It was colder than usual that night. Black metal still coated second district, sun-baked onto the pavement in solid sheets, slick like ice. He stood there, craning his neck, nearly tired enough to fall asleep standing up in the street. He saw Sadie returning from a stout apartment complex named “24-b” across the street, catching herself when she nearly slipped. He turned away from her, began to walk home with cold hands stuffed in pockets, breath forming white clouds in the air.
“That it?” he asked.
“I’ve got nothing else, so yeah, sure. We’ll call you if we’ve got an-”
“I told you I don’t care. Fuck off or I’ll make you and your boss fuck off.”
“Oh? And how exactly are you planning to do that, Nagare? You aren’t in the position to threaten me, specially not Dels.” she said. She knew it was true, though; he was a Junkie. That edge though, she remembered that edge she had. One call could turn him back to Roach food, pile of broken bones and torn muscle-goop sliding across the ground in an instant if he did anything. Question was, would she be fast enough?
She removed her glasses, moved forward a step.
“Fine, fine, just remember the offer, Nagare, but we’ll try not to string you out TOO much. We’ve got other Junkies who can do it with less lip than you’re giving, sweety.”
She turned around.
“But you still owe my company for giving you this life. It’s better than being dead.”
She wore a smirk on her face that made her feel clever. She liked this feeling of power, power over the most powerful people living in the Oasis. That smirk curled into a frustrated twist when she realized she had been talking to herself for the past few minutes, Nagare having left her, fed up. She felt the vibrations of second district’s rail-train beneath her feet, likely where he was, heading towards home to pass out for three days.
“That damn rat. Making me look like a loon.” she said, yawning as the sun crawled into the sky.