I put on my work uniform of black shorts and a black tank top. Though there isn't really a specific uniform I have to wear. My boss just wants me to wear something I'm comfortable in, but that's also appealing to the opposite sex. I am a bar tender after all and no one wants to buy drinks from a nun. I put on my black ankle boots and make my way out of my old wooden door, locking it behind me. I walk down the stairs and out into the cool spring air.

I feel like I'm being watched and I quicken my speed. Thankfully, the bar I work at is only a block away from my apartment building and I'm soon breathing in the calming scent of sweat and liquor. I walk behind the counter and toss my backpack under it. I walk to the back room, were my boss usually hangs out.

"I'm here," I call out. It's my way of clocking in. I hear him grunt out an okay and I walk back out behind the counter. No one's here right now, it's to early in the day, so I pull my book out of my backpack. Even though I've been out of school now for five years, I still like to learn. I'm currently reading Phantoms in the Brain by V.S. Ramachandran, M.D., Ph.D., and Sandra Blakeslee, it's a book about neurology, which is the study of the brain. I used to read romance and mystery books all the time, but I feel that once you've read one you've read them all. I wanted to learn something while I was reading and not feel like I'm wasting my time. So I've been reading different Psychology and Neurology books.

The door chimes signaling someone has come in and I shut my book and put it back in my bag. A middle aged man hops onto a bar stool and looks at me.

"What can I get ya?" I say leaning on the bar.

"Beer."

"What kind?"
"Doesn't matter."

I grab a random one and take the lid off before sliding it to him. He stares at the TV on the wall and sips at his beer. I ignore him and look at the door to see the usual rush coming in. I crank up the music and the other bartenders come out of the back. I have that odd feeling of being watched again, but I ignore it. Drunk guys usually stare anyways. I slide people their drinks and do a few tricks. I'm in my element and lose myself to the music and the shouts from the patrons who are watching the game.

Time flies by and it's soon closing time. Most of the people leave without argument, but there's always a few who've had too much and don't want to leave. The men who work in the bar usually take care of those guys and we have nothing to worry about.

Once everyone's left I walk towards the back.

"See ya later boss."

"See ya J.J."

He's called me that ever since I came here for work. I walk out of the door, knowing that the boss will lock up when he leaves. Normal people don't risk walking down the street in the narrows in the middle of the night, but I've never been normal. I walk up the rickety old stairs into my apartment. The simplicity of my new home is refreshing. There's not anything extravagant or expensive and it's a change I embrace.

I toss my backpack onto the teal couch in my living room and kick off my boots on the old rug I bought in a thrift store. I walk into my bathroom, which has a few tiles missing, and strip before hopping into my tiny shower. After washing all of the sweat off my body I hop out and grab a black towel from under the sink. I wrap it around myself and walk across the wooden floor into my bedroom.

I grab my pajamas off of the floor, by pajamas I mean an oversized t-shirt that's basically a dress, and ungraciously fall onto the couch and grab the remote. I flip the channels on my tiny TV to the news. I pick at the black nail polish on my fingernails while listening. It's basically the same everyday: theft, murder, rape, and the next big charity event for the local snobs to flaunt their social status.

There's a knock on my door and I think nothing about it and get up and open the door. The first thing I see are some worn out fancy shoes. I slowly bring my eyes up to the strangers face and take in his unusual purple suit as well, I don't know where this guy got his fashion sense, but I kind of like that it's different. When I finally see his face I'm taken aback by his weird face paint. I'm pretty sure it's not Halloween yet. I look in his eyes, which are a brown so dark it's almost black or maybe they are black. I don't think that's genetically possible though. Maybe he's just wearing contacts. The look in those eyes though is unsettling. It makes me want to go hide under my bed and pray to God that he isn't really standing right here. He smiles at me and it's not a comforting smile.

"Hiya-"

Oh shit, I just slammed the door in his face. His voice just caught me off guard and I didn't really think about what I was doing.

"Well, that was rude," I hear him say through the door. He knocks again and I slowly open it. I smile apologetically though it probably looks more like a grimace.

"Did your parents not teach you any ah, manners?"

"No. Actually, they didn't."

"Well, ah I can tell."

"Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can."

He pulls out a sheet of paper from the inside of his suit and clears his throat loudly.

"Jane Jones, peculiar name by the way, diagnosed with schizophrenia and ah, released on good behavior," he licks his lips. "I have a proposition, you come and ah, work for me and I won't kill you."

"Excuse me?" This guy must be drunk or something.

He looks back at his paper, "It doesn't say deaf under your list of issues."

"Where did you get that," I say trying to grab the paper.

"I have my connections. Now what's your verdict?"

"No, I'm not crazy, so I'm not going to work for you. I love my job."

"That's not what this paper says. Oh yes, bar tending, what a way to make a living."

"That paper's wrong and I'm sure bar tending is better than whatever I would do if I worked for you."

"The paper doesn't lie and you're probably ah, right about that, but at least I'm working for a greater purpose. The same thing every day has to be boring. Change it up a little and join my cause."

"And what would this 'cause' be."

"Chaos, sending a message, bringing Batman down, things that I would accomplish sooner if you wouldn't ah, argue with me."

"And if I say no." he pulls a knife out of his pocket and twirls it with his fingers.

"I'll kill you."

"Well, you've made this a difficult decision."

"I know," he says pretending to wipe dirt off of his jacket, " I've always been good with negotiations."

"What do I have to do?"

He steps forward and wraps an arm around my shoulders and pats my head with the knife still in his hand.

"I knew you would see it ah, my way. What you need to do now is pack your bags."

"What?"

"They should really put deaf on that list," he mutters. "Would you like me to pack for you?"

"No, I'll do it."

I stomp to my room like a petulant child and grab a duffel bag, that I also got at a thrift store, and start shoving my things in it. I have no valuables, so I don't have to worry about choosing what to take. Once I'm done I walk back to see the man stretched out on my tiny couch laughing at something. Gosh, I wish he wouldn't laugh like that. I'll probably have a constant headache.

"That didn't take very long. I almost ah, expected you to try to climb out onto the fire escape. Maybe you really are crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"Sure you aren't," he pats my head again like I'm a child, "keep telling yourself that kid."

He pushes me towards the door, "Our chariot awaits."

What have I gotten myself into.