You're laying on your back, rock and magma spraying all around you but not touching you. The giant red beast looms over you, and has a face like JW. It's yelling at you that you need to wake up and get ready for school, and that's the bottom line.
That's the bottom line? I haven't heard JW say that in ages, brings back fond memories. I frantically struggle to find my feet so I can avoid the debris and massive monster looming over me, simultaneously panicked and confused at the meaning of his message. "I AM awake, and I haven't had to go to school for years! What are you talking about?"
You jump up yelling, and find yourself embarrassed to see that you're yelling at a billboard with the Kool-Aid man smiling back at you.
The rocks and magma have been replaced by a light rain, and the weather feels otherwise warm, between 77 and 87 degrees, but very humid.
You are standing in a run-down alley in what you presume to be the bad section of town. It smells like the restroom of a run-down gas station (or, if you prefer, the inside of an outhouse). In the back of the alley, you find your things. A bum is sitting nearby, looking like he's half-asleep or high, nodding off and paying you no mind.
"Oh..." I look around, wrinkling my nose at the pungent odor, to see if there are any markings or posters on the walls, any doors or windows that open into the alley, and whether the alley ends in a fence or the side of a building. I'll also take note of the material the street and walls of the buildings are constructed from.
I gather my belongings, folding my clothes and my coat into the suitcase, putting everything else on top of the clothes except what was previously in bags, and zipping it shut. I hoist my backpack with the laptop over my shoulder, extend the handle of the suitcase for my left hand, and carry the bags and lajatang in my right hand.
I walk to the front of the alley, and look out into the street. I'm assuming it's daytime since I can see; how brightly does the sun shine with the rain clouds? What do the buildings look like? Are they storefronts with display windows and awnings? Am I in a residential district? Are there cars? Do they look dirty and city-like? Is the road paved, cobbled, or other? Are there people?
Somebody must hate me somewhere, with all this heat and humidity.
There are several doors which exit into the alley; all are of a steel construction, none seem to open from this side, and one has a can outside of it. The buildings look to be old, dirty concrete. The alley ends in a chain-link fence with barbed wire over the top.
You exit the alley, and see yourself in some sort of commercial district. The cars driving down the street do appear run down, for the most part. The signs on the buildings are written in both English and Spanish.
It is daytime, and well-lit as such, but everything appears cast in shades of grey from the cloud cover.
A man standing nearby asks you what you need, flashing several different controlled dangerous substances. He's wearing a handgun in plain sight.
Man, from south Jersey to a tropical island and back to Philly. I smile slightly and shake my head at the dealer as I make a right turn and stroll along the sidewalk, reading shop signs and looking for anything familiar or significant.
Are there a lot of people walking?
The dealer looks shocked when you decline, as if that answer is not one he often gets, but is too stunned to respond as you walk away.
It occurs to you as you walk that the phrase "a drug dealer on every corner" is more true here than you've ever seen; there are many people out walking, and if they aren't selling them, they're buying them.
Many different shops are here, from general stores to specialty shops, but it seems this is more a destination for the drugs than the services.
I shudder a bit in spite of myself, wondering how I managed to wind up in inner-city Detroit. Alone in a city, with almost no cash, very little food, and suspecting I'll get robbed and have my things sold off for drug money.
I wonder to myself how many movies I can relate to my situation as I start looking down alleys between buildings: I'm looking for a fire escape or ladder that might grant roof access, looking for any law enforcement officials, and looking for signs of organized crime. I figure I'm going to have to throw in my lot with someone, and I'd rather not have to chemically alter my body too much in the process.
You do see fire escapes, but they're of the sort that you couldn't easily reach from the ground without a Great Jump.
You see a group of men in suits walking down the street without buying drugs. They seem to be collecting money from the dealers in exchange for nothing.
I'll duck into an alley and change my clothes: black shoes, black socks, black button-up collared shirt, black slacks, black tie, black suit jacket. I don't feel safe stashing my belongings, so I'll carry them with me; it makes it look like I'm in the process of travelling anyway. Back out on the street, I'll approach the suits, all business.
"Greetings, gentlemen, my name is Rune. I'm new in town, and I am interested in your establishment." I lower my lajatang to the side as I shift my posture, giving them a glimpse of the weapon in its resting pose. "Everyone needs good men, and I'm one of the best. I'm interested in setting up a meeting with your boss so we can discuss terms."
I clasp my hands in front of myself, and listen to their reply.
"You wanna see the boss?"
They look at each other, and one reaches for his gun; another puts a hand on his arm, shakes his head, and says to you, "Sure. Let's go."
They turn and start walking in the opposite direction.
I follow, readjusting my bags for comfort. They say that bold moves either make a man, or make a man dead. I'll be dead if I don't eat anyway, so I may as well aim for the top.
They escort you to a large building; more a gargantuan fortress than a skyscraper. The sign by the door says, in English, it says "Best Industries"; in Spanish, "Industrios Best". They lead you into the building, and stop in front of an attractive twentyteen year old female receptionist wearing little clothing.
"This guy wants to meet the boss," they tell her.
She presses a button on the desk, and says, "Mr. Best, there's a man here to see you. He's not on the appointment list."
A moments silence; then, as she's about to tell you something, a voice with a spanish accent comes over the intercom.
"Thank you, señorita. I am especting him. Please, send him to meet me on the seventy seventh floor."
She motions you to the elevator.
I nod my thanks first to the secretary and then to my suited escort and I take the elevator up to the 77th floor. I wasn't expecting being expected, but I know that one of the secrets to being considered a good manager of any field is to always appear to know everything and be surprised by nothing, even when you know nothing and everything surprises you.
When I arrive at the destination, I expect someone to be waiting for me as soon as the elevator doors open, probably either a bodyguard or an armed escort, or the elevator opens directly into the waiting room of a private office. I will be surprised if it opens to an empty hallway.
None of the others accompany you.
The sign in the elevator reads "WEIGHT CAPACITY: 1500 LBS".
You are suprised to see an empty hallway when the door opens; you hear loud dance music playing somewhere.
I am surprised.
I take a moment to collect myself before stepping out into the hallway, and I observe my surroundings. What is the color scheme? Are the floors tiled, hardwood, or stone? Are there doors along the hallway? How high is the ceiling, and is there anything hanging from it?
What kind of dance music? Modern-day club music, more electronic/techno, DDR? Does it have any latino influences? In the absence of any other signs, I'll head towards the music.
The walls are painted white, the floor is carpeted grey, and the ceilings are about seven feet high, the doors about six and a quarter feet high.
The music certainly sounds like modern electronica with hip-hop influences.
You head toward where the music is emanating from, and find a room with the lights on. More than fifty but less than eighty young women are in here and seem to be partying and using drugs.
They are barely dressed and look older for their years; young but experienced prostitutes, your gut tells you.
I've watched enough Law and Order: Special Victims Unit to pick out a young but experienced prostitute. On TV, anyway.
I'll scan the room actively, taking note of any other exits, windows, bouncers, bodyguards, or suits. At this point I'm primarily seeking Mr. Best - by his accent and the fact that he's "the boss," I'm assuming he'll be a well-manicured spaniard, but judging by the party I wouldn't be surprised if he was wearing less formal clothing.
I'll stand by the door while I watch, and keep a good distance if one of the clubbers approaches me. I have a strong aversion to needles, and I don't need any of them helping me cope with it.
One of them does approach you, and she asks over the noise if you're looking for Armando -- Mr. Best. She escorts you through the room and into a back office; she tells you that Armando won't keep you waiting long. You can still see the party through the clear windows.
A few minutes pass, and a young girl, probably of some hispanic decent, walks into the room. She is dressed similarly to the others, but seems less "experienced"; cuter, as well, and not as ruined by drug use. Her skin is lightly tanned, and her hair dark; her most striking physical feature is her large, bright blue eyes. She is wearing a wooden pendant on a leather cord around her neck; it bears an image of a smiling sun. She hands you a wadded up napkin; unfolding it, you find a message scrawled in a loopy feminine hand with imperfect penmanship but excellent spelling.
"There's a bomb in the building that will detonate in approximately 5 minutes."
After reading the message, I fold the napkin carefully rather than wadding it, and slip it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket. "Thank you, Ms...?"
Five minutes doesn't leave me enough time to get through the party, down the elevator, and outside of the building. My intuition is telling me that this girl is related to Mr. Best in some way, and that this may be a test of character - and if not, I will have to find an alternate escape route or deal with the bomb if I intend to survive. Either way, I will need some information, not to mention that I am a sucker for big blue eyes.
To clarify, it would probably take you about two minutes to get down the hall, another two to get down the elevator, and you'd be running with about a thirty second head start from the building if you managed to make it that far.
"Best," she tells you in a quiet, sweet voice. "Lily Best. I'd suggest hurrying."
I bite my lower lip, hesitating only a moment before offering my hand. "We'd best hurry, then. There isn't much time."
Assuming she takes my hand, I lead her out of the building.
Assuming she doesn't take my hand, I take hers, and lead her out of the building.
Assuming she resists my efforts to escort her, I carry her out of the building.
She does not resist as you take her hand and lead her quickly from the building.
You walk through the crowd, not hesitating to warn anyone, return to the elevator, and push the button for the first floor.
The suspense is terrible as you stand there waiting and hoping there isn't any trouble with the elevator, or anyone else going down.
After two minutes that seem like an eternity, you reach the ground level and disembark and leave the building. The reciptionist bids you a good day, blissfully unaware of her fate.
You are walking, running?
Walking briskly. If I cause a commotion it may impede my escape, but if I dally I may be complaining about slightly higher temperatures. I smile and nod politely as we exit the building, then look for an alley to duck into to shield us from the blast.
Here comes the boom...
You feel the shake before you actually hear the explosion; it actually sounds more like an implosion, and dust rushes into the alley with a large gust of wind. Lily buries her face in you, protecting herself from the blast of destruction.
Within moments, the catastrophe is over. There is a great deal of noise filling the following vacuum of silence as crowds of people are swarming toward the site of the cataclysm.
Lily looks up to you with those striking eyes. "Thank you," she tells you.
Having unconsciously shielded her head and body with my arms, I relax my grip and let my arms slide down her back and then to my sides. "You saved me, too. Thank you for the note." I look around to see if anyone is around and I lower my voice to ask, "Why were you still in the building if you knew it was going to be destroyed?"
"My grandfather doesn't permit me to leave by myself," she answers you. "He must have thought very highly of you in terms of threat level to destroy his prized building in an attempt to kill you."
"My grandfather doesn't permit me to leave by myself," she answers you. "He must have thought very highly of you in terms of threat level to destroy his prized building in an attempt to kill you."
"My grandfather doesn't permit me to leave by myself," she answers you. "He must have thought very highly of you in terms of threat level to destroy his prized building in an attempt to kill you."
"I see."
I pause to collect my thoughts. I approached the group of suits, they led me to the building, the secretary called her boss, the boss told them to send me up to the top of the building and activated a bomb. Did he mistake me for someone else?
"Is there somewhere we can go to sit and talk? I just arrived in town this morning, and I'd like to catch up on current affairs."
"Sure," she responds. She gives you directions to a local diner, where the two of you go to sit. When the waitress approaches, Lily states, "I think we'll just start with ice water while we think."
Your stomach growls as the prospect of something to eat; Lily stands up and walks over to an empty table, where she picks up some money from a waitress's tip. She returns and hands you two one hundred dollar bills, American money.
"I doubt she'll miss it," Lily tells you. "That guy was quite a tipper, though."
I compliment her quick thinking and nonchalant snatch with a simple, "Not bad," pocketing the bills. I peruse a menu to check the prices, figuring that the drug pedaling must have affected the economy pretty drastically, and order something cheap and easy to eat, like breaded chicken strips, and of course whatever the lady will have.
"So," I begin after we've put in our order, "what can you tell me about the city, and your grandfather's business?"
"We're in Brasìlia. I've lived here as long as I can remember. My grandfather is the most powerful man in the world; he has limitless resources and a great deal of patience; before long I'm sure he'll try to follow us."
"I see. He must have a lot of enemies, even among his allies."
He definitely acts as though he has limitless resources, willing to sacrifice an entire building of people, including his granddaughter, to eliminate a potential threat that he's never met face-to-face. Not one to be trifled with, for sure.
"How do you feel about him? And how much trouble will you be in, seeing as you left without permission?"
"I'm not goin back, so I won't get in trouble.
"He watches me when he gets a chance, which isn't a whole lot; usually I spend time with the harem girls. Well, spent."
The food is all inexpensive; apparently your 100 dollar bill here is more the equivalent of 1000 dollars here in comparison to what your expectations are, so just about anything on the menu seems practical.
"Are there any groups who are currently actively working against him? Not sure whether he thought I was somebody else, or he deals with all surprises in the same fashion.
"I'm going to need a place to hide out, a source of money, and a place to get some equipment." I scratch my chin, considering my options. "You have any ideas about that?"
After we order our food and enjoy a hot meal over our conversation, I'll add, "He probably already knows that I got out, so we shouldn't waste much time."
"I don't think anyone works against him.
"I've never heard of anyone hiding from him, but what kind of equipment are you looking for?"
"Weapons, protective gear, maybe some intelligence-gathering technology. The most important thing right now is shelter, though."
"Well, you get guns the same place you get everything else, don't you? The supermarket."
She doesn't seem to know much about the lay of the city, though, or as far as what is where.
The supermarket. I never would have guessed.
Satisfied with my questions for now, I finish my meal. "We should get moving."
After paying for our meal and tipping moderately, it's time to hit the streets. "Do you have someplace you can go? Family or friends where you may be safe?"