"I think Shay has his priorities wrong. Someone needs to knock some sense into him—that stupid dumbass. Just look at the red alert. What we need to do is revolt. 'Hunter' is a demeaning name for us. What we are, are revolutionaries!" Deon responded, a fire lit in his eyes, confidence and will behind the words.
"...huh... revolt... I like how you think!" she spoke with a glint in her eyes, her insanity growing more overbearing by the second. Her now-pressed hands tightened their grip, her smile just the right curvature to out her as an asylum patient. "I believe I can count on you to join us down the line, right?"
"But of course," Deon spoke with a salute. "Serving Anubiz Corporation is my lifelong childhood dream."
"Great... I'll get going for now, but I'll see you at the academy, won't I?" She turned around, a limousine waiting for her in the alley over, having slipped notice before.
"Okay, against my better instincts I tried. I don't know why, but I feel on edge around her..." Deon pondered, exhaling a long breath of relief and comfort.
And with nothing else to do, Deon went on his merry way—still battered and in miserable shape, with a hole in his pants. On towards the brothel he walked.
Through the shady market made of sticks and ragged cloth roofs he walked. Through the tall, dirty, desecrated monoliths that cast darker shades than the night sky he walked. Through the hoodlums and through the vendors and through the beggars he walked—worse for wear than any of the three.
There was, strangely, plenty of light even in this part of town, and while the light refused to shine from up above, the residents had made their own; while the concrete monoliths hung dark and unlit, the ground floor all across shone yellow under the many ragged cloths, hundred-year-old halogen bulbs, crowds swarming every stall. And amongst it all lingered a scent Deon hunted—the scent of a lady's perfume—and so the desired location was in sight.
Courtesans, with their prideful eyes, held their chins high and chests out. Invitations to all who caught their eye. Of course not Deon. Not just because he looked pathetic... but because he was underage. The realization hit Deon like a bullet. How foolish he had been to wander about without a proper disguise.
A bad day for Deon... Separated from his childhood crush, humiliated by some hooligans, forced to join some Anubiz group/cult, unable to sniff boobs. All the exhaustion and despair of the day struck Deon at once as he fell to his knees, downtrodden and dark.
"There you are," a voice cut through like no other—a familiar noise. His original companion he'd travelled to this city with...
"Ah, the two childhood friends... having separated in the crowd... finally reunited here," Deon spoke dramatically, tearing up. "I knew you'd find me."
"...in a black market in the slums... in front of a brothel... sure," came the sharp comment, as she held out Deon's over-ear bone conductors.
"Oh Fiona, my saving grace, my angel, my reason for existence," Deon sobbed, tears and snot covering his face as he buried it into her abdomen, his arms wrapped around her tight. His actions were somewhat genuine, given his one-shot personality.
With considerable effort and a tight grip on Deon's flushed red hair, she managed to peel his face away from her, fluids still flowing with no end in sight.
"Ugh, repulsive. Wipe this off," she ordered, dropping a handkerchief on his face.
"Yes, ma'am," said Deon, still sobbing but immediate in his resolve as he began wiping away—almost like a bullied kid scrubbing the classroom floor. Pitiful he looked.
"How'd you find me?" Deon asked in a meek tone, still scrubbing and sobbing.
"You have a one-track mind," came the immediate and cold answer, her look still one of immense disdain.
"Yes, ma'am, so sorry," Deon instinctively apologized. "I noticed... you had a change of clothes. Compression wear suits you... you've lost some weight, great choice, and a loose, breathy top—"
"What are you trying to say? It didn't suit me before?" Her head tilted—more like hung—to the side. "Are you meaning to say I was fat before?" A wrathful tone from a headless banshee.
"Yikes, no ma'am! I meant to say you look pretty—very pretty!" Deon screamed, begging for forgiveness, arms straight and kowtowed. "This junior has offended you! Forgiveness!"
"Enough, get up..." she sighed, her face between her fingers, arms crossed. "We have to get to the Awakening Center tomorrow... I rented two small apartments in Zone D."
"Yes, m'lady. Away at once..."
To Be Continued==>