Summary: You remember the number right? The one that you cannot call? Simply looking at it brings you discomfort which is hard to describe. You want to call it, but every time you think you have enough courage, you just close your phone and thump it on your forehead. "No", you think "This is impossible, why do I even try". But no matter how much you think like that, you always return to this routine. One day, the act ran thin. You tried to delete that number from your contacts, but you couldn't. You hold on to that silly dream, the mere possibility that one day you will be able to call, you will be able to return at least a part of what you used to have before you became… this. Somewhere, these two young fools are having a good time and it makes you jealous. It does not matter, you do not matter, SHE made it abundantly clear. For now, you only can help those two to find the way… and then we will get closer to heaven. There is no one here, you are alone. I-am-nobody, the disembodied voice of narration. Around 25 minutes after leaving Steed Penny Street, you arrive at the Volcadera Bluff's Police Department, your workplace and second home. It is located outside Skin Row, in a more friendly and safe place near the center of the town. The buildings here are also taller and newer. YOU HATE THIS PLACE. YOU WANT TO GET OUT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, INTO THE BUILDING AND THEN BEHIND YOUR DESK. WHERE IT FEELS SAFE. The taxi, of which you are inside, arrives on the sidewalk near the department building. The driver turns to you. "It will be 19 bucks, sir." "Only 19?" "Well, unlike some other folks here I am taking the shortest route. And unlike my boss, I do not do the unreasonable "On The House" nonsense." You laugh and pull a 20 dollar bill out of your wallet. "Here, take it. Keep the change." "Thank you, sir. Hope we meet each other again." You step out of the car and breathe in the non-Skin Row air. IT STINKS OF ELITISM, EGOCENTRISM AND TRASH. ONLY ONE OF THOSE THINGS ARE IN COMMON WITH SKIN ROW. The taxi on which you arrived turns around the corner and disappears into the sea of steel and concrete. Well, enough loitering, time for work. You enter the building of VBPD, and an assortment of noises, clickings and voices immediately assault you. Despite the fact that it is Saturday, it seems today there is a lot going on. You go to the reception area, a familiar-looking female Haplocanthosaurus. Her scales are pale gray and she has very well-kept, but still simple bright white hair. Well, time to say hello to your most important rival. "Hello, Jannette." "Oh, it's you… First, Mister Strike arrives late and covered in blood, and now you. This day could not become any worse." "Yeah, yeah, nice to see you too, I am just here to pick up the report form and I will go to my desk." "That's a first this week. And you don't stink of alcohol. What is an occasion?" "The occasion is I have to see the most annoying person in the whole department, and being hungover would kill me if I approach them in an inebriated state." "Oh? And who is that person?" "You, my darling Jannette." "Charming…" She sighs and picks an empty form and passes it to you. "Here you have it, now, would you be so kind and fuck off?" "Anything for you, Jannette." Well, that's enough of "fucking around", chief. Time to do our part. You go to the west wing of the department, where you pass many lower-ranking officers who are busy with their own work. Finally, you reach the forgotten corner of this hellish place. Your and your squad's turf. A specially dedicated section of the building. The sign above the door simply states "Skin Row District Squad". Yup, your team has their own small section in this building. The reason? Because the group dedicated to Skin Row is so small, yet so important, the high ranks decided to repurpose one of the old archive rooms into the Skin Row special group. After all, you and your brothers are the only crazy enough people to dwell deep into horrific darkness. You open the door and enter. You smell cigarette smoke, machine grease and gunpowder. Yup, this is your and your brothers' den. You look around. On the right, there is Bert's table, which is empty, on the opposite side of it there is Rafas' table currently occupied by chewed-out Rafas. On the left side, you can see Samuel's and Maximilian's desks, who are currently doing fuckall. At the far end of the room, you see your table, which has a mountain of papers on top of it. Not connected to your current work, these are all previous cases which you re-read from time to time to make sure you did not fuck up… and as it turned out you almost never fuck up to solve a case. You start walking towards your desk. "Rafas, Samuel, Maximilian. Good day." The first one to respond is Rafas. "Well, if it isn't our psycho cop, who is also psychic." Rafas is brown as earth europasaurus. He has also brown hair in the shape of the pompadour, the shape which Rafas upkeeps with copious amounts of machine oil. On top of his head, he wears a pair of welding goggles. He wears a brown coat, underneath which he, for some reason, wears a green work vest. Besides having a holster, his belt also contains at least three small bags filled with god knows what. He wears basic beige work pants and huge steel-toed boots. This man, if he does not work, is known for trying to cause a ruckus with his "inventions" which always end with something exploding and us wasting precious medical resources… Usually on Rafas himself. He is also incredibly egotistical and lacks any type of forward-thinking. But at the same time, he is well known for being a tenacious asshole who never gives up and has zero regard for his own or anyone else's lives. And also, having this borderline unkillable bullshit generator is actually good in the long run. As much as it is annoying. "Well, if it isn't my favorite money pit in the whole department." "Charming." "As always. Samuel? Maximilian?" Samuel and Maximilian are almost never seen separated. The duo that turns the entire town upside down whenever they are released onto the street. Samuel is a tall, brown tyrannosaurus in a blue suit and pale blue shirt. He also wears a blue tie (which is honestly too big for his own good) with black stripes. He also wears a blue fedora. Right now he is aiming his comically large revolver at something, probably checking the sights (and you hope he unloaded it before doing this). His partner, Maximilian is a short, white compsognathus, who wears the same clothes as his partner, only white. He used to wear nothing but a white tank top and shorts, but after being forced into a painfully boring desk job for three days, Maximilian cracked and agreed to change his dress code in order to return to the streets. Out of the two, he is definitely more unhinged and prone to violence. Well, they are both quite something, but if you were closed in the same room with one of them, you'd rather be trapped with a giant tyrannosaurus, than an ankle-biter who is well-known for giving his preps severe brain damage. They both look at you. "Hello, Rando. How's cooking?" "Yeah, how is my second favorite borderline insane psychopath in this building doing?" "Who's the first one?" "Officer Strike of the swat team. He is so cool! I saw him once dislocate a bad guy's jaw with a single baton swing!" Samuel gives out a single snicker before saying his famous line. "You crack me up, little pal." HERE IT IS. [Rando, do not waste time, the sooner we start filling out the papers, the sooner we will be relieved]. "Anyway, where is Bert? I need his account for my case report." Rafas perked up. "Ah, he was dragged off by the commissioner into his office for some reason." Maximilian laughs. "He probably will be Miyagi-ed for the next week! Let's make a bet! I say traffic duty!" "Alright, why not?" Samuele joins in. "... patrol duty near Skin Row park. Bert hates the place with an open passion." "Well, as his partner, I am fairly certain that he will be forced to clean the entire department until you can eat off the floor. I mean, come on, have you seen Bert's table? It is worse than the garbage dump near which I used to live before marrying." … HOW THE FUCK SOMEONE LIKE RAFAS EVER GET MARRIED? "Rando, what is your opinion?" "... Probably dealing with me for the rest of the case." "Man, that is messed up. Don't rip off his face!" Samuele gives you finger guns. "No promises are made." You walk to your table and sit behind it. Well, you can fill in the cover list for the form and file everything that you found, Bert probably will not be back for another hour. FOR NOW, IT IS TIME TO FACE YOUR WORST ENEMY OF TODAY YET. WORSE THAN INSULTS, WORSE THAN SKIN ROW YOUTH, WORSE THAN AWKWARD THERAPY SESSIONS… THE WORST ENEMY YET… PAPERWORK. *** I was waiting for Fang outside the garage. There were no traces of the Detective and the kid. The sun was high up and was already going down, which meant it was past noon. The evening is slowly approaching. I saw Stepan and Dude leaving just a moment ago and we exchanged numbers just in case. They acted strange… when I told them that I was waiting for Fang, Dude said "Of course you are" and Stepan cackled like he just saw the funniest thing ever. They might suspect that I see Fang more… that way. Damn, this is an embarrassing thought. I cannot let my hopes up, no matter what. Man, what takes her so long? After a while, she finally comes out. "Sorry for keeping you waiting, needed to pick up something in secret so that Stepan couldn't see it. Also, I needed to get myself in order, crying ruined my makeup." I look at Fang. She still has her dark colors makeup, but honestly, it suits her. Makes her look cool in the gothic kinda way. "Thanks, dweeb." She smiles at me. Damn, I need to stop mumbling before I say something that might ruin everything. I received a light bump on my back with a guitar case. "Are you going to stand there forever? Let's go." Is that… joy I sense in her words? Ha, it has been a while since I heard her talking like this, free of worry. "Alright alright, I am going." "Good. You should accompany me till we reach my house and it is rather far away." "How far?" "When I got here by Taxi it took me 20 minutes." "Well… it is far, but I guess not too far. Maybe, like, 40 minutes of walking and-" "Anon, it was the same taxi driver that we met in high school." Oh… "Well, you know what they say, Fang… Long walks are good for your health." I smile, trying to hide the fact that this walk might be the most difficult exercise I get since the Navy… Oh, I hope that my body did not deteriorate this much in over a month. … Surprisingly, I feel good. My legs do not hurt, I do not sweat like I am running a marathon and I am having a good time. Me and Fang for the last 15 minutes did nothing but throw different ideas at each other regarding the future plans. I talk about how we could organize the concert and places where we can search for specialists, while she, not so subtly, tries to push me to find a job. While it is a bit annoying, she has a point. I can't spend all day doing nothing, I need some sort of activity, preferably one that will also pay me money. I wonder what I can do… "Well, for starters, think about what you are good at and go from there. At worst, there are many shops and warehouses that need a few extra hands." "Fang, you should stop doing that." "Nope, never. It is funny to me." I snicker at that remark. What am I good at? I guess nothing really. Maybe being an asshole online, and I don't have particular good enough skills that can earn me money. "Man, I am drawing a blank here." "Speaking of drawing, maybe you can do that?" "Drawing? You mean as in pictures?" "Why not? The pictures you drew in your journal were good and you were drawing them from your memory. I mean, you still have ways to go, but it is a start… Besides, that portrait of me was actually pretty good." "Profile, Fang, it is called profile." "See, you even being a pretentious prick about the right terminologies, I'd say you already made a few steps forward to becoming a good artist." Damn, if only she knew how smug she looked saying that. But maybe she has a point. In just three years (most of which I did not even dedicate myself to drawing) I managed to improve enough to draw well, hell, maybe even above average. If I continue to improve then maybe I could… Don't let your hopes up, Anon, many people are more talented than you. When I started to think like that and submerged myself in doubt, I received a reality check in the form of a punch to my side. "Ouch!" "Anon, stop being a coward. This act is wearing thin." "Damn, that hurts a lot… Have you ever thought about learning martial arts? Could become the first world champion rock star with how much your punches hurt." And I receive another one, this time to the shoulder. "Damn, stop doing that." "Not until you get over yourself. Anon, you will never improve if you don't try. I know how it feels letting your hopes up only for the crushing down and burning, but you will never get anywhere without losing a couple of times." Ha? Since when did Fang become so wise? "Fang, this does not sound convincing coming from you…" "I will punch you again." NO, NOT THE FACE! "Anon…" Huh? Where is the punch? I let my guard down and notice that Fang looks at me with sad eyes… Why? She touches my cheek. AH WHAT IS GOING ON? "... Does it hurt?" Huh, what is she talking about? Ah, right, the scratch. "Eh, not much. I mean, it will take time to heal, but at least it stopped bleeding." I smile like an idiot to lift her mood up. It does not work. "Damn, it looks bad. It did stop bleeding, but are you sure it is ok? I mean, I heard that human wounds can easily be infected and…" "Fang, I've been in the Navy. There we received scratches like that during daily training. A couple more won't kill me." "I know, but…" "Fang, everything is alright. It is nothing, stop worrying so much." She lowers her hand. Man, damn scratch ruined the mood. I need to somehow improve the situation… Wait, I know! "Talking about drawing… Maybe I should be your, I dunno, logo designer?" Fang looks at me with a surprised expression. "What?" "I mean, your band has no logo or any particular style, so I thought maybe I should make one? You know, so that people could recognize you whenever you are on stage, or whenever they see an advertisement poster or something. Maybe I can even design a web page for you. What will you say?" Fang looks at me for a moment, then she smiles in relief. "Damn, I often forget that despite you being an adult and an ex-military, you are still the same dork I knew… I mean, it isn't the worst idea in the world, but maybe I should commission an actual professional?" She looks at me with smug, mischievous eyes full of joy. "Oh? You have no faith in me?" "I mean, I don't know if I can trust a person who does not believe in himself. This person is prone to do something stupid and make a mistake." "Oh, I see how it is. Well, fuck you Fang, I'll show you what I can do and make you eat your words." She shows me a middle finger. Oh, it is on, baby! "Can't wait to see what you can do, Anon… I just need to lower my expectations a bit." "Ha, don't lower it too hard or you might get blown away." "Just don't overdo it, can't have you burn out too soon." Alright, Anon, this is it! Here is your goal. You will learn how to be an artist! There are thousands of guides online, and you have a few savings for a few lessons if needed! Time to whip this smug smile on her face… "Hahahaha!" "What is Anon?" "I just realized how little we both changed in all these years." "You just realized that?" "Well, I thought that only I did not change and everyone around me moved forward… but I guess the only thing that changed about us is that we became a bit more experienced with life." "Yeah… I guess you are right." Fang takes out another cigarette from her pack. "Maybe you need to slow down there, we don't want you running your voice." "Oi, you bastard, don't use my own words against me. Besides, you one to talk. Remind me, what were you doing in your apartment before I dragged you out today?" "... Low blow, Fang, low blow." Fang lights her cigarette and, suddenly, passes it to me. "Here, I propose a compromise. Half for you and half for me." "Ha, this has to be the dumbest compromise ever." I smile at Fang and take the cigarette from her hands. I take a drag… this taste. "Still smoking fucking menthols, aren't ya?" I passed her the cigarette. "Shut up, they are good." "Hey, I don't complain. This taste is somewhat nostalgic… Remember how we ditched Naser and Naomi during our venue search?" "Pff, you have to remember that right now? This is embarrassing." "Why?" "Because we used to be so fucking dumb back then. We acted like little kids." "And now… Did we become smarter?" "That remains to be seen. Hey… first one to the next turn buys the first round tonight, how about that?" Fang smiles and then… darts forward. "You…" I chase after her. "Is… Is that an invitation or something?" I wheeze as I chase her. Man, I really let myself go… even though, I cannot help but laugh, chasing after Fang, once again feeling some kind of purpose in my life. I wonder if there are evening art schools here in Skin Row. I will think about it later. For now, I need to beat Fang in this stupid game. *** AND DONE, THIS TOOK LONGER THAN EXPECTED. [Finally, the last page is falling on your table, completely filled out with every single detail of information that you managed to accumulate today]. Despite how much you had to write down, chief, you are no closer to solving this crime than you were before sitting behind this desk. There are still many questions unanswered. Many points of information seemingly without connection to the overall picture. But, you have a lead. This Cold fella, brother, seems like a problem. Finding them would be a problem… you need a specialist in finding people. You can ask Vasily and Petrov, but you need more information about this Cold person. You need to contact some people… up the hierarchy ladder in the Neighbor Union. JUST DO IT MENTION WHERE YOU LEARNED ABOUT COLD. IT WOULD PLACE STEPAN IN DANGER. "Fuck… this situation is difficult. I hope this won't cause some gang war in the Skin Row. I really don't want to contact Officer Strike." Only now you notice that outside the window the sun is slowly going down. Getting dragged down the horizon by the invisible hand of the cosmic god who sits upon his throne made out of stardust. His will is time and his decree is… THAT IT IS AN ERA OF "CLOCKING OUT". "Hey, Rafas, is Bert still in Ripley's office?" Rafas, who was sleeping behind his desk suddenly jumped up. "AH, WHAT? I AM WORKING… Oh, it is you? Let me see… I think he is still there." "It was already a few hours, how long Ripley is planning to chew him out for?" "Well, you know Ripley, once he gets his hands on you, there is little one can do… I guess Bert is staying overtime… I better wrap up my work and go home, I don't want to meet him today." You look around and see that Samuel and Maximilian already left their post… uh, workplace. You guess you also better wrap up everything. You take a tower of papers and bring it to Bert's place, leaving also behind a small sticker note with the words "Finish the Fucking Paper" on it. Then you pass by Rafas. "Well, I am done, I'm gonna go talk to Ripley, will try to win you a couple more minutes before he comes down here to check on us. Good evening, and tell Mrs Elysian that I said hi." "Yeah, yeah… Good luck." IT IS TIME TO MEET THE GRIMM RIPLEY! You nod to Rafas and leave the room. You go through the station's halls. Hard to believe that just a couple of hours ago this place was brimming with life, now mostly abandoned, with only people who operate the evening shift being left behind to perform their duties. You approach the reception area. "Hello, Jannette, how is your day?" "Been better without you harassing me. What do you want?" "Is the boss in his office?" "Yeah, along with one of your goons. I'll tell him that you are going to them." "Thank you, Jannette, love ya." "Go fuck yourself." WHAT A CHARMING INDIVIDUAL. You go beyond the reception area, further into the department. There you see many cubicles for the lower-ranking officers. There, at the back, there are stairs that lead up to the commissioner's office. This architectural design is very simple. A long time ago, when the city was undergoing renovations, this station was built to inspire the feeling of unity, justice and fear. The office of the commissioner was located above all the other officers to signal the importance of their position. The first amongst many, the one that holds the flag. Since then years have passed, the Volcadera Bluff's Police Department building had to be expanded as the city grew. Now, this architectural choice bears no meaning. It is just an inconvenient path towards the office of one named Ripley Aaron. You go up the stairs into a small hall. On the left, there is a door. And while there is no number or name on that door, everyone knows who is behind it. You knock on the door. "Come in." Simple, powerful. Ripley is not in a good mood, brother. You enter the office. It is dark, the windows are covered with shutters. The smell of dust and smoke reigns over the air. The only source of light is the desk lamp located on the commissioner's table. Behind the table sits Ripley and in front of it, on a very uncomfortable still chair, sits Bert, who looks like he is about to die. Ripley looks at you. "State your business, Rando." "Uhhh… I finished my part of the case report, and Bert needs to fill in the rest as the first officer on the scene… And unless you want to make him work until midnight, you better let him do his job." Ripley looks at you with a terrifying, angry look. Then he sighs. "Bert, dismissed… and remember what we talked about today." "Yes… Sir…" DAMN, BERT SOUNDS LIKE HE HAD HIS SOUL TAKEN AWAY BY AN EVIL SORCERER. "And clean your goddamn table. I saw empty pizza boxes underneath it… We already had complaints about ant and cockroach infestations because of that." "Will do… sir." Bert raises himself from his chair and slowly walks away. He passes by you but acts as if you are not there. He is drained of everything. "Gee, Rips, the guy looks like you've drained his soul… When can I expect an invitation to Aaron Ripley's Island to participate in Lethal Combat?" "What?" "Ah, nevermind… Just a dumb reference." You approach Ripley's desk and… avoid sitting down in the chair in front of it. You know that it is a trap, designed to make the person talking to Ripley as uncomfortable as possible. "So, how is the progress… and I hope you haven't punched any more kids today." "Sir, that was only a one-time occurrence and only because he was asking for it." QUITE LITERALLY. "Rando… you should control yourself." "I am, and trust me, it is more difficult than it sounds." Ripley groans as he rubs his nasal bridge, in annoyance. Then he sighs and concentrates on the work. "At least tell me you have a new lead." "Yup, met the possible suspect, but as it turned out it is highly unlikely that they are the one who did our body in… by the way, when will the lab report be ready?" "The Doc said that it will be ready by Monday." "Good, because I think it will take time to follow through with my leads… Need to make a call." Somewhere in the depths of Skin Row, between abandoned buildings and broken houses, there is a small maintenance room in an old apartment complex, occupied by a singular person. His identity is covered away from the city, and even I cannot perceive it. You are the only one who knows him. "You gonna call Skink?" "Need to make a meeting with Neighbor Union members without the bullets flying. Besides, I need him to look into someone in particular." "I do not trust him, how a single person without any connections possess so much information?" "Well, too bad, Rips, I trust him. Besides, who says he has no connections?" You look at Rips with a smug smile full of confidence. Ripley relaxes, but not out of relief, more like he had enough and finally gave up. "Fine, just… just make sure he does not do anything illegal." "Rips, he is an information broker operating from Skin Row. It is as illegal as it comes." Ripley raises an eyebrow, but does not object… Actually, it seems like he wants to ask you something else. "So, how is my daughter?" This is... Unexpected. YOU SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED AS MUCH FROM RIPLEY, HE FIGURED OUT YOUR RUSE EARLIER. "She is fine, actually better than before." "... You talked to her, didn't you?" "... Yesh." No point in lying, brother, this man possesses a mystical power that surpasses your own. It is called fatherly love. Something that you may never learn yourself. "Is she… Is she hanging out with someone from the Neighbor Union?" "Some young pal, who joined for naive reasons. You have nothing to worry about." "And what about Anon?" This one sounds more "on guard". It is as if Anon is more dangerous than a gang member. "Ripley, he will not hurt her. You have to let go of this one." "I know, I am just worried. Why are you worried about him so much?" [You can tell him. He will understand]. "He reminds me of Bill." Something within Ripley zinged as if he just heard the name of an ancient deity hellbent on erasing everything in the world. A name which he knows brings you nothing but pain. "Him? Like Bill? You mean…" "Yeah, from the old days. He reminds me of him so much, especially when Bill was…" "God damn it, Rando…" A memory of a brother that you hold on dearly. A person whom you used to respect and put on the pedestal of power and wisdom. If Ripley was the one who taught you how to be you, then Bill was the one who taught you who you need to be. THE SMELL OF IRON AND THE SOUND OF DRIPPING LIQUID SUDDENLY ASSAULT YOUR SENSES. THE BIG IRON, THE CLENCHED FIST. AND THE HORRIFIC SIGHT. "Rando, Anon is… Anon is nothing like Bill, you don't have to…" "Rips, you know I don't say this often, but shut the fuck up." Wow, brother, you did not let that one out without consulting us first. You insulted your better, chief, and yet… [There is no anger. He looks at you with sadness, hidden underneath a stern and piercing gaze]. "Rando, you should not do that to yourself, what happened - happened. It cannot be changed." "Ripley, for the last time, shut the fuck up. You know nothing. I-I can fix this one, do better, I can win it this time. I have to do this. And I will not stop even if you will stand in my way. I will help both Anon and your daughter. Even if it will be the last thing I do." NOT IF. IT IS. You turn around and walk out of the office, but not before loudly slamming the door behind you. Thankfully, there are not enough people around to notice the ruckus. TO THE EXIT DOOR, NOW! You pass the cubicle, and right into the reception area, where Jannette still works her shift. "I am going home, see you around, Jenny." You try to pass her as quickly as possible "Wow, that's a rare one, what is the occasi-" She stops when you turn to her. Her eyes open widely… What is this emotion? FEAR? HATRED? She is searching for the right words. Something that she wants to say to you. "... Rando?" "Yes?" "... Stay safe out there." [Thank you…] But these words never leave your mouth. You exit the building and down the steps. Behind you is your second home, but at this moment it feels alien and hostile. Right, you need to call Skink. DO NOT CALL HIM, THE ANGER BOILS WITHIN YOU, YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO FORM A PROPER SENTENCE. SEND HIM A MESSAGE. Besides, he asked you to never call him anywhere near the station. You take out your flip phone. Inside it, you find Skink's number. You choose it and select "Send Message". * Your fingers type the buttons fast, and a single message appears on your screen. To Skink: "I have a new job for you. Need to meet someone high-ranking from the Neighbor Union. Also, look up their member who's going by Cold. Do not write or call me yet, near the station Contact me tomorrow if more information is needed. I am out." With that, you click send. The message is in the waves and will pass through several jammers before reaching its destination, completely preventing anyone from finding the receiver. You look up to the sky. It is turning yellow. The evening is coming, and it will take at least 2 hours to reach your house on foot. You are already making up a route which will include all the stores and bars. Tomorrow is Sunday, so there will be no work for you. Today is the day we get wasted. You take out your cigarette box and take one. [It is your fourth one today…] "... Fuck it." You light the cigarette and begin walking towards Skin Row. This evening is not yours. This is the evening of the ghosts. *** "Ha, are you trying to walk out on the bet? Come on, stop lying, you don't have an extra 10 bucks on yourself?" "I am telling you, I wasted all of my money yesterday buying super expensive cigarettes. I only have enough to buy groceries till the next pension arrives!" Me and Fang sat at the bar which we picked on the way to her house. As one can guess, I lost the competition, and now Fang demands that I pay for the first drinks tonight. "Besides, you had a head start, that is barely fair." "Ha, as if you'd won even if I didn't have it. I saw you wheezing like a squeaky toy. Come on, Anon, I thought you were in the Navy." "You also need to remember that I barely left my house for the last month!" "Excuses, excuses. It is your own fault for not exercising enough!" Damn, she got me there. "Alright, fine, I will pay. Probably have to eat nothing but shitty noodles for a week, but for as long as you are satisfied." "HA!" Fang gives out a victorious screech. "Do not worry, Anon, if you are ever hungry, just come to Pizza Time. The owner gave me a discount for ordering from him, plus one free pizza daily. Stepan does not like it and Dude is lactose intolerant. So I can give you half of it." "Going to your performance for free pizza? Now that reminds me of something." I smile like a sly asshole. "You had to ruin it, Anon." Ha, gotcha. "Well, what will you have? Beer?" "Anon, you should learn that half the places here only serve beer. And heavily watered down one at that." "Ah, is this one of those places?" I'll check what they have. This bar was strange the moment we entered it, it is way too good-looking for Skin Row, and yet prices here seem fair. The only thing that is more weird is the owner, he seems… I dunno, weird? He was a gargoyleosaurus, and he looked like the most generic metalhead ever. Long black hair, he was wearing a t-shirt with barely readable text on it, I assume some heavy metal band logo, and he had that constantly pissed-off look. Like he is about to break someone in half. His scales and leather were darker blue. He approached us. "Are you going to order anything?" OUCH! This voice is low. He sounds like he uses nails as mouthwash. "Hey, watsup, Nate." Wait, Fang knows this guy. "Hm? Fang, haven't noticed you there, you are brighter than usual." "Well, what can I say, I am allowed to have good days. Saw a cop today, decked Stepan in the face." "Brutal." "Anyway, we will have the usual." "Are you sure? I mean, you have a friend with you today. I can take out something fancier than…" "It's fine Nate, besides that, we can't afford fancier." "Hm, suit yourself, be right back." With those words, Nate disappeared behind the "Staff Only" door. "Why did he go there?" "He has some real beer that doesn't taste like shit in there." "Wow, and he does not serve it here to everyone?" "Just to regulars." "Oh, so you are a regular at this bar?" "Perhaps. Have been going here ever since I was legally allowed to drink." Somehow I doubt that. Fand and "legally allowed" is not something I expect to be in the same sentence. "Oh, really?" "Alright, alright, I have been going here since I was 20. Used a fake ID. Nate found out and was extremely mad, but he hadn't kicked me out. Said something along the lines "kids should not drink alcohol, so come back once you are of age". Can you imagine someone like this guy trying to be a morally upright citizen?" "Wouldn't be surprised. Somehow he fits the image of a "brutal, yet carrying" metalhead." "Ha, yeah. He is the reason my band has any of the equipment. He was playing in the band some years ago, and told us he knows people who could help us with instruments and stuff for very cheap." "Ha, look at you, Fang, already have connections here in the shittes part of the town and all in just three years." "You kinda have to if you want to survive." "Hey, can we ask him for help regarding the future concert?" "I doubt. He is a very busy man, and his connections only extend to purchasing the equipment. Useful, but we need more." I nod and take out the phone. Let us see, maybe some people can be hired for cheap… but they probably will do a shit job, so we need money… Man. "I guess I have to make some cash. Need a job." "Don't forget about your promise to improve yourself as an artist as well." I raise an eyebrow. "Unless you know an evening art school which won't drain all of my money, I draw blank here." "You need a place to learn how to draw for cheap?" Damn, this guy is scary. When did he return? Nate was standing by our table with two open bottles of beer. "Oh, Nate, you back" How can Fang act so nonchalantly with this beast of the dino nearby? "Hey, humie, what is your name?" "Uh… Anon." "Anon, listen. I know a guy who teaches art and stuff here on Skin Row. He does not take a lot. And if you need a job, he has connections at the local job center, they can supply you with a few gigs to pay the bills." Well, if it is not convenient. Nate takes out a small notebook and rights something down, Then he rips the page out and gives it to me. "Here is his address. His school is on the Wingless Dragon Street. I heard that it once was Lil' Tru before Lil' Tru, so you immediately recognize the street by its more Eastern aesthetic." Hmm, the name of the school is "Realm of Beauty". Hmm, what a strange name. "Do not be fooled by the name. It is one of a kind school with very strict rules. Trust me, it is good… Just don't be scared by its strange entry exam." "What?" "You will see. Anyway, have an explosive evening." With those words, Nate left me and Fang to our devices. I once again look at the note and then place it in my pocket. Fang looks at me with a smile. "See? Even the world wants you to try." "I don't know, Fang, I still have some doubts about it." "So we all. But you still have to try it. Even if you fail, it will be good for you." I guess Fang is not wrong, I just wish I could be more certain. I sigh, this has to wait, right now there is a girl of my dreams in front of me, and I intend to make this evening last for as long as possible. I take my bottle… I have a dumb idea. "Hey, Fang, how about we have a toast?" "What, why?" "Because we met again. Because I live. Because your band has hope of making it big. Because I simply feel like it. Fang, today was the most exciting and the most important day for me, probably in my entire life." Fang listens attentively, she doesn't even show any signs of ridicule. "It's just that… I feel like I am ready to live again, ready to try this "Real Life" stuff again. I want to have friends, I want to work and get better and more importantly… I want to make up for all these wasted years. In a moment of weakness I set my life course to the bitter end and yesterday you saved me from it, so I guess what I want to say is…" Here it comes. "I am glad that you stopped me yesterday, Fang. I want to thank you and to celebrate our reunion properly." Fang at first looks at me with a blank, surprised reflection. Here it comes, a burst of laughter, a friendly insult, some sly remark but… she just looks away for a moment. "You are such a dweeb, you know that?" Did I just hear a sob? "How is it you always say the dumbest thing, but also something that I want to hear?" "Fang?" Then she turns to me, and for a moment I see a warm smile… the one that feels lonely. Like she is about to disappear. Damn, did I say something bad? "No, you stupid dweeb. I am happy. It's just that I don't know how to react. I was half expecting myself to die somewhere in the ditch after getting drunk to drown my sorrows but, for once, I feel like I have a future to look forward to. So instead of drinking for me, or for the reunion. Let's drink for the future." I give her a smile and raise my bottle. "For the future that is bright and hopeful." "For the future that doesn't suck!" And with that, our bottles clank against each other. *** Chief, where are we? What time is it? Why aren't we moving? You lean against a wall, the bottle in your left hand, and your right hand supports your weight against your mortal enemy - gravity. DID WE UNLOAD THE GUN? PLEASE TELL ME YOU UNLOADED THE GUN! Who cares, brother, it's not like we're gonna use it! [Rando lay off the bottle, it is the third already in the last hour or so. And why did you eat the medicine and wash it down with whiskey? Come on, get your shit together.] * By our calculation, the alcohol level in your blood is nearing 0.3%. That is close to a lethal dose. Good, maybe this one will learn a lesson once it is dead. Alright, everyone, calm down, you are messing up his thought process, if you don't stop he will- You take a phone out of your pocket and open your contact list. [Rando, no, stop before it is too late]. Your fingers press the buttons without you controlling them. They are directing you through all the numbers you have on your phone. Here is Anon's, followed by Fangs. Your team, Skink, a few services, some people you forgot existed and then there, at the bottom, you see the name which you try so much to forget. HE MUST BE STOPPED, HE WILL HURT HIMSELF. AND HE HATES THAT TYPE OF PAIN. The intoxication prevents you from seeing clearly, so you squint your eyes to focus your vision. You can see some letters. D-A-W-N… [Abort, abort, this situation became critical! Quick, activate the acid reflux!] Before you could press the call, you could feel something trying to escape your stomach. You almost drop your phone, while struggling with your own body. It seems your own being is revolting against you. That will not be enough, team, the chief is adamant about calling that number. Come on, brother, put that silly little thing back into your pocket. You have an open bottle right there. But you don't listen to any thoughts that flow through the fog inside your head. You are concentrating on one thing and one thing only. That phone number. You look at the phone again, make sure that the accursed number is chosen and press call. NO! You put the phone to your ear and listen to silence. The world stops… and then you hear the ring. OH GOD PLEASE NO! RAPTOR JESUS, PUT AN END TO THIS! With each ring, your heart beats harder and harder. The world around you falls apart into nothingness. Absorbed by the pit that appeared in your stomach. [Put the phone down, before there can be a reply!] Two, three, four, five. With each ring, you can feel your mind going somewhere far away. Why are you calling this number? What are you expecting exactly? Some kind of absolution? Forgiveness? Hell, maybe you expect nothing. No, once the phone is answered there will be no "nothing". There will be pain. There will be suffering. There will be… Nothing, there is nothing. They did not pick up the phone. It went into the answering machine… You say nothing and close your phone. Anger, frustration, hatred and self-loathing, all these emotions suddenly flow through you. You feel like you've done something bad, something forbidden. You put your back against the wall and slowly slide down until you touch the ground. You just sit there for god knows how long, looking into the dark, cold sky. There are no stars tonight. [What are you doing to yourself, Rando? Why do you force yourself through this? You just need to stop, get yourself busy with your work, forget about the past and move forward]. Yeah, also drink, drink a lot. It helps, it makes everything feel right, almost as if you still can feel that intoxicating feeling from the past, the one that was dedicated to THAT person. THAT WAS A CLOSE CALL. IF SHE ANSWERED, I DON'T KNOW WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO YOU. I CANNOT GUARANTEE SAFETY. "... Why am I such a mess?" You look at your closed phone. Please, ring, please. Let her see that you called her, she will realize how you feel, she will call you, she will say that everything will be fine… She probably blocked you. Stop trying to raise your hopes. She hates you and wants nothing to do with you. Give up, and do what you do best. Be a detective, the best goddamn detective in the whole Volcadera Bluff. Have pride in it, it's the only thing that makes you feel whole. The winds are cold. They whisper many things to you. Some sweet, some harsh, some of these whispers are secrets of this town and some tell you stories as if you are living it. One wind passes you by and… On the edge of Skin Row, there is a small hotel. It specializes in housing people who go through town or stay here for a short amount of time. It used to be operated by a couple, but now both of them are too old and frail to continue their business, so they left everything to their daughter. She is a diligent worker who never once made a mistake in her line of duty. But she is not happy, she hates this work. She remembers the days when she and her friends were going to clubs and concerts. Singing, dancing, having fun. She remembers one person in particular, the one who made her believe in her dream, that she could try to chase something impossible. And then one day they both made a mistake, yet each one of them blames themselves. That mistake is the secret of these two and the town. Nobody knows why they are there and not together. The girl makes the last few rounds around the hotel, making sure that all the guests are well and that there are no unaccounted visitors. She returns to the reception and pulls out her phone only to see something that puts her in a state of fear and panic. The unanswered phone call… she sees the name and the pit is starting to grow. She unlocks her phone and is already preparing herself to call that number back, but… she hesitates. She is afraid of something. She thinks for a moment and calls another number. An old friend of hers. And his. She waits patiently until the call is answered. "Yes, who is it?" the distorted voice asks. "Hello, Dave, it is me…". The girl hears a sigh on the other end. "How many times should I remind you not to say this name over the phone!". The girl does not pay attention to that remark. "Dave, please… it is him… He called me just now and… And I did not reply!". "Alright, yeah, I get it, you want me to check on him? To make sure he will not do anything stupid?" says the voice over the phone "Why not call Ripley, he is taking care of that bastard." "He is never honest with me, you know that. I-I am scared… that he will try to do that again." says the girl. "Alright, listen, it is like what, 10 pm? I cannot drop everything and go check on him, I am not a nanny. But if you are so worried, I will call Ripley to go make sure that he is fine, alright?" "Yes, thank you…" the girl sighs with relieve. "No problem, Dawn. Have a good night." with that the phone call comes to an end. The girl puts down her phone and looks at the photo that stands on the reception table. It was made back when the dreams seemed possible and there were people that cared. The people she ended up hurting… And in that picture, there were two people. Herself back when she was a young gal who just finished high school, and the most important person in her life. Who was absent from it for a long time. The girl thinks about it for a while and it exhausts her. "Rando, please be fine I…" and she was never able to finish that sentence. [Stop thinking nonsense. Pick yourself up off the ground and go home. You had enough today]. You slowly raise upward, using the wall behind as support. You look around to make sure no one is there and then, slowly, begin walking down the road, before collapsing on the ground. You are way too weak to pick yourself up. THIS IS IT, YOU REACHED YOUR LIMIT. THERE IS NOTHING SHAMEFUL ABOUT REACHING THE BREAKING POINT. JUST RELAX. THINK OF SOMETHING GOOD, AND LET GO THE PAIN AND HATE. * Somewhere nearby you hear a sound of a familiar engine, slowly approaching your location. 10 meters. Before you can see what it is, your body gives up and your dreams drag you into nothingness. It is going to be another dreamless night. *** Well, one thing that hasn't changed about Anon is his being a lightweight. He only had two beers and already was wobbling harder than a tree during a storm. On the fourth, he was barely able to lift himself up. Yet somehow he had enough strength and will to reach out to his wallet and pay for his share and also for mine, despite the fact that I did not ask for it. Now there was a problem. It is past 10 pm, and almost every store is closed, so the streets of Skin Row are especially dangerous right now, and I am carrying a surprisingly heavy human, who is barely alive. Damn, I should have stopped him on the second bottle. I painfully dragged him on my back. Never thought that my first day of reunion with Anon would end with me carrying his lifeless body to… I just now realize, but where do I carry him? I mean, if his journal is correct, he lives in the same apartment he used to live in back in high school, but… It is far away. My apartment is way closer. Am I really considering dragging my ex to my place for the night? On the first day of meeting him again? Am I that desperate to get lucky? No, of course not, what am I thinking about, I just want to make sure that he is fine and safe. Right, I will just let him stay for the night, that's it. Alright, almost there, I am standing in front of my apartment building. It isn't much, just a small three-story building that has been standing here since the 90s. No lock or anything to protect the halls from squatters, but nobody is brave enough to enter this house without permission from its manager. Thankfully, I don't have to think about that because I pay rent. I enter the building with Anon on my back. I approach the staircase and… fuck, I need to drag this asshole all the way to the second floor? Fucking hell. … Somehow, I managed to do that. Almost there, Fang, almost there. I slowly drag myself and anon to my door. Here it is, apartment 201. Thank Raptor Jesus, we are finally here. I reach into my pocket and open the door. Here we are, home sweet home. It isn't much, but hey, I pay for it with my own money. "We are here, Anon… Wake up." Anon wakes up for a moment, before saying some gibberish and checking out again. I sigh and drag him to the couch. Fuck, I don't want him to lie on it in his dirty clothes but… I sure as hell am not going to undress him. I put him down on the couch as gently as possible, before finally catching my breath. "Hell, all that training at the Navy made you heavier than a fucking wale, what were they doing to you?" I drop off my guitar case in the corner of the room, before planting myself on the sofa near the couch. I almost never use it, since the couch is right there, but right now it is occupied by heavy as fuck Anon. I sink myself into the sofa. Man, what a day, it feels like it was lasting eternity but it feels so complete. Like everything happened today, so much in fact I am pretty sure today was running to make up for 3 years of nothing. What a funny thought. "F-fang? Where are we?" Anon is awake? Damn, he looks like he is half-asleep. "We are at my house. Sorry for dragging you here, but it was too late to send you home." "Fang's home? It looks like shit." "Yeah, it does." "... I am sorry." Here we are again. Damn, this act is getting rather annoying. "Anon, please do not apologize." "I am sorry…" Damn this dweeb… Is he crying? Why? I thought he got over it. No, no he did not. What am I thinking about, of course, he is still hurting. I was a fool believing that everything could be fixed in a day. Three years… three years of loneliness and suffering, of course, it won't disappear in a day. Fucking hell, why am I like this, thinking that I can do something right, I should just… "Fang… Listen, I am sorry for being who I am. I know I am an awful human being. There is nothing redeemable about me, nothing good. I am just an asshole, I even thought that I could, that I could…" God damn it. I raise myself from the sofa and approach Anon. I kneel near him and take his hand into mine. "Anon, you are not an asshole. Stupid and selfish? Perhaps. And when you say mean things you can hurt me, but… Please, just stop hating yourself. I do not hate you, I do not blame you. There is nothing to redeem because you did nothing wrong, at least right now. Anon, I know this will sound like the most corny line possible, but you are better than you think you are. And you can get even better. You are not alone, I am here for you, got it?" I give him the warmest smile I can muster. He looks at me with his tired, broken eyes. Looking at them hurts, but I must be here for him. He lies back down and gives out a single sad laugh. "Thank you, Fang… I love you." … Of course you are, you fucking dweeb. I know you are. And I hope one day you will be brave enough to tell me this without the help of alcohol. As for now, we both need to become better, until then we can only dream. "You welcome, Anon. I love you too." I needed to say that. He is already asleep, so I doubt he will remember me saying this. I look at his sleeping face and think of all the nights he went to sleep, wishing to never wake up. I grasp his hand tighter to make sure that he is still here. When I finally calm down, I release my grip. I guess I better leave him to rest. I stand up and slowly start walking towards my room. Before entering it I look back at Anon. He is still there, he is real, and he is not going away. I smile. "Welcome back, Anon." I feel at ease, and I think I will be able to sleep soundly tonight, without crying myself to sleep.