I make my way to my bathroom, placing the revolver on the sink I look into the mirror. I barely recognized the man that stared back, bloodshot sunken eyes, disgusting frazzled beard, some acne had crawled onto my cheeks as well, parting my lips I see the sores that had begin to form.
Turning on the sink I splash some cold water on my face, washing away the gunk in my eyes, and hoping I felt a little less filthy.
"One chance, then I can rest." My tone tired and defeated. "Just one shot buddy."
Taking the revolver off the sink I put it in my my pants, letting it rest against my thigh and crotch making sure the hammer hadn't been cocked.
"Don't wanna shoot my bird off anytime soon" my hand caresses my pocket where the picture I had place lay.
Heading toward my pc, I begin dumping some nameless brand cooking oil all over it. Seeing the title screen of the game, I smiled a bit. Throwing some of the broken wood onto my pc I light a match. Tossing it onto the oil soaked computer, instantly igniting it.
Pulling my phone out, I dail emergency services. It rings twice as I walk out of the apartment.
"Hello, there's a fire raging in my apartment. I need help, locations three o' one beach shore avenue" I say before the person on the other side can get a word out, hanging up immediately. Making my way down from the fourth floor.
My mind can't help but keep going back to the game, I had to thank Afterlife for keeping me alive this past month after all. The struggles the characters had gone through to keep alive made me feel like a coward, an insignificant fool for trying to throw my own away. At least without finishing what I needed to get done. Ending the game on that note I felt somewhat relieved, nothing better than freedom.
Finally reaching the first floor I pull the emergency fire alarm, sirens whale as I brush past the heads that look out of their apartment doors.
Making my way through to the outside world I'm greeted with neon lights shining from signs and street lights, crackheads strewn across the walkway and the smell of piss invading my nostrils.
"Don't miss a damn thing" I whisper to myself, making my way to the parking lot. "Damn" I say my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose.
Along the side of my car, lay the words pig, scratched crudely onto my drivers side door, my windows bipped, I look inside seeing a small figure sleeping in the back seat.
Sighing, I reach in and unlock the trunk, noticing my stereo had also gone missing. Walking over I see that more words had been painted on, too many and too obscene to read aloud.
Peering into the trunk, I had already expected that everything inside had been taken.
"Unsurprising" I chuckle to myself. Feeling around the side of the trunk I feel a switch. Flipping it.
A click and sudden movement draws my attention, as a hatch at the bottom of the trunk reveals itself. Placing my fingers into a grip on the side of the hatch I open it. On the inside lay an assortment of odds and weaponry, blades, a singular rifle, a couple of hand guns, explosives and a bullet proof vest.
"Nice" I say taking my trench coat and shirt off. I slip into the vest, locking it and placing revolver cylinders into some of the pockets. "A little more snug than I remember." I say, pinching my underbelly fat.
I slip a knife holster onto my bare leg, letting my pants cover it. Placing a pistol gripped pump action shotgun onto my back, the sling strewn across my shoulder, I lay my trenchcoat over it completely hiding everything I have under, stuffing a fragmentation grenade into my breast pocket.
"Huh" I see a small paper bag, hidden inside a pile of vodka bottles. I reach for it, grabbing it gently. Feeling how light it was, I realized what it was.
Opening the bag, I let the contents fall onto the trunk floor, a card, signed with some nondescript bank, next to it a picture of my parents.
My jaw clenches, I feel my eyes burning as my brows construe into a mess of wrinkles, my mouth following suit as it enters a deep frown. Biting my lip i try my hardest to not let my tears fall, snot and dried blood leaving my nostrils. Wiping profusely, I make my way to the small being that was sleeping in the back seat of my car.
"Hey kid I know it's you." I say, banging the top of the car. "Wake up, your uncle has a parting gift"
Seeing slight movement from the covered figure, he slowly rises before letting his cover fall from his head. Brown tattered hair and a peach fuzz mustache, an adolescent , Latino descent, no older than sixteen years old. His frame wiry and thin, bruises and acne strewn across his face.
"Yo, mister. How ya been?" He says, his face lighting up as he looked at me. "You look like shit." He says, chuckling.
"Thanks kid," I pause, taking in his face and form. Asking myself if I'm taking the cowards way out.
"A lot of people came to fuck up your car mister, not much I could do." He threw up his hands in defeat.
"I never told you to defend my shit kid." I say, getting every last detail of him in my head. My last connection this city, to this life. "Here, take this." I say passing him the card.
"Uh, what's this?" He asks scratching his head, eyeing the card.
"Your ticket to a better life kid. In a week or two, apartment three o' one should be opened to rent again, make sure to get access to it no matter what, something is beneath the floorboards under the sink." I say before taking a step back, turning my back toward the kid. "and spend the money on the card sparingly, if anyone ever finds you and questions you about who you got the card from. Tell them he died."
Making my way down the block I feel the weight of all the gear kick in. My body no longer being in shape was becoming a drag. I heave and ha as I make my way to bus stop.