In a small, dark room, the sound of tossing, turning and rustling disturbed what would otherwise be a completely silent space. It persisted for a rather long time, until the blaring of an alarm caused the one in the bed making all the noise to lay still for a bit before reaching for the alarm and switching it off. After a few still and silent minutes, man sat up, exhaled in a somewhat defeated manner, and swung his legs off the bed. He looked at his alarm clock, which by now was displaying the time, as if to confirm what he already knew. He stood up with a shake of his head and after taking just two steps, was already in the bathroom where he proceeded to shower, still in complete darkness. Just as said shower was completed, the lights automatically came on, revealing a small, yet clean cut bathroom. A towel was removed from the towel rack, and after a thorough wipe and dab, the now dry man looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was in a large afro, and his beard was as thick as it could be, yet that did nothing to diminish his looks. His torso was broad and muscled, but was also covered in quite a large volume of scars. He stared at himself in silence, looking as though he hadn't slept in weeks.
He opened the medicine cabinet to reveal a case labeled with the days of the week in seven separate compartments. Each compartment contained a copious amount of pills and capsules, all of which were deposited into his palm, and then subsequently tossed into his mouth, dry. He then exited the bathroom as he chewed on the pills and walked over to his closet, which slid open after he pressed a button on the wall, revealing a series of quilted and reinforced clothes. After picking out entirely black outfit consisting of leather plated trousers, a skin tight, quilted black long sleeved armoured turtle neck top and a belt with multiple pods and compartments, he exited his tiny bedroom and entered the tiny living space in the apartment. After fixing himself a cup of coffee, the man drank it in complete silence and upon finishing it, set about taking his tech off the docking station, strapping on his watch, putting his contact lenses in, sliding his phone in his pocket, and putting on a brown shearling bomber coat, which was also very clearly reinforced with plating, fireproof material, and a lot more. He then put his well worn brown combat leather boots, before placing his hand on a pad which opened a panel in the wall, revealing a number of melee and ranged weapons. After some deliberation, he grabbed a crude looking, almost patch work mace, and a pistol – sliding both into holsters on his belt. He then took a necklace, which was dangling from a nail that had been hammered in to the wall and hung it around his neck. He then closed the panel, and left the apartment – the lights automatically shutting off as he closed the door.
He walked out into the hall of his apartment building, and the stillness of the apartment almost felt like a fallacy, as outside, it was chaotic in a thick, tangible way. The smells from his neighbours, from the building itself, as well as the outside all mixed and became this pungent cocktail which felt as so it was tried to force its way into your lungs. The man just sighed and made his way down the mostly wet hall towards the lift. The floor wasn't wet with water, but the fact that he was wearing heavy duty boots meant that the man didn't care. He pulled some fingerless gloves out from his pockets and slipped them on as he walked towards the lift, that for all intents and purposes, looked to be dead. He punching the button with the side of his fist a few times just to be sure, before sighing just a bit.
"Of course it's still dead." He lamented to himself before heading down the stairs.
The sounds of life that echoed through the halls and into the stairwell were as varied as they were disturbing, all of them ranging from passionate moans of ecstasy, to cries and pleas for mercy and everything in between. It wasn't long before the man reached the bottom of the stairs and soon enough, he had exited the building into an access alley. Shadowy figures lurked at the both exits of said alley, some standing, some crouching, all eyeing whomever exited the building as smoke wafted from whatever they managed to grind up and stuff into their makeshift cigarettes. The man approached the exit of the alley, and as a few of the crouched figures shaped like they were about to stand up, one of the ones that was already upright signaled for them not to. They even went as far as to create some more space to let him pass.
"Soon." The one who gave the signal pretty much whispered to the man after a deep breath.
They had a repurposed rebreather attached to their face, however the to mini oxygen cannisters on either side of the mask were replaced with thick, perpetually smoking 'Burners', a colloquialism for mechanical smoking pipes. The smell that came from said pipes hinted at whatever was stuffed in them being extremely potent, yet the shadowy figure, who was clad in a loose fitting, hooded black cloak and heavy boots appeared to be fairly unaffected. The man ignored the taunt however and kept moving until he was on the main street, storefronts adorned with bright neon lights providing enough illumination that the shadows cast into the back streets and alleyways were particularly dark.
"You're here." A deep voice burbled as heavy footsteps approached. "Good morning. You look like shit, Drake."
The voice belonged to a hulking Lionkin Beast Race man, who was more broad than he was tall. He approached and then stood in front of the man – Drake – and the size difference became apparent. Drake was 6'4" and muscular, but next to the Beast Race man, he looked rather less impressive. The Lion was only two inches taller, but he was absolutely vast. He was somewhat dark, even for his race, and his black mane, which doubled as both his hair and his beard, had more than a few flecks of grey in it – especially around the beard. He was clad in clothing that was reinforced and armoured with much heavier, and more robust materials as compared to those worn by Drake, and in spite of standing upright and being more humanoid from the neck down, he was still incredibly imposing.
"Cory." Drake said as he looked at the Lionkin man. "You smell like blood."
"Shit, you could smell that?!"
"What happened?" Drake asked as he started to walk.
"Nothin' much. On the way here, I saw a man beating on this woman, so tried to defuse the situation. That's all."
"You have a soft spot for the Reds, so you probably stopped attacked a pimp who was talking to one of his."
"…yeah, and?"
"You really should leave people alone, Cory. Their lives are theirs."
"You know I've got daughters, man. I always think if that was one of my babies, and I just can't let it slide."
"Yeah, but it's not one of them. It's just some random woman, eking out a shitty existance in Pulse City and this cesspool of a world."
"This is why women don't like you, bruh… well actually, they do. But this is why you don't HAVE no woman. You're dead inside."
"Maybe. But being 'dead inside' has kept me alive all these years."
"Can't argue with that." Cory chuckled as they reached Cory's car.
The pair hopped in, and even though it took some cranking and a few muttered prayers, the car started and they drove off. The area of Pulse that both Drake and Cory lived in was known as the TD – the Trash Dump – and it really lived up to its name. Those with homes were strung out in the streets next to those who called the streets home, staring into what would be the sky, living in drug induced dreams of a better world in which they were likely the kings and queens. Buildings were a combination of faded, and covered in ash and dust. Garbage, empty Stim needles and cannisters littered the streets, along with all manner of detritus. The surfaces were seldom dry, and were either covered in urine, vomit, blood or depending on the time of night, a combination of all three. Road surfaces could barely be called that, as the number of potholes and ditches in the tarmac meant that all vehicles had to have a raised suspension, heavy duty diffs and offroad tyres – irrespective of make or vehicle type. Beggers fought with each other for the scraps that the sadistic would promise them for the sake of their own entertainment, and the atmosphere was constantly murky – as if somebody had placed cream cheese in a giant humidifier and let it run.
It was supposedly morning, but there was no sunlight in this place – only the bright neon light pollution, and most people had to wear thick glasses or eye masks to obfuscate the intense light. As the pair navigated the streets, with Cory expertly picking the path of least resistance every time, the road surface improved the further away they drove from the TD. As the it did, the light highly intrusive pollution became less and less prevalent, until they were driving in pure darkness again. A cluster of floodlights flickered on, illuminating the path ahead, as well as the surrounding area, revealing the ruined remains of an area of Pulse City known as the Shadowlands. Many a ruined high rise building housed gangs, as well as the businesses and rackets that they ran, and were far more modestly lit – with fire and old fashioned halogen bulbs. There were no street lights – by design – so as to catch and rob as many unsuspecting commuters as possible.
"These fuckers ain't gonna get us, Drake." Cory bellowed excitedly. "My baby is in top condition this morning."
"…even the lights struggled to turn on, Cory. If this piece of junk stalls, we're done."
"People who don't have cars have no room to talk!" Cory retorted. "Shut up."
The car ride went silent once again, and stayed that way as they drove towards an area with a blue hue around it. It was far less intense and haphazard as the one from TD, and after ten more minutes or so, they reached a border, with a large, thick gate, and a plethora of armed guards. Whilst mostly human, there were two huge Ogres, clad in special variants of the city's guard armour, and carrying massive Mauls. Cory turned the flood lights off and left the regular lights on, before stopping at the designated point and winding his window down.
"Morning." He boomed with a friendly smile. "We're with the P.C.M"
As Cory said this, he held up his left wrist, around which the same type of necklace that was around Drake's neck was tightly wrapped. At the same time, Drake tugged on his necklace to show it off as well.
"Ah, the Peaceworth Mercenary Corps." The guard who was at the window remarked. "You here for the quarterly Convocation of Churches?"
"You know how it is. They always hire mercs and non-humans to act as guards in case those extremists from the Anti-Theism Underground partake in some terrorism. Especially because we're deemed as being disposable."
"Yeah, you guys always get the rough end of the stick. This Convocation is shaping up to be a real doozy. It's been a long time since I last saw this many Orcs in the city. Their War Drums have been beaten all damn night."
"I'll bet." Cory said with a chuckle. "Beating those drums while riding those loud ass Lazyboys. The smoke alone must be killing y'all"
"What can we do, though? The Bionic Churches want Bionic Mercs—"
"And the Psyches want the Psyches. I gotcha." Cory confirmed with a boisterous laugh. "Anyway, let's not keep you gentlemen, we were told to assist with preparations, so we need to get going."
"Sure thing. Good luck in there, and welcome to the Aurora District – oh and do us a favour, don't get into any fights with the Bionics? For once?"
"We'll keep it in our pants so long as they do the same, man."
Cory laughed before winding the window up and waited as the guard who was speaking to gave the signal. The gates, using a combination of hydraulics and worked – and struggled – in tandem to open the gargantuan gates.
"It's about time." Drake chimed. "This car is about ten minutes away from running out of fuel."
"What are you talking about?"
"I know what it means when the car shakes like this. Hurry up."
Cory didn't say a word, and around a half a minute later, once the gates were open, Cory's car banged and popped its way into the district.