sniffing out a rat [jude/clay]

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

The world is determined to keep me an incarcerated man. Only whispers give false reasons behind the sudden curfew. Banned from stepping one foot out onto the street when the streetlights turn on. My boss is adamant that the shop keeps its usual opening hours, meaning I have very few minutes to get it locked up and back to my house before the peacekeepers start plucking out the curfew breakers. One false move and I will be back in that detention centre for life. I will not let this sudden inconvenience risk that, even if it means sleeping in the shop if I am too slow counting the coins in the cashier.

It has been a week of sprinting across Ten to get home before dusk and so far, I have not had to make up a bed behind the counter in the cheese store. Today, there has been a sudden rush of customers during the last hour of opening, at one point they were queuing out of the door. Maybe Ten has suddenly decided to stockpile cheddar and margarine. They all know something I do not.

I can tell who knows my story and who does not. Sometimes they greet me with a smile and say thank you. Others dare to not even look at me in the eye.

I do not care about the gossip, there will be a time where they will all forget about my history. It is the future they will all remember me for. A hard-working man who made a new life for himself. I will not always be working in this shop; it is just a part of the first step.

As soon as I usher the very last customer out of the door and flip the sign to closed, there must be ten minutes left for me to count the change, get out and sprint the twenty-minute journey home. I empty the contents of the coin drawer onto the countertop, sorting them into piles and I make my mind wander to a pain of mathematics. It is all I did in the detention centre, count the days until I was freed. I am an expert at this.

Except my mind is distracted to movement at the other side of the glass. There is something…or someone out there in the darkening street. It is probably just people hurrying home. ”Fourty-two…fourty-five…fifty.” My mind is blurred by an anxiety, a presence of something watching me. Maybe it is just a day effect of the dreams I have been having… ”Fifty…sixty-three…” No, there is definitely something out there.

I make my way to the door, the large brass key in my hand as I push it into the lock, twisting it until it makes the clicking noise. For a moment I keep my eyes close to the door, my breath spreading condensation across the glass as I try to confirm a sighting or mark this down as stupid paranoid me.

[rook]

outrage
that's it i'm going on a rampage
don't waste my time with any context
i'm gonna ruin all your prospects
i'm gonna pick all your pockets

The moon is a pale whale in the sky, surfacing from the depths of heavy cloud cover and chimney smoke. The white leviathan casts stark shadows across the wet, muddy path that leads from the farmsteads down into Ten's center. Naked trees sway in a skeletal dance as the howling wind forces me to grip the edges of my jacket and pull them around me.

The paper on which I've written my destination flaps wildly in my hand, and I squint in the darkness to make sure of the address. Moving from silo to abandoned wheelcart, I take cover to avoid the Peacekeeper patrols. Curfew prohibits anyone from being outside after 7pm. Their flashlights cut into the night as they moan about how far away their next smoke break is, or argue over shift patterns. I wait for their footsteps to fade before hastily moving on, my worker boots squelching in the thick mud.

The town centre has a far heavier Peacekeeper presence. I'm starting to wish I'd done this in the day, but Clay Sawyer is a hard man to pin down. He was difficult enough to find in the first place - working in a cheese store right under my nose wasn't something I ever expected, nor planned for. It makes things difficult, as I can't get him on his own, or without witnesses in the middle of the day. No, it has to be night, when he closes up shop.

I run and slide into an alleyway, just avoiding an oncoming patrol. Two of then stop and wait as a third Peacekeeper takes a piss against an old tree. I crouch patiently, hoping that they'll pass on soon. If I don't get to the store soon, Sawyer will be long gone, and I'll have missed my chance.

An opportunity opens up and I move again to the next solid cover, a dumpster outside a butchery. More Peacekeepers, a patrol vehicle, and some dogs. Great. I spot the cheese store on the other side of the avenue, but it's difficult to get to without being seen. I was hoping this would all go a lot smoother.

Frustrated, I pick up a rock and look for a window pane. Across from me is a smallish house. Left with no other choice, I arc my arm, throw my shoulder forwards and propel the rock towards the house. The window shatters loudly, and the Peacekeepers are suddenly alert. Once they begin to move towards the house, I dart for the cheese shop.

I try to get a good look inside, but the glass is fogged with condensation that I can't wipe from the outside. I can't hear shit neither, so I move to the front door and try the handle. It's locked. Fuck. He might have gone.

I glance over my shoulder and check that no-one is within earshot, and then knock firmly on the front door.

fury
i am the judge and I'm the jury
it's dog eat dog and I'm a pure breed
i'll work you up into a frenzy
but god this baggage is heavy

lyrics - dreamers hotel by enter shikari

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

It is so warm in here despite the bitter wind outside and evening drawing away the sun. Sweat rolls from my brow into my eyes, moisture even soaks my neck and underarms as my eyes focus on the glass. The view quickly fading as my own breath spreads cross the surface. There is chattering outside, a familiar sound of peacekeeper patrol conversation. I guess I will be sleeping behind the counter tonight. How has time faded away so quickly? Or they must be out early. I cannot let my lack of punctuality risk the next jail cell key being thrown away.

I go back to the coin counting. I slide the stacked copper into separate little leather pouches. There is no real reason now for me to secure the change tonight, but the routine is important. A routine is all I have been given to carry this new life to the next. There is no point breaking it tonight.

The coins jangle in the pouches, metal clapping together as I carry it to the safe at the back of the shop. But there are more noises. A crash of glass somewhere outside, I stop my journey, my eyes back on the condensation covered glass door.

My curiosity begs me to pull up the blind of the big rectangular window but I am sure the army outside will question why I am in here, likely flag me as a burglar with the bags of cash I have in my hands right now.

I make my way to the safe, throwing in the bags and pushing the big steel door shut. Sluggishly, I walk to my new dwelling for the night; thankfully, I always carry for the worst and my pack has a bedroll strapped to it.

More noise draws me back to the door, a rattle of the handle, then a knock. The entire functionality of my brain freezes as all I can do is stare. Maybe it is a customer. Maybe it is my boss. Maybe it is peacekeepers outside. A burglar would not knock?

”Sorry we are closed.” I say as I stand close to the door, my fingers wrap around the locked handle, pulling it with all my force to ensure more security if they dare to break it down. The condensation is thick, the identity of the black silhouette hidden but my need to see if they are a threat or not draw my free hand to the glass. A small wipe, a little circle with my index finger, enough for just my eye to see the outside world.

They are a male, likely the same age as me and they do not seem the type to have cheese cravings at this hour. ”I am sorry, you will have to come back in the morning.” I call through the glass, loud enough so that my voice can be heard outside.

[rook]

outrage
that's it i'm going on a rampage
don't waste my time with any context
i'm gonna ruin all your prospects
i'm gonna pick all your pockets

The distorted voice buzzes in static over the radio of a Peacekeeper. The patrol is too far for me to make out what they are saying, but close enough to see me if I move too suddenly or make any noise. I stand very still next to the front door of the cheese parlour, waiting for the figure inside to move and unlock the entrance to the store.

Just a thin bit of wood between myself and my brother's killer.

My heart is racing, but my breath is steady and my eyes active, searching for movement both inside the shop and outside. I've prepared for this moment for months, waiting for the Detention Centre to release the bastard, watching the newspapers for mentions of his name, for dates and locations. Questioned locals, people linked to the crime, neighbours and store owners, bar staff and lax Peacekeepers. I'm as ready as I possibly can be, and yet when the pale skin of his palm presses onto the glass pane and slowly wipes down a small square of condensation, and I look into his eyes - the eyes of a killer - I'm really not sure if I'm ready at all.

Of course, he doesn't know me, he assumes me a customer. No, he's not that naive to think someone would come to a fucking cheese shop at this hour. No, the look in his eye, he knows I am not here for my daily food shop.

"Can you let me in?" I ask, half-smiling at him - the bastard boy who killed his own father, who murdered my brother. Smiling like he's just another boy on the street. Like a friend.

"I'm caught out of curfew, I don't think I can make it back home without being caught!" I explain innocently, he too will know just how heavy-handed the Peacekeepers can be during this curfew. You can hear people screaming after dark as they're dragged away. Is there any sympathy in this killer, I wonder?

Is there madness behind his eyes? Is he capable of a moment of compassion? I'd like him to give me a chance to find out, just a chance - that's all I need. One split second where he lowers his guide. I smile warmly and nod to the lock, let me in, murderer.

fury
i am the judge and I'm the jury
it's dog eat dog and I'm a pure breed
i'll work you up into a frenzy
but god this baggage is heavy

lyrics - dreamers hotel by enter shikari

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

My eyes do not move off is, not even for half a second. Of all the stores that line this street, even the expensive pawn shop across the road, why this one? Why does a robber? A curfew breaker? Or an innocent? Choose the one with Dairy painted on its door. Maybe he could see my silhouette outside. Maybe he has quarrel with my boss. Maybe he has quarrel with me. Not many faces from my past speak to me now, the occasional forced good morning but that is just it. I am the boy who killed his father, what conversations is there to be had? This man does not look familiar from my past, that is at least one thing I can erase.

With the sleeve of my long grey shirt, I rub away more condensation from the glass as my breath begins to march across it. The circle much larger now, maybe bigger than a soccer ball and enough for the man to see me a little clearly. There is a smile on his face when he asks to come in. Tonight, the dairy shop is my shelter, do I really have the room and the heart to share it with a stranger?

No, he could be a burglar. Maybe he is a payed peacekeeper who is trying his hardest to get me to break curfew. I am sure they will want me back in the detention centre. Anyway, my boss will be in a horror if they find out I spent the night here, let alone with someone else.

I shake my head, finally looking away from him as my eyes slip to the frozen hand that is secure on the round door handle. ”Sorry dude, I can’t let you in. I don’t know you and the owner will shit his pants if he finds out anyone spent the night in here.” My eyes land back on his as I shrug, I can’t risk losing this job for a stranger. ”Maybe try the bakers a few stores down, he lives above the shop and has the oven running through the night. Stay safe dude.”