The two imps sprinted towards the street, one with a long briefcase in their hand. "Taxi! TAAAXI!" The man yelled out, voice cracking as he tried desperately to project it. The ground was wet, drops of sour water flying down from the dark clouds above, roughly slapping onto the concrete and pavement. A cab drove right on the curb, and the tire had ejected a large splash of liquid in the direction of the sidewalk. Although the imps recoiled to avoid it, they found themselves drenched.
Their resolve was undeterred. "TAAXI!" Moxxie frantically waved his arm up and down, leaning into the street. One car honked and flipped them off before speeding away. Another taxi had a person already inside. Finally, a candidate emerged. "HEY! HEYYY! TAAXI!" He was now waving with both hands, briefcase flapping back and forth, and mercifully, the yellow car pulled up. The door was opened, and the couple piled in.
The interior of the cab smelled of smoke and must. The leather, cheap and synthetic, was worn and peeling, and its backing stuck to the imps like glue. In between the back and front seats was a completely cordoned off section, glass and filthy polymer, which was black and rough on its surface. The meter had already been turned on, and the driver, a spindly man, had a cigarette stuffed between his lips. "Where to?"
"Stolas manor… and if you could please hurry it up-"
The imp was rudely interrupted. "No can do. Dat's in tha Goetia district, ain't got access." The cabbie's accent had begun to show itself, archetypical of the city, a mix of the accents on the US Eastern Seaboard.
"Fuck, uh…" The weapons expert ejected that word out without much of a care for decorum. A couple of seconds pass.
"…" The driver looks back at the couple. "I ain't got all day!"
Millie patted her partner's shoulder. "How 'bout we go to that there hotel nearby? Tha, uh…"
The taxi driver stepped on the gas. "Tha junkie one, ya, I gotcha." The yellow vehicle sped off before either of the passengers could voice the actual address. The imps were now committed to their gamble.
Footsteps. Footsteps creeping closer. The mutilated imp couldn't focus on anything but the sound of sole hitting concrete. Multiple people. His heart pounded. There were only two possibilities. The footsteps could pass him by. They usually did. The other possibility was-
The door opened and the room was filled with blinding light. Three silhouettes, shadows, vaguely human-shaped, blocked the fluorescent beams with their bodies. The hands once again grabbed his body. He didn't resist. What was the point? He was stood up, weak on his legs, and a needle was inserted into his jugular.
As the plunger pushed the solution into the imp's veins, the amnestic rest was not what arrived. Instead, Blitzo's eyes dilated, and the world opened up before him. He felt strong, grandiose, the pain from his numerous scars and cuts subsiding. He didn't know what had just been injected into him. He never knew.
The imp went limp in the scientist's arms, and expertly, another human lifted them by the legs and placed them onto a stretcher.
The tires screeched on the pavement as the vehicle came to a halt. The couple opened the door and practically flew out onto the street, briefcase in tow. The taxi driver protested. "Ey! Ya still gotta pay me!"
Moxxie, apologies flowing out like water, gave him a stack of fifty hellbucks. "Sorry sorry sorry sorry oh hell here it is okay byeee!" He sprinted out.
The taxi driver squinted at the stack. "…the ride was only fifteen!" He shouted, but nobody heard. He started counting the money. "…weird-ass imps."
Despite no longer being in the Imp section of Pride, the area seemed no less decrepit. Garbage piled up on the streets, cracks in the asphalt, mildew on the bins. The streets were thin, clotheslines strewn between the tenements above. The odour of occupation, the disgusting smell of vents spewing out stale city air, practically left Moxxie gagging.
Millie, used to the smells of the farm, reacted less negatively but still attempted to cover her nose. The fabric of her shirt, however, was too tight on her to create a proper seal, and she had to hunch over to get it inside. "Egh… hun, where are we?"
Moxxie looked around. He sputtered, coughed, and hacked up from his throat a grand total of nothing. He was desperately trying to get his bearings, frantically looking around the street. "…crumbs… crumbs crumbs crumbs FUCK! I DON'T KNOW!"
"…shit, Moxx! SHIT! Did ya even remember where tha hotels are 'round here!?"
"I forgot there was a hotel!" He placed his face soundly into his hands, clenching against his forehead. "Oh hell, Millie, I… I… I messed up, hun, I-"
"Ey. Ya two lost?"
A nasally voice coming from their left. Millie was the first to swing their head around to see him. A spider, extraordinarily tall, spindly. His fuzz was white, adorned with pink, and he had some sort of heterochromia that blackened the sclera and removed the pupil of their left eye. A cigarette holder was soundly nestled in between his fingers, and he walked towards the couple, away from a street corner.
Moxxie looked on up, finally viewing the world from beyond his red hands, blackened by fingerless gloves. He observed the spider before sighing, his words quiet under his breath. "Oh, it's… it's just a prostitute…"
"A prostitute? Look, bud, I dunno who ya think you're talkin' ta, but I ain't just a prostitute. Ya ever heard a' 'Dick 9 From Outer Space'?" His accent, soundly of the city, was peculiarly rhotic. He took a puff from his smoke-stick. "Pff… look, ya guys obviously ain't from around here, so lemme give ya some advice. Ya keep stickin' 'round these parts, I can promise ya, youse fucks are gonna be in tha river by tha time tha sun comes down."
The armourer, crossing his arms, looked around. He was desperately trying to hide his panic. "…okay, what's the catch here? Do you want money or…" He glanced to his side, swallowing.
The escort leaned down, his chest fluff now readily apparent as he stared into Moxxie's eyes. "Money!? What tha fuck- look, I'm tryin' this whole… rehab thing. This is kinda part a' it… sooo… I ain't lookin' fer cash? Fuck, I dunno, jus'…" The hand with the cigarette-holder inside pointed to a direction for a total of two milliseconds before the spider remembered something. "…nah, even that distance's pretty fuckin' dangerous. Alright, look… there's a hotel down tha street. I'm gonna walk ya to it an' whatever ya do after is yer business. Capiche?"
Moxxie held onto the suitcase's handle with both of his hands, protectively at his front. His eyes darted around, observing the corners of the street, the alleyways. "…and why should we trust you?"
Millie blinked a few times. "…Moxx, hun…" She pats her husband's shoulder, whispering in his ear. "We should jus' see 'im out. What if he's right 'bout them streets out there?"
The weapons expert lowered his voice to a whisper. "…but what if he takes us to some… I dunno… somewhere unsafe?"
Despite the imp couple's best efforts, the spider heard. "Ey! Who do ya think I am, Ted fuckin' Bundy!?" He let out a reedy, incredulous laugh. "Ya know how bad that fuckin' shit would be for my business if they caught me? 'Oh, ya kno', this trick's got a history a' jus' killin' people for no reason, ya should totally give 'im a go'." He angrily puffed at whatever was left of the cigarette at the end of his stick. "Look, if any a' my clients had a fuckin' death wish, they'd go ta Val, I don't deal wit' that shit." He slid the cigarette out of the holder and flicked it on the ground. "Besides… wouldn't hear tha end a' it from Charlie."
Moxxie glared at the spider skeptically... before exhaling and momentarily letting his guard down. "…okay. Just down the street to that hotel. If you take us any further, we're running. Deal?"
"Oh, va fangool, fine. Fuck, are all ya imps this paranoid?" The spider walked past them, cigarette holder being nestled in his chest fluff, one pair of hands in his pockets. "Follow me… or don't, I dun give a fuck, do whatever ya want."
The imps looked at each other, then to the sinner… and decided to head in his direction.
