The world was on fire. He could smell it, thick and utterly disgusting. Melting plastic as if someone was going around torching cyberlimbs in some morbid bonfire. For all Dexter knew they could be. It was dark he knew that much, didn’t need to check for an audio response for the exact time—he could feel the chill biting at him through thin drab clothes. Could feel the lack of sunlight, only even during the day when ventured beyond the confines of his apartment the warmth of the sun was bleak. Like there was a permanent smog over the city, buildings growing too tall to let the light stream down onto the streets or perhaps he just always walked in the shade. He had no idea.
Dexter knew that he’d get into trouble later though he’d left the damnable headgear that aided him behind, it was broken anyway, replacing the small plugs on either side of his head with realskinn coated covers. Left his cane behind too, he hated it. No, Dexter was counting his moderately paced steps with precision he knew exactly when to turn—43, 44, 45, his foot edged to the left hands finding the smooth familiar wall. Cold beneath his fingertips and slick, had it been raining earlier?
He pushed past those thoughts and carried on, the never ending count continuing silently in his head this path was well walked and it only led to his nearest convenience store. For each touchable landmark the count reset back to zero, it was a well-rehearsed and well-oiled dance. Eventually Dexter came across the store he’d been hunting after, the store owner seemed alarmed he could hear her shuffle from around the counter that purr of a voice smooth and melodic followed.
“Dex ain’t you seen the news?”
He gave a roll of his shoulders and pushed past her, hands finding the same candy bars that he always bought. Tossed a few eurodollars onto the counter as he groped his way out of the store. Frustrated that she’d knocked him out of sync. The woman was an exotic, he knew that much even if he couldn’t see her, he’d heard some kids whispering in her store once about it. He tried to piece together the visuals of the exotics he’d seen before and in his mind she looked like a cross between a humanoid cat and an alien. He was wrong on both accounts. Dexter never asked her not even on the occasional days that he just sat in her store eating no doubt a large part of her stock.
He silently wondered what she meant, he never checked the newscasts he found them dull and irritating. Their voices were nothing but noise to him. Perhaps it had something to do with the world being on fire, a slight subtle fleeting smile curved his lips and then it was gone. The world was always burning down here in the south so that was hardly newsworthy.
Dex had been lost in thought and mis-counted, turned too early and went down an unfamiliar path. He realized his mistake, the wall here wasn’t smooth it was covered in the gritty texture of graffiti, torn posters and grime, he turned with the intention of heading back onto the main road. Out of the narrow alley. He turned straight into them, he didn’t know how many there were, just that he didn’t have a hope in hell not without his headgear.
Perhaps Athena was right he thought grimly in those sparing seconds as he felt their warmth draw closer, could hear the faint leering as if they were nothing but dogs salivating over their prey. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so stubborn. A small fistful of eurodollars and a single candy bar—he’d already eaten the other. That didn’t seem like enough to satiate these men, women and Dex was reluctant to hand them over. Still he didn’t want to be pulped in some dark alleyway, wanted to go out in a burst of flames and code. To finally have the honour of someone being fast enough to catch him before he broke through their firewalls and turned them into nothing more than vegetables.
He was a runner alright, through and through, he lived for the thrill of it as much as he depended on it to pay the bills. Dex didn’t say anything, there was nothing to say, not even as one of them swung their fist at him—they were heavier than him, a fair deal of strength behind the punch. The fist winded him, he was doubled over coughing as if a bout of quick firing flu had caught him.
“You ain’t gonna fight?”
Dexter gritted his teeth if he knew where his opponent was he’d have curled his hands into the front of their attire pulled them down to the ground, where they belonged. But he was lost.
“C’mon we know you’ve got money, all we want.”
Liar, he thought if that had been all they wanted they’d have taken it already. He could hear one of them mutter something and then there was a cackle of laughter, one of them had noticed his spaced out stare that didn’t quite meet the sources of the voices squarely on the face. The faint fear that he was going to die in this alleyway held his eyes wide, he wondered if they thought he was high—better that way. They got bored of the game, or one of them did and Dexter was pulled into a sharp grip held there as they raided his pitiful pockets. He struggled but they only restrained him tighter, the cool touch of a cyberlimb prickled the hairs on his arm. Back pressed against that gritty wall. He was screwed.
It was times like these that Sam was endlessly grateful that he listens to the news. It was a side effect from wanting to keep up to date with everything ,well that and combined with needing to for his job as well as a curiosity complex that spanned his entire being.Usually it did little more than give him sources for articles to send in to his boss, and if he wrote it up and sent it in early enough he was usually praised for getting to the big story before the others. The bonus payment he got from those times were enough to keep him living somewhat comfortably, and Nicky living in luxury.
The news has never saved his life before, not like its practically done today. It gave him enough of a warning to keep him away from the main streets that the riots were on, he didn't dare go into the back streets, figuring he'd end up getting himself in trouble that he so desperately avoided. Or if not trouble like that then Nick would end up standing on something and hurting his paw or some shit like that. Something would happen anyway, was what he was trying to get at. Â
The riots were something he'd pretty much never even think of going near, if they were getting all funny about all that they were he dreads to think what they'd do to a skinny looking kid with a metal arm. Big scary dog or not he'd probably end up in one of the fires they were setting. Fires that he could smell from here. He just felt bad for Nicky, at least Sam could cover his nose, he was stuck smelling everything.
Honestly, he just wanted to run home to the safety of his living room, curl up and put anything but the news channels on, but that wasn't going to be an option for another twenty minutes at least. Remind him why does he decide to walk to work every day?
He's not paying an awful lot of attention to his surroundings, Nicky would do something if someone came too close or he felt something was off. This whole time he's been walking perfectly fine next to Sam, his leash loose enough that he practically didn't need one right then. Or it was loose. Till there was yelling that was just getting louder and louder.
He's not one for confrontation, exactly the opposite in fact. At one point he had a badge saying 'hugs not guns' till a co-worker laughed at it and he took it off and now has lost it god knows where. He's far from a hero too, a coward is more his speed. But letting someone get pummled to what even be death (or worse, the inbetween life and death stage he was once stuck at) wasn't something he was about to let happen.
Nick looked scary enough, he was a big dog, had some -cheap- but still protective bits of armor on him. Sam half joked that he was his little white knight sometimes. A few barks from him and the guys seemed to slowly stop what they were doing. He wouldn't embarass himself by telling them to get lost or something, he himself wasn't scary enough for that, but he did stand there, tilting his head away as the people yelled more insults, but seemed content enough to just walk away from the situation. Apparently going for 'that weird guy with the dog' wasn't worth it for them.
"Uhm...Hi? I ugh...I should have done more but im not really that scary..." He fakes a laugh, sounding more unconfortable than the relaxed style he was going for. His hand drifts down to the top of the dogs head, fingers curling in his fur and scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. "Want any help, Mr?"
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