#p:bode

[onexye-blog]

Finding M-X | Bode & Q

  Life was a royal mess, but as had been suggested to him (or told depending on your point of view) he was scrubbing the plates clean now. The chance had nearly slipped through his fingers, prone to mouthy outbursts he’d nearly soiled it before he’d got the chance to show the cop his loyalty. He’d all but dropped to his knees and begged. Now he was back out on the streets, free, but freedom had come at a cost, as apparent by the cop that was trailing his every move as ‘back-up’, the gruff voice in his ear dictating where to put which foot. Still at the very least he wasn’t betraying a friend today, apparently just a lowly dealer.

  Walking through Northside was always tepid in his mind, narrow streets crammed to the teeth with illegal sellers of who knows what. It wasn’t as if Q was clean, far from it as his tangle with the cops had proved, but he didn’t dabble in megaware, illegal black market tech that was the kind of shit Vi and the other psychos experimented with. He had optics, sure, but they were fashionware and nothing like the kind of shit you could buy down here.

  “You sure they’re here? I ain’t see no mark.”

  These days all the dealers liked to differentiate themselves, a little backstreet marketing if you will, his cousin had always branded herself with a fluorescent lily. Q’s preferred dealer had the superman insignia flash tattooed on his arm, painted in neon ink onto the little packets and sometimes if the dealer was particular brave they’d hang up a sign—usually somewhere fairly inconspicuous. But hell, the city had always had better things to do than to chase after dealers (at least when they weren’t concocting ways to rob people blind).

  “What was it supposed to be? A Walrus? Bunny?” He muttered, quiet enough that it would only be picked up by the mic hidden beneath the giant coat he wore. Flared up with it’s usual miscreant imagery, today it happened to be two young women, gasping and moaning. He might be happy enough to walk around as the personification of vulgarity but at the very least Q didn’t have the sound on.

  He drifted past a noodle bar thrusting freebies out in between passers-by, he gratefully took a little white box with a mischievous quirk of a smile. There was no way that the fixer was going to pass up free food, he wolfed down the small portion of noodles, trying to blank out the fact he was quite sure the ‘mystery’ meat was probably stray dog.

  “Fuck, it’s here,” he tossed the carton into a nearby bin, “see the little glow in the dark x? So what now boss?” Q could apparently manage no more than approximately half an hour without another fix, because before a reply had even made its way through the coms he was lighting up another cigarette. Smoke billowing in thin plumes from his nostrils. 

[ripperdxc]

Fuel to Fire | Bode & Vincent

  Between the extra jobs he was apparently taking up all over the city, he hadn’t quite learnt how to say no as of yet, Vince was exhausted. The bone weary kind that settled in the frown that found a permanence upon his lips, that made eyes heavy and suppressed any form of appetite he might’ve once had. But at the mention of street food, much less a chance to catch Mason beyond the confines of the precinct he hauled himself across the city.

  It was remarkable the more he thought about it, just how much the city had changed in the past months he’d lived here. It’d been on the brink of meltdown more than a few times. The taste of ash and dust in the air as it went up in smoke. But now it was serenely calm. Unnervingly so if you asked Vincent. Although the city was still not without its darker side, he avoided the northern districts at all costs unless strictly necessary and only wondered south beyond the corporate controlled zones if he was visiting Dionysus.

  He really ought to thank Mason for succumbing to his polite pleads and bestow an old exo-suit on him, Vince had then spent a week and a half preparing it for the young man. Outfitting it with the latest tech that he could reasonably get his hands on, most importantly a compact filter that’d purify the air for him, administrate drugs. It wasn’t a cure. But it was a solution and one that’d get him back onto his feet, the one he’d asked for. At the mention of a transplant the man had given him a cold stare, Vince had translated that into a firm no.

  Reached the noodle bar of choice earlier than Mason, for which he was thankful it gave him a brief moment of respite, to build up his energy reserves for the man. “I’ll take a miso ramen soup, thank you.” He offered a tired, strained, smile to the one-man chef who was otherwise unoccupied at this moment in time. Tad too early for the evening rush.

  He leans against the make-shift counter, the vendor is nothing but an old shopfront converted into a hole in the wall serving food. Despite his underwhelming appetite as of late it’s piqued a little now that he’s here. Few moments longer in the waft of spices and other cooking delights he might devour it all. Unlikely, he’s not ravenous yet and if anything he could do with a drink. Polite, curt nod to the chef and Vince makes a last minute amendment to his order, a simple beer. Far too many evenings out to bars with John and Mikey meant the occasional drink had grown on him.

  His amiable attempt at idle chatter with the chef was growing thin just as he caught a glimpse of a familiar face, “I thought you weren’t coming.” The humour is there, faintly but it’s there if you look hard enough, might perhaps need a magnifying glass to see it, but it existed. “What’re you eating, drinking? It’s on me, I still haven’t had the chance to thank you for the grand favour.”

[onexye-blog]

The Viper | Bode & Q

  This morning had been a colossal fuck-up. There was nothing now that could help or save him from the situation that, this time around, was entirely his fault. Hint of a disgruntled moan as the cuffs that’re tightly locked into place around slim wrists rub at pale skin. Not the kind of cuffs that he’s used to, not the flimsy plastic things that could be easily broken in the heat of the moment. There was a substantial weight to them, that gave the gravity of the situation he was in a physical heaviness. Not helped either by the harsh lights above, casting unflattering dark rings beneath his eyes that were only partly his own.

  The blissful chemical happiness that he’d induced himself into in the early hours of the morning was long gone now, left with a fatigue and a dizzying nausea. In the moment everything he’d done had seemed like a good idea and jacking the car wasn’t something out of the ordinary for Q. He was quite nimble at getting into cars without setting off their alarms, knew how he could start the engine without personalised keys and could drive them like no other. Perhaps if he was given a fresh start he could’ve been a legitimate racer.

  In that clouded haze he’d slipped up, the alarm had sung loud and clear through the smog filled streets and unfortunately for him, a patrol was nearby to hear the commotion. Frankly they had enough to charge him on without possession of a weapon, never mind the concoction of other mistakes and errors that now loomed above his shoulders. All he could hope for was that by some miracle his parole officer had simply wiped his history clean. But no amount of bribery would ever have granted him such a prize.

  It wasn’t even just that this would be a repeat offence, his sentence wouldn’t be so lenient and parole would be harder to get, it was that he’d broken his parole in the first place. He should theoretically still be under the watchful eye of his officer, certainly shouldn’t be parading around with a submachinegun at his hip. Only one, as Lady had never been returned to him, he’d never asked for it back just assumed that John would still need it.

  Worst case scenario his probation from a year earlier would be revoked, he’d spend minimum of a couple of years back in that hellhole with additional charges on top. Best case, he could bribe his way out of here like he had done in the past.

  Except he’s shivering now, despite the fact the room is neither overly cold or warm, perhaps edging a little towards the uncomfortable side but it was designed so. Everything within his field of vision is ever so slightly out of focus, attention drifting and his eyes scarcely open in the first place to combat the sharp pain in his temples. Dark hair is mussed up beyond saving and his general appearance is dishevelled, not a common occurrence with the fixer. He isn’t in the right frame of mind to hold an enthusiastic and coherent conversation never-mind attempt any kind of bribery, although actions spoke louder than words.

  There’s a flicker of momentary worry as to whether or not they were keeping his companion as well, he couldn’t even remember the man’s name. Jason…Erik….

  Nik.

  Or at the very least he thought that was his name. They hadn’t exactly had much of a conversation going between them, beyond the consensus that taking the opulent sports car out of the city was most definitely the best idea.

  Could he pin it on him?

  No.

  That was a step too far even for the fixer, he had a keen preference in saving himself above others but his taste for morals had grown in the past few months. He’d find another way out of this. There had to be a way.

  The mirrored glass directly ahead of his is unsettling enough, just knowing that someone is watching, but he catches a glimpse of himself in it. One optic still just about glowing but his appearance otherwise starkly different, wilted and a ghastly grey colour, all he wanted to do was get out of here and sleep. “I ain’t done shit…”

  “C’mon, least take these off,” he’s practically pleading now, just about manages to lift his hands up off the table only for them to crash back into the surface a moment later, the sharp noise making him jump a tad.