Author's Notes:

So I'm doing a full revamp of the first few chapters as of 4/20/17. I hate the way they look and read, so I'm altering them. Sadly, the original first chapter is going to be lost in time, but the second chapter exists. I'm looking for the third one, but after that, I have them all so I'll be able to link the originals. If you're new to the story, I'm sorry you didn't get to read the badness that was the original print, but it was fucking terrible by my standards, so goobee.

As always, Stay Cool, Kids
Original Length: 2,791

☾✯☾۞☽✯☽

Author here. I flipped the script a bit and slowed down the pacing of the first chapter by a decent margin to make it more... Well, it's better by my standards. Hopefully you agree.

Oh yeah, and as of 4/20/17, Chapter One was lost. The Original Chicken Recipe returns, bitch! I found it earlier this year, and it's just as shit as I remember. I can't wait to scrap Chapter Two!

As Always, Do Over!

Stay Cool x3

And now we're here at 1/4/19 and life has gotten testicles. The rewrite got taken down, but the rewritten chapters are still going to be here. Power to the people

I raced through the house. Daylight runs? Dumb. The client? Spastic. Me? Desperate for the money and it would cover groceries for the foreseeable future and the money I was going to spend on the celebration later, but I was mostly just trying to survive until I could have myself a drink, a nap, and maybe pick up that good ol' tree book again. Yes, I like random information, but no, now's not the time for it. There's always a time to be quiet when walking through someone else's house, but in the early morning when old people tend to get up? Especially when you're stealing from them?

Not the best of times.

I could hear an old man shouting at me from behind, but he was nowhere near as fast as most of my people. Hell, I myself could beat just about anyone in a straight race that I knew of, and if we were doing sprints around street corners to get out of trouble? Well, I'd meet them later. As it was, I dashed toward the open window I'd noticed earlier and sadly had to dive out of it. Life had taken me many places in England, but more importantly it had taught me how to launch, tuck, and fuckin' roll. I just didn't do it when I got out of that damn window because, for one, I caught my foot on the sill and two, I was having a very unlucky kind of day.

“Fuck!” I exhaled, the hard cobblestone of Garland Street being my bed for a second or two. I'd been hit harder than falling out of a window, so I didn't even wait to get my breath back before taking off. I had better things to do than get fuzzed or rolled.

“Oi!” An elderly man with a heavy splash of Welsh in his voice called out, glaring at the street below, and thusforth me as well. “Get that little rat! Little fucker stole me wife’s pendant! Get the fucker!”

In my defense, they really should have locked the second story window if they didn’t want me coming into their house, but that’s not terribly important. No, you shouldn't worry about how I got up there. They call me 'Klepto Gecko' for a reason, after all, so take that for what it's worth. In any case, I scrambled to my feet and made a mad dash to get myself out of the danger zone and into my usual safehouse since it was usually a twenty minute trip by foot at a strut, but never before had I missed the old flash ken back on Highland Avenue than I did right there. Multiple ways to get in, plenty of ways to get out, and it was in town. I cut my trip down to safety with less than half the usual time by not giving two shits about the people I shoved out of my way whenever I needed them to move. I’d lie and say I didn't dive for wallets on occasion as I did it, but that’s just not true and I generally try to keep the lies to reasonable levels.

I kept up my light sprint until I hit my safehouse; an old, abandoned Catholic church. I found it hilarious that a sinner like me had found a home in a corrupted house of God, but then again I spent too long praying for peace in my life for me to say I'm even agnostic these days. I'd thrown a rouser once or twice there when it was in better shape, but most of my 'friends' had tried to rob me for what little crap I had. That might say something about the company I keep, but it’s not like I’ve ever been a terribly kind person myself anyway. More the type to lend a hand if I needed something from someone, but I still help the elderly and kids free of charge. Reminds me that I still have to find some sleeves for the Pokemon cards Tyke Ryan gave me for stealing his Switch back from the pawn shop. Great kid, bad Mum. Knew the feeling better than I would've liked.

God, I get sidetracked easily. As I was saying, I stowed my bounties in my usual hidey hole and took a few minutes to sit and relax since the bullshit job had gone exactly as I expected it to. Neither my late brother, Max, or any of my old crew, the Stealy Wheelies, could have ever even hoped to get as far as I did with as few permanent injuries as I managed to get away with. Sometimes being the best is hard. No one in their right fucking mind asks for a Sun-Run, but that’s what my lard-arsed client wanted. I thought it’d be worth the two hundred quid bonus, though something about it just rubbed me the wrong way. There's always a way to cock up a good thing, and I really don't have too many good things to spare. Well, I didn't, but I had the money to live like a Street King for a few months. However, I wanted more from life than stealing and still do.

Without much else to do, I checked my shitty little burner and saw that sunset probably wasn’t too far away. I was supposed to take the pendant my client wanted to him at midnight upon request, so I figured that I’d go for a walk and see what all I could see. Oscar the Rozzer wasn't the best client for getting paid, but the tubby fuck had plenty of dirty money that I was happy to take off his hands. Thief-Client privileges did not apply to him, especially since there were plenty of people willing to let me do whatever I wanted to with him, but Rozzer. I wasn't going to press my luck like I had multiple times with Slick Sagiano, biut that's another tale. After I got back into town and hit the south side, I was pretty sure that the Grisham Boys never actually ever got more than twenty feet away from the Rubber Dutchman during my usual active hours. Granny Sammy, A.K.A Sketchy Sam was probably inside, guffing down rotgut and weaving another string of information into her network of contacts.

  I considered calling Micheal, my old watchdog, to go and grab a few drinks, but I really just wanted a few shots of rum to honor my brother and a few glasses of bourbon to make me miss him a little less. The anniversay was earlier in the week and I'd missed it because I'd had to stay somewhat sober for a job, but I may or may not have had a toke with Walter at his place. For a guy who hated American Blacks for giving him and his family a bad rap, he sure did act like one. Hell, he praised 21 Savage like he was the fuckin' Queen or something. I've never had a problem with the guy after he got jumped, but before that? Stingy pusher with a penchant for fucking you over. Guess getting rolled really helps with the humbleness.

God, I really don't know how to write a journal... Keep getting sidetracked.

  Anyway, I sighed and got my ass into gear before I could start reminiscing too much, but when I got into Southside proper, I decided to just head over to my usual liquor shop instead of taking my uneasy victory to the pub. Rum tends to be more expensive than bourbon in Wiltshire, so I only bought a couple of double shot bottles of the stuff while I got a fifth of some cheap, effective bourbon. The taste wasn’t the best, but the burn was rough and I tend to like my shit strong enough to add more hair to your chest. Long Donnie, the gangly clerk, promised to take the extra couple shots of rum I’d bought to Maxwell’s grave since I didn’t know where it was. The only reason Donnie knew was because he used to be with Max's old crew and I should’ve known since he was my Cov-Bruv... I still should, but I never could bring myself to say goodbye to the only real family I have mostly good memories of...

  Not much of a chance now, and that's my own fault. At least I know I'm not a psychopath with the responsibilities I always feel like I'm shouldering.

  I thought of how I'd met Max and chuckled to myself while sipping on the bottle in the bag, remembering the times we used to drink after a job (Quickdraw, How Ya Feel?, and Eraser, mostly), the times we fought and got over it, and even some of the tarts we tag-teamed. Yeah, I was a little slutty and still am, but I've kept it kosher the past few months and haven't even really tried to go after anyone lately. It just never felt the same after he was gone nad wasn't by my side. The time he'd been shot down four times in a row when we went bar-hopping in Bristol (Strollers call it Gollum) popped into my head and I had to take a second during my walk to wipe away a happy tear. He'd blown four sure-fires I'd set up for him and I ended up taking two of them back to their place. It was a decent enough night, but when I got home he was a sour, crunchy cunt for days. As Charmy as he'd been, the guy was never much of a lady's man, but that was probably because he wasn't as good as lying or pretending as I've always had to be. Not things to be proud of and I recognize it... There just isn't much 'Honesty is the best policy!' in Wiltshire. Still, I kept it straight with my clients and with the people who would appreciate it for what it was worth. I just couldn't wait to move out and actually have a real chance to be a decent guy.

My day was some kind of fucked as I meandered around the alleys, ducking into the odd alcove or just leaning against a wall for a little bit to help me feel a little better. Sipping from the bottle helped. It’s only been a couple of years since I lost my brother, but it’s almost been a decade since my parents died and I still can’t bring myself to mourn my Dad. I miss him, yeah, though I feel like the doormat got a raw deal in the first place. Dad was a good man, but Babs... ? I still kept my father’s wedding band and wore it on a leather cord around my neck since my old man had some mastodonian hands, and I still have the black ribbon my egg-donor gave me before she croaked. The ribbon was more of a tool for her than an accessory, but when you’re a junkie, I guess anything that does the trick does just that... God, I'm glad she's gone, but that's probably not the right thing to say...Never did want to go down her path, but I came damn close to it back when I was younger. Younger, dumber, and eager to get a whiff of candy. Those days are long gone, but bad memories always do linger a little longer than the good ones.

I tied my hair back with the ribbon and tried to remember something happy about those years, the Wacky Warehouse thing being the main one when 'Mum' was too fucked up to even go. Dad and I got to do whatever we wanted for hours until we got called back home. He got a beating and took mine too... All because he wanted me to have a good birthday. Yeah, I had respect for the man, but when you're married to someone abusive and can't move on...? Death is a mercy, I'd say, even if I hate admitting it. I had to get out of my head after I said a little prayer to Dad for good luck and safety in the coming days, so I got out of the alleys since the moon was getting high with Midnight rapidly approaching the icy winter dusk. The hours after the moon's peak are when you tend to get rolled. I might not be the biggest fellow out there seeing as how I barely managed to get to a hundred and seventy-seven centimeters, which I think would be around five-eight or five-seven in Imperial measurements. It’s not like I don’t know them, it’s just that the metric system is the best system, Goddammit! It doesn’t help that I barely weigh sixty kilos on a day where I’ve been choking down whatever I could get my hands on at one of the buffets in town. Hell, last time I went to the Doc's office, the bastard had the nerve to try and get me a dietician. I eat fine when I have the money for it, I just have a high metabolism... And I like drinking on an empty stomach. I'm not an alcoholic; I'm a functioning drunk.

I had to cut through a few more alleys to get to the west side of town again and once I got to my safehouse, I cracked open my special bottle of bourbon and got my slosh on for a few hours until my client was due message me. The burner that I made all of my clients go through usually just needed a boosted SIM with registration, so paying cash kept everything clean. My flip phone might have been basic as fuck but it got the job done, and smartphones generally aren’t worth the extra money anyway unless you’re using one to get slaws on Snapchat, Instagram, or whatever other piece of social media that the average person spend their time on. Speaking of time, when the day rolled over and four a.m. passed by, I called it a night. I was a little pissed that bacon-brain Oscar hadn't called, but then again I was a little grateful to retire to the dilapidated office that had still kept some of its insulation over the years. I had a hammock set up, a few solar powered lanterns that I charged in the mornings, and more solar batteries that you could shake a stick at. Everthing was charged, so I hooked up my MP4 to my speaker and let Lianne La Havas help me dream of Green and Gold. With the night ready to be ended, I tossed another blanket into my hammock since it was pretty cold and it’s not like I had anywhere else to go or anything. After rolling and getting comfortable, I actually managedf ot let the alcohol take me under and got some decent rest, but the nightmares were still there and I woke up once or twice before falling back asleep. It took some time to get used to them, but I'd gotten into the habit of 'breaking' dreams and could even get lucid every now and again.

… I don’t know what the Hell I’m doing. I guess this is where I should just add a page break or something and pick up with the bullshit yesterday held… Then again, I should probably write about who I actually am, just in case I lose my mind or some shit. Not that it isn't entirely possible that I haven't. To make it plain, the name’s Gadai. Kaid Gadai. Stirred, not shaken, just for the record. Honestly I like the seperation and the individual flavours, but now I'm going too far. I’ve always been on the slim side, despite me trying to put on some weight so I don’t get fucked with nearly as often, so future me, don't worry about being buff or anything. Shit’s just not meant to be, but I can try, right? Let’s see… Well, if you haven't guessed by now, amnesiac Kaid, then let me write down that we steal stuff. It’s my/our job. I file taxes on the shit I steal. No kidding.

Okay, I was kidding. I was (Or we are? Whatever.) actually so far down on the totem pole that I’m practically invisible. If I was stone-cold or a admin-type instead of a plucker, I’d be a force to be reckoned with, but I’m not really all that into hurting people for money. I also can't really sleep after I fuck someone over, especially if I know that they didn't do anything to deserve it other than fall for a con. Vindication? Cool. Personal affront? Go for it. Someone’s paying to have Johnny Anyman's legs because he didn’t pay back a debt? Nah, I’m all kinds of good on that. Gotta go fuck someone up for playing it by the book? For following the law? Nope, no can do. I might be a guttersnipe, but I’m a guttersnipe with morals. No killing, no rolling (These days), no thuggery in general. Yeah, I'm not a good person, but I'm not a violent person unless I have to be, and these days? I don't really have to be. I wasn't content with my place as a thief, but with the thousands of pounds I had saved up in my bank I was well on my way to getting back into school so I could stop being complacent with being homeless, jobless, and most days when I wasn't willing to spend, friendless.To be honest, I didn’t care where I laid my head, but I wanted a real job with a steady wage and I’d like to have a few buddies to hang out with that wouldn’t try to pass me powder or roll me, both of which are commonplace in my little slice of Heaven. No, I preferred to keep to myself most days unless I was on the hunt for a bite to eat or something to do, but...

Yup, that reads pretty well to me. I mean, I think it’d jumpstart my memory, if nothing else so far would have. Hopefully the normal parts of this don’t remind me too much of the crazy bullshit going on when I go back over it.

I woke up the next morning and grabbed a change of clothes before heading to the shelter so I could catch a quick shower, though Doris, one of the women who stay and work at the shelter for a living to keep off the streets, tried to get me to stick around again. I know that the woman has the best intentions at heart, but Doris only blew into town two, maybe two and a half years ago. Back when my egg-donor died seven years ago, I came to the shelter first because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I almost got raped twice in one day by two different adults who knew they’d get away with it, but when your own home environment is pretty hostile, you tend to get good at giving people the slip. Nuts where whacked and bollocks were attacked, and I eventually stopped running when I found the church with a broken window. It never hurt that I’ve always been light on my feet, but paranoia itself has kept me alive so far. Those two things got me out of the shelter in the middle of the afternoon, and when the second creep came after me, it got me out at three in the morning. Ever since then I’ve refused to go back for more than necessary hygiene or a bite to eat at night. Call it bad luck or my shitty town. I say it's because I'm boyishly cute with a touch of roguish charm, but when I was twelve? Mostly just an easy, skinny target.

Once I was good to get my day started, I left the shelter and hoped that a client would come by and have a word since I was wearing a green shirt, which meant that I was looking for work. It’s something that a lot of thieves do, wearing solid green shirts, that is. My favourite jacket wasn’t green, but it was too cold to go without it so I had to hope that the thirty quid in my wallet would last until I could get a decent mark. I mean, I had a few thousand pounds and some change at the church, though I generally try to save what I get from picking pockets for emergencies. That, and what I got from jobs went into the bank when I could manage to slip in a small enough amount to avoid arousing suspicion.

I got lost in thought for a little while as I walked, but the impact from something or other smashing into my elbow made me hiss and jolt away. “Oi! You fuckin' tosser cock-gobbler piece a’ shit!” I whirled around and saw Officer Oscar, one of the sleaziest fucks around town.

Oscar gave me a grin and hit his palm with his billy-club a couple times as he chuckled like the cock he was. Fat bastard. “‘Ello ‘ello, Klepto Kaid. Knew I had me the right twink when I saw that jacket a’ yours.”

I glared at him. “You forget to call or something, lard-arse?”

“Is it in the drop spot?” Oscar asked quietly.

“Yeah, it’s all kosher. Pay me.” I demanded, lying my arse off. You never gave me a drop point, rarted fuck.

“Ah, ah, ah! I can’t pay a criminal!” Oscar guffawed like he’d cracked the best of jokes.

“Pay me or I tell Graham about the last two schoolers you had do you 'favours'.” My no-bullshit tone made my pissy client shut the fuck up.

Oscar grabbed his wallet and paid me four hundred quid. “Just takin’ the piss with ya, bruv. You know how it is.” He chuckled nervously, his pedophile mustache suiting him perfectly.

I gave him a bored look. “You were gonna stiff me and stick me, plus this is only half if you don't count the bonus. You owe me. Know damn well that I have more dirt on the force than just about every other person in Wiltshire other than Sammy, so keep that in mind. The only reason we even do business is because it’s profitable.”

Oscar glowered at me. “Hands together. You’re under arrest, twink.”

I gave him a dull look. “These power trips are super cute, love.”

His face flushed and is third or fourth chin started wobbling like mad. “Shut up ya dozey git! We got shit to do!”

I let him fasten the handcuffs just like he did the last time, and yet again he made them tight enough to suck. “As much as I’m loving the cuffs, can we get a fuzzy blue set later?” I asked cheekily. "Didn't Michelle ask for a set anyway?"

"You leave my wife out of this!" Oscar clubbed my back, but what he didn’t realize was that my favourite pair of light-boots were composite toes. One swift snap kick to the crotch later and I was waiting for Oscar’s face to turn from bright red back to a ruddy pinkish shade. “Fuckin’ little- Cunt!” He mewled.

“Hit me again, Oscar. Fuckin’ test my patience,” I snarled.

He picked himself up off the ground. “That was a dirty move ya filthy animal!”

“You’re twice my size, and that’s an understatement you lard-blooded lout.” I replied flippantly, the sum of my respect for him and his authority on the table then and there. I don't hate the fuzz in general, but Oscar? Shit-tier to say the least.

Oscar didn’t say shit since I started walking without him. Fat fuck needed the exercise any way since he couldn’t fit in the Rozzer Rollers anymore. Hell, the only reason that his morbid obesity hadn’t gotten him fired was because he had dirt on Graham. Shit was the only reason, and I made sure to remind Slop Suckler that the only things he was actually allowed to do was pick on the pluckers and taunt the cutthroats. I knew for a fact that Oscar’s days were numbered since he’d fucked up and made Slick Sagiano so pissed off that he cried because he was just that angry. Slick’s not exactly dangerous, but his brother? Whole different story, and I was willing to bet that Oscar’s family was going to go missing too. It might sound cold of me to dismiss the death of his kids and poor hamplanet wife, but it wasn’t my problem. You don’t fuck with someone else’s business in Wiltshire unless you’re their partner. That’s it. You can let family handle your business or you can let your crew do it, but you can’t let an associate or an acquaintance do much. That, and I hate Oscar. Guy’s a piece of shit, and like I said; his worries ain’t my thing.

We made it to the Cop-Shop without either of us getting hit again, and by the time Oscar got me sat down for the ten minutes I was going to have to stay there for. There were plenty of reasons to be worried when one was usually in my position; taken by a crooked cop and led straight to the station? Walking- Knowingly walking into an arrest? I did it because I could crucify the mayonnaise-sweating swine-flu-carrying gutter-rubbish that brought me in. Oscar never did like living with the law, even though the bastard did his damndest to abuse his side of it.

When my ten minutes were up and Oscar hadn't returned to collect me, an Indian fellow who smelled like curry I (Surprise, surprise) was seated where a skinhead had been. At least he smelled better than the odiferous Neo-Nazi. At least the guy who smelled like mild curry had some decent cologne on, even if it was a bit thick. I just assumed that Neo-Nazis were incapable of functioning at full capacity since most of the ones I’d met were some special kind of spastic. I mean, you’ve got to be some kind of stupid to hate millions of people of the actions of a few, and you’ve got to be an actual retard to be racist without ever having held a real conversation with someone darker than a Nabisco cracker. I say that you lose the mental handicap when you come to your senses and realize that it’s literally impossible for a race to all act the same, have the same tastes, or perform the same actions.

However, Curry Guy made me want to be racist. “‘Ello Gov-nah!” He said in one of the thickest Indian accents I’d ever heard.

I gave him a look. “When’s the last time you actually heard a Brit say that shite, mate?”

“Pip pip, cheerio!” He gave me a shit-eating grin.

"... You got a-"

In the shit-tierest of accents I'd heard since the time a group of... Kentuckians, got to my slice of England's pie... "Moi name is Chauncy!"

I returned it. “Where’s your mother, Chauncy? Got any sisters left in your open-street-shitting piss-pot hellhole godforsaken land of the damned? I bet they’re getting raped right now and there’s not a thing you can do about it because you’re here. With me. Sup, bruv? How's your day going?”

Curry Guy shut his fucking mouth.

“That’s what I thought, dot-knot.”

“... Do not call an Indian that word, my friend.”

“You’re the first to give me a reason to, mate. I think we ought to let there be silence.” I replied calmly.

“Silence is good.” 'Chauncy' said, sounding somewhat pissed. Not enough to bring out his magic rice and curry powder, but he was still salty.

Thirty more minutes passed as I fucked around in general, making faces at people, hitting on male cops, asking for measurements from the lady ones and generally just making an ass of myself. I had a few cops stop by and ask me how I was doing and I gave them the same amount of respect they gave me, so it usually turned out okay. I knew a few of the younger cops from school and a few of the older ones from my childhood, so the Wiltshire Constabulary knew me pretty well. Never had a charge stick, though. Well, not one for Larceny, I should say. I did catch that public indecency back when I was seventeen...

And we're ignoring that. I get sidetracked, back to the task. While I was talking to Rooney, an older fellow that transferred in from Amesbury because his wife wanted to move closer to her parents, Oscar waddled his way over to us. It was easy to see the contempt in Rooney’s eyes when he knew Oscar wasn’t looking, and that went for anyone who could smell the fuck. For as much as the Scot pretends to be a Brit, he’s Fat Bastard, and I know for a fact that the nickname isn’t limited to just the underground affairs in Wiltshire. RMS (Rapist Molester Shitstain) Titanic hit an invisible iceberg and stopped long enough to unchain my cuffs from the bench so he could lead me to a place that was not the great outdoors.

“Oi!” I whispered fiercely. “We’re going the wrong way, Oscar!”

He gave me a crooked, snaggletoothed smirk. “Didn’t know ya went stone-cold, Kaid. Glad to know I just brought in a serial killer.”

The blood drained from my face. “Aww fuck.” I breathed. “... I’m going to enjoy reading about you a week from now, Macfatarse. It’ll be a pleasure.” And I had the hookups to make it happen. Sammy and Dawgfukr were watching when I went in with Oscar. His arse?

Dead.

Lardarse snorted. “Being nice won’t keep ya from this one, Kaid. Ya done screwed the pooch real good.”

“You know when you put it out there that you snagged a plucker for being a cutthroat, you’re going to get killed in front of your family, right? Savage Sagiano, Big Bruv to my Main-Man Max, still rules Wiltshire from Gollum, Fat Bastard. You’ve just stuck your foot in the grave.”

Oscar scoffed hard, but he was sweating bullets, and it wasn’t from the warmth of the room. “What? So you’re suddenly one a’ Savage’s boys?”

I gave him a look. “Savage still calls to hire me because I’m one of the best pluckers in the South, mate. I might be his go-fer, but I’m damn good at what I do and he values Human. Capital. You already know that he has Graham in his pocket, so…” I chuckled. “You’re a little fucked, mate.”

Oscar backhanded me in front of three of his fellow officers, but he didn't get to do much more than that when Lady Lucille herself called out, “Fuckin’ oi! Oscar you fuckin’ worthless sack of cholesterol! That’s way the fuck outta line!” Roared Deputy Constable Lucille Wright. I bit back a smile because I knew that Lady Lucille had the clout to drop Oscar then and there, but then she said, “You know what? You’re fuckin’ done here! Badge, belt, baton. Now.”

It was so tasty to see Oscar’s face fall, and it was made even better by the fact that D.C. Lucille was known for being a teetotaling, devout Christian with a sense of justice stronger than Earth’s gravitational pull and the sun's warmth on a summer day. She was one of the good ones, which is why Oscar said, “L-Lucille! You gotta be takin’ the piss! This guy done massacred six a’ the most upstandin’-”

“Like a petty larcenist is about to turn stone-cold, you fuckin’ tosser! That kid’s dodged charges like they were fuckin’ snails with battleaxes! I’ll prove that you set this little fuckface up one way or another if you’re not dead before then.” She spat. “Now get your shit and give. It. To. Me. Do you need me to repeat it again? Have all of those chips and crisps you never stop eating lodged into your tiny fuckin’ brain?” Lucille growled.

Oscar was a special kind of salt ridden, living the Salt Life as he begrudgingly gave up the tools he’d been carrying for years. All over one little slip up in front of the wrong woman. Kek. When the Deputy had his shit, she passed it off to one of her subordinates. “Get those back to the Kit Cage, Williams. Cooper, escort shithead out. Kaid... “ She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you a plucker or a cutter?”

“Hypothetically speaking, if we’re just talking about what I could actually deal with, then I’d have to be a plucker, Deputy. I don’t have the heart to kill someone on purpose.” I answered truthfully.

She nodded. “Wilin’ to take a polygraph on that one?”

“Yes Sir.” I responded dutifully.

“Do I look like a man to you, kid?” Lucille snarled.

“No Ma’am.”

“Do I sound like a proper fuckin’ lady to you?”

“... I know you won’t hit me for saying something stupid, but I’m not willing to risk it,” I answered carefully.

She patted my cheek patronizingly and smirked at me. “Getting smarter by the minute. Hopefully you’ll wisen up and get on the right side of the law one day.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her. “Sir slash Ma’am, mix those together, but anyway; I’m saving up so I can go to college so I can go do something with the life I got. Hypothetically speaking, if I were a plucker, then I could imagine myself getting tired of the lifestyle before I hit eighteen.”

Lucille shook her head. “You gonna tell me who raised you yet? Or where the fuck they are?”

“Not quite, and away.”

“You realize you can trust the cop who just fired the guy who’s been blackmailing you and beating you, right?” She asked irritably.

I glanced around us, and we had a few wandering eyes. “Deputy, I’m paranoid. You could always have eavesdroppers,” I paused for a second, “so if you want to talk, we can head to one of the interrogation rooms.” I ended quietly. “I owe you one, so you get three questions. I’ll answer them honestly as long as you’re not trying to honeypot me into a confession for a crime I didn’t commit.”

And I meant it too. I never worked with the law when they were doing the usual stuff, but I knew a good one whe I saw one and Lucille? Not only was she a good ally to have at the moment, but she would be a fantastic one down the line and there was nothing anyone could do to convince me otherwise. When she fixed me with that hard, straight stare-down I met her gaze readily and only fidgeted a little. To my defense, she's both taller than me and a legend from back in her bar brawling days before she cleaned up her act, but even then she'd usually just beaten up guys who didn't know that 'no' meant 'non', 'uimh', 'nahin', and 'nihil/nullus'.

As she came to terms with what she wanted from me (It wasn't sex, I think), she bargained for less than I was willing to give. “I want two questions and a small favour.”

“Three questions.”

“I can always leave you in a cell for a couple of days since you’re being charged,” She deadpanned.

“What was that favour again?”

Lucille snorted in amusement and had me lead the way to one of the luxurious suites with cement walls, rigid chairs, and a frigid table. I took the seat furthest from the door because I was pretty sure that I was supposed to. “Oi, do I need to chain you down for this?” She asked once I was seated.

“Nah, you’d kick my arse to Glasgow if I tried some shite. It’s not worth the broken bones or fractured anything,” I replied, adequately conveying my feelings.

“Cheh,” It’s the noise she made, I swear, “keep that in mind. First question; who the bloody fuck gave birth to you?”

I frowned. “Babs Grace and Kincaid Gadai.”

She nodded. “I remember Babel. We went to school together.”

“She must have been a real treat,” I spat bitterly.

Lucille levelled a lethal look at me for a moment before heading out of the room. She came back in seconds later, slamming the door behind her. “Your mother was the one who got my brothers clapped out and iced up. That cunt fuckin' owes me blood, so where exactly did she run off to?”

My lip curled. “Nowhere in particular. Probably Hell, with any luck on our part. Really, she's not worth the fury anymore.” And something told me that Lucille had already known what I'd just told her, which was why I wasn't going to count it as a question. Yet.

The Deputy sucked air in through her teeth. "What happened to her?"

"Passed away. She OD'ed or something of the sort. I just know I was sad about it for a little while, but that little while passed before the day was over."

“Right. So what happened to your father?”

“He’s away.” I answered.

She rolled her eyes. “So we’re back to that bullshit?”

I shrugged. “You bartered for two questions and I gave you, like, three.”

“Tch. And here I thought we shared a common enemy.”

“We do, it’s just that our common enemy is dead and I’m about to get lynched for some shit I don’t know about. What am I even being charged with right now?”

“Six counts of premeditated homicide,” Lucille said bluntly.

“... Fuck me!” I groaned. “Why the hell ll would I kill six people? Actually, why the hell am I a suspect in the first place? I don’t even live in town!”

Lucille gave me a flinty look. “We both know it’s a setup, kid. You got too much monotone postage on every dirty rozzer one way or another, and I’m willing to bet that’s why you’ve never had a charge stick.”

I raised a brow. “I’ve never had a charge stick because I’m an innocent kinda guy.”

“You’re fulla shi-” The door to the interrogation room was flung open with force and in strode the Chief himself; Alexander Graham. Lucille snapped to attention. “Sir!”

Chief Graham gave her a passing glance. “You can leave now, Deputy.”

“Sir, I-”

“That was a pleasant dismissal. The next one has you checking alleys solo Hallow's Eve” His tone was sub-zero, and there was little that would have made me speak up at the moment..

Lucille gave me one last look and gave me the up-nod, but I couldn't return it since Graham was glaring at me as she left. “... So… I’m pretty sure I’m being framed.” I said awkwardly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Graham smirked. “It’s about time Oscar did something useful. Having him make you do a daylight run was priceless when it came to getting a warrant for your arrest.”

I inhaled slowly and let it out slowly. “I’ve never fucked with you and your lot, Chief. It's known that Gecko doesn't take jobs on Rozzers, so what’s this really about?”

“Tying up a loose end is all,” He replied ominously. “There's a lot that has been noted of you during your trips to the doctors, Kaid. A lot of people are very interested in you for a few reasons, but it's mostly your blood. I won't waste my breath explaining it to you, but not only can I potentially put you down. Oh no, I can also possibly make you into a very valuable person..."

"... I beg your pardon?"

Graham beamed at me. "Oh, didn't you know? Your blood type is AB-O negative, Kaid Gadai. You, my friend, are quite the little mutant~ Your blood is very receptive to certain... Shall we say, transformative mutagentics?"

"... Shit." I breathed. "Graham, look, you got it all wrong-"

"Oh, Kaid, how I do not. You, my friend, are about to be the first of your kind to ever walk the Earth, or you'll die like the rest of my little subjects. You know the reason you've been allowed to walk free for so long is because it's not guaranteed that you'll survive, right? Actually, I'm kind of just hoping to change you, break you in, and get some millions for my little side-project. It just so happens that you're what's known as a human catalyst, and your kind? Very, very profitable. Here's hoping that little arse of yours can handle what I have in store for you. If you live long enough, that is." He chuckled darkly.

"Graham, I don't know what you're on about, but I can make you money! I can rake in the quid! Hell, help me out and I can make you more than whatever the fuck this is! I fuckin' swear! You can't just-"

"Hm? Oh, I can. I can and I will." He turned toward the two-way mirror. "Dr. Svikari? Your presence is needed.”

I gave Graham a panicked look before a rail-thin, rat-faced man in a tacky Mod-Scene suit strolled in with a metallic looking briefcase. I got the fuck out of my chair and set into my ‘Flight’ stance rather than the ‘Fight’ one, but Graham, being over two meters tall and about eight stone heavier than me, just stood in front of the door while Rat Face opened up the briefcase, diverting his attention just long enough for me to make Flight 'Fight'. There was a lot going through my mind and a little bit of it was rational. The look of sheer joy on Grahams face made me doubt that I was seeing things right, but it didn't matter in the moment. I leaped across the able and smashed Rat-Face in his rat-face with my elbow, a nasty crack sounding as I drove my full weight into the blow. It was good enough, but the fuckers' eye popped out. Landing on the guy with a dangling eye, dropped in the hellish nightmare as I was, I ripped one out of its socket and drove my fingers into the other because... I don't know... An eye for an- No, that's... I probably actually...

Sadly. I didn’t get off of the screaming-mimi before I felt a needle get jammed into my neck like I was a fucking pincushion, and whatever the fuck was in the syringe burned as it went it and felt like it was roasting me from the inside out. Rat Face and I screamed together for a little until Graham threw me off of him and into the table. I took a nasty knock to the noggin which voided my utility payments immediately, so to speak. Either way, the lights were out.

  I don’t know how long I was out, but I do know that my day was shit tier. It was officially worse than using Jigglypuff with no Rest in Melee, and it was looking like it was devolving rapidly into a fucking trash-heap of whatever animal poo happens to be smelliest. My head was killing me, my spine felt stiffer than a fourteen-year-old at the Playboy Mansion, and it hurt to look at the dank, morbid place I was inhabiting for the time being. The dim light overhead told me that there was no fucking way that I was still in the police station, and looking around the room made me want to not look at anything. Fear caressed my heart with its nails, leaving slight gouges in the soft flesh that made my chest hurt and my breathing quicken exponentially. I started hyperventilating when I thought of the wall of sexual objects and I knew I recognized one of those toys as a urethral probe, but when I blinked and stared, it turned into a wall of tools, then a wall of needles and other things. I couldn't tell what was real and what wasn't, tripping through terror as I was. The sheer level of fear ans stimulus entering my mind made me try and throat up, but I could barely breathe. It was... It was horrifying to be tied up again, and this time there wasn't so much as a single sexy-ish Granny in sight. I really missed the Golden Gal Gang at the moment and wished they'd just killed me when they were through with me way back whenThe shit was debilitating, and none of what I saw in front of me made sense...

I busied myself with looking at the ceiling, counting the tiles over and over again, praying to a God that I’d tried to have faith for only to give up hope when Graham still strolled through the entrance to the room. He had the metal briefcase that Rat Face had placed on the table in the interrogation room, and yes I did over-explain that just so I could rhyme. Deal with it. Graham smiled at me for a long time. I don’t know how long since there was no way of telling the time in the room, and much to my dismay, Graham stopped standing in one place and went to go open the case on a table before lifting a syringe from its walls. The bastard had to be thirty centimeters long overall, and half of it was all needle. The glowing, swirling, silver and gold liquid inside of the syringe defied the laws of fluid dynamics which I’m not really familiar with to be fair, but when you’ve got the two liquids settling into vertical, horizontal, and diagonal lines, I think it's safe to say something's not right. The fluids also crisscrossed and formed jagged, sharp-looking shapes all in the span of fifteen or so seconds. That means everything I just described, not just the latter.

“Kaid, we have a problem." His voice boomed in my head like he was talking directly to my mind itself. "You see, Dr. Svrikari might be a blind fool, literally now, but he practiced his craft well. You just stole the eyes from one of the most brilliant minds on the face of the planet, but that’s not where our problem lies. No, not quite. The bad little boy that you are broke one of my toys. Svrikari was one of my favourite pieces to play and now we have to hope that he can have a transplant, which means you’re all mine and mine alone…” Graham chuckled darkly and approached me, but I was unable to move. “This little experiment is more important than you could ever know, and if you live through it, you’ll be the first man to… Well, if this works, then it just means you’ll be mine for a little bit longer than you bargained for. It won't be too bad, I assure you. You'll just wish I'd killed you when we start. Oh, and one more thing...” He chuckled again and unbuckled the belt on his trousers. making my mind go wild at the implications. Instead of hitting me with it or doing something like a normal person, Alexander Graham held the needle high and pressed the tip into my chest. "You won't die from this before I get off in you a couple times. If you survive... Well then, you'll have the privilege of servicing me until I get tired of you. Then you'll go to the next person. And then then the next. And the next, and the one after that... So on and so forth~"

He beamed at me and slowly drove the needle into my chest, centimeter by centimeter. I couldn't scream or move anything other than my head. I couldn't breathe after a while and I hoped that the void would take me; that I'd be released from my nightmare and that Graham would be wrong from the start. I prayed for a quick death when he pressed the plunger down and the pain started all over again, tearing me apart from the inside out... It was... Shit. No. I don’t want to write it down… It…

It just...

Goddamnit...

I woke up in pain with my mind reeling and my mouth tasting like bile, but I was happy with where I was from the first inhalation. I was face down in moist dirt, all of my limbs were attached to me, and the pain was fading quickly as I rose, pushing myself up off of the ground so I could take stock of the memories I was repressing. They were being swallowed nicely along with all the others, and when I took a look around to see where the fuck I was, I realized that I was hot. It wasn't the season for hot, moist dirt, and there was nowhere in England that would have been properly heated for it unless it was some kind of terrarium or greenhouse. Winter was still going strong if memory served me correctly. However, in the subtropical forest I found myself in, there was no sign of Jack Frost or his Guardian friends. There were no telltale signs of sentient life either, so I got to my feet, checked myself one last time, and found that I was wearing my jacket again, my favourite pair of denim trousers. I also saw that my boots were back along with my dirk and throwing knives, and I was wearing a blue shirt that I’d gotten rid of years ago because it had gotten too raggedy. Somehow it was now in decent condition, which told me that I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, Toto. Looking around told me that I was somewhere in a jungle, or maybe a tropical forest that was lush with the nonsentient kind of life, which kind of struck me as a bad thing.

My luck had spiked only to bottom out when I realized that I had no survival skills nad it seemed unlikely for me to run into a friendly bunch of Tribals that weren't going to shoot me with arrows or give a guy the ol' folky poke with some spears. No, I wasn't looking forward to that, but with a little luck that seemed to be trickling my way, I could get out of the forest/jungle and into a city far away from Swindon. I didn't know where I was, but I sure as fuck wasn't missing my home or any of the people therein. It was nice to be alone for once, but that also brought up a lot fo the bad thoughts that I choked down. After picking a direction that seemed to be downhill, I followed a path until I heard the sound of running water. It would've been nice to wake up next to the aforementioned water, but it's not like I would've sipped from the stream, no matter how thirsty I was.

The first thing that surprised me was how… Well, when I started paying more attention to my surroundings, the air smelled fresh, even if it was overlayed with decay and foresty smells. There were flowers of all kinds of crazy colors and orientations that I saw on my way to the river, though I was pretty sure that none of them had ever come up in my casual reading during my downtime. When I got to the source of water, the river itself smelled like bottled mineral water. It was probably pure and clean, or as close as any water on Earth ever got. If there ever was such a thing as immediately potable water, the river in front of me probably had it. However, I know far too well what’s in the Thames since I’ve seen a few body dumps while on a stroll, so I just had to deal with my thirst since there was nothing I could do about it.

I started following the rvier down stream when I heard rather than saw a disturbance in the rapids. It was unsettling nad made me start heading away from the sound, but before I could get away from the water, a fucking massive, more than giant, enormous Goddamn river serpent just popped the fuck up out of the water like Leviathan and towered over me a toothy grin. I didn’t lose control of my bladder, but I may or may not have squealed little bit in surprise. It was a manly kind of squeal, but it was still squeaky and made me wonder what kind of drugs were in my system. It’s not every day that a thirty-meter long snake-thing just rises out of the water you were thinking about drinking, dysentery be damned. The serpent rose from the water with a stretch of its tiny arms, which I assumed were vestigial since he was a fucking snakey snake.

“Ah goood mo~rning!” The twinkiest of twink voices called out to me.

I was pretty sure that it was coming from the thing in from of me. I didn’t know how to respond. A lot of things ran through my mind in that moment. A good deal of 'fucks' were thrown out of the window and I wondered if I could avoid an ego death if I gave into the trip, so I said, “Wotcher, mate. Good morning to you too.” Am I going to die?

The serpent tilted its head down and looked at me with something in its eyes that I’d just seen from Graham. Lust. “Well aren’t you just a cutie! Tell me, cutie pie; what’s a sweet little ape like you doing running around near my river, hm?”

“Uh… Looking for a way to the closest town?” I tried anxiously, hoping that I wasn’t about to get turned into an onahole. or lunch. The lunch route was a faster, nicer death, so I kind of leaned toward looking tasty rather than sexy.

“Oh dear! That would have to be Ponyville, which you can find by following the river, dear monkey. Tell me, what’s your name?” The serpent batted it’s scaly eyelids at me like it was supposed to have eyelashes.

Okay. Okay, you don't eat things that have a name. That's one down. My brain told me to give it a fake name and some part of me wanted to go with Latin, so I snatched Max's nick and added some flair for safety. “... Name’s Max. Maximus Kinkaid, to be exact, but most people just call me Max.” I answered. It just seemed like the right thing at the time since I didn’t want the thing knowing my real name.

“Maximus you say? What a wonderful name! Why, my own name, Stephen Magnet, seems to pale in comparison!”

“Yours sounds better to me, oddly enough. Want to trade? You can call me Magnet,” I joked uneasily. This thing is gonna fuck me, I can already feel it. Welp, there goes my day. Wasn't too eager for it anyway.

The same-sexual super serpent snickered in the most stereotypically annoying way. “If only we could! Tell me, little cutie, would you mind doing me a favour?”

“... Depends on what it is-” I hesitated to call him ‘mate’ again, just in case he thought I was coming onto him, so I just cut myself off.

Stephen beamed with his not really all that scary teeth, though I only noticed that because I wasn't shitting my trousers. “I was just hoping that you could deliver a present to a friend of mine. Of course, I’d be willing to do you a favour in turn, like getting you to Ponyville.” He wiggled his brows. “Ah? Ah? Does that sound like a good trade?”

I didn’t know what the fuck or where the fuck Ponyville was supposed to be, but it sounded kind of American, though I assumed that because Magnet sounded American. Dear God, you've done jackshit for me so far, mate. Please. Lend a hand on this one. “Sure. I’ll do my best to hold up my end of the bargain. Never let it be said that K- Maximus doesn’t do his part.”

Magnet gave me a dirty look. “Were you about to say something else there, little monkey?

“Do you know what ‘Kid Wonder’ means?” I asked, covering my tracks. Don't-eat-me-don't-eat-me-don't-eat-me-

“Ah, I do! So you’re a bit of a braggart, are you?” Magnet’s skepticism was cast aside like the shell of a hardboiled reptilian egg.

“A little bit. What do you want me to deliver, Stephen Magnet?”

“One moment, please.” He dove underneath the water like I wished that I could and came back up with a shitty golden crown. I could tell that it wasn’t pure gold just by looking at it, and the construction was kinda sub-par. The gold alone was the only thing valuable about it, not the styling. “This is a gift for my dear friend, Miss Rarity of the Carousel Boutique. If you would be so kind as to take this to her for me, then I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Consider it done. If nothing else, I’ll consider it payment for not eating me.” I chuckled nervously.

Stephen rolled his eyes hard. “Do you even know how bad red meat is for my scales? I wouldn’t eat you if you paid me to, cutie pie. Jeez, talk about a moodkiller.

I breathed a sigh of relief and had myself a little chuckle. "Sorry about that, bruv, but you're a little bigger than me and I might be some kind of wasted right now. I don't think logic is-" I got swept off of my feet and got thrown through the air for a second or two which sound a lot like, "Shitting fuck!", but then I landed softly onto Magnet’s head.

“Skittish, aren’t we?” He commented cheerfully.

“Oi! That was terrifying you oversized skink!” I protested, making my voice sound more playful that scared. Christ almighty! Thank you, God. Thank you so much!

I thought I did terribly, but Magnet bought it. “Ah, oh well. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the ride as long as I don’t drop you."

"Speaking of, do you come around these parts often? And... Uh... Do you drink?"

"This whole river is mine, little monkey Max, and I don't really need to. I kind of get what I need from living in the water, you know."

"Ah... Fair point. Are there... Are there anymore big fellas like you in the river or...?"

"Oh, I'm the biggest thing in here, but there are plenty of nastly little raggamuffins under the water, so I'd suggest bringing a boat or getting really lucky if you ever plan on staying in the water for more than a few minutes. While I won't be offended if you come back, I will be rather upset if I see a bite or two taken out of you whenever we meet again."

"Oh. That's... Actually kind of nice of you, in a backhanded way, I guess. Say, have you ever had bourbon?"

"Hm? I don't know what that is."

I offered to show him some time and he agreed to let the little human bring a barrell of liquor to see if we could get him drunk. Stephen Magnet did not drop me throughout the ride and it was actually pretty smooth, even if he did snakey-snake through the river to move through it. Even when we got to the edge of the forest after a couple of hours, the conversation flowed and we got along pretty decently before the panic attack started to settle in, but I'd had plenty of time ot learn how to ward them off. However, doing so on top of a moving super-serpent was hard and proved to be a challenge I didn't want to face. We’d chatted about our lives for a little bit, though it’s not like it was terribly educational. Other than the obvious, I was convinced that I was, without a doubt, so fucked up. I'd never done any drug with a high that would make me hallucinate with so much clarity, but lo' and behold, I was chilling on a river serpent's head, enjoying the mid-summer breeze.

  After we had our conversation and I was done going through the list of drugs I could have taken, I said,“Thanks for the lift, bruv. I really appreciate it, but can you tell me where I am? Like, I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind and I’m just gonna roll with it, but where am I?”

Stephen let me hop off of his head before answering. “Why, just outside of Ponyville in the lovely country of Equestria! You’re not too far from Sadelle, Cloppings, or if you’re truly lost, you can take the train from Ponyville and get to Canterlot. The junction at Canterlot can take you back home, wherever that may be.”

“... I’ve never heard of any of those shitty horse puns, bruv,” I replied slowly.

Magnet tilted his colossal head and made a questioning noise. “You’ve never even heard of them? Where are you from, new little friend?”

I took a moment to be thunderstruck. “... I’m from a planet called Earth or Terra.”

“Earthorterra?”

“The names are separate, and I need a lie down for a spell.” I sat down on the riverbank numbly, crossing my legs and folding my hands.

Magnet came a little closer. “Are you okay, Max?”

“... I will be. I will be.” I said the first one loud enough for Magnet, the second one to console myself. Kaid, where the fuck are you, mate?

“... I’m terribly sorry to say that I don’t know how to help you, my friend. If you truly aren’t from Equus, then I can only hope that you find your place once more.”

“Thanks, bruv. I’ll figure something out,” I answered, my resolve firming up as my generally adaptable nature slapped my arse cheeks at the same time to put some pep in my step. “I’m not about to let this shit get to me, so I gotta take it in stride, right? One foot in front of the other until I make it to where I wanna go!” I ended by laying on the ground so I could kip up, nailing the move since I'd practiced it a thousand and a half times

“That’s the spirit, Maximus! Onward and upward!” Magnet cheered.

“Oi, thanks for the help again, Magnet. I’ll have to see if I can be friends with your Rarity so we can come back and visit sometime.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be happy to add another friend to her circle! Really, when you do meet Rarity you’ll have to have her introduce you to her friends. They’re all perfectly cute for being feminine, but the important part is that they’re generally pleasant.”

“Are they all tarts?”

“Does that mean fillies or mares?”

“... Mate. Please tell me that those girls kinda sorta look like me.”

Stephen gave me an odd look. “If you’d hurry up, you’d be able to see for yourself.”

“Right. Just head towards the town over there, right?” I asked, pointing at the distant, surprisingly vibrant place. It looked like it would take a fair amount of time to get there.

“Yep! Oh, and before you go, do remember to stay out of the Everfree from now on. Miss Rarity will take you to our usual meeting place, so don’t feel obligated to make the hazardous trek just to see little old me.”

“I’ll be sure to ask about it. I’ll be seeing you, bruv, and again, thanks for everything. I'll bring that barrell by when I can find one, or we'll get you drunk otherwise.”

“What does that mean? Bruv, that is.”

“Ah, it’s shorthand for ‘Brother’ or ‘Bro’, but it’s more of a British or an English thing. Mate means ‘Friend’, though it’s usually for guys.”

“Oh. What does tart mean?”

“It’s usually a word for a pretty girl.”

“Ah. I don’t believe I’ve heard the term ‘girl’ used for a female before.”

“I’m sure you haven’t heard ‘boy’ for a male yet then.” I sighed.

“Onward and upward my friend.” Stephen repeated comfortingly.

I gave him a lopsided grin. “Damn straight, bruv. Keep calm and carry on like a wayward son.”

“That’s an inside joke, no?”

“Yeah, kinda. It’s going to suck now that all of my references are meaningless,” I grumbled irritably. “Bullshit new planet.” I shuddered for a second before I got a grip. “Anyway, it was a pleasure to meet you, tall, dark, and friendly. If I can, I’ll have to see if we can get you drunk.”

“You mentioned that before, but I still don't understand the context.”

I grinned at him deviously. “You’ll see. It’ll be a great time.”

He gave me another smile. “If you say so.”

With that, I was off. There weren’t many trees blocking my view of the town, but it was still pretty far away, so I figured that I might as well lengthen my strides a bit as I tend to do when I want to get somewhere fast and not appear like I’m trying. The headway I was making actually turned out to be pretty good, and even though I was still wary of the forest, I felt a little better for knowing that there was talking creatures within that were willing to help a lost soul. It was emboldening in it's own right, and then I even found a cool stick that made for a good walker. It was a pretty adequate stick, if my stick judging skills are anything to go by. I don’t know a damn thing about wood other than the fact that you can make shit with it, so take my opinion with a tablespoon of salt under an ice cube.

When I got out of the actual woods instead of the pseudo-jungle that I’d previously occupied, I scoped out the town with a frown on my face. I already missed the greys and earth tones that covered Wiltshire and most of the surrounding towns just from looking at the horribly colourful place, but I wasn't missing Swindon itself at all. Fuck that place, fuck Oscar, and fuck Graham. The town looked like it had been doused in Rainbow Brite’s sick or like a child had gone crazy in MS Paint. I also likened it to a Leprechaun's permanent home under the rainbow and sapped the colour from the natural phenomenon. Yes, rainbows are literally just light reflecting off of water and dust in the air, but the Aurora Borealis has been explained too and the shit’s still cool to look at.

While I was taking in the slight hills and generally flat environment, I wondered where in the bloodiest of fucks I’d just ended up, even though Magnet had told me exactly where I was. There was so much going through my head all at onc,e but my most recent memories of home were fading as I choked and strangled them to the best of my ability, so I took a moment to think about what I wanted. I knew for a fact that I was probably starting at rock bottom all over again; that I wasn't going to have any of the shit I'd previously scraped and saved to back me up as I rebuilt my life. MY heart hurt something fierce when I thought about the thousands I had lost and the future I'd imagined crumbling beneath my very feet, though on the other side of the cloud where the silver-lining lay, I'd just met a mini-Leviathan and it hadn't eaten me. If I could survive Magnet without dying, then I was sure that life in general was going to be alright if I could get it to be.

When I had myself calmed down, I took the time to steel my resolve. I had a second chance and this time? This time I didn't have to worry about my shady past. This time, the memories of Swindon and its hellish underbelly were just that; things to be forgotten in time if I could manage. I took a deep breath and put my best, leftest foot forward and took the first step toward a new start in a world when 'girl' and 'boy' weren't common words, but English was a language all the same. I then put my second favourite foot in front of the left one and got out of the treeline. Then as I got out of the trees, I looked left, then turned my head to the right and just barely saw a light blue blur before it slammed into me.