Title: Dog of the Industry

Summary: It's almost funny how the need to do laundry can lead to so much excitement. Poor, Mail Jeevas never thought he'd be involuntarily pulled into a world of underground criminal activity. "Welcome to the Industry."

Disclaimer: I don't own DN.

Author's Note: First off, I wanna thank my readers and reviewers. Second, I must warn you: Notoriously short chapter up ahead. Mostly dialogue, but it serves its purpose. Try to keep up because this might get confusing. It will be properly explained soon enough, no worries.


"Welcome to the Industry, kid."

Mail followed close behind, his head swarming with questions and his mouth bubbling with twice as many.

"What's going on?"
"What the fuck's the 'Industry'?"
"Where are we going?"
"You got a motorcycle?! That explains the leather..."
"Where'd you say we were going?"
"If I don't make it home soon, is this considered kidnapping?"

The questions kept coming, but none were answered. Regardless, the redhead followed blindly with little beckoning.

Their journey was short but landed them two towns over at another laundromat. "What's going on here?" Mail inquired.

Mello said nothing but handed the redhead a pair of gloves before entering the laundromat.

Mail followed close, quickly noting that it was very much deserted. During the trek inside, the gloves were pulled on.

"Mello, what exactly is going on?" Mail couldn't help but ask.

The blonde rolled his eyes in exasperation before finally explaining: "The System's got you- or, at least, it did. If you're not part of the Industry, you're part of the System. Believe me, that's not anything you wanna be associated with."

Mail found the explanation a bit too vague and expressed this with a quirked brow and a slight scowl.

Thankfully, Mello complied to the silent urge to articulate. "The System dictates your worth and your needs. -You live in a toxic-waste part of town. You work a dead end job to provide services to people who don't give a shit. And you do this for money to buy things you don't really need."

"I only buy necessities!" Mail defended, gloved hands balling into fists as his usually complacent attitude began to flair into a slight temper.

"Cigarettes and videogames..." Mello mocked condescendingly. "Heh, sounds like a good title for a Green Day song."

"I like Green Day," Matt muttered, averting his gaze and working to quell his frustration. "Whatever, just tell me what's going on."

"The System has you pegged as a low-class loser who's going nowhere in life. The Industry works to prove otherwise."

Mail groaned. "You're still not making sense."

Mello made no effort to truly appease the redhead, but he did continue to speak. "The clothes you have now are your uniform. You may go about living your life as you see fit, but you will have your jacket, two plain shirts, two pairs of pants, two pairs of black socks, one pair of combat boots, and $300 for personal burial money."

"Wha?" Mail squeaked indignantly, frustration gone and replaced by concern. "I'm completely lost. Why would I need burial money?"

"Mail," Mello chided, slipping an arm around the redhead in a far too casual manner. "I know you. You have no family, no friends, and the System has you chained down and loafing from day to day. Nobody cares about you. Nobody needs you. You've been on your own so long, you forget what it's like reach out. The Industry has found you, and now that it has you, your life will never be the same."

Mail gritted his teeth before taking a deep breath and expelling it languidly. "You damn near assaulted me and took me here just to give me this bullshit speech?"

"No," Mello said quickly, stepping away from the redhead and smirking. "I kept you busy because, at this very minute, your precious home is being robbed."

"!"

...


/Next chapter will be up by Friday. *celebrates* -Questions? If you ask, I might be kind enough to answer. XD/