New York City - Alley (March 2018)

[DarkSideCookie]

New York City - Alley

A rather dilapidated alley in the city of New York, with crime rate very high.

Events taking place in March 2018.

[dantalion]

It always starts with the headache. Before it hit him that he was missing hours of time. Before the flakes of dried blood on his hands and clothes, Jackie had a crushing headache that spread down into his arms, his hips, down into his toes. His face pressed against concrete, scraped as he pushed himself into a sitting position. Welcome back, Jackie. The voice oozed through his skull, almost convincing him it was a thought. But no. Firx’s hooks tugged at the edges of his dura, sending new flashes of pain.

“Wrong place to sleep it off, little man!” Jackie had a half second to figure out it wasn’t Firx talking before the boot connected with his chin,sending him sprawling. Before his reeling vision cleared, another foot hit his ribs. Kicked in the stomach, and he vomited. “Oh! We got a popper here!” Another boot to the belly. To his spine. Do it, Jackie. You know you want to. “Piss off,” he barely coughed out the words and blood splattered across the puddle of bile. Shadows everywhere in this… alley? “We can just leave…”. “Oh hell no, dude, you’re going nowhere!” Another punch to the face. More blood. Screw that, Jacks, they’re BEGGING FOR IT!

Jackie exchaled, “You’re absolutely right.” His vision was clearing. Head stopped ringing. The first voice was attached to a kid. Maybe mid-twenties, in track pants and a hoodie, “Oh, I know I’m right, asshole!” There was five of them, all told. Jackie’s groan was more from exhaustion than pain, “I wasn’t talking to you, little man,” he closed his eyes. The shadows of the alley burned hard and blue through his eyelids. The pool of dark between the Hoodie’s nostrils spiked like ferrofluid into his brain, and he dropped like a habit.

And then the screams started.

The sirens snapped Jackie out of his reverie. Someone must’ve heard the assholes. Their begging for mercy. The squelching as he shredded them like soft cheese. He stepped into the closest shadow, and stepped out near the 125th Street Station. Lit a Winston Red. Feels good, doesn’t it, Jackie?

“Fuck off, Firx,” and he headed back home to get some damn sleep.