Steve approaches the door for the second time that day, this time armed with a doorstop and (thank you, Bar) a shapeless sweater to make his metal arm less obvious when he steps out into the street.
"...oh, yeah. Fuck," he mutters as he pulls it open. If he can't close the door, he can't get back into the house that way, can he?
There doesn't seem to be anyone about, so he slips outside, wedges the front door open just a crack and as discreetly as possible, and heads around to the rather more secret entrance. In an alley too narrow and rundown even for squatters, behind an army of sour-smelling garbage bins that haven't been emptied for years (he always holds his breath when he has the misfortune to go this way), is a door to a room with a door.
Inside, a monitor bleeps, and a flickering fish-eye camera display fills with fleece and curly hair.
Tinny and faint: "Lu, can you let me in?"
When the inner door hums open for him, he's confronted by a bulky and vaguely menacing figure with an impassive gas-mask face, hands like a sculptor's experiment with chickenwire, a t-shirt and jeans that don't hide the strange shapes that bunch and snag where skin and flesh should be.
Steve grins a little breathlessly. (To be fair, that's the main flavour his grins come in these days, but it's still a sign of the excitement growing inside him.)
Comments 226
Knock. Knock.
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"Hey! What's up?"
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The first thing she can think to say is: "...And you're inviting me along because...?"
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"...oh, yeah. Fuck," he mutters as he pulls it open. If he can't close the door, he can't get back into the house that way, can he?
There doesn't seem to be anyone about, so he slips outside, wedges the front door open just a crack and as discreetly as possible, and heads around to the rather more secret entrance. In an alley too narrow and rundown even for squatters, behind an army of sour-smelling garbage bins that haven't been emptied for years (he always holds his breath when he has the misfortune to go this way), is a door to a room with a door.
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Tinny and faint: "Lu, can you let me in?"
When the inner door hums open for him, he's confronted by a bulky and vaguely menacing figure with an impassive gas-mask face, hands like a sculptor's experiment with chickenwire, a t-shirt and jeans that don't hide the strange shapes that bunch and snag where skin and flesh should be.
"hh-hhWhere've you been?"
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"I bring great tidings. Where's Chips?"
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It's difficult to pick out tones and emotions in that patient, buzzing-at-the-edges voice.
"hhhKitchen, maybe."
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Knock. Knock. Kn--
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She conjures up a smile from somewhere.
"Out-of-the-blue question: was rescuing me from Egghead fun?"
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He opens the door the rest of the way and steps out into the hall, closing it behind him.
"What's up?"
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Nothing to see here. Move along.
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Then he reaches over and steals her beer.
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"Val, this is Chainsaw. He likes making terrible first impressions."
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