Killer King awoke as the light streamed in from his bedroom window managed to directly hit his eyes. He closed them and desperately tried to search for the memories remaining from his dream. The only things he seemed to remember were the feeling of past mistakes and pure fear. His legs quivered as he stood from his bed and looked around his messy ‘house.’ Technically it was a gas station, but it was where he slept and was where his broken dreams lied. So it was close enough. Somehow, he felt so lonely and surrounded at the same time, haunted by the spirits of those he used to hold close. A shiver ran down his spine as he tried to shrug off the memories of the past. He dragged himself over to the mirror cracked mirror he had set in the corner. God, he looked like a disaster. His dark hair was overgrown, the jeans, shirt, and jacket he had worn to bed were wrinkled to hell, there were dark bags under his deep brown eyes, and his skin was fairly greasy. The killer could practically hear Northern Downpour’s voice in his ears, ‘What the hell did you do to this place and what did you do to yourself??’ Downpour was always a quiet guy until it was time to complain. For a split second, he felt a smile twitch onto his lips, but it quickly faded as he remembered that he was gone for good. Instead, it was replaced with a scowl. ‘Focus,’ he reminded himself, ‘You have shit to do today.’ He decided against changing his outfit, he had only had it on for a day, after all. The man did, however, look at his half-full pill bottle, guns, and his keys, all sitting on his bedside table. He briefly considered taking his pills with him but decided against it. He’ll just wait. He could wait, right? He snatched his guns and keys and dragged himself to the front of the gas station, walking past shattered photo frames, empty convenience store racks, partially ripped posters for different foods and gas prices, and his old, ratted up, black couch that had a strange stain on one of the cushions.
He slowly pushed the front door open, which was a classic convenience store one. An automatic, sliding glass door. Although, he had to forcibly pry the door open and it was extremely cracked. It had been ‘patched-up’ by Green Gentleman when they first found the place, but he hadn’t necessarily done a great job. They had left it as is, as they didn’t want to tell him what an awful job he had done. He hadn’t had the heart to fix it. It was covered in shitty duck tape that was starting to peel at the edges.
King slowly stepped out of his house, only to be blinded by the bright desert sun. He immediately began to sweat and had to take off his heavy leather jacket. He only lived in zone three, but it still got stupidly hot during the day and freezing cold at night. The man walked over to his car, which was in surprisingly good shape, and slipped his keys into the lock on his car door. The car’s inside somehow had even more boiling temperatures than outside. He threw his jacket into the backseat and slid into the driver’s seat. It only took two tries to get the car’s motor running. His stomach let out a loud rumble and he realized he hadn’t eaten any breakfast. He only had a handful of Carbon, so he just grabbed a stale granola bar from the car’s glove box and took a bite. It wasn’t very good, but better than what most people out here eat. He needed more Carbon. ASAP. Luckily, he had a couple of jobs today. Four, if he remembered correctly.
“Well,” King mumbled to no one but himself, “Let’s do this.”
‘One left,’ Killer King thought as he pulled up a ways away from the tiny Inn He made sure that the car was just far enough away to not be suspicious. It was probably unnecessary, but it was better to be safe than ghosted. It was the last job of the day, so he had earned quite a lot of Carbon, although he wasn’t quite sure if this was worth making a quick buck. As his shoes sunk into the desert sand, he glanced up at the methane-filled sky. The sun was slowly going down, making the sky a gorgeous pinkish-orange. ‘Perfect time to ruin someone’s life,’ he muses. He had studied up on everything he had to know to do this, and he felt fairly confident.
The man trudged through the soft sand and towards the back door of the abandoned Inn. The ‘back door’ was actually just an old fire exit. It was covered in colorful designs made from spraypaint. He slowly twisted and pulled on the handle, it was unlocked, just as his client had told him. The door’s hinges screeched as Killer pulled it open. It probably hasn’t been opened in quite a while. He popped his head through the doorframe and instantly noticed how dark and cold it was, due to the fact that there were different towels, blankets, and other fabrics covering up the windows. Killer King carefully tip-toed over a tipped over receptionist desk with the keys hanging behind it. He managed to creep over to the keys with minimal noise. Room four. He was looking for room four. The lady he was trying to, well, off, had a daughter that slept in room three. She wasn’t there at the moment. He didn’t want to murder a kid’s mom in front of her, he was cold, but he wasn’t sadistic. He found the key labeled room four on one of the hooks and quickly snatched it and crept over to the corresponding door. King readied his hand on his gun in its holster and opened the door as slowly, and as quietly, as possible. He pulled out his deep red gun and looked around the plain room. There was no one there.
“What??” he half hissed-half whispered. When he realized that he had made noise he tensed up and his head darted around the darkroom. There...was no one there. ‘Fine. New plan,’ he thought to himself, feeling fairly annoyed. He looked over the room, trying to form a plan. There was a scarce amount of furniture, but still more than King. There were instruments and things painted on the walls. The only actual pieces of furniture were a mattress on the floor with two pillows and a blanket, two nightstands, a desk, and...a wardrobe! Perfect. He haphazardly flung the wardrobe open and crawled into it. He fit snuggly in between the jackets and shirts. He made sure the door was slightly cracked open, just enough for him to look through it and shoot. He sighed to himself. Guess it’s time to wait.
The man fidgeted with one of the many shiny rings on his finger. His ADHD was going crazy. He nervously tapped his foot, but then remembered he had to be quiet. ‘God, how long is this chick gonna take…?’ he thought, and for a split second considered cutting his losses there. Until he heard a door open. He was surprised and quickly looked through the cracked wardrobe door. The bedroom door swung open. There she was.
The woman, his target, waltzed into the room. She was way taller than he expected and wore almost all black. She yanked her sweatshirt over her head and threw it into a corner. The woman ran her painted nails through her long, brown hair. She quickly slipped her combat boots off before calmly walking over to her bedside table. She opened the drawer and pulled out a slightly used box of matches of light her lamp. ‘Now or never,’ King could feel the regret already forming in his stomach, ‘Nothing personal lady.’ He very carefully aimed the gun at her head, he couldn’t afford to miss this.
Right as he was about to pull the trigger, he heard a child’s voice call out, “MOOOOOOOOOOOM, AM I GOING TO CHERRY’S TOMORROW?” It completely caught him off guard and made him jump. Which, in turn, made him misfire. The laser zipped by the woman’s dead, only missing it by about four inches, and blasting a small hole in the wall. Her head whipped around to where he was hiding. Her eyes were wide and she looked full of fear. He was dead. He was actually dead.
“Yeah, Ev. I think he said you were gonna visit D’s tomorrow, too,” the woman called out as she swiftly put the matches back in the bedside table and exchanged them with a gray and white gun. She aimed it at the wardrobe. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,’ King thought, his head swarming with all of the scenarios that could play out.
“You can listen to the radio ‘till eight,” she continued as she ran towards the wardrobe. The killer could hear a kid’s happy cheers right as the woman flung the door open. She grabbed a fistful of his messy hair and yanked him out of the wardrobe and onto the floor.
“Who the hell are you working for?” she growled, a clear scowl on her face. King opened and closed his mouth without being able to think of a response. In his panic, he took his gun, pressed it to the woman’s ankle, and fired. She immediately screamed and let out a long stream of curses. He took this chance to scurry off the floor and shatter the window with his gun. He climbed out of it and only got a couple scrapes on himself. It was a simple one-story Inn, so it didn’t really hurt when he hit the sand with a quiet grunt. He scrambled away from the building and sprinted as fast as his legs could go.
His feet sunk into the sand, making it more difficult to run, and his lungs felt like they were on fire. He stumbled into his car and was shaking like crazy. He couldn’t kill that bitch with her kid downstairs. Like he already said, he was cold, but not sadistic. People didn’t need another reason to hate him. His client wasn’t going to be happy. The man took a deep breath, started his car’s engine, and clicked on the radio. Some random rock song blasted through his speakers, or well, speaker, as only one of them worked. He started off back towards his home, taking his time, he had nowhere important to be. When the generic song was over, Dr. Death-Defying’s voice blared through the speakers. The younger man tuned most of the doctor’s words out, he just needed background noise. That was until he had gotten to his self proclaimed, ‘traffic report.’
“Bad news motorbabies, the King of Zone of Three, the Assasin With Flair, the Killer King has struck again,” his smooth voice seemed to fill the car. King blocked out the bit where he read all of the people that where gone.
“So, everyone out there, grab your family and friends and hold them close. Grab your guns, and don’t let the candle be blown out. Let it shine through the fear and hatred, and out-shine the bright LEDs of Battery City. Don’t let the flame die out. But that’s enough of the sap-talk. Our next song is a classic out here, for all of you rebellious Rubberburners and hopeless romantic Dust Angels, here’s Kiss My Battery.” His voice faded out and another repetitive song filled the car. He thought it was about porno-droids, although he wasn’t paying much attention to it. He drove straight home, not wanting to think about anything but his pills.
The car’s headlights lit up the gas station. The adrenaline had worn off around half an hour ago, and the realization of the atrocities he had committed were starting to sink in. King pulled himself weakly out of his car, his stomach angerly growled, but he didn’t care at this point. He hadn’t eaten anything since this morning, but he didn’t care, he’d eat in the morning. He barely managed to pry the sliding door open and stumbled his way into his bedroom. He toed off his shoes and quickly snatched his pill bottle. The cap easily popped off and he shook out a single pill. He hastily swallowed it, desperate for some relief of the trauma. His vision was quickly filled with bright colors and swirling patterns. Calming, welcoming, familiar. Like an old friend. And like that, everything went black.