The smell of burning permeated the room, filling anyone’s nose who dared enter. But, this smell was comforting to Bradley. His scarred hands fiddled with a bent chunk of metal he had just hit with a blowtorch. The burning feeling mattered much less to him than finishing his work. “This isn’t worth the paycheck,” Bradley sighed, as he realigned the black metal. His hands flew into a frenzy, as he began reconstructing the device he had been tinkering with. Bradley sat back in his ash stained chair, admiring the completed repair.
He cocked back the Glock-19, and dry fired it, ensuring the jam was gone. Bradley stared at the gray wall, until his eyes were drawn to the ticking hands of the clock. “A new record, not worth a damn though.” Bradley tossed the gun in the black dufflebag next to him, “Now we wait-” Bradley was immediately cut off by the banging on his door, followed by it slamming open, “You got the quota done for the day?” Bradley nodded, rotating his chair, still not getting up.
The man he looked at was massive compared to him, wearing a middle manager suit despite being the size of an Olympic weightlifter. His muscles looked like they might tear out of the suit, but despite the physical disadvantage, Bradley couldn’t take someone with a blond buzz cut seriously. “We got a run request already. Seems like other companies are starting to take notice of how quickly you fill your quotas.” Bradley stood up, and began stretching, “Alrighty bossman, I’ll get on it asap.”
The man sighed, “You can call me Devin ya know. I wouldn’t have this easy of a job if it wasn’t for you. Be safe out there.” Bradley touched his toes and bounded up. He grabbed the duffle, “I’ll do my best, but it’s never easy.” Devin scratched the back of his head, “Guess not, once you’re done just send me a text and I’ll clock you out when I leave.” Bradley nodded and flung open the back door.
He quickly flashed his badge to the gate guard, and slipped out of the building. The sun beat down on the gray wasteland. Bradley took a deep breath and took in the view. Crumbling houses, cracked pavement, trash piling up everywhere, “There’s no place like home,” Bradley quipped as he prepared a runner’s stance.
Bradley ran quickly through the broken back alleys, doing his best to dodge the desperate. He noticed an eerie quiet, and came to a halt. “Really Brent? You can’t keep trying this man.” A man with many scars, a large build, and fake military garb came around the corner, and men in similar dress began to appear from the run-down shacks around them, brandishing knives, bats, and for the losers, wooden planks just ripped straight from abandoned housing.
Bradley mocked a man with only a wooden plank, “Be careful of the splinters, alright buddy.” Bradley was encircled, and Brent slowly approached, “You know what we want. Give us the guns, or die.” Bradley scratched the back of his head, not too focused on his situation, “If those were my choices, then why do you have no guns, and I’m still alive after so many tries? Brent, I know most of your crew are in here for tax fraud.”
Brent began laughing, “Look here, pipsqueak,” Brent began flailing his knife around, “If you don’t cough up the weapons, I can personally guarantee that you will take this knife,” Brent slowly pressed it against Bradley’s skin, “To your stomach.” Bradley’s smile didn’t break, and Brent went to grab the bag off Bradley’s shoulder.
Bradley quickly stepped backwards. Brent lunged forward with his knife. Bradley smashed his hand between his knee and elbow. The knife clattered across the floor. Bradley spun quickly and bashed Brent across the face with a steel toe boot. Brent collapsed onto the ground, knocked out cold.
Bradley sauntered over to the knife and picked it up, “Unlike some people, I’m not one for stealing, but...” Bradley plopped down onto Brent’s back and faced the nervous crowd, “I want you all to think about something before continuing. Firstly, even if you got the guns, there is no ammo, and USDC will not only end my life, but yours as well. Secondly, I just kicked your boss’s ass for what? The sixth time?”
Bradley gave a firm yet kind glare, “I know you’re just following along because you’re scared of him, but that doesn’t matter.” The man with the plank spoke up, “Because we can take him if we’re together, right?” Bradley started laughing, “Oh god no, even if he is a total tool, unless you knock him out in a clean hit, he aint staying down. No, it’s because if you keep delaying my work schedule,” Bradley brandished the knife, “I will personally see to it, that each minute you delay me from here on out, is a finger or toe you owe me.”
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Bradley stood up, and exhaled deeply, “I hope you think about what I talked about.” The crowd began to dissipate, and Bradley quickly handed the young man with the plank, and gave him a quick wink as he left. Bradley quickly ran off once again.
“We totally could have taken him. How does this always happen? He threatens us after kicking Brent’s ass and we just cave.” The boy with the knife thought about it, and finally realized why, “It’s because it’s not worth the cost,” he muttered to himself. He went over everything that happened, the skilled movement, lack of hesitation, no fear, and that cold stare, like he was making a promise he planned on keeping. The boy shivered and pocketed the knife.
Bradley had snaked through the streets quickly, knowing that the ruckus would attract unwanted attention. He took to paths that he knew the people around, and barely made it to WcDonwalds on time for their gun delivery. He flashed his USDC badge, handed off the duffle to the man behind the security counter, and he went through the list, ensuring every gun was accounted for. He called the USDC branch to inform the higher ups that the delivery was successful, and Bradley was shooed away.
Bradley took his time on his way back home, knowing that his roommate hadn’t cleaned anything, and from being out of breath from his run. He talked to a few people on his way back, thanking them for not trying to stab him. By the time he arrived at his lovely shithole, he was already annoyed. The trash was still piled up outside, even though he paid for service. Bradley slammed the door open, to be met with the scattering of cockroaches, the staticy sound of a shitty TV, and the sizzling of a pan.
“Damnit Ben, you didn’t pick up anything? Really?” Ben popped out from behind the kitchen wall, “You remember what happened last time right?” Bradley sighed and plopped himself down on the hand-me-hand-me-down couch, knocking up a flurry of dust. Bradley exhaled in an attempt to blow away the cloud of abject sad. ‘Guess I need to shake out the cushions again.’ Bradley kicked his feet up onto the cluttered table, narrowly avoiding knocking over half a can of soda, “What’s for dinner, since that’s all you’re useful for?” Ben smiled, “Say you love me first.”
Bradley started to throw a pillow towards him, but stopped, fearing dust getting into his food, “Just tell me what the food is or I sell that stupid PC of yours.” Ben laughed, “Look pal, you and I both know that when I hit it big streaming this RPG I found, you’ll love me for it.” “Just tell me what’s for dinner.” Ben darted back behind the floral patterned kitchen wall, and popped back out with platefuls of spaghetti, neatly dusted with Parmesan.
Ben cleared a little space and set them down onto the table. Bradley sat up, “Don’t you dare plop down. I’ll kick your teeth in.” Ben slowly sat down, inching slower and slower towards the seat of the couch. Each second passed slowly, like an awkward conversation. “God damnit, just sit the hell down and let’s eat. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can pick up this dump.”
“Alright, you get a free pass for another few months. Just keep making good meals and I’ll forgive you.” Bradley slumped down on his fifth hand couch, launching dust up, “God damn, how much are vacuums again?” Ben pondered and turned towards Bradley, “Like 4 days pay for you.”
“And how much extra money have you burned for your UTube equipment?”
Ben turned away and stayed silent. “Ben, tell me or I'll cut you off completely.”
“Fine, I spent three thousand for a computer and microphone.”
Bradley sighed, “Two weeks pay, damn. How’s your analytics?”
Ben sighed, “This hunk of shit can only run pre-2010 rpgs, so I’m only getting people with nostalgia,” Ben plated the food and brought it over to the living room table and flopped down, “Good news is I’ve finally figured out which class is the best for content so maybe I have a shot now.”
Brad shrugged, “We’re fine now, but man will it be a bummer to live this after our lease is up.”
They finished eating, and Brad made sure to properly clean up the house to prevent the roaches from getting worse. “Hey Ben, I think there’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight, wanna watch it with me tonight since I don’t have a run tomorrow?” Ben hopped up, “Sure man. But I just wanna say-” Brad squared up to Ben, “If you say how it's not fair I bully you for wasting money when I do it to I will slap the shit out of you as 1. It’s my money, 2. It’s my money, and 3…” Ben sighed, “It’s your money,” Bradley laughed, “No, 3. You’re a bitch.” Brad lightly punched Ben on the shoulder.
Brad dropped the ladder to the roof, “Come on, should be a good show tonight. Especially since it looks like another blackout on the west side.”
Ben groaned and shut off their shitty TV. “I guess it’ll be higher definition,” Ben chuckled.
They laid there for hours, watching the streams of stars go by, and just reminiscing on everything that has changed since they were kids and did this. The telescope sat next to them whenever they wanted to take a deep look, but they never did. They just soaked in the scene.