The kitchen smells like burned toast and something vaguely chemical—maybe acetone, maybe doom. Kerry’s not entirely sure, but it’s definitely his fault. The linoleum sticks to the back of his thighs as he crouches barefoot in front of a half-smashed pedalboard, sweating from the neck down, shirtless, stained with sleep and cheap deodorant. His fingers dig through the guts of tangled wires like he’s mining for gold—or at least a distortion pedal that doesn’t sound like it’s dying of consumption.
Somewhere behind him, the energy drink he cracked open hours ago leans against an overflowing ashtray, both forgotten. A piece of toast (black on one side, raw on the other, somehow!) sits abandoned on the counter like a warning label. The apartment’s not so much lived in as survived.
He mutters under his breath—half to himself, half to the pedals—as he tries to remember if the one he traded for mushrooms was this one or the one with the red tape. Maybe both.
The kitchen is an actual war zone—there’s a smoking pan in the sink, two eggs he dropped on the floor like an offering to chaos, and the faint, ghostly wail of the fire alarm that gave up and went hoarse ten minutes ago. The whole room's fogged up like a steam room run by someone with a head injury.
He fans the air lazily with a paper plate and gestures vaguely at the stove, like that explains everything. “Was tryin’ to make breakfast,” he says, breathless and deadpan.
Summary: Despite the long work days, you have trouble sleeping at night. Some restless nights you head over to a river bridge in the undercity to smoke and clear your head. Little did you know that this river was of particular significance to an intimidating and stoic man with a glowing black and red eye.
Wordcount: 2k
Author’s note: I’m so close to turning this into a vampire!Silco fic (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)
Chapter One Link
Chapter Two Link
Chapter Three Link
AO3 Link
Chapter Four
The map of Kha’zhun ruins lay unfurled on the small table in your apartment, small stones set on the corners to keep the frayed edges from curling back in. You sat in the rickety chair next to the table, your leg bouncing as you mulled over the position you were in.
With a groan, you let your head fall into your hands, the heels of your palms rubbing into your eyes to keep the monstrous headache from growing. What had possessed you to accept a job from someone like that? On your knees too.
Strength. Growth… a voice murmured in the back of your head. You couldn’t tell if it was serious or mocking.
Lifting your head, you reached for the small notebook next to the map on the table. You leafed through its thin pages. On the last page was where you kept a tentative, incomplete list of supplies if you were actually going to make an expedition like this. Looking over the list, you racked up the charges of each item — you barely had enough to cover a third of the list as it was.
You moved from fidgeting to standing up and straight up pacing the meager width of your room.
You needed a job. One that paid enough to cover for at least rent, and food. Glancing at your open cabinets, you noted enough food for a week, two if you ate smaller portions. The money that your boss gave you before he kicked you out was tucked away under the floorboard beneath your bed, but the thought of using it for anything at all felt sour in your head.
As you turned on your heel to keep pacing, the shabbiness of the apartment suddenly became more than just noticeable to you. The heel falling off your left boot. The chair that creaked dangerously under your weight every time you sat down. The crack in the window that whistled cold air in the winter. It was a quiet desperation that you had learned to live with all your life, but right now it was suffocating. The looming eternity of it until your death.
You could find other work. It would be more factory work or, as your boss had suggested, sweeping floors and balancing books. It would be a pitiful wage either way. It would take at least a year of scrounging money together before you could get enough good supplies for a test run. You didn’t want to buy a shoddy rope and have it snap as you climbed down the fissure walls, looking for ruins and treasure that maybe didn’t even exist in the first place.
You gave a loud exhale of frustration that had your downstairs neighbor hitting the floor below you with a broom, the thin boards below your feet actually curving up from the pressure.
“Sorry Mrs. Keene!,” you yelled back.
With a sigh, you dropped yourself back into your chair. You settled your full weight into it and as you shifted, that's when you heard it. A splintering sound then snap. One of the chair legs gave way and you lurched back unevenly. You first crashed onto your right hip, followed by your temple slamming against the floor.
You rolled onto your back and stayed there, the broken chair still under one of your legs.
Bang! Bang! You felt something hit the boards underneath your back. Mrs. Keene, as reliable as ever.
Amid the throbbing pain in your head and the thuds of your neighbor's broom, Silco’s words bounced around in your brain as you stared up at the ceiling.
Take control of your future, huh?
You had accepted his offer, without asking questions, and he’d be expecting you at the Last Drop today to finalize the contract.
Groaning, you got up. Why did it always feel like it came down to the same two choices — a hungry stomach or a shady job?
Gingerly, you walked to the cabinets over the small stove and pulled out a clear bottle and a single, chipped glass. Pouring yourself a drink, you knocked it back, feeling the alcohol sear down your throat.
You hadn’t signed your name yet, meaning you could see what he had to offer first. If you didn’t like them, you could just walk away right?
Another pour. But you’ve also been doing the same thing all your life, keeping it safe, and look where it’s gotten you.
You knocked the second glass back and slammed it onto the counter.
Maybe it was time for a change.
—
The Last Drop looked almost the same. Entering, you could still imagine Vander, bearlike and friendly, coming out to greet you from behind the long wooden bar. You had only been to the Last Drop once, months ago, when you had come here to drink with some pals before your day off, but the place had definitely left an impression. That night the Last Drop had been packed to the brim with people, with their raucous laughter soaking into the walls and the air always simmering with the energy of an argument or a drunk song. It was where everyone could and would go to gather and talk and meet their old friends without fear of harm, as Vander kept a good eye on the patrons of the Last Drop and kept any real fight from blowing up.
Coming back here a second time, you wished you had visited more often.
Now the Last Drop was dead empty. No one tended the bar, and the circular tables and stools were unoccupied except for a few rough figures sitting at a table in the back. They eyed you as you walked in.
You couldn’t see any sign of Silco. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you hesitated before calling out to the group in the back.
“Hey uh,” you started. “Where can I speak to Silco?”
“What’s your business?” asked a voice above you.
You looked up to see a large, lumbering figure looking out from the banister on the second floor.
“A job. Silco told me to be here today.” He waved you to come up. When you stepped onto the second floor, you got a clear look at the black geometric tattoos that covered half of the man’s face, splitting his nose and mouth and wrapping to the back of his shaved head.
He was also massive. He gestured at you to raise your arms, and as he patted you down, you were sure his hand could circle your arm, thumb to finger if he wanted to.
When he didn’t find anything, he nodded at you. “Follow me.”
He led you to a pair of high double doors on the second floor and rapped on the wood. “Sir, the new hire’s here.”
The hair stood on the back of your neck as you heard that familiar voice.
“Come in.”
The guard opened the door, tilting his head at you to enter. The door shut behind you with a click and you found yourself on your own.
The room was hazy with cigar smoke. It made you itch for a cigarette but you realized you had left them at home.
Silco sat at a sturdy wood table, similar to the wood the bar and tables downstairs were made of. A lit candle on the windowsill and a plain desk lamp helped illuminate the dark room. Unpacked boxes were stacked along one wall next to you. You were surprised at how mundane it all looked.
“Good, you’re here. You can start today.”
You coughed. “Ah so about that Sil- Sir. You said you would have a contract? I’d like to discuss the terms.”
“You won’t be signing away your organs if that’s what you think,” he said, flipping over one of his papers without looking up.
You folded your hands behind your back to keep them from shaking. Setting your jaw, you spoke up, “the thing is… I’ve been screwed over by more than a few bosses. This time, I’d like to discuss the job first before I start anything.”
Silco’s pen stilled. He looked up from his papers to give you an appraising look before reaching for a different pile on his desk. Taking a sheet from the top, he flipped it so that it faced you. He gestured to the chair across from him. You walked over and gingerly, you sat down on the edge of the seat. Silco sat back in his chair to light a cigar as you reached over to pick up the paper and read it.
“Bartender?...” you said out loud. You couldn’t help the relief in your voice.
You looked over the paper again. The pay was more than reasonable. There was a blank line scrawled at the bottom of the paper, preceded by a large, spidery “X”.
“You’ll take care of the bar, any patrons, and lock up once hours are up. Until we find someone else, you’ll have to come every day from five to one but you’ll be more than compensated.”
At your silence, he raised an eyebrow. “Is something unsatisfactory?”
“No, no. The pay is great. I just thought I’d be helping with… other stuff.”
“If you’re interested in other stuff, you’ll have the chance.” Silco tilted his head back as he blew out a smoke ring. You could feel the smoke start to curl around you.
“Think of this as a trial period to get to know the others,” said Silco. “When we find a suitable job for you, that is, if you are still interested, you’ll be notified. It’s as you said last night, you’ll find that you can trust my judgment,” he said wryly.
At that, the memory of last night, of you kneeling in front of Silco, slammed into the back of your head like a metal bat. Heat rushed into your face and you instead looked down to stare at your shoes, willing yourself to cool down and focus. You mentally shook yourself. Don’t let him fluster you.
With your gaze still focused intently on your shoes, you heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and then steps around the desk. “It’s been a while since I’ve read “The Chemfather,” said Silco. “Unfortunately, there’s no time to read nowadays,” he said with a sigh.
Dark boots entered your line of sight, facing towards you, and you felt a warm hand gently tilt your chin up. Your eyes met one blue and one black with a spiraling red iris. Neither of you were in the cover of darkness this time. Under the warm light of the lamp, you could see his face more clearly now. The angle of the light emphasized the sharpness of his cheeks and his jaw, the dark, calculating slash of his brow as he looked down at you.
You were sure he was looking at you as intently as you were at him. When he spoke, you immediately fixated on the sharp teeth that flashed behind those severe lips.
“When you're tending the front, you can't look so submissive,” he said patiently. “Keep your head up. There are still a good number of people who are not happy with me taking over the Last Drop and you’ll find more trouble here than at other bars.”
When he dropped his hand from your chin, you kept his gaze. His face stayed neutral. You couldn’t read what he was thinking so you waited for what he would do next.
“Good. Do you have a weapon?”
Your mouth dry, you licked your lips. “I have a knife.”
His hand hovered in front of you, palm facing up. Understanding his gesture, you untied the knife at your side and placed it into his hands, your fingertips briefly brushing against his.
He took the knife out of its sheath. “It’s dull,” he said, as he turned it in his hand. “Do you have a sharpener?”
You shook your head.
“Ask Ran downstairs to use theirs. Tell them I sent you.” He sheathed the blade and handed it back to you. “Ask them to show you the supply rooms in the basement as well. Anything else you’ll need, you should be able to find under the counter.”
You nodded. “Yes Sir. Anything else?”
Silco tilted his head as he considered the question. When he glanced back at you, it was with a flash of something wolflike before his face settled back into its neutral expression.
“No. That’s all for now,” he said.
His lip tilted upward in what you recognized as a smirk.
in a few months, ghost mcdonalds will have existed for a full year
and my idea to celebrate is that me, bee, and twip, the gm executives, do a stream of drawing, games, and other stupid nonsense to commemorate ghost mcdonalds
an idea i also just now had is opening up a minecraft server with the ghost mcdonalds restaurant and serving the viewers who join ghost mcdonalds food
and then sing an... unknown song at the end probably
i don’t even know if we have enough fans to do something like this but again. hypothetical idea in a few months.
just wondering if anybody here would be interested to see something like that
