A Syndicate Life-The Beginning of a new life (chapter 1, prolong)
Spike Spegial walked down the crowded street, knowing he was being watched. He spared a small glance to the perpetrator, and saw something, that looked as though he was the tough type. Would make a good bounty, if police could get his picture. He wasn't hidden that well and he knew it. His gray curls stuck out of the alley, barely covering a stone cold face.
Raggedy green hair was brushed aside, as he stepped past tall double doors, hoping to pick up a little pay for the one day he had been at work this week. He stepped forward again, toward the service desk this time, and checked in. Still, his 'stalker,' as he thought of it, followed him quietly, noticed only by the one he watched. Spike wasn't scared of the guy, he knew well enough he could hold his own in a fight. The dirty man sat down at a desk, in a room, an office, dressed, and furnished, too well for his tastes. He looked down, at the desk, not like his at home, littered with who knows what, but nice, and tidy. On the center pad, used for the mouse usually, to the left, was a piece of paper, plain, white computer paper, folded neatly, into a single crease, coming out looking like an envelope, only larger. On the front, it said, in small, cursive, and excessively precise letters, Mr. Spegial. He looked at it for a moment, before slamming his eyelids shut, and taking a deep, deep breath. He picked it up, without ever opening his eyes, and was not surprised when the writing didn't even mess up the smooth texture. His eyes opened, and much to his objection, couldn't focus. 'Must be that liquor from last night,' he thought, not really caring the cause, just thinking about it, while his body adjusted to this place, that he considered, well, to put it simply, technical, and just not worth the little price he got from it, when he got it. Once he could see clearly again, he unfolded the paper, not the only one, reading its contents.
(Letter)
Mr. Spegial, we are sorry to inform you, that you do not seem able to fulfill you duties here, because of certain circumstances, such as, drinking problems, attendance trouble, dropping efforts, and many other unfit habits, and, therefore, are dismissed from all duties here. Thank you.
(Letter End)
Spike threw it down in disgust, making certain to rip it to shreds, each falling on the just vacuumed carpet. Not that he hadn't been expecting, and actually hoping for this, he just wasn't expecting it so soon; had he, he wouldn't have bothered with coming up here. He was not angry, nor upset; if anything, only slightly perturbed at the lack of pay.
"How would you like a job, that pays, much more, than this, place, and where, I can assure you, you will not be fired, once you have been accepted," the man, watching the scene unfold spoke for the first time.
"And what would that be," Spike responded, showing the agitation in his voice, never turning around.
The man stepped forward, producing a small card, handing it to Spike, and speaking again. "Come by, tomorrow, 10:00 A.M., don't be late," and started walking toward the exit.
"Wait," he called out. The man stopped, not looking back for him, but giving him his attention as requested. "What's your name," Spike continued, unfazed by his signs of boredom, quite used to them.
"Vicious," he said, nothing else, and walking out of the room, leaving the other man to read the card, and deduct things for himself.
So, he read the card, out loud. "Red Dragon Syndicate," he stopped, reading the rest silently. It gave directions. "I'll be there," he spoke to the man he knew was still in the hall. Vicious, as he had named himself, walked on out of the building. Spike followed, having no idea what life he was getting himself into. Having no idea the man that had been stalking him, would become his best friend, but then, be torn from him; by a single woman. A woman named Julia.
Spike Spegial walked down the crowded street, knowing he was being watched. He spared a small glance to the perpetrator, and saw something, that looked as though he was the tough type. Would make a good bounty, if police could get his picture. He wasn't hidden that well and he knew it. His gray curls stuck out of the alley, barely covering a stone cold face.
Raggedy green hair was brushed aside, as he stepped past tall double doors, hoping to pick up a little pay for the one day he had been at work this week. He stepped forward again, toward the service desk this time, and checked in. Still, his 'stalker,' as he thought of it, followed him quietly, noticed only by the one he watched. Spike wasn't scared of the guy, he knew well enough he could hold his own in a fight. The dirty man sat down at a desk, in a room, an office, dressed, and furnished, too well for his tastes. He looked down, at the desk, not like his at home, littered with who knows what, but nice, and tidy. On the center pad, used for the mouse usually, to the left, was a piece of paper, plain, white computer paper, folded neatly, into a single crease, coming out looking like an envelope, only larger. On the front, it said, in small, cursive, and excessively precise letters, Mr. Spegial. He looked at it for a moment, before slamming his eyelids shut, and taking a deep, deep breath. He picked it up, without ever opening his eyes, and was not surprised when the writing didn't even mess up the smooth texture. His eyes opened, and much to his objection, couldn't focus. 'Must be that liquor from last night,' he thought, not really caring the cause, just thinking about it, while his body adjusted to this place, that he considered, well, to put it simply, technical, and just not worth the little price he got from it, when he got it. Once he could see clearly again, he unfolded the paper, not the only one, reading its contents.
(Letter)
Mr. Spegial, we are sorry to inform you, that you do not seem able to fulfill you duties here, because of certain circumstances, such as, drinking problems, attendance trouble, dropping efforts, and many other unfit habits, and, therefore, are dismissed from all duties here. Thank you.
(Letter End)
Spike threw it down in disgust, making certain to rip it to shreds, each falling on the just vacuumed carpet. Not that he hadn't been expecting, and actually hoping for this, he just wasn't expecting it so soon; had he, he wouldn't have bothered with coming up here. He was not angry, nor upset; if anything, only slightly perturbed at the lack of pay.
"How would you like a job, that pays, much more, than this, place, and where, I can assure you, you will not be fired, once you have been accepted," the man, watching the scene unfold spoke for the first time.
"And what would that be," Spike responded, showing the agitation in his voice, never turning around.
The man stepped forward, producing a small card, handing it to Spike, and speaking again. "Come by, tomorrow, 10:00 A.M., don't be late," and started walking toward the exit.
"Wait," he called out. The man stopped, not looking back for him, but giving him his attention as requested. "What's your name," Spike continued, unfazed by his signs of boredom, quite used to them.
"Vicious," he said, nothing else, and walking out of the room, leaving the other man to read the card, and deduct things for himself.
So, he read the card, out loud. "Red Dragon Syndicate," he stopped, reading the rest silently. It gave directions. "I'll be there," he spoke to the man he knew was still in the hall. Vicious, as he had named himself, walked on out of the building. Spike followed, having no idea what life he was getting himself into. Having no idea the man that had been stalking him, would become his best friend, but then, be torn from him; by a single woman. A woman named Julia.
