The Mad City - Songbird's Sorrow

[B4UTRUST]

This is the Mad City, a sick magical dark city within a city. It's always night in the Mad City, always three o'clock in the morning, the hour of the wolf, when most people die and most babies are born. That part of the night where it's always darkest just before the dawn, and the dawn never comes. Gods and monsters walk openly along rain-slick streets, basking in the sleezy glow of hot neon, and every temptation you ever lusted after in the darkest reaches of your heart is right there to be found, for a price. Most often your soul, or someone else's. You can find joy and horror in the Mad City, salvation and damnation, and the answer to every question you ever had. If the Mad City doesn't kill you first.

There are parts of the city where most fear to travel, the sleazier areas. Those narrow side streets that lurk furitvely in the shadows of the more travelled way. Lit starkly by glaring neon signs advertising nasty little shops and studios, offering access to all the viler and more suspect pleasures and goods, at extortionate prices, of course, it was the kind of place where even the air tastes foul. The neon flickered with almost stroboscopic intensity, and painted men and women and others who were both and neither smiled coldly from backlit windows. Somewhere music was playing, harsh and tempting, and somewhere else someone was screaming, and begging for the pain to never stop.

The better places were all up town. The nastiest, scariest, sleaziest joints were always uptown. Where the beautiful people went, to act out their inner ugliness in private places. Uptown, where the neon becomes more stylised and the come-ons are more subtle. Where the best food and the best wine and best drugs, and all the very best music can be yours, for a price. Which is sometimes money and sometimes self-respect and nearly always your soul, in the end. Uptown, you can see everybody on the way up and everyone on the way down. Birds of a feather groom together.

When you go uptown, into neatly laid-out squares with tree-lined streets and ornate old-fashioned lamp posts, passing increasingly expensive establishments with pretence to class and sophistication, you move among a much higher class of scumbat. There are restraunts where you have to book months in advance just to be sneared at by a waiter. Huge department stores, selling every bright and gaudy useless luxury the covetous heart could desire. Wine cellars, dispensing beverages older than civilisation that madden and inflame and bestow terrible insights. Weapon shops and influence peddlers, and quiet parlours where destines can be adjusted and reputations restored. And, of course, all the hottest brand names and the very latest fads. Love for sale, or at least for rent and vengeance guaranteed.

And nightclubs like you wouldn't believe.

The Mad City had all the best nightclubs, hot spots and watering holes in the world. The doors never close, the music keeps on playing, and the excitement never ends. Nowhere is the scene more now, the girls more glamourous, the setting more decadent, or the shadows more dangerous. There were places where they eat the unwary alive, but that's always been part of the attraction. The Blue Parrot, The Hanging Man, Caliban's Cavern, and Pagan Place. Once past the ominous doormen and the reinforced doors, there's every kind of music on the menu, including some live bands you would have sworn were dead. Robert Johnson, still playing the blues with weary fingers, to pay off the lien on his soul. Glenn Miller and his big band sound, still calling Pensylvania 6-500. Buddy Holly, hitting his guitar like it might hit back, headlining the Rock & Roll Sky-Diving All-Stars. And the Lizard King himself, on tour. Plus a whole bunch of Elvises, John Lennons, and Jimi Hendrixes, of varying authenticity. You paid your money and you took your chances.

One of the places you weren't liable to find in the Uptown was Oddones. It was suppose to be the oldest bar in the world, and not for the faint-hearted. You found it up a back alley that wasn't always there, under a small neon sign with the bar's name in Sanskrit. The owners never believed in advertising. If you needed to find the place, you would, though whether thats a good or bad thing was a matter of debate. It was the kind of bar where no-one gives a damn what your name is, and the regulars go armed. It was a good place to meet people and an even better place to get conned, robbed and killed. Not neccessarily in that order. Pretty much everybody who was anybody, or thinks they were or should be, has paid Oddones a visit at one time or another. Tourists were not encouraged, and were occassionally shot at on sight. The owners were brothers, identical twins that looked nothing alike and prefered it that way. The Icks, as they were sometimes called(but never to their face), had inheritated the bar from the family. Richard, Richard, Michael and Nicholas, otherwise known as Dick, Rick, Mick and Nick. The Icks. Permanently in bad moods, who never gave correct change(or sometimes any at all), served any drink you could want(as long as it wasn't a cocktail) and made the worst bar snacks imaginable, even when they were already prepackaged.

In addition to the endless pleasures and sins of the Mad City, there was religion apleanty, but only one real church, and possibly the only real church ever built. The Street of the Gods help temples, churches and places of worship apleanty, where people gathered to worship their chosen gods. Here the gods walked amongst their believers and spoke to them in person. Gods and demons and transient beings walked aside one another, fighting not for the souls of their followers but rather the numbers and the currencies.

The church, however, was something else entirely. In a place devoid of morality, free from the eternal struggle of good and evil it stood alone. It is frightening in it's intensity, in the sheer enormity of the faith it holds, and the doors are never closed to anyone who would wish to enter. Those who enter for evil purposes tend never to be seen again.

There are no services, no clergy or schedule. Perhaps it is because the place is too intense for such things, or for someone to live there and work there all the time. Perhaps it is because it does not need such things because prayers tend to get answered when they're made in that place.

Whether the person in question is happy with the answer, however, is subjective.

This is a place of nightmares and personal hells and singular salvations. The people who walk their streets are human, and things that might once have been and strange creatures that never were. Welcome to the Mad City.

[frigidmagi]

Jason ran, it wasn't exactly in accord with his nature mind you as neither cops nor boxers are known for their skill in retreating but in this case the better part of valor was definitely called for. This case being him fleeing a number of hired muscle from a crime boss that was upset at the beating Jason had given a middle manger type of his in the pursuit of information.

I don't know what they're so upset about, he was still breathing and everything when I left, if he had just talked to me I wouldn't have roughed him up so bad Jason thought to himself has he turned a corner around an old brick building into a dead end. Damn...

Three men blocked the end of the alley, Jason smiled for a minute, he could take three! A black car pulled up behind them and five more came out of the car... Well fuck. One big Baboon looking bastard ran ahead and rushed him looking to grapple, fuck that shit, Jason sidestepped, snapping an elbow into the guy's face. The next ape connected with his tackle though smashing Jason into the alley's brick walls, Jason groaned in pain but swept down with his left arm breaking the grip of his foe. His right fist arched around in a stunning right cross that drove him back, Jason stepped forward with a left hook that spun the thug around and off his feet.

Still got the punch, say what you will I still got the damn punch Jason thought. He missed the third bastard who connected with somekind of club that drove the air out of Jason's lungs and sent him stumbling to the corner.

Frustration and rage burned in his throat if he went down here he would never get up. He would never find Jenn. I ain't going down! I'll never go down! No one can knock me down! He charged out of the corner a bellowing male roar of rage echoed through the alley as his uppercut slammed into the club user's chin, followed by an elbow that shattered teeth and made him fall over groaning like a old oak tree finally chopped down.

A shot ripped out through the night air. Barely missed him, Jason could feel the air of the bullet tug at his pant legs. He threw himself behind a dumpster. Gotta get away! He thought has the chuckling thugs advanced loudly upon him. His frantic eyes swept the alley and he noticed a door... How did I miss that? Never mind doesn't matter! His hands grabbed the doorknob Don't be locked, please don't be locked, I can't fall down here, don't be locked! The door opened like it was greased, Jason fell in the door crashing shut behind him. Jason grunted as he fell into a heap.

He wasn't in a building... He was in another street. He picked himself up and looked around goggled eyed.

"What the hell is this place?" He whispered...

[rhoenix]

Malcolm Corvin had been awake now for 36 hours. Since he was a salaried employee for DynaCode, he could write code at home or at the office, as little or as much as he liked, as long as his workload was done. And done it was - like usual since he had been hired there nine months ago, he was going above and beyond the call of duty, quadruple-checking his work for errors and unexpected results. His boss was a happy woman - though Malcolm knew that his boss was beginning to suspect that he regularly pulled all-nighters to do so.

Having just finished writing out the control segment for this web application in Ruby, Malcolm realized he had drunk the last of his energy drinks an hour before. The employees who worked corner store near his apartment already knew him by face and his orders of cases of energy drinks at a time, and he knew all of them already as a result. He put on a coat to protect against the late winter chill and the early morning air of 2:00am, and walked the block and a half to the store.

He was nearly there when he passed an alleyway he was fairly certain he'd never seen before. More oddly, there was a woman standing in the back of it, singing a mournful and haunting tune, in a beautiful and ethereal voice. Malcolm's curiosity got the better of him, and he walked into the alleyway. Once he was halfway through, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something felt...strange, and it wasn't just the fact that the woman had suddenly disappeared, or that the way he had come was now a bricked-over dead end. Walking to the end of the alley, what he saw even made his cynical and analytical mind begin to work on overdrive, drinking in his suddenly new surroundings.

Malcolm sighed, despite the terrible and wondrous surroundings of this place. He didn't feel shocked at being in a dramatically different place than before, which in and of itself surprised him mildly. However, the last time he had seen something like this, he had been very, very high on shrooms. Hoping he wouldn't end up puking all over his friend's couch again like last time, he continued to walk slowly, taking in his suddenly new surroundings.

[B4UTRUST]

The gaudy over-bright neon lights lit the streets, covering the front of businesses advertising their wares. Callers sounded in the dark night, yelling their stock to any who would listen or turned an interested eye to them. All manner of shops advertised perverse pleasuers and horrible delights to the discerning connoisseur, and those with less refined taste.

Sex, in one form or another, was the apparent trade of the street. The Daughters of Twilight walked the strip, their come-hither looks bringing more then one john. The clubs that advertised here offered the kinds of kinks that ran to the taste of those who were not familar with the words tame or vanilla. Some of them were a bit unusual, but still understandable, while some just boggled the mind and were beyond the imagination of most normal people, and quite a few offered services that would have made any sane normal individual cringe and possibly vomit from the acts. Dead and undead strippers offering half-priced lapdances and a BDSM club ran by real demons(on self-claimed political refugee status, or so they said) were among the safer offerings.

Traffic whipped by at break-neck speeds, showing no signs of slowing or stopping or even obeying anything that might have had once had a passing aquaintance with the rules of the road. The traffic held cars from times ranging from the first Ford to cars from future timelines that may or may not ever come to pass. There were cars that weren't cars, but only gave the appearance of them. There were ambulances that ran on distilled suffering and motorcycles that ran on the blood of angels and were very much alive and in some cases very angry about it.

Crossing the streets seemed like a dangerous proposition at best, a cautionary thought demonstrated suddenly, violently and all over the place when an individual who failed to heed the unstated rule that traffic always had right of way made the mistake of stepping into the street at a crosswalk. Bloody chunks of meat splashed across a nearby storefront as the poor fool's head rolled to a stop in the gutter. A moment later a stray dog wandered by and voiced it's opinion by raising a leg and pissing on the head. Traffic never even hesitated.

Jason's sudden puzzlement of his new surroundings was completely understandable and natural, even. The alley he found himself near reeked of stale urine, and rotten garbage and recent death. It was a dark and dismal place, even light seemed uninclined to venture forth down it. Nearby on the street he could discern what appeared to be a few male individuals trying to roughly pull one of the Sisters of the Night into a carefully parked vehicle. She tried to resist but was quickly being overcome by numbers and strength. The other prostitutes around her didn't even pause or bat an eyelash.

Malcom's journey down the street was no less unusual. His sudden appearance in the middle of nowhere didn't seem to bother the people who brushed by him, all to busy concentrating on their next fix, their next kick, their next temporary heaven before the return to their internal hell. Faint, barely heard like a soft whisper of a close lover was that same voice singing a bleak song full of sadness and woe that tugged at his heart and made him feel the singer's pain. As he walked it grew in intensity as he neared a club called Caliban's Cavern advertising a performance by someone called Rossignol. A large crowd of people were gathered outside waiting to be let in. The crowd crossed a wide range of people, those in fine dress and expensive threads, after some sublime experiance to the goths and punks gathered closely by the doors. Her true fans, it seemed. Or so they would lead one to believe. Fragments of conversation drifted through the air, discussions on the truth or myth to the music of the Nightingale. The question of whether it was truely music to die for...

[frigidmagi]

Jason's sudden puzzlement of his new surroundings was completely understandable and natural, even. The alley he found himself near reeked of stale urine, and rotten garbage and recent death. It was a dark and dismal place, even light seemed uninclined to venture forth down it. Nearby on the street he could discern what appeared to be a few male individuals trying to roughly pull one of the Sisters of the Night into a carefully parked vehicle. She tried to resist but was quickly being overcome by numbers and strength. The other prostitutes around her didn't even pause or bat an eyelash.

Jason almost went for his gun. Almost. But bullets cost money and he didn't have alot of that. Besides there were only a couple of the bastards. He rushed in, slamming into the lot of them. He slam a brutal left hook into the closest one, knocking him out of the way and waded into the rest of the group with a roar.

[Shark Bait]

Matthew had not slept for a day or two before his house burned down, now that it was two in the morning and all he had left in his name was a car and the cloths on his back that did not seem like such an issue. Matthew drove himself down the highway a ways until he found a hotel that was still open, he pulled off and went into the front office. The clerk yawned and greeted him Matthew could tell the man was barely staying awake, Matt on the other hand was beyond tired he wasn't even bothering with coffee or energy drinks anymore stress was far more effective.

"number seven" the clerk said handing Matt a key after checking him in on the computer, Matt thanked the man and walked out of the office and down the row of hotel rooms. He counted the doors as he walked looking at the tarnished bronze numbers nailed to them, the lights mounted on the walls seemed to grow progressively dimmer and flickered just a little. When he got to seven he stopped looking around the lights on the wall were dim and flickered on and off, and there was something strange about the room next door he looked at it then realized that the room was numbered seven as well. The second seven looked a little nicer its number was cleanly polished the light over the door shown brightly, where as the first looked dark and dingy as all the other rooms.

"Eh why the hell not try" Matthew said to himself as he slid his key into the lock but it would not turn, he tried the handle though and the door opened easily. Matt looked into the room and saw an ally stretching out before him with bright lites at the end "Curiouser and curiouser" he said to himself as he stepped into the room and the door closed behid him"

[B4UTRUST]

The first thug went down like a sack of potatoes, his glass jaw failing against the well trained punch. The others, startled and their fun interupted, drew back releasing the hooker. She took off running away from the brawl.

Baleful gazes and malicious smiles promised pain returned, with interest for their fallen comrade in debauchery. Knives came to hand, blade flicking out with the press of switches, locking in place with a satisfyingly solid click.

The thugs made wild swings, their deft and fancy knifework showing all the skill of a half-retarded ape in heat. They nearly stumbled over themselves in their effort to be the first to draw blood, the first to score their mark of revenge. Their uncoordinated attacks displayed their coordination as a group and the utter lack of it. Still, dispite their less then tactical approach they outnumbered the ex-cop and that gave them all the false courage and foolish invincible bravado they needed to press their advantage.

Elsewhere, Matthew stepped from the sleeping world into somewhere else. The gaudy-bright neons were less predominant here. It appeared to be some sort of business section in this strange city. Cheap wooden fencing lined the street opposite from the alleyway. Layer upon layer of water-stained and mildewed advertisement papers were stapled on top of each other, displaying ads for concerts and underground bands, upcoming preformers and conventions for all manner of fetishes and fancy posessions, weapons and wearables. A wind picked up briefly, causing the pages to flutter briefly. A few broke lose, the final bindings holding them to their wooden prison loosening their tenious grasp and granting their flight.

The advertisements beneath the freed pages were ones of interest, a arms convention long passed by the date. However, one of the corporate logos displayed, still fresh and bold - surprisingly so beside the faded and stained remnants that graced the rest of the page, was all too familar, striking very close to home.

[rhoenix]

Malcolm's sudden appearance in the middle of nowhere didn't seem to bother the people who brushed by him, all to busy concentrating on their next fix, their next kick, their next temporary heaven before the return to their internal hell.

This place seemed like the New York City out of a traveler's worst nightmare. Malcolm walked determinedly through the crowd nonetheless, taking in his surroundings. Even the neon lights in this place seemed to have an otherworldly, somewhat insane tinge to them. This of course only made Malcolm more morbidly curious about this strange break, thinking it a welcome break to what his life had been over the past year.

Faint, barely heard like a soft whisper of a close lover was that same voice singing a bleak song full of sadness and woe that tugged at his heart and made him feel the singer's pain. As he walked it grew in intensity as he neared a club called Caliban's Cavern advertising a performance by someone called Rossignol. A large crowd of people were gathered outside waiting to be let in. The crowd crossed a wide range of people, those in fine dress and expensive threads, after some sublime experience to the goths and punks gathered closely by the doors. Her true fans, it seemed. Or so they would lead one to believe. Fragments of conversation drifted through the air, discussions on the truth or myth to the music of the Nightingale. The question of whether it was truly music to die for...

The singer...the voice was the same, and though the song had changed, it felt more as another verse to the same song than a different song altogether. However, hearing a scream across the street caught his attention. A hooker was being assaulted by several large men, who were apparently trying to pull her into a parked van. Despite all the problems he'd had with women over the past few years thanks to that hateful bitch Angie, buried deep within the depths of his heart, next to his affection for Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops cereals, he did believe in a form of chivalry. He began walking toward the alley where this was happening, which was across the street.

He had noticed that the right of way on this street was primarily determined by tonnage and velocity, and since he lacked both in a large fashion compared to the cars, he waited for the proper time, and then ran. Even as it was, his right ankle came within an inch or two of getting clipped as he gained the embankment on the other side. Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn the car tried to swerve for him, revealing teeth within its grill.

Malcolm forced himself to get up and begin walking, as if nothing unusual had happened. Even so, he filed away that event for future reference. Returning his attention to the thugs, he noticed that another man had the same idea he had, and had charged directly at the thugs. As Malcolm kept walking, he studied both the thugs, and the man who had begun attacking them, as well as noting that the lady of the evening had managed to escape. His cold anger at the thugs for mistreating a lady, hooker or no, seemed to exude from him.

Malcolm was within a couple yards from the scene now, and noticed that most of the thugs had knives, but were tripping over themselves to get at the man - literally. They were acting like drunken howler monkeys at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

The thug in the back seemed to be stupidly cheering his friends on at attacking the newcomer, instead of looking around for possible witnesses or other do-gooders, like Malcolm coming up from behind him to punch him in the kidney, grab him by the top of his greasy head, and yank him to the floor, punching him again in the upper neck when he landed to knock him out. Still not stopping for a pithy comment, despite his temptation, he simply helped the other man disable or knock out the thugs, one by one.

[frigidmagi]

The thugs made wild swings, their deft and fancy knifework showing all the skill of a half-retarded ape in heat. They nearly stumbled over themselves in their effort to be the first to draw blood, the first to score their mark of revenge. Their uncoordinated attacks displayed their coordination as a group and the utter lack of it. Still, dispite their less then tactical approach they outnumbered the ex-cop and that gave them all the false courage and foolish invincible bravado they needed to press their advantage.

Jason had been a boxer first and foremost in highschool and college, which was concentrated on one on one fights. However, life experience and police training had given him the needed skills to deal with groups.

herd them together so every strike has more of a chance of hitting a buddy then me, don't retreat they'll just spread out and advance and cut me up even if they are idiots...

Jason was big man, and a strong man. His life recently had burnned most of the fat off his bones, not that he had much to begin with. He slapped away the foremost thugs stab attempt and with his other hand grabbed his shirt and simply shoved him into his buddies, practically throwing the thug off his feet by sheer brute force. The little band was mashed up between this human shield and the car at this point. Easy pickings for him.

The thug in the back seemed to be stupidly cheering his friends on at attacking the newcomer, instead of looking around for possible witnesses or other do-gooders, like Malcolm coming up from behind him to punch him in the kidney, grab him by the top of his greasy head, and yank him to the floor, punching him again in the upper neck when he landed to knock him out. Still not stopping for a pithy comment, despite his temptation, he simply helped the other man disable or knock out the thugs, one by one.

Jason grunted has he stood over the pile of passed out bodies eyeing the other man who came to his aide. He didn't think he had needed the help but it was damn well nice to have it. He cracked his jaw and spoke his voice a bit rusty.

"Thank you. It was good of ya to give me a hand. My name's Jason. Who're you?" He asked.

[Rukia]

The crash had been hard this time. Still shaking from the trip that had left her mind reeling even more than any other Samantha made her way down the street, shoes scuffing on the sidewalk. She pulled the sleeves of her jacket down and the hood up. People stared. -They always stare- Glancing down an alleyway she saw one of those damn doors again. She stopped, did a double take and it was gone, like all the others. She raised a shaky, thin hand to her head and continued on. As she walked she sped up her pace, making the vanishing doors and windows seem to fly past. Feeling as though she was being watched she looked over her shoulder compulsively.

She walked up the rundown stairs to the shitty apartment of her dealer. He always had the best stuff Walking down the hallway she stopped she a window appeared. She looked at it long and hard, logic not setting in that the window shouldn't be on an inside wall. She was reaching out to touch the glass when the door down the hall opened and he yelled. She turned quickly and went inside, leaving the window behind.


The skin on the bend of her arm made a soft pop as the needle entered.Sweet relief was only a few minutes away.

She was been shaken violently awake. "The fuck?" She mumbled instinctively reaching for her gun that wasn't there. Suddenly she was pulled harshly to her feet. Her assailant was yelling but she couldn't tell what he was saying. Her brain said fight so she tried. Wrong answer. He was bigger and angrier. Suddenly words were making sense, "Where the fucking money?! You know better than to freeload." It was all a blur and before she knew it, he had lifted her up and tossed her. She hit the couch and he yelled again. She was barely able to breathe let alone speak and this made him even more pissed off. He picked her up again threw her against the wall, but instead of hitting hard dry wall, glass shattered from a window that hadn't been there before she passed out. She fell and hit the sidewalk, hard.

[rhoenix]

Jason grunted has he stood over the pile of passed out bodies eyeing the other man who came to his aide. He didn't think he had needed the help but it was damn well nice to have it. He cracked his jaw and spoke his voice a bit rusty.

"Thank you. It was good of ya to give me a hand. My name's Jason. Who're you?" He asked.

Malcolm nodded, not answering at first as he looked all the unconscious thugs over for any signs of faking being unconscious, or other subtle clues. After a moment, he turned and looked at Jason directly with a somber gaze. "You're welcome - it appears we had the same idea of saving a damsel of sorts in distress. I'm Malcolm, and this is my first visit to...wherever and whatever this place is."

He looked around with a blank look. "Nice place I suppose, if a bit noisy."

[Shark Bait]

Elsewhere, Matthew stepped from the sleeping world into somewhere else. The gaudy-bright neons were less predominant here. It appeared to be some sort of business section in this strange city. Cheap wooden fencing lined the street opposite from the alleyway. Layer upon layer of water-stained and mildewed advertisement papers were stapled on top of each other, displaying ads for concerts and underground bands, upcoming performers and conventions for all manner of fetishes and fancy possessions, weapons and wearables. A wind picked up briefly, causing the pages to flutter briefly. A few broke lose, the final bindings holding them to their wooden prison loosening their tenuous grasp and granting their flight.

The advertisements beneath the freed pages were ones of interest, a arms convention long passed by the date. However, one of the corporate logos displayed, still fresh and bold - surprisingly so beside the faded and stained remnants that graced the rest of the page, was all too familiar, striking very close to home.

“Where does this trail of breadcrumbs lead?â€

[B4UTRUST]

Samantha hit a hard, unyielding and unforgiving surface. A few new scrapes along her back and some small cuts along her arms and face showed the none to gentle journey she had made to get where she was. The faded and fresh scars and needle marks lining the inside of her arms were just another map to the road that had led her here and her life to such a wreck.

An ex-vice cop turned junkie. The ultimate betrayal to all she had stood for. Each blaze, each pin-prick euphoria was another mark of erosion on the tarnished badge of her life. All of which had resulted in her apparent one-way trip into some horrible wonderland of temptation and turmoil, like a macabre Alice through the darkened looking glass.

As she came to under a strange and alien night, with stars unknown and Earth's own familar moon far to bright and close, she found herself in an alleyway, laying in filth and debris that was best pushed out of the mind before it contemplated the origins of some of it to closely. Nearby was a Nightmare that was a stark reminder of herself. It looked to be female and probably had been before. Now the skeletal thin thing was nearly androgynous, the breasts withered and shrunken, the tatters of remnant clothing hanging loosely about its sunken frame. The pale skin had a waxy palor and fever-bright eyes, nearly glowing in the recessed shadows of the sockets. Its hair was long and stringy, glistening with unwashed oils, grease and filth to match the grime that coated the flesh. Up and down both arms were what appeared to be empty syringes, held in place by a geiger-esque tripod clamp.

As she watched the syringe stoppers pulled back by themselves, filling with a brightly glowing green liquid. When the syringes filled the Nightmare druggie's head dropped forward, hung in what appeared to be intense pain or anguish. Then the syringes injected the glowing ambrosia back into the body. It shuddered, its face jerking up as its lips let loose a euphoric moan of unfathomable pleasure. Every muscle contracted, its back arching in near-orgasmic sensation. Then a moment later its head began to droop again, its eyes glazing over as the high wore off, until the syringes began to fill again from its body.

It looked forwards, to see Samantha and raised one of its arms, the ragged, broken and chewed-on nails dripping the same liquid bliss. A gleaming syringe was held loosely in the hand, full of the green drug. It extended the needle to Samantha, a fellow druggie sharing the high. All she had to do was take it to know the same eternal cycling bliss this Nightmare did.


Elsewhere in the city the two would-be heroes were busy making idle small talk, still trying to figure out their own surroundings and the situations that lead them here. The thugs at their feet were bleeding and unconcious, injured but not dead. The hooker was long gone. And to the careful and attentive observer there was a decisive lack of interest in the entire situation by anyone, including the other hookers standing nearly right next to them. Nobody had batted an eye or had even bothered to call for the police. People simply stepped around them and continued on their way.

Behind them in the streets the traffic continued. The kidnapping vehicle let out a cry of pain as the sound of rending metal squealed in the long night. Another car had taken its lack of movement as a sign of weakness and attacked. The grill had parted revealing row upon row of razor sharp teeth and a long pink tongue to match. The driver tried to get the vehicle under control but was failing as its primal instincts overrode whatever control the operator may have had. Thick black fluid oozed out of wounds and into the street as the larger, meaner auto ripped out the smaller car's engine and devoured it like a hunter ripping out the prey's heart at the end of the kill. Its death rattle was short lived, dying puttering and choking as it cranked its last. The killer, dripping the black oil-like blood from its grill-grin, let out a satisfied roar and shoved, violently, its way back into traffic and disappeared.

Over the scent of car exhaust and the sound of roaring engines and criers shouting came two things, a familar scent, a well-known subtle perfume and that dark keening.


Further in the city, Matthew made his way out of the business district and into one of the poorer areas. Run-down businesses dotted the streets, advertising more general wares, though there appeared to be some specialty shops. A few caught his eye, one humerously nameing itself after a government three-letter agency with the letters rearranged to read it as FATs, selling all the basics a man could need for a fun weekend and the other offering a similar, though expanded selection calling itself only Lawyers, Guns and Money. They appeared to be of the open 25-hours variety of shop, offering the more essential items that the Wal-marts of the world just never let you have the fun of buying.

[Shark Bait]

Further in the city, Matthew made his way out of the business district and into one of the poorer areas. Run-down businesses dotted the streets, advertising more general wares, though there appeared to be some specialty shops. A few caught his eye, one humerously nameing itself after a government three-letter agency with the letters rearranged to read it as FATs, selling all the basics a man could need for a fun weekend and the other offering a similar, though expanded selection calling itself only Lawyers, Guns and Money. They appeared to be of the open 25-hours variety of shop, offering the more essential items that the Wal-marts of the world just never let you have the fun of buying.

Matthew wandered down the street looking in the windows of run down shops the neighborhood was becoming seedier and the number of shops selling weaponry was increasing. That was a good sign but he couldn't just buy a grenade and hold it up as proof of corruption he had to find out where these weapons were coming from even if they were stolen that meant that someone was still not doing their job right. Matt looked around cautiously spying an alley way, he looked down it trying to find away behind the shops, he might just find some proof of delivery.

[B4UTRUST]

Matthew made his way down the alleyway, finding the usual brand of derelicts and vagabonds. The dank cesspool was a gathering point of the destitute of this strange society, made up of all the usual suspects. Veterns and homeless, war heroes and cowards, druggies and those hiding from something, sometimes even from themselves.

And some of the patrons of this particular pisspot of the poor were no longer even human. Trapped for so long as the dregs of society they had ceased to be what they were and had become something else. Some bizzare form that appeared human, yet lacked the symptoms of unhealth that plagued the others. They seemed to thrive, if their bright, alert eyes and satisfied look was any indication, on the downtrodden and their plight. A psychic form of vampire that fed on misery and suffering, which was available in this place like a buffet.

They looked upwards and outwards from their internal self-pity and loathing to the prosperous man who entered their domain. Their hands assumed the ritualistic position, palm cupped slightly and turned upwards towards the mark. The words came by rote to their dried and cracked lips, the hint of begging upon them.

And along with those beggers and demons were those who had fallen, the luckless ones who were the has-beens and once-weres. They did not beg like the others, their pride, slowly dying by inches as they clung to it, to great to allow them to. Instead they wrapped their proud airs around them like a cloak against the elements. And beyond them both was a turn in the alleyway leading to the rear of the building.

Behind the sellers of wholesale slaughter was a loading dock. A large tractor trailer was pulled up to it, workers moving in and out like a colony of ants at a frenzied pace going nowhere fast. The trailer seemed real enough, normal enough, except for the subtle signs of swelling and collapsing, cyling from one to the other over and over again, like some strange beast drawing enormous breath. Boxes and crates were drawn out of the trailer on pallet jacks and fork lifts. Clear plastic pouches were visible on the sides, papers neatly folded in them.

On the dock, standing watch were a pair of uniformed guards. Rent-a-cops with muscle and firepower to match. Boots polished to a mirror shine and military fatigues perfectly creased, with a web-belt around the waist packed with enough ammo and weapons to arm a small squadron. Their eyes, behind the mirrorshades, were constantly moving, constantly watching.

[frigidmagi]

He looked around with a blank look. "Nice place I suppose, if a bit noisy."

Ah, that brought up the matter at hand.

"I suppose. Though I got no idea where this place is. Do you?" He asked.

[rhoenix]

Ah, that brought up the matter at hand.

"I suppose. Though I got no idea where this place is. Do you?" He asked.

Malcolm, now satisfied that all the would-be hooker-nappers were all firmly unconscious, was about to reply when a very odd scene from the street nearby demanded his attention.

Behind them in the streets the traffic continued. The kidnapping vehicle let out a cry of pain as the sound of rending metal squealed in the long night. Another car had taken its lack of movement as a sign of weakness and attacked. The grill had parted revealing row upon row of razor sharp teeth and a long pink tongue to match. The driver tried to get the vehicle under control but was failing as its primal instincts overrode whatever control the operator may have had. Thick black fluid oozed out of wounds and into the street as the larger, meaner auto ripped out the smaller car's engine and devoured it like a hunter ripping out the prey's heart at the end of the kill. Its death rattle was short lived, dying puttering and choking as it cranked its last. The killer, dripping the black oil-like blood from its grill-grin, let out a satisfied roar and shoved, violently, its way back into traffic and disappeared.

Shaking his head, Malcolm finally replied to Jason. "You know, I really have no damn idea," he said, eyeing the black oily streak that had once been the other car. "Reminds me somewhat of those old cartoons, though - funny enough if you can bounce back from having an anvil dropped on you."

[Shark Bait]

On the dock, standing watch were a pair of uniformed guards. Rent-a-cops with muscle and firepower to match. Boots polished to a mirror shine and military fatigues perfectly creased, with a web-belt around the waist packed with enough ammo and weapons to arm a small squadron. Their eyes, behind the mirrorshades, were constantly moving, constantly watching.

Matthew ducked back behind the wall his heart pounding, "IDIOT" he screamed inside his head, "yeah real smart, they are just going to have the information I need sitting out in the open." Matt thought for a second before taking a deep breath buttoning up the collar of his shirt and dusting himself off. He took a business card out of his wallet and put it in his breast pocket before straightening his hair out, with any luck the combination of work cloths and the right credentials he might be able to pull something off.

Matt stepped around the corner and smiled mustering every bit of courage he had ever possessed, "Good evening gentlemen my name is Matthew Raymond with IES Munitions" he said in a fearless tone to the hired guns, while holding up his busines card clearly displaying the company logo. "I can see your carying our MZII, how would you like to increase its explosive force and effective radius by no less than 20% at no cost to you?"

Deep down inside Matthew prayed that the guards would take the bait and pounce on the promise of better carnage, it might just get him close enough to see the invoices.

[Rukia]

Samantha hit a hard, unyielding and unforgiving surface. A few new scrapes along her back and some small cuts along her arms and face showed the none to gentle journey she had made to get where she was. The faded and fresh scars and needle marks lining the inside of her arms were just another map to the road that had led her here and her life to such a wreck.

An ex-vice cop turned junkie. The ultimate betrayal to all she had stood for. Each blaze, each pin-prick euphoria was another mark of erosion on the tarnished badge of her life. All of which had resulted in her apparent one-way trip into some horrible wonderland of temptation and turmoil, like a macabre Alice through the darkened looking glass.

As she came to under a strange and alien night, with stars unknown and Earth's own familar moon far to bright and close, she found herself in an alleyway, laying in filth and debris that was best pushed out of the mind before it contemplated the origins of some of it to closely. Nearby was a Nightmare that was a stark reminder of herself. It looked to be female and probably had been before. Now the skeletal thin thing was nearly androgynous, the breasts withered and shrunken, the tatters of remnant clothing hanging loosely about its sunken frame. The pale skin had a waxy palor and fever-bright eyes, nearly glowing in the recessed shadows of the sockets. Its hair was long and stringy, glistening with unwashed oils, grease and filth to match the grime that coated the flesh. Up and down both arms were what appeared to be empty syringes, held in place by a geiger-esque tripod clamp.

As she watched the syringe stoppers pulled back by themselves, filling with a brightly glowing green liquid. When the syringes filled the Nightmare druggie's head dropped forward, hung in what appeared to be intense pain or anguish. Then the syringes injected the glowing ambrosia back into the body. It shuddered, its face jerking up as its lips let loose a euphoric moan of unfathomable pleasure. Every muscle contracted, its back arching in near-orgasmic sensation. Then a moment later its head began to droop again, its eyes glazing over as the high wore off, until the syringes began to fill again from its body.

It looked forwards, to see Samantha and raised one of its arms, the ragged, broken and chewed-on nails dripping the same liquid bliss. A gleaming syringe was held loosely in the hand, full of the green drug. It extended the needle to Samantha, a fellow druggie sharing the high. All she had to do was take it to know the same eternal cycling bliss this Nightmare did.

She didn't know weather to cry or scream. The Nightmare stood very close now still offering the syringe. Something told her not to take the things "gift", but even still, something else told her that the consequences might be dire if she didn't. Standing up out of the sludge, Sam reached out her hand to take the needle. She jumped when the Nightmares head reared back up as the high started again. She quickly snatched the syringe when its head was down again sticking it in her hoody pocket. She spoke in a tiny weak voice, "Where am I?"

[rhoenix]

Looking around, Malcolm decided that since this diversion was effectively over with, he wanted to check out the nightclub with that singer - the same one that had lured him into this strange place to begin with.

"Well Jason," he said sticking out his hand for the other man to shake, "I don't know why either of us are here - but I wish you good fortune. I'm going to check out that nightclub over there for now."

[Dark Silver]

Alcohol.

The great and glorious drink created by the fermentation of various grains and fruits who like a woman, could love you one moment, and cause you pain the next. William De La Fountaine Hill had found solace many times in the arms of that sweet Lady Alcohol. There were plenty of times it came back to bite him in the ass, but he always went back to her.

For the past six months, it seemed like she was the only one who understood him anymore.

It was after one tormentous night with that great lady, that Bill found himself stumbling down the back alleys of the city. The other bars had closed down long ago, and he just wasn't ready to call it quits yet.

The night had ended in the normal bars far to early for him, he hadn't slept in two days, and the only thing which would keep the dreams, the nightmares away, was the drink. Drinking himself into passing out kept the dreams away.

So it was that reason, he found himself in this gods forsaken alleyway, looking at a door which just seemed out of place. The sign wasn't lit, and it was written in a weird language he couldn't tell - but the smells coming from it only meant there was liquor.

So Bill walked into Oddones, in search of more drink....

[frigidmagi]

"Well Jason," he said sticking out his hand for the other man to shake, "I don't know why either of us are here - but I wish you good fortune. I'm going to check out that nightclub over there for now."

"Fair enough. I don't got time to be listening to singing. I'll keep an ear out though and you scream if you need some help from me." Jason said turning away. It wasn't like Jason felt he owed the guy but in coming to his aid, he had shown a fundamental decenty that Jason felt should be encouraged in the world.

Jason went looking for something to ask about his wife. He had her picture and would ask if anyone had seen her or knew about people being moved. Granted he didn't seem to be... At home per say, but if he could just trip in here, maybe she could to?

[rhoenix]

"Fair enough. I don't got time to be listening to singing. I'll keep an ear out though and you scream if you need some help from me." Jason said turning away. It wasn't like Jason felt he owed the guy but in coming to his aid, he had shown a fundamental decenty that Jason felt should be encouraged in the world.

Malcolm nodded. "You do the same. Good luck to you."

He watched the other man walk away for a step or two before turning to the roadway, taking a slow, deep breath as he regarded. Apparently his mistake earlier was one of ignorance when it came to streets in...wherever this was. Having the car try to bite him was something peculiar, acting as foreshadowing for observing one car devour another a few minutes later. Malcolm shook his head. This place was like a madman's cartoon come to life.

He took his time observing the traffic, knowing that stopping halfway across would certainly not guarantee him safety or respite. Once there was a lull in traffic, he ran across at full speed, sprinting like when he used to do when he had played football in college.

He felt he had almost made it when he saw a car coming up fast in the distance in the lane closest to the other side. It seemed to accelerate madly upon seeing him, and had Malcolm been even slightly slower, he would have been struck. As it was, it hit his ankle, tripping him at his speed, making him somersault down the other side. He heard the car swerve and attempt to attack him, but tucking in his knees, he continued down the embankment, out of range. Finally, he came to a stop, his eyes wide open, breathing shallowly, with his ankle hurting.

He slowly got to his feet, favoring his uninjured ankle, and began walking toward the nightclub again. If asked, Malcolm couldn't have told you why that singer's voice entranced him. It just did.

[B4UTRUST]

The pair of guards on the loading dock turned towards Matthew, drawing sidearms in a single synchronously smooth motion.
"Leave," the first spoke in a calm, empty voice.
"Now," followed the second one in the same dead voice.

A twitch of thumbs, the click of safeties being disengaged.
"Sales representatives, solicitors and door-to-door advertises-"
"Are asked to kindly speak to management inside-"
"Using the front door-"
"And only the front door."
"Failure to follow this-"
"Will result in a painful demonstration-"
"Of just what our job is."


The junkie Nightmare stared blankly at Samantha, the constant cycle of dizzing highs and horribles come-downs going through its course over and over. Its hand retreated back inside its grubby and tattered rags, a soft giggling coming from its lips. It gave no answer, except the unintelligible sounds of mirth and madness, which in a vauge way was a very direct and absolute answer to her current quandry. It turned and began to shuffle away, every so often its body shaking in the near-orgasmic highs and peels of laughter.


The thing that might have been a car but probably wasn't honked noisily at Malcom, expressing its clear dismay that it had been deprived of its kill. It roared away, its engine growling and tires squealing. The traffic began to pick up again. The music of the club started to drown out the screams of rubber on asphalt and the crunch of metal on metal at high speeds. That dark sultry voice that sung of death and such pain and sorrow that to hear it was to wish to end it all yourself began to call to Malcom once more.


Across the street a gentle breeze picked up, carrying the scents of the city with it. Death, decay, garbage and other less appealing odors permeated the air. The other scents died down but one remained, a soft lingering smell of decidedly female perfume, fragrent and subdued. The breeze carried the smell down towards the club and began to die there.


The inside of Oddones looked like a normal low-end watering hole for the desperate and downtrodden. The sides were lined with booths, little to no light shining on them and hiding their occupants well. Hiding them from what was speculative and varied but included gods, demons and themselves. Something that William probably understood far to well. In the center area tables were set up with seats of varying designs and age, most of them battered and battle-scarred and all of them cheap as replacements of them were common and old was a relative term that generally meant longer then two weeks. On a few of the walls were candle-holders and the occassional piece of dark landscape art that was tacky, ill-fitting and most of all - cheap.

A long bar ran along the back wall, taking up most of it. It was a all wood bar, thick and heavy, dark with stained lacquor. Behind it a pair of men, both similarly dressed in black but looking nothing alike were busying themselves dispensing drinks and snacks and mostly refusing to offer change and when pressed for it giving the wrong amounts. On shelves behind them were rows of bottles containing types and brands of alcohol that commonly existed in most places and quite a few that weren't available anywhere outside of the Mad City. On one of the stools resting his arms heavily on the polished oak was a grizzled old man nursing a flavorful beverage known only as "Angels' Piss." None of the 'Icks had ever revealed if this was simply a brand name, or something else but regardless it gave the consumer a real kick in the teeth either way and had a tendency to leave one cross-eyed and severely inebreated. There was an uninteresting dark-colored door set into the wall behind the bar as well, undoubtedly leading to some storeroom or cellar.

Off to one side of the bar there appeared to be a loud argument going on that involved a man yelling at himself. In this case, it was quite literal as there were multiple other men surrounding him, all who looked - more or less - like the center figure. The carried conversation revealed that the others were in fact that very man from different timelines and had come here to ensure that he was to make the decisions that resulted in them. Each had a differing opinion as to which was the best of all possible outcomes here, largely debated between what looked like an overweight, balding executive type in a clean-cut suit and a skinny, greasy and generally hippie-esque version of himself that swore up and down he would never work for 'The Man.' This whole problem was a complicated one that seemed to be growing by the moment as another version of the man manuvered past William from through the door leading to the alley and joined in the heated arguement. An additional timeline made its entrance through one of the cheap, tacky landscapes, crawling out through it. It seemed no worse for the wear though it had been knocked slightly askew by his foot as he passed through.

None of the other patrons seemed to raise an eye at any of this, carefully ignoring everything but their drinks in front of them. A pair of bouncers, large, overly muscled in that abuse of steroids way and almost assuredly female were trying to break up the whole mess and were fairly successful at it as they began grabbing the man and himselves, one body in each hand and physically tossing them into a growing pile nearby. They would soon further move this pile by a similar method out the door and into the alleyway.

[Shark Bait]

Matthew raised his hands and backed away slowly "ok boys fair enough" he said just before rounding the corner and walking back toward the street. once out of the alley way he cursed himself silently, he knew it was never going to be that easy. He was hesitant however about walking into the shop and trying the same tactic in there he would have to know exactly what the score was before trying to pass himself off as a sales rep. Maybe he considered maybe trying to find a way to cut the shop owner in on the latest prototypes, no matter what though standing out on the street in the middle of the night was not going to get him anywhere. Matt ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, whatever this place was if they were illegally buying and selling goods from his company it could be just the foot hold he needed to start climbing the corporate ladder through the usual means of back stabbing and underhanded tactics.

Matthew calmly put his business card back in his pocket before walking to the front door of the shop and stepping inside.