"Matchsticks was the kind of bar where you wanted real scotch in a dirty glass. The smoke was real, the drinks were real, and the torch singer on stage, yeah, she was all real as well. Me, I don't know how much of me is real anymore. Between the cybernetics, cloned replacement parts, and pieces of my soul I've traded for the money just to live another day... The blood on my hands...
"My partner didn't worry about such things, he was a smart guy, but not too introspective. Says it's because he's an ork and already half-past dead at 21 years old. He didn't even bother trying to blend in with the crowd of wageslaves that tried to picture themselves doing something dirty and dangerous during the era of Prohibition, but were really just fooling themselves into thinking they were alive. They let the bar live, but were neither alive nor real themselves. Strange mix that.
"The Johnson showed up, a No-Name suit, a Dwarf but otherwise unnoticeable in the crowd. We'd worked with him before, and he hadn't screwed us any worse than any other 'boss' hiring people who don't exist to do jobs that never happened. But the swallow of scotch I had just taken turned into a bowling ball when it hit the pit of my stomach.
"He was smiling. That was never a good sign.
"If this were some bad noir piece written by a hack, I'd have a detective's office, a PI's license, a trenchcoat, a hot dame full of trouble at the door, and a gun. I have the last. Everything else, those are from a bygone time. In today's world, trouble came from everywhere. Especially from within." - CanRay
By:
Jarow on dA.
