Chapter 1: Bloody Pavement
It's the same shit every fuckin' day.
Wake up, take a piss, brush my teeth, get dressed, and go to work. Simple as that. It's been this way for god only knows how many years ever since he took over the fucking town. Ginzou Hiroka, the president of the Silver Seven Corporation and now the long standing government official of our town. He's had this role ever since I hit ten years old. At first, shit was real cool; the adults were pretty chill with this rather creepy, white haired guy. Then, everything hit the fucking wall after a month of him being elected when he changed our society to a totalitarian one. He destroyed free speech, all expression of one's creativity. You get shot by the police for breaking the norm nowadays.
Ain't life in Silvervale grand?
Today, on my way to work at a factory owned by SSC, I saw a Sliver Keeper beat the living hell out of a stoner guy on some modified roller blades. He was blasting that pirate radio station that only those not fearful of any authority figure out of his rather funky headphones before that asshole Keeper smashed it with his plated boot before he left the poor bastard lying there in a pool of his own blood.
I wasn't about to leave someone to bleed out on the sidewalk, even if I was late to my job. I got over to him once the Keeper was out of sight and slowly turned his seriously limp form. He was about my age, had dyed light blue spiky hair, a septum piercing, gauges, and a pair of now busted shades.
"Yo, man. You gonna stomp on my face too, man?" His voice was rather weak as his nose bleed over his busted lips, his gray eyes peering at me through cracked lenses.
I shook my head. "No, dude. I'm trying to help you."
"You're wearing a factory jumpsuit."
"Yeah? I work at Factory Twenty Three. I melt junk metal for the Sliver Keeper armor."
He stayed quiet after that as I lifted him and his bag of something. We were close to my house so I brought him into my little box of an apartment and laid him on my ratty couch. "So, what's your name?" I asked him as he peeled of his glasses. He glanced at me for a moment before speaking. "Russell. Call me Check, though, please."
I gave a nod as I handed Check a wet towel to wipe the blood from his face. "So, why are you all colorful, bro?" He gave a half grin once he wiped his face clean and took his septum bull ring and stone one inch gauges out.
"I'm surprised you don't know what I am, man. I'm a rudie, you know, what the dorks on TV call us." I then realized exactly what this guy was.
Rudies are people with fancy modified rollerblades, weird dances and gangs, and are always spraying graffiti on the walls. Some are political; some are just pictures or a name. Sliver Keepers, news reporters, and adults always call these guys "Juvenile delinquents that are so rejected from society that they do anything to become noticed in the world and hate any authority figure introduced to them because they become threatened of not being noticed." But I can understand why they hate it. They don't get to be themselves or express untapped potential.
"What's your name, dude? You're my savior and all." He was looking me over, as if he was trying to see if I was trustworthy or something. I looked back at him with the same look over. "My name is Katsuro Matsuoka. You can call me Casturo if you can't pronounce my name, some people can't." He grabbed my hand and shook it in his gloved one, that grin growing on his face. "Nice to meet ya, Casturo, you're a serious lifesaver. Hey, want my number? You seem to be a cool guy, dude, and I am always up for new pals."
Eh, why not? He seemed harmless and was rather nice, aside from being a criminal in the eyes of our government. So, after we switched numbers, he packed his stuff away in his bag and was off with another thank you and a thumbs up.
After that whole mess, I called my boss and called in sick since, well, I had blood on my jumpsuit and the extras were in the wash. I didn't want to go in looking like I murdered somebody on my way to work. Of course I was promptly chewed out, told that if Mr. Laffer wasn't friends with my dad that he'd fire me for missing work too much and yadda, yadda, yadda…
Around five in the afternoon, my phone rang right beside me as I slowly dosed off to sleep. I grumbled, picked it up, and checked my messages. Heh. It was Check. He wanted me to go to his hang out near the abandoned Factory One district. I didn't have plans and I didn't have work the next day so, I said fuck it and told him I'd be there soon. And after a short bus ride and a little walking, there I was, right behind an abandoned house with Check. He looked a lot better; he had changed his outfit and obviously took a shower since his hair was slicked down.
"So, where are we, exactly, Check?" He gave a grin as he peered over a pair of shiny blue and silver shades. "My peoples hang out spot." Was the rather chill reply he gave me.
"Your 'peoples'?" I asked as we opened the gate to the backyard.
"My friends and I live here."
"Seriously? Do you guys even have heat or working water? This whole area has been abandoned since the second half of the factory exploded and shrapnel fell and killed people. "
"Burn knows how to fix that shit, his dad taught him since he used to work for the city and stuff."
"Burn?" He answered my question as soon as he opened the back door.