Shadow Works at a Gun Shop
Monday had arrived, and with it the eve of a new tropical season. Al-Paco underwent its usual transformation into a scorching death trap, forcing its few unfortunate inhabitants to adapt to the scathing temperatures. Residents boarded themselves up in air-conditioned homes. Unattended vehicles were left open to prevent internal overheating. A multitude of warning labels had been plastered near sites with metal railings. Cold tarps were layered atop cement platforms to prevent them from expanding.
The heat-wave was nearly inescapable, but it didn't deter local businesses. Shops like 'Seven Bullets' extended their operating times to accommodate for the loss in outside activity. Many provided free soft drinks to reward those who made the trek, incentivizing more citizens to resume their commercial activities. The council copied their philosophy and pushed the mandatory weekly meetings an hour earlier into the day when the cool breeze made the heat a little more bearable. During this time of year, discussions on social assistance became rampant. The people were dying to know the needs of the community and address them. The local Church would fund the caravan line that would supply water to the needy and the town's workers. It took a strong collaborative effort to beat the desert heat.
Coyotes were also an anticipated issue. These trouble-seekers scouted the town-spaces at dusk, allured by the new scent of running water. The council assured its citizens that necessary protective measures were already being implemented, but many still took to their local gun-shop for protection.
"76C Carbine, Semi-Automatic."
Samuel, a local disgruntled resident, dropped a matted long-barreled-rifle on the checkout counter table. His wife held his left arm compassionately, leaning her head on his frail yet solid shoulders.
"This better be worth the price of admission, Jo," he said, putting one fist on the granite counter-top and another on his hips, "don't want this thing jamming up like the last piece your father sold me"
"No sir Mr. Aidley," Joan replied, "We actually just had this imported, it's fresh from the factory, no troubles"
"I hope so," Samuel continued, "that man cost me big game last time!"
"It's not going to hurt right?" his wife asked with concern, "I don't want the poor creature suffering"
Samuel rolled his eyes, "Sweetie, I've told you already, it only hurts when you shoot it anywhere else but the head," he spoke sternly, "that's why I need a good rifle that does the job right."
Shadow the hedgehog, sat quietly in a corner behind the counter-top, against the store's only tinted window. His attention was split between a copy of the Paco's Digest and the ongoing conversation. A large cap with the store's logo concealed his identity, but his oversized work clothes made him stand out, like some small humanoid doll.
"Here's your thing, already pre-signed and written," Samuel said, he pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Joan. A heading on the side read 'QAQ'.
"Shadow, could you come take a look at this?" Joan asked, "It's QAQ, that's your thing"
Shadow made a displeased grunt. He dropped the small magazine next to a few boxes of ammunition that had been left over by the last customer and lept off his rocking chair. He snapped his back into place and spun his cap around to get a better view of the situation, revealing his irked red eyes.
"Oh?" Samuel said with a mixture of surprise and excitement, "this is Abram's new hire isn't it?"
The black hedgehog didn't reply, he reached his hands upwards, snatched the folded paper from Joan's grasp, and inspected its contents.
"Yes, this loveable angry 'thing' is Shadow," Joan said. "Dad's new experiment."
"He's like those rowdy boys that come here once in a while,"
"They're called Mobians dear," Samuel's wife said.
"Yeah, I knew that," the old man replied with a stiff tone,.
"Checks out," Shadow muttered, he stuffed the paper in Joan's left pocket, spun his cap back, and slumped back into his chair with his magazine.
"He's QAQ qualified too huh?" Samuel said, "That's brilliant, just like his good boss."
Joan nodded in agreement, putting on a somber look. She was the only one in the family business who never made the QAQ qualifications, she hated being reminded of that.
"That's going to be seven hundred and forty," she said.
"Put that on the tab, I'll sort it out when that old geezer is in town again"
"Alright then, have a good day, Mr. Aidley"
"I better."
Samuel dragged the rifle from its table, shoved the folded form into his pocket, and began to make his exit. He paused just before stepping outside and gave the hedgehog an uplifting stare.
"How much they paying you here son?" he asked.
"It's not about the money."
"Oh yeah?" Samuel chortled a bit, "you know how to shoot one of these things?"
Shadow slightly turned his head to get a better look at the rifle.
76C. Typical semi-automatic for beginners, well built for long-range hunts but cracked easily under stressful fire.
"Maybe," he replied, he turned to the next page of the magazine.
"Well, you ever want to make thrice as much as whatever that loser Abram is offering, you just come over to my side of town,"
"We've got a Mobian congregation in our local church if you're ever interested, darling" his wife chimed in
Samuel kept her shut, "Oh hush it, Nancy," he snatched his arm away from her, "there's real money to be made in killing those things outside, not in playing Church"
"I'll think about it," Shadow said, hiding his growing impatience.
"Give me a call when you do sport, Joan's got my number, don't ya girl?"
"Yes, Mr. Aidley," Joan replied with a forced nod.
"Aight, see ya'll in the festival," Samuel said, he pushed the glass door opened and stepped into the radiant landscape outside.
"God Bless," Nancy said, following him.
Joan waited for the couple to enter their vehicle. She breathed a sigh of relief after their car sputtered off into the distance.
"God, you just want to hit him, don't you?" she asked, slamming her fist on the granite table.
"Hmm," the black hedgehog replied.
"Surprised you didn't tell him to take a hike or something,"
Shadow didn't respond. The young store clerk, infuriated at his apathy, marched forward and snatched the magazine from his grip.
"Gimme that!" she grunted. She inspected the front cover.
It was an older issue, dated a few months prior to June. Joan figured he must've swiped it from the store stash below. She slapped it near the cash register, leaned towards it, and put her hands on her hip striking Shadow with a judgemental stare.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked.
"I don't understand," the black hedgehog replied, he slowly leaned forward in his seat.
"How come you made QAQ and I didn't?"
"I put in the effort Joan"
"Really?" she asked, "I must be a dullard then because you know I spent ages studying for that stupid assessment."
Shadow made an irritated hiss and closed his eyes. He didn't need this drivel today, especially in the morning.
"Don't do this to me," he said, "every week you waste my time with this same crap."
"Oh yeah?" she straightened her pose, "Get up."
The black hedgehog made a small groan. He slowly let himself off the rocking chair and landed with a rough thud on the wooden ground. Joan surveyed him, eyeing him from top to bottom.
His pitch-dark fur blended with the tinted window backdrop. The crimson stripes that branded his spikes reflected what little light came through, producing this slight reddish glow around his body. He possessed a kind of soul-stopping stare that pierced through the shade his cap provided. He had the markings of someone called 'Shadow', but his bright cheery oversized outfit was absolutely unfitting. It almost snapped Joan out of her current bad mood.
"You look ridiculous in that getup," she noted, "the agency couldn't afford better-sized clothes?"
"What's it matter to you?" Shadow asked.
"It clashes with that 'brooding' persona you've got going on edgelord"
Shadow was a bit taken back by the comment, "Now you're just being childish"
Joan rolled her eyes and redirected her attention towards the cash-register, "Whatever." She began logging notes into the system, taking one for a Mr. Samuel Aidley.
"Not my fault this is the company uniform, I'd have personally taken my own approach miss," he continued.
"Make yourself useful and get me an inventory check."
Shadow approached the edge of the counter table to take his exit, "I did, about forty-five times during that stupid conversation."
"Do another run."
Shadow slammed his cap down the table, "Fine!"
He vanished in a black flurry and reappeared a few seconds later.
"Done."
Surprised by the rush, Joan ceased her activities and looked at Shadow with alarm.
"Can you do that a bit more slowly next time?" she started, "Like how regular people do it"
"Regular people need to step up."
"I don't even think the CCTV caught that, Shadow," she continued, "Is that what you do all day Shadow? Just dash from place to place without moving an inch from your chair?"
"I complete my activities with all the utmost efficiency"
"You're weird and disturbing."
The sound of a large engine revving outside the shop halted the conversation. It was the Church's caravan making its first stop that day at the Seven Bullets store.
"Here comes the cavalry," Joan said, "Wanna get baptized Shadow, so you stop being weird?"
"I sincerely hope you're being comical," Shadow responded.
"Oh, is Mr. Edgy gonna dunk on some priests now?"
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, getting slightly more agitated at Joan's mocking tone.
"I could ask the same," she finished the last of her logging and packed her hair into a ponytail with a piece of rubber she'd gotten from the counter-top.
"I don't want them in here, so I'm just going to collect whatever they've got outside, want anything?" she asked.
"Something cold," Shadow said
"Something cold," Joan repeated, "love the implication that there's something else but that in this blight."
Joan took her exit from the counter, picked up her wallet, pushed the glass doors open and strutted into the scorching desert heat. Shadow watched as she approached the caravan's driver and hugged him with a warm welcome. The two began another conversation, the black hedgehog could make out some of their words but he couldn't find a reason to care. Without missing a beat, he retrieved his magazine from the granite desk, retreated back to the rocking chair, and sunk back into his daily reading.
'A history of motorcycles in the Mid-West,' the headline of this article read.
Uploaded this earlier, hated it, decided to upload it again.
It's just some stupid idea I had of Shadow being in a fairly realistic mid-western setting.