[creative] A Bold Approach II
There were many bars in New Angels and not enough houses. It didn't take a genius to follow the parade of drunks to one of the establishments of the area. Once inside I realized that being unarmed in a city like this was going to get dangerous extremely quickly. I had already managed to step in a pool of someone's blood, and off to the left was a brawl waiting to happen. Two men were shouting over the pool table, one with a lit cigarette sticking to his chapped lips as he spoke. When at last the thing fell he lit up another one and set up his next shot like nothing happened.
The people at the bar were much quieter, but their behavior was misleading. Each of them looked like a group of cutthroats. One wore a long, black trench coat covered in caked on mud. His hat covered most of his face in shadow, but you could see the whites of his eyes staring right at you. For a while it seemed he was staring right at me, but then his attention shifted back to the entrance to the bar where he proceeded to follow their every movement.
Another man, slightly less mysterious was wearing a pair of dirty, ragged jeans with a leather jacket over top a plain tee that used to be white before all the sweat stains and dirt. He was a block of pure muscle, but he seemed to pay no one attention. He drank his beer in silence and would occasionally watch the next fight break out.
I found an empty stool at the bar and caught the bartenders attention. He poured me a beer and shot it down the lane. Before it reached me the Muscle Guy grabbed it with his monster hands and began drinking it. The barkeep looked to me and then him and shrugged. What was he going to do to a guy like that? I ordered another one that he brought to me personally. I paid him for both with an extra tip and took a swig.
The taste was to be expected of a run down bar that supplied its own booze. Most of what they could offer was made in the bathtub behind the bar itself. I was just happy to have something fermented to drink. I felt like I needed it more than anything. I finished my beer and got up to leave.
The Trench Walker had somehow gotten behind me. Before I could react he had grabbed hold of me and covered my mouth. I would have normally screamed, but I quickly realized it wouldn't be of much help. This guy had the ability of invisibility and the bar was far too loud for anyone to really notice or care to find me. I let him drag me to my demise, whatever or wherever he decided to do it.
He leaned over to me and whispered, "It has been a long while, Moonshadow." For a moment I stood in shock. The name struck a chord with me that I didn't quite fathom. I tried my best, but the only thing I could remember were fragments of an old street gang. He took me outside through a back door. Once out in the alley he uncovered my mouth.
"You've got the wrong guy," I said.
Trench Walker leaned in closer and looked into my eyes. "Nah, you're him." He let go of my shoulder. "Something does seem different about you though." I shrugged.
"Considering I'm not this Moonshadow guy, I can see why."
"No time to get smart on me, Shadow," he grunted. He scratched his scruffy chin. "Why'd the bartender see you?"
I gave him a quizzical look. "Cause I wanted a drink."
"Makes no sense to me," he said. "People like us have it pretty nice. Why pay for shit when you can just take it without anyone being any the wiser?"
"What's that supposed to mean? People like us?" I asked.
"I'm talkin' about ghosts, dipshit."
"Me?" I thought for a moment. In that instant several different images flashed before me. I saw myself with the group known as the Dogs of War. I saw me prowling right in front of people. I saw myself walk through these streets before. I saw a club with a huge crowd dancing to the beat of some trashy gothic mess. I saw a woman who I did not know. I stood stunned for a few seconds before Trench Walker shook me to my senses.
"Yeah, you." He gave me another look and then cocked his head. "Are you saying you didn't know that already?"
"That is what I'm saying."
"I never heard of memory loss disrupting someone's ability." He rubbed his scruff.
I hadn't really put too much thought into my situation to realize that being in the Bloodlands meant that I was most likely infected myself. The images that had flashed into my head were hard to recollect, but I was beginning to see a clear pattern. If I could trust those thoughts. "I don't think that the memory loss caused this," I told him.
"Hu?"
"That is to say, I am starting to think I don't have an ability anymore."
"At all? That's not possible, guy. Once you're infected the only cure is when your heart stops tickin' and you stop existin'." I still retained enough information about the world around me to know that he wasn't making that up. Still, I was convinced that I had been cured somehow. Perhaps that woman had something to do with it.
"How many clubs does this city have?"
"Too many," he grunted. "Why?"
"I need you to show me all of them. I need to follow some things up." Trench Walker shrugged.
"You really don't remember me?"
"Not a clue," I said. He grinned like a demon.
"Good."
The people at the bar were much quieter, but their behavior was misleading. Each of them looked like a group of cutthroats. One wore a long, black trench coat covered in caked on mud. His hat covered most of his face in shadow, but you could see the whites of his eyes staring right at you. For a while it seemed he was staring right at me, but then his attention shifted back to the entrance to the bar where he proceeded to follow their every movement.
Another man, slightly less mysterious was wearing a pair of dirty, ragged jeans with a leather jacket over top a plain tee that used to be white before all the sweat stains and dirt. He was a block of pure muscle, but he seemed to pay no one attention. He drank his beer in silence and would occasionally watch the next fight break out.
I found an empty stool at the bar and caught the bartenders attention. He poured me a beer and shot it down the lane. Before it reached me the Muscle Guy grabbed it with his monster hands and began drinking it. The barkeep looked to me and then him and shrugged. What was he going to do to a guy like that? I ordered another one that he brought to me personally. I paid him for both with an extra tip and took a swig.
The taste was to be expected of a run down bar that supplied its own booze. Most of what they could offer was made in the bathtub behind the bar itself. I was just happy to have something fermented to drink. I felt like I needed it more than anything. I finished my beer and got up to leave.
The Trench Walker had somehow gotten behind me. Before I could react he had grabbed hold of me and covered my mouth. I would have normally screamed, but I quickly realized it wouldn't be of much help. This guy had the ability of invisibility and the bar was far too loud for anyone to really notice or care to find me. I let him drag me to my demise, whatever or wherever he decided to do it.
He leaned over to me and whispered, "It has been a long while, Moonshadow." For a moment I stood in shock. The name struck a chord with me that I didn't quite fathom. I tried my best, but the only thing I could remember were fragments of an old street gang. He took me outside through a back door. Once out in the alley he uncovered my mouth.
"You've got the wrong guy," I said.
Trench Walker leaned in closer and looked into my eyes. "Nah, you're him." He let go of my shoulder. "Something does seem different about you though." I shrugged.
"Considering I'm not this Moonshadow guy, I can see why."
"No time to get smart on me, Shadow," he grunted. He scratched his scruffy chin. "Why'd the bartender see you?"
I gave him a quizzical look. "Cause I wanted a drink."
"Makes no sense to me," he said. "People like us have it pretty nice. Why pay for shit when you can just take it without anyone being any the wiser?"
"What's that supposed to mean? People like us?" I asked.
"I'm talkin' about ghosts, dipshit."
"Me?" I thought for a moment. In that instant several different images flashed before me. I saw myself with the group known as the Dogs of War. I saw me prowling right in front of people. I saw myself walk through these streets before. I saw a club with a huge crowd dancing to the beat of some trashy gothic mess. I saw a woman who I did not know. I stood stunned for a few seconds before Trench Walker shook me to my senses.
"Yeah, you." He gave me another look and then cocked his head. "Are you saying you didn't know that already?"
"That is what I'm saying."
"I never heard of memory loss disrupting someone's ability." He rubbed his scruff.
I hadn't really put too much thought into my situation to realize that being in the Bloodlands meant that I was most likely infected myself. The images that had flashed into my head were hard to recollect, but I was beginning to see a clear pattern. If I could trust those thoughts. "I don't think that the memory loss caused this," I told him.
"Hu?"
"That is to say, I am starting to think I don't have an ability anymore."
"At all? That's not possible, guy. Once you're infected the only cure is when your heart stops tickin' and you stop existin'." I still retained enough information about the world around me to know that he wasn't making that up. Still, I was convinced that I had been cured somehow. Perhaps that woman had something to do with it.
"How many clubs does this city have?"
"Too many," he grunted. "Why?"
"I need you to show me all of them. I need to follow some things up." Trench Walker shrugged.
"You really don't remember me?"
"Not a clue," I said. He grinned like a demon.
"Good."