Sanctuary

A blast of pain. "Get up, shιtbag."

Vishka growled in surprise. So much silence. It hurts. His Father and Mother no longer speak to him. He doesn't know them any more. He can feel the spaces in his mind, filled with nothing but rage and confusion.

Another explosion of electric torture. "Yo, get your ass against the wall. I ain't asking again."

Vishka complied, dragging himself to the far wall of his tiny, dark cell. The guard held a remote control in his hand -- an object which caused Vishka's armour to electrify at the press of a button -- pointing it as if the hulking figure were a televisual unit.
"You've got a visitor."

The door slid open.
"Viz..." he said, trying the word out. The sound still felt alien.

"That's right," a voice said, female, compassionate. The word 'Matron' came to mind, but immediately fizzled back into Vishka's suppressed consciousness. "My name is Constance. You can call me Connie, okay?"
"Konay..."
"That's right; Connie. Can you tell me your name?"
"Nilim."
"Nilim? Is that your name?"
"I... not... remember my... name."

Speaking in this language was difficult and tiresome. He'd never experienced such a limiting form of communication -- interpreting sounds? How could they stand it?

"Oh. That's right, you lost your memory. Um... how are you holding up?"

Vishka resented her patronising tone. He was also beginning to get annoyed by her repetition of the phrase 'that's right'. Not to mention how she so skilfully used the word 'lost', as if it were his fault his mind was a collection of shattered pieces.

"I desire home."
"Oh... you want to go home? Do you know where home is?"
"No."
"What do you remember, um... what should I call you?"
"I am Fyr na Vishka. Vishka is water. Fyr is man. Man of water. Evil, traitor. Like you."
"What do you mean?"
"That is what remembers me. Water is bad. I am bad."
"Heh, okay, I think your grammar needs a bit of work, Vishka."

Vishka snarled. The woman gave a little squeaky noise and backed up. She was small and thin and pale, with gold fibers protruding from her scalp and framing her face. Vishka sensed her fear, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Yet another annoyance the woman presented.

"What is wanted, woman?"
"Um, I'm just, here to like, talk, y'know?"
"So talk."
"Heh, straight to the point. Okay. I suppose, that's better than most of my patients. They just, like, hit on me all the time, and it's kinda gross. I mean, it's like, I didn't get into this job so I could be-"

"Less talk," Vishka amended, doubling over with cramps. He'd thought too hard about reaching out and strangling the girl. Maybe not kill her, but teach her some respect.

"S-sorry, I guess I talk too much when I get nervous. So, basically, the military wants me to see how well your memory has been, like, suppressed. Which I still don't believe is possible, but I guess you're living proof that the Process works. I mean, I never thought I'd see one of Them up so close..."

Suddenly Vishka felt a twinge in his mind, like an itch inside his brain. Jared would totally freak out if he knew I was having a conversation with an honest-to-goodness Dragoon!

"So um, Vishka, you don't remember anything," she started,
"About your days as a Dragoon?" Vishka finished, vocalising the words as he heard them. "Why?" Vishka asked, "So you tells brother Jared?"

The blood drained from her face, leaving it even paler than usual.
"Y-you knew Jared?"

Vishka smiled behind his breathing mask. "I felt you. I knew him in you."

Shaken, she fled from the room without another word. The guard promptly slid the door closed.
"Aw shιt," he said, "just when I was getting used to staring at that fine ass instead of your ugly mug..."

"Awshιt..." Vishka repeated, exploring the sound. Still a bizarre way of communicating, but he was starting to get the hang of it.

 

Two of the bigger kids in the group were taking turns knocking Dre to the ground, though he managed to make himself get up every time. His face was smeared with the semi-permanent grime that comes from living in the Junkyard for any length of time and his read hair seemed almost black from all the muck it had gathered since Dre had last bathed.

"Where'd you get that red hair freak?" taunted one of Dre's two assailants.

"I bet his mother was one of They," laughed the second one as he swung at Dre, the fist connecting hard with his nose.

Dre fell to the ground again and again pushed himself to his feet, eyes watering and nose bleeding a little.

"Lets trash this freak guys," said one of the bullies.

Just as the rest of the group was about to move in for the kill, gunshots rang out and rogue bullets ricocheted off the piles of scrap metal. An old man rounded a corner as the bullies began running frantically.

"Go on yeh little bastards! Get outa here!" The old man fired off a few more shots from his pistols and gave a smug look at the fleeing gang bangers. Muttering to himself, he was about to turn back to whatever he had been doing when he heard Dre give a quiet sniffle. The old man raised one of his pistols at Dre, "Thought I told ye...You aren't one of them are ye?"

Dre shook his head silently.

The old man eyes Dre warily for a moment before holstering his pistols at his hips. "Didn't think so....ye ain't big enough and ye dan't have that killer eye to ye." The old man limped over to Dre and attempted to put a hand on his shoulder, but Dre backed away from the hand and picked up one of the small pieces of metal as if he were going to strike the old man with it.

The old man paused. "Tenacious little bugger, or stupid...ye dan't know when ta back down. If you dan't watch that attitude o' yours it'll get you killed one o' these days.

That had been almost ten years ago. The old man, Roy O'Connel, or Roy O as he was called by the junkers, had taken Dre in. Now Dre stood over the old man's dirty bed and held a hand to his wrinkled forehead. It was warm...too warm.

"How's it lookin' for me lad? Am I going ta die?" Roy O said it jokingly, but they both knew his death was close at hand. After all, he was one of the few that remembered a world before They.

"You will if you don't learn to pace yourself old man," Dre said condescendingly.

"Aye...I was never much fer moderation." Roy O erupted in a fit of coughing, bringing his tattered blankets to his mouth. When the episode had subsided, tiny specks of red dotted the blanket.

"I'm going to have to sneak into the Wall and get you some more of your meds. The military rationed off most of the good stuff from the hospital. Think you can hold out until I get back," asked Dre, sincere concern in his voice this time.

Roy O gave Dre a weak smile. "Aye lad...I think I kin weather this storm for a bit longer."

"Alright old man, just wait here and I'll be back soon."

Dre grabbed up his two pistols off the bedside table and holstered them at his thighs before taking off out the door. It wasn't the first time he had needed to sneak into the Wall, so he was rather familiar with the network of ventilation shafts that could take a person almost anywhere in Sanctuary in less than half the time it would normally take.

Dre knew that his friend was probably expecting him. The freaky thing had a knack for knowing when stuff was just about to happen. He had never seemed dangerous to Dre, but the military kept him under close guard all hours of the day and probably for good reason. After all, he was one of They.

Dre remembered that first time. He had almost cried out in shock when he heard the creature's voice in his own head, but he had since learned to communicate with the creature this way. He would simply think things and the creature would pick up on it and sometimes send replies. Dre didn't fully understand how it worked, nor did he care. He just went with the flow.

Making sure he was out of the view of those who might be interested in his exploits, Dre slipped unnoticed into one of the many ventilation entrances around the city and began making his way towards the Wall.

 

The lights flickered within the small office. Outside it was bright a small window the size of a box a microwave may come in allowed little of the daylight in. Magdalena sat on a chair behind a cheap black office table metal and chipboard covered in veneer they didn’t have nice things in theses places the people who frequented the psychiatric ward of the prison hospital had a tendency to break things if not misuse them. The walls were white and chipped often they were stained. Like most places where sick people resided it had a certain smell that often imbedded its self within your clothes. Magdalena hated the smell it was like stale bread mixed with faeces. The cream coloured tiles smelt faintly of pine. On Magdalena’s desk case files and psychology journals were stacked in neat piles accompanied by several black gel pens and two ratty books on cognitive therapy. A large hard covered book on Freud’s work lay open on the desk. The title read the psychosexual stage.

“Now,” Magdalena said. Looking at the man that sat in front of him. “Tell me again.”

Behind the man stood a guard his hand cuffs missing from his belt, they had no doubt been placed on the criminal’s wrists before he had been brought to her. The man who looked to be fifty or so was actually only thirty five. He’d had a particularly hard life. It came down to nature and nurture. He had neither which was why he was here. At first his offences had been minor things peeking on neighbours watching woman with their children at the park.

“He said it would be okay, no one would notice any. Sh…she,…she was from the junkyard.”

He was Mr Black a figment of the mans fractured imagination. Harris was harmless by himself he’d even handed himself in. Harris lifted his handcuffed arms and scratched his dirty blonde hair ruffling it before resting his hands in his lap. Magdalena wrote a quick note before turning back to Harris his gaze had changed, the eyes were narrowed and glazed he was trying to stare her down how nice…

“he‘s not saying anymore to you w**** I‘d like to take you and split you in half then put you low where no one can find you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” Magdalena said coolly. “you need to remember where you are. Misbehave and I‘ll have you sedated.”

Black slammed his fists on the table, “said I‘m not stalking to you b****” he screamed spittle flying out of his mouth. The guard at the door pressed a red button and within moments two more guards entered. As he leered above her, Magdalena simply stared at him keeping calm. He didn’t like women to be like that they had to play his game and be afraid. That was why the woman from the junkyard had been killed she fought him. The guards grabbed him and he went limp in their arms doing his best to be difficult he let them drag him. It was pitiful however no different from any other day Magdalena worked here.
Magdalena looked at the photo of her father. While she worked mostly with the military she spent her spare time doing temp work in the prison system they had recently become short staffed and Magdalena had been asked to help out by a close friend Blake Williams.

 

Jack walked out of the HQ into the controlled, simulated environment that was the Sanctuary. No matter how much they tried to hide it with the artificial sunrises and light, it still felt like a cave down here. And just like an obtrusive software protection system, the Wall loomed around it, reminding everyone that there was no way out. There was nothing but death outside.

But, that was life. If humanity was to survive, small things like freedom had to be given up. Sad, but necessary.

Jack walked down the street that skirted the perimeter of the wall about two hundred yards off. He took a left that led deeper into the city, moving past the PMQs that were considered to be part of the Wall district. Just on the edge of it, where the Rows began, he found his destination. It was a small Internet cafe, one of the few in Sanctuary. With the destruction of most major centers of civilization (and thus most of the major Web servers), there wasn't much of the Internet left. What was there was mostly military databases and notices from the government.

"Morning, Jack!" The young girl behind the register waved him in. That would be Ellie. She was sixteen, red-haired and freckle-faced, and for some reason, always happy. Jack knew all the employees of this place on a first-name basis.

"Morning, Ell!" He called back.

"The usual?"

"Ack." She giggled at his affirmative jargon and went back to prep his coffee. He took a seat at one of the terminals and logged in with his member account.

Ell came by a minute later with his coffee.

"Thanks, Ell."

 

As Varenna walked she could see down into a part of the Junkyard and she saw a flash of blonde hair. She stopped, still chewing a bite of the delicious nut bread and craned her neck to see. It looked like Zefie.

The blonde figure gave a sketchy wave and Varenna knew it was her. She swung down from the walkway, sitting on the edge and slipping under the metal railings before dropping down another level. This brought her onto another walkway and she repeated the process.

She clutched the food and managed to keep it with her, unspilled to where Zefie stood, waiting.

“Hello.” Varenna said quietly, “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

Varenna made sure to stand back enough, giving Zefie plenty of personal space.

 

Zefie skirted round the edge of the market place for a while longer, but it seemed her luck had been used up for the day. Disgruntled, she swung into the nearest alleyway; there was a shop a few streets away whose owner fixed pieces of junk and occasionally helped out some of the gang kids.

As she passed under a few of the walkways she heard the clang of feet on metal above her. She looked up, and her annoyance turned to surprise as she recognised V leaning over the railing.

Zefie lifted her hand in a wave, and knew V had seen her when the medic swung down from the walkway. Leaning back against a nearby shack wall, Zefie watched as V clambered down the few levels to the ground with admirable grace, even keeping hold of her bags.

“Hello,” Varenna greeted her as she landed on the street. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”

“V. Been keepin’ a low profile recently, I guess,” Zefie explained with a smile, self-consciously tugging on her headband. “How you been?”

 

"All right. Things have been pretty quiet lately, not much happening at the wall. I'm afraid that won't last though. Have you had breakfast?"

Varenna offered the second unbitten loaf as she followed up with a second question that seeing Zefie had prompted.

"And how is Neena? Has she regained any use of her hand? Is she still doing the exercises I showed her?"

 

“Thanks.” Zefie took the proffered loaf gratefully, knowing she probably wouldn’t see much, if any, other food today. She took a bite as she thought about what V had said. The quiet at the wall wouldn’t last. It never did.

“And how is Neena? Has she regained any use of her hand? Is she still doing the exercises I showed her?”

Zefie almost smiled. V was one of the more decent people around - she had been friendly with some of the older kids in Zefie’s gang, and after she’d become a medic had tried to make sure the street rats had at least some care.

Neena was couple of years younger than Zefie. She’d been one of the few to survive the They-raid, but had been quite badly injured and almost lost her hand. V had saved it, and patched her up.

“Neena’s good. She can make a fist and punch people out pretty decent now. Can’t nick stuff worth a damn any more though – tried to pick some guy’s pocket last week and almost got her nose broken again.”

 

Varenna stifled a laugh and shook her head. As funny as that sounded she knew that the ability to 'nick' made survival possible for some of these people.

"Here," She sat the packed food on the low wall beside her, "take this and share it out. I can't swear as to what's in the soup but it's usually good."

She rummaged around and pointed at the container of scrambled eggs.

"Eggs, too. Scrambled." She smiled at Zefie, "Sorry, didn't have any ketchup."

V paused, looking at the tough young woman, one hand on her hip.

"I still think you should come Up Top. You're smart. With some schooling you could find work or maybe join the military. Have you given it any more thought?"

 

Vishka woke to the taste of exertion. It'd been a long time since he'd been able to exercise, and he savoured the feeling, even if it wasn't his.

"Drenki..." he said, remembering the friendly, fire-headed man who'd visited him sometimes. He could sense his approach. He knew the man, for some reason, far more intimately than the other humans. Perhaps it was his open mind, which let Vishka in. There was no fear in him, to block out the thoughts. It made their link much stronger.

What are you doing, Dre? Last time the guards said they'd shoot you if you came again. I'm not worth the trouble.

 

Zefie could see that Varenna was amused, and lifted the corner of her mouth in a half-grin. It wasn’t a funny situation for Neena, but the girl’s dramatic tendencies often exposed her to ridicule.

The smile disappeared when V set her pack down on the wall. Although she couldn’t read, she recognised the café insignia. She was grateful for everything V did for her and the other street kids, but everyone appreciated such charity.

“You sure? I don’t think that was meant for us.”

V paused, watching her appraisingly.

“I still think you should come Up Top. You're smart. With some schooling you could find work or maybe join the military. Have you given it any more thought?”

Zefie tugged on her headband again, then crossed her arms and leant back against the wall.

“I guess it seems silly, stayin’ down here when I could be Up Top. But I still don’t know that I should. I’m helpin’ the kids down here an’ all, you know? I don’t wanna just up sticks an leave ‘em. But work’d be good, I guess.”

 

I put the finishing touches on the portable Rail Gun and tightened the bolts to close it up. Another smile crossed my face as this could be something to greatly help us to defeat They. A step forward in the direction to having fresh air again. I pulled over a large military case that I gutted the rocket launcher shape out of and set the gun in. To conceal the weapon I dropped it in a large black duffel bag along with my handy Air Cestus. I had the best place in mind to test this thing out,The Junkyard. That place is usually out of the reach of most civilians and the workers there don't do much at least the part I want to shoot at. I strapped on the duffel bag and began to head out the Lab to the Junkyard.

 

Artemis was walking down the streets in a light sprint, maybe a power walk. Artemis was looking around the streets for any signs of people that may have a computer. He could tell the people who had a printer from those who didn't by their walk. One walk was confident "I have a printer!" and the second walk would be a deliberate way to avoid people "I don't have a printer!". Artemis cleared his throat as if he were clearing his head sometimes his thoughts were childish and that was one. Artemis didn't like looking like a freak, but to be truly honest he felt like a freak. He felt that people could see him as a freak, their eyes he could feel them on him almost snickering at him. He has to stop with these paranoid thoughts. Net Cafe was close, and he was sure there would be someone who had a printer. On top of that he could get a drink and maybe some breakfast. He began the quick walk to Net Cafe, trying his best to blend and not look like a freak.
I am a wall, he thought. He stopped for a moment, That thought makes me look like a freak.

 

Roger Gordan

It was 6 in the morning. Roger got up and yawned. Just as he did the alarm bell started ringing. "I beat you again. Let's see who wins tomorrow. Good Luck!", he said to the watch. He got to the bathroom brushed his teeth and took a good day's bath. He reached the refrigerator, took out a pizza and laid it down on the table. He cut a fifth of the pizza and munched it happily. His uncle then came from a room and told him, "Pass me one of those, Roger." Roger cut another fifth of the pizza and tossed it into his uncle's plate. They had a little chat over the recent happenings.After finishing the pizza they went to their respective rooms. Roger opened his laptop and opened the site "http://www.sancturygenerals.com/" and logged in.

He checked all the recent happenings and then logged off. He closed the laptop and checked the time. It was 7:30. He dressed up in his uniform and piceked his enforcers. He made way to the main door and saw his uncle moving to the exit. They walked to the lift talking to each other. Soon they reached the main office. His uncle went to his room and Roger went to his locker. He took out the Shock Rifle and Pulse Gun and jamming them in his trouser's pockets he headed to his office.

 

"Trust me, it's meant for you."

V indicated the parcel of food. She knew that she probably ate at least twice as often as Zefie and that was even with bad days when she and her mother had nothing. The young woman's cheekbones were prominent, her hands strong but the bones etched clearly under the skin. V had seen others from the Junkyard and Zefie was a healthy example by comparison.

“I guess it seems silly, stayin’ down here when I could be Up Top. But I still don’t know that I should. I’m helpin’ the kids down here an’ all, you know? I don’t wanna just up sticks an leave ‘em. But work’d be good, I guess.”

"No, not silly at all. I understand. Still, my offer of help is open." V gave her friend her address again just in case she could ever bring herself to come Up Top. "Remember, I'm at 988 The Rows or at the Clinic if you need me."

Zefie had been at the clinic a few times, looking as though she might shoot someone the whole time.

She wanted to hug her friend goodbye but something about Zefie discouraged that sort of contact.

"Tell Neena to stay out of trouble and keep doing those exercises." V said, pushing away from the wall and giving Zefie a smile, "I just came off of night shift so I'll get going before I start to get sleepy."

She held out a hand for the ritual greeting and leavetaking touch of the fingers.

"I'll see you again soon."

 

“Bennet. Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, sir.” Jess turned to gaze at the man at her side, slightly startled to see him.

Captain Reynor’s moustache flared with every breath. “What the hell are you doing here? I signed you off.”

“I need rent,” she replied, turning her attention to the space beyond the wall. Nearby a group of soldiers had gathered and watched the show with eager grins.

“What?” He shook his head and folded his arms. “No. You need a shrink, Bennet. Go home and get yourself together. I don’t want you back here till you’ve seen a doctor and had some sleep.”

She stared at him and tugged at the lip ring with her teeth. “I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care,’ he enunciated each word. “You’re a liability and I won’t take responsibility for that.” She stayed where she was. After a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Get out of here or I’ll have you removed.”

After a moment she shrugged and turned away. The gathering crowd looked disappointed as she passed them by. Several sniggered and words such as ‘nutter’ and ‘lunatic’ reached her ears.

“Hand your badge in on the way out,” he called.

Without having to think, Jess headed to the Sergeant Haven’s office and walked inside.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” he thundered, looking up from a gun he held in his hands.

She looked up from the floor. Nearby, a young man with dark hair and a notepad stared at her with a familiar mixture of surprise, bewilderment and curiosity.

“Yes.” Judging by the Sergeant’s expression, she had said the wrong thing even if it was an honest answer to his question. Ah, it must have been one of those questions when they don’t want answers. Rhetorical. That's it. Why are people so confusing? “Captain Reynold’s said I have to hand my badge in.”

He sighed. “Put it on the desk.”

She did as instructed.

 

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Haven thundered.

Joshua was instantly awake. He stared at the woman that had just entered. More precisely, he stared at her hair and her piercings. He tried to make eye contact, but she seemed focused on Haven.

“Yes.” Joshua nearly laughed out loud, but he could sense Haven was not amused. The woman looked puzzled. “Captain Reynold’s said I have to hand my badge in.”

Haven sighed. “Put it on the desk.” The woman did s she was instructed. Haven returned his attention to the gun, but after a few seconds, he looked up again. “You want something else, soldier?” he said, clearly annoyed?" The woman was looking at the badge.

Joshua stood up. “Frank,” he said, putting a hand on the sergeant’s shoulder, “Do you think I could lend this woman from you for a little while?”

Haven looked at him. “Not now Josh.” Joshua smiled. “C’mon Frank, even if she’s not fit for patrol duty, she can still stay on the pay roll? I could use some help in the Wall. It’s a big place. Perhaps she could escort me for a while, show me the hot spots.”

Haven sighed. “I don’t know Josh. Reynold’s isn’t one to just fire someone. I’m sure he had a good reason.” He looked at Joshua. " You sure about this?"

Joshua’s grin widened. “I’m never sure Frank, but I could use another pair of eyes.” He looked at Jess. “And she looks like she has some good eyes.”

Haven took a deep breath and turned to Jess. “This man is called Joshua Pastor. You will show him around the base.” His eyes darkened. “If he has any complains, I will fire you. Dismissed, soldier.” He handed the MN-800 to Joshua, who was still grinning. “Thanks Frank. Give my best wishes to Mary.” He put the gun back in the case and offered the woman an arm. “Shall we?”

 

The situation quickly changed. She stared at General Haven as he issued her new instructions and then dismissed her. It seemed she would be showing this man around the Wall. He took the gun from the desk and put it into a case. Was it his? She wondered.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured to Haven.

Josh looked at her and then held his arm towards her. She frowned. What was he doing? No man had ever offered her his arm before. Should she shake it? Slowly Jess raised her arm to mirror the movement. He smiled, linked them together and led her from the office.

They stepped outside and she turned her head to look at him. “Hello... Joshua. Thank you. Where do you want to go?”

 

“Remember, I'm at 988 The Rows or at the Clinic if you need me.”

Zefie nodded. She’d been to the clinic before, for herself and for the other kids, though she’d felt on edge the whole time; as bad as the Junkyard was, she knew how it worked. Anywhere else she was lost, and that made her feel vulnerable.

She had tried once to find V’s home on The Rows, but, not being able to read the iron squiggles that stood for numbers on the doors, she had ended up hopelessly confused. A number of blank, hostile glare had discouraged her from asking anyone and so she had fled back to the metal haven of The Junkyard.

“Tell Neena to stay out of trouble and keep doing those exercises.” V smiled, pushing away from the wall, “I just came off of night shift so I'll get going before I start to get sleepy.”

Zefie returned the smile, hoping it conveyed the gratitude and affection she felt towards her friend that she was took awkward to express verbally – words were not her strong suit.

V held out her hand. Zefie reached to touch her outstretched fingers in the traditional leavetaking.

“I’ll see you again soon,” V smiled.

Zefie grinned. “I’ll be around.”

 

Joshua smiled. An odd woman this was. No, he corrected himself, not odd. Interesting.

"Well, for starters, tell me something about yourself." He gave her a warm smile "You haven't even properly introduced yourself yet. Then again, neither have I.”

He unhooked his arm, took a step back and saluted her. “Joshua Pastor, son of Franklin Pastor. At your service.” He grinned as he lowered his arm. “Call me Josh.”

 

Darmetrius walked around the streets, looking for some kind of sign. Some kind of something telling him which way to go. He was alone and nearly clueless about what moves he should make. He passed by a couple of beggars requesting coins. He normally would have donated to the cause, but he must be frugal with his currency now. He gives them a smile and an apology for not being of any help.

He looks up at Net Cafe and stops briefly to ponder going in. He had already eaten, but maybe he can get a cup of coffee there. He walks inside and takes in the scent of java and pastries. As he walks up to make an order, he takes note of a guy who was trying desperately trying to blend in with the rest of the cafe. The guy was trying so hard, he slightly fidgeted. Darmetrius raised an eyebrow at the fellow.

"Hey man, lemme know what you ordered, so I can ask for something else."

 

It took him a few minutes to get from where he was to the cafe, just because he tried to hard to blend into the city. He didn't want to seem out of place, he opened the door of the small cafe and he took in the decor. It was far more comfortable in here then out there, out there was bustle and this thick atmosphere of fear and panic, some confusion, and maybe some despair. In here it felt as if there was some peace and some calmness. Or this was his thought on cafes in general. He had never been to this cafe, he only had heard about, he usually made his own drinks back at his house. But he was saving those powder drinks for a harder time. Before even going near the register he checked to see how many people were here, only a few stuffy suits and a lone figure who didn't look like a stuffy suit, but possibly a law breaker. Of course this was just with his little eye. Of course there were some people who weren't sitting near computers who didn't look like stuffy suits or a loner. They looked like those who had suffered from despairs and are falling like this world. As he walked towards the register he took a deep breath in, conversations were never his thing. The register girl looked at him as if he were odd, most people did when a guy started breathing in and out nervously. It gave him this I am a stalker or freak quality about. Almost made him look like he was going to ask her out or something.
"One small hot chocolate," he said his own voice felt like cardboard stale and unfresh.
It had been sometime that he has had a normal conversation. But he hardly counts ordering a drink normal.

 

V felt better even as she scaled the walkways from the Junkyard. There was no easy way up, at least not from this part of it. Things were supposed to go down, they weren't expected to come up from the Junkyard.

It was good to see that Zefie was okay. V hadn't seen her for several weeks and had started to worry. When people went missing in the Junkyard they often went missing for good.

V hauled on the chains that bordered the little round area with a concrete bench at the last walkway and climbed up. A few people looked at her oddly, as though she might be an escaped convict. V just gave them a sunny smile and scrambled to her feet.

Well, the food was gone. Her mother wouldn't be surprised. In fact, her mother wouldn't even be home now. She'd probably already left for work.

Shrugging one shoulder V looked for a good place for a cheap meal and her eye fell on the cyber cafe.

Yeah, she should have just enough left for a coffee and a muffin. That would probably be it for the day. And she could check her messages.

V made her way into the cafe and first went to wash her hands, which were grimy after her exertions getting into and out of the Junkyard. Then she returned to the counter and ordered her coffee - with a little cream for decadence - and a muffin with some kind of nut topping on it.

She waited for her order, looking for a place to sit. There were no open computers, all the morning people had the same idea. She sighed in mild frustration and turned back to the problem after her order had been filled, scanning for a place to sit that wouldn't bother anyone.

 

"Hey man, lemme know what you ordered, so I can ask for something else."

Artemis stared at the person who spoke to him. He appeared casual with this flavor Artemis would never have. He took in another deep breath as he did with the register and he stared at the man. He would have to answer in the same way the man did.
"A small hot chocolate," he said.
Artemis was slightly mad at himself, he felt he answered weakly and almost timidly. He noticed a lady with a dainty coffee and a dainty muffin. He stared at the moment. He put his finger for a second, obviously if she was going to get something as fancy as that she must have a printer. He walked up to her and stared at her. He took in another nervous breath, it really did make him look as if he were almost going to ask her out. He felt a strange awareness that people may be looking at him.
"Do you have a printer by any chance?" he asked.
It felt almost awkward to start with that question he took in another broken, nervous breath.
"Hi, the weather is nice," Artemis said with this careful smile.
He felt almost an odd sense he had made a fool of himself and he sat back down and stared at the man with flavor.
"Do you have a printer?" he asked him.

 

Five minutes waiting for the next page, and suddenly the browser popped up with its ominous voice of doom...

Server Not Found!
Make sure there are no misspellings in the address bar...

Foo. Server's broken again. When're they gonna get a Real Programmer in there?

Well, he had done most of everything he needed to do there anyway. He turned the chair about and stood, and looked into the eyes of a woman standing close by. She appeared to be surveying the bank of computers for an empty seat. Jack scooped up his coffee. As he approached her, someone else did; a man who was obviously extremely nervous. A monk? Jack was unaware of any monasteries in the Sanctuary. Strangely enough, he was asking about a printer. Well, Jack could certainly provide him with that. He walked toward the two of them.

"I'm all done with my terminal." He said to the woman. "She's all yours." He said with a smile.

"As to your printing," He said, turning to the gent. "What did you have in mind?"