a fella suffered for this deal to happen- I expect you to pay. full. price."
The box of Cereal he was holding was named 'Pawcle Dusters; Punching Flavor with a Crunch that'll Rattle your Teeth Today!'. The sight of the faded smiling cat on the box was displeasing, it made Jaklo grumble something under his breath before he went to proceed past the two men and towards the exit of this run-down establishment.
"Do I know you? This'in looks familiar, doesn't 'e? What's your name Skeletor? Fuckin' Green eyes too- already off to a bad start, ain't we?" The voice was judgemental, hooking the raccoon's attention immediately; the remark about his appearance would upset him.
Green eyes. The things all Outsiders share in common is that they adorn Green eyes, this isn't always entirely accurate however. Regular people can also still have green eyes and become target of misdirected judgement and hatred, people sometimes use contact-lenses to avoid any and all discrimination.
Clutching the handle of the front door, a cold sensation of chills ran down his back, he felt alone and vulnerable against these two. Pushing his hat down further in a dull attempt to shroud his eyes from their view. Normally, in his experience the fellas with the white hand symbol don't tend to recognize him. It was the Gila Monster who was currently eye-fucking him.
Shooting the men a concerned glance; he'd deliver a reply as calm and collected as he could, his nervous vocal cords didn't make it especially easy on him, hard to sing your way out of something with a lump-like feeling in your throat.
"I think I just have a familiar face, I'm not local. If I were any kind of Outsider I think I would be wearing sunglasses right now, I have nothing to hide buddy."
His eyes caught sight of what was inside the cereal box, through the opening in the top-segment of the box was a series of strange objects and shapes that were colored dark crimson, wrapped in tight plastic to be preserved; one thing was for sure and that is there wasn't any cereal in that box to begin with. He tried averting his eyes more to get a closer look, but the Gila would close it off once he realized he was looking.
"Nothing to hide? ... Fuck are you looking at? What do you think you saw?" Despite the seated man trying to calm the Gila, he would only walk forward and push Jaklo against the wall to pin him. There was hardly any visible protest from the tired raccoon, nor a change in expression. Although his heart was racing in his chest and fast; this was Jaklo under pressure.
"Even if I saw anything bad in there, I can't exactly do shit with that information can I? What cops are there around nowadays to snitch about you having a.. crushed up baby Fetus in that box or whatever that is in there.. Could have picked something better than a Cereal Box to jam it into, but hey.. I'm not the ripper here."
This smart-ass comeback would warrant him a punch in the face. Falling to the floor of the establishment and holding a paw over his freshly bloodied nose, the skinny Gila had a expression full of nothing but adrenaline and power hovering above him; the wild look in his eyes was incredibly telling.
"Next time you wanna educate a man on his JOB, you best damn do it right, cunt. What kina' sick fuck thinks there's a dead baby in my cereal box? It's a Fresh Heart in this box you moron.. haha- you're right about one thing- ONE THING.. And that's Who the fuck are you gonna snitch to when I break your damn neck. Look at you, you smell like shit and you haven't eaten good in weeks have you? Filth's all a' fucking same in this shit-hole excuse of a cattle town. Who would cry for you if I bashed your head in right now? I tell ya' Georgie, fucks like this guy make Business easy around here."
Something about that final sentiment made the raccoon wince momentarily. "H-Hey, well- you were the one who mentioned it's difficult finding BABIES in perfect condition, I just put two and two together asshole." A temporary defense from Jaklo, it softened the Lizard's unrelenting defensiveness by a hair.
Nonetheless; In a sluggish manner, the now weakened Jaklo would come to a stance again. Balancing his back against the wall and glaring at the Gila who would retaliate against his recovery with a firm and sure slam against the wall he found temporary sanctuary on.
The Gila would snap out at him. "Shut your fucking mou-" But the raccoon had more to say, speaking over him with persevering disobedience; sending a challenging glare directly into the lizard's own reptillian retinas; Jaklo felt as if they were piercing and judging every inkling of his being behind that cold and misled grimace.
"Maybe before you break anything, I might have enough time to write a heartfelt letter to the Freedom Firsts and tell them you're dealing Organs under their nose without giving them any share of the profits from the deal. You know everything runs through F.F in this town right? There's a poor fucker sobbing all night upstairs, the way I see it, he's just as condemned as your wife, mister. Think maybe I can condemn all of us? has to be countless of them waiting outside.. Should I shout for help? Get their fucking attention?! Then fucking punch me again, dumbass."
Jaklo challenged the piercing dead feline-like eyes of the Lizard. Something was burning in the raccoon's mind, a hatred. Someone familiar raced through his mind, it amplified his sentiment ten-fold like someone turned the volume up on his voice.
"Give me your Best Shot, fucking just try to break me. I'll come back and stick a screwdriver into your Fucking temple"
The nerves of the Gila were like guitar-strings, they were extremely easy to pluck and that was something the raccoon took into account. He was about to get another knuckle-sandwich from the lizard but he was quickly held back by the other man, sprung up from his seat to hug and hold his arm back from Jaklo, preventing the second assault with a wince from the raccoon that displayed fright for just a moment.
"He's right Scratch, he's fucking right about this deal bullshit MAN- turn the temperature down you fuckin' whacko. They'll kill us for disloyalty- let's take our business elsewhere, no need to get killed over this, he's no one man, Scratch. Come on it's my girl we're talking about here, she means the world to me. He's not worth the fucking trouble, you said yourself man- Let's go, walk away." The glare on the man's face burned deeper than Scratch's own steely gaze, he didn't take the comment that Jaklo made about his wife kindly but alas; he needed that organ. Jaklo also knew this, the perks of eavesdropping, he smiled inside with momentary victory.
"You won't get away with this, cunt. There's a price to pay for dogs who step out of line. When I next see you I'll stick a fucking chainsaw.. in YOUR temple." Scratch taunted him one last time before the two would walk off with a grumble, he seemed to like Jaklo's line about screwdrivers and temples; he was gonna use that on a poor fella later probably. Thankfully they seemed too concerned about the Deal falling through compared to the suspicion that he may be an Outsider.
They both ascended the stairway, leaving the raccoon be. The moment they faded from view, the raccoon's composure immediately crumbled as he let out a long shaky sigh. His hands were quivering, rubbing them against one another and reaching out for the door-handle once more, eager to leave the tension in this room behind.
Time to do what I came here to do; he thought. First thing's first though, a cigarette is in order. He'd wipe the blood from his bruised nose and embraced the sunlight outside, suddenly everything felt just a little better. The haze of the beautiful and welcoming after-noon star would dance in the lime-lit retinas of the raccoon, vibrant feelings were awakening all over within his core. It was momentary, but more than enough to encourage that descent out into the harsh gravel that awaited his first steps.