The cracked bell above the door gave out one pathetic clang before falling off completely, rolling across the floor and near a broken juke box.
The rundown coffee shop smelled like burned beans and roasted shit. Most of the windows at the front were shattered, except for one miraculously.
*CRASH!*
A flaming demon screamed as he was hurled through the glass, hitting the pavement with a spine tingling crunch. From the broken frame stepped a one-eyed, peg-leged demon with skin like old cracked leather.
On his shoulder sat a parrot missing half its feathers.
The demon waved casually. "See ya at next week's, poker night, same time!"
"****OFF!" the parrot screeched, wings flapping. "AND BRING BEER, YOU CHEAP BASTARD!"
The burning demon on the ground groaned.
No one inside reacted. Half the customers didn't even look up from their sludge cups.
Behind the counter, a barista with one good eye and a bandage over the other leaned on the register, sighing like he'd just missed a date with a chair and rope.
He glanced at his order slip. "Next customer… prick? Prick, you here? …No? How about piss-nuts? Princess Peach? Anyone? Prick, no prick?"
Heavy footsteps thudded up to the counter. A tall figure loomed, draped in a combat-grade cyberpunk suit. Black fox ears twitched from the helmet, and the LED mask flashed a neutral blue. A deep, rumbling voice rolled out, distorted through the vox filter.
The barista raised his brow. "…You, uh, Prick?"
The mask lit up brighter as a deep, rumbling voice echoed through it. "It's pronouced PRINCE."
The barista smirked. "Yeah, okay. "Prince". Sure. And I'm Queen Latifah. Here's your coffee, Prong-ass Ghuuuu—"
The word died in his throat when a gloved hand clamped around it, lifting him clean off the ground. A wrist blade of angelic steel flicked out with a shhhhck, stopping a hair's breadth from his remaining good eye.
The barista's voice cracked. "P-Prince! Prince, right, right! P-please don't pop the other one, it's all I've got left! And it's a bitch to regenerate, so no need to redecorate my face haha!"
Prince's visor burned brighter, "Say it properly."
"Prince! It's Prince! Handsome, tall, terrifying Prince! Please don't—"
Prince dropped him like trash, snatched the mug, and turned on his heel. Steam hissed through the digitized bottom half of his mask as it flickered away so he could sip.
The barista gasped for air, clutching his throat. "Prick," he muttered under his breath.
BANG!
His skull exploded against the espresso machine, splattering the menu board with brain matter. His body hit the counter and slid to the floor.
Nobody in the coffee shop even flinched. Customers sipped their drinks like nothing happened.
Except the parrot. The parrot leaned forward from its perch near the window and shouted: "BRAINS ARE HALF-OFF! HAHAHAHA! GET A MOP, DIPSHITS!"
Prince grumbled and took a calm sip of the scalding coffee. Bitter. Very bitter. They forgot the sugar.
"Besides the rude barista, and shit coffee" Prince muttered to himself, "today might actually be a good day."
Then his wrist beeped. A hologram popped up over his arm, displaying his bank account. A payment notification!
He grinned. "Finally. That job paid off." The numbers climbed beautifully, zero after zero. He even let out a whistle. "Oh, that's drunk ramen money right there."
But then his grin faded. The numbers stopped climbing. And something felt… off. He looked up.
The space where his motorcycle had been parked outside was empty.
Prince froze, his coffee cup still in hand. "…No. No no no!!!!"
He walked outside slowly, scanning the street. Nothing. His bike—his baby—was gone.
The cup crumpled in his grip before shattering completely, scalding coffee dripping down his glove. He didn't even flinch.
"...You've gotta be kidding me."
He froze, breathing heavy through the vox filter. "Five minutes. I was gone for five goddamn minutes."
Inside the shop, the parrot cackled. "STOLE YOUR RIDE, FOX-FUCK! BAHAHAHA!"
The nearby demons laughed nervously. One whispered, "Who the hell had the balls to steal from Prince…?"
Prince's visor flickered, the soft blue bleeding into a searing red. His posture shifted, shoulders rolling back as the suit's joints hummed. Purple and crimson energy began to crawl up his arms, lighting the cracks of the armor like veins.
His voice rumbled. "Who. Stole. My. Bike."
The ground under him splintered, purple and red energy cracking across his armor. Sparks crawled up his arms. The demons who were walking by suddenly froze, caught up in his aura.
One guy raised his hands nervously. "H-hey, Prince, buddy, relax! I'm sure it's just, uh, valet service? Yeah, valet!"
The parrot cackled. "VALET MY FEATHERY ASS! YOU'RE DEAD. WHOEVER DID THIS IS PIGEON SHIT! HAHAHA!"
Prince's head turned toward the street, scanning every corner for clues. His claws flexed.
The demons nearby immediately scattered, not wanting to be caught in the path of prince's wrath.
He just stood there in the center of the street, energy surging like a thundering storm before the lightning.
Today was supposed to be a good day, a happy day even.
Instead, someone stole his baby.
And now—now their was hell to pay.