Roger slowly opened his eyes, taking in the familiar sight of his water-stained ceiling. Having no pressing plans for the day except to get through it, he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes again, hoping for a few more hours of rest. Propping himself up with one arm and sitting upright with a sense of resignation. The bright morning sunlight temporarily blinded him as he went to the window to open the blinds. Wincing, stumbling towards the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he did so. Slight bags rested under his tired eyes, and a stubborn cowlick stuck up from the side of his dark brown hair. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to banish any negative thoughts from his mind. Moving to his nightstand, he grabbed his phone and watch but stubbed his toe. Groaning in pain and rolling his eyes, he let out a forceful exhale before making his way to the kitchenette. While cooking himself breakfast, he absentmindedly swiped through videos on holo-screen until he found something entertaining enough to distract him from his thoughts. As he cracked eggs and carefully separated the yolks from the whites, he added cheese, salt, and pepper to create a delicious meal. Despite everything else in his mundane life, at least breakfast looked promising.
A sudden loud banging on his door grabbed his attention. Reaching for his weapon in the cupboard, he knocks on his hands. A turret comes out from his ceiling, pointing at the door. Turning off the stove and walking to the door. The banging continued; Roger placed the barrel against the door while looking out the peephole. A disgruntled older man with a cigar in his mouth and a newspaper under his arm kept his head on a swivel impatiently waiting. Giving a signal to the turret by patting his head, the turret recognized the gesture, deactivated, and went back into the ceiling. Decocking the weapon, he slides it into his waist and answers the door.
"It's about time, you answer, boy. Don't you know it's rude to make the elderly wait?"
"Just enter. You know I don't like having the door open for long. There are roving gangs, you know."
"Yea, yea, I'm going, I'm going. Something smells good. What's what'cha cooking?"
"My breakfast until you interrupted me. What do you want?"
"There's no easy way to say this, and I cannot stress secrecy enough here. Well, last night, my nephew got raped by some bad folks. I know he's a fairy, but he didn't deserve that no one does. So I come with a job for you."
"Aren't you capable? Didn't you dust someone over cards a few weeks ago?"
"That's neither here nor there. Look, revenge is a dish best-served cold. And there's no one better at that than you. Also, word through the grapevine is that the group may have connections to the Slaughtered Lamb gang."
"Fine, it's thirty thousand for the three and two hundred and fifty thousand for the whole group," Roger said while sighing,
"How did you know there were three of them?"
"BackDoor News. They always know the latest on the streets. It's how you stay ahead of the rest. You just gotta be willing to pay the price."
"If you've known, you should have done something! Why didn't you!"
"Stop. We may have done a job together, but that doesn't make us family. First I didn't know it was your nephew, and two, I'm not a vigilante who likes running around beating up people for free. I get paid for my marks."
"Fuck you! I'll give you the fifteen now and when completed, then the rest." The older man grumbled while walking out the door, slamming it shut.
Returning to the eggs that had grown cold, Roger rolled his eyes and reheated them. Putting the fresh glass of orange juice on the table along with the egg whites with cheese sprinkled on top, he finally sits at the table. Pulling the weapon out from his waistband he places it next to the plate while re-adjusting in his seat so he could return to enjoying the morning. Watching more of BackDoor News while eating, the reporter stated various happenings around the city and some exciting trade findings. Zoning out the screen, Roger stared blankly at nothing in particular as he entered his nothingness box. Snapping himself out of it before getting too deep, he stands up and clears the table. Quickly washing the dishes and cleaning the cooking area. After finishing up, he grabs a green utility bag from under the counter and places it on the table.
Disassembling his weapon, he opens the bag taking out the cleaning kit. After thoroughly cleaning the gun, he reassembles it. With the morning tasks completed, he nodded, approving of what he'd accomplished so far. With satisfaction in mind, he lies on his bed and turns on the holo-screen. With nothing really of interest, he switched to a music channel. Luckily, one of his favorite bands was on, so he kept it there. Slowly drifting into sleep, the memories of the past flooded in without warning. The sounds of an air raid siren blaring. The whistles of bombs going off, blood-curdling screams. The relentless heavy machine gun fire. The smell of burning flesh and oil engulfed the air. The taste of iron and mud had stained his tongue. Everything seemed near, but nothing was visible past the dense forest that consumed him. The sudden chime from his watch echoed loudly in the room. Opening his eyes, he raised his arm to check his watch. A message in big, bold letters scrolled across the screen. Good pay, if you want the job, open the message for details. Taking a second, he looked around his room. Looks like a good time to move again, he thought to himself.