#dreddisms

It had been nearly a day since Peach Trees and Anderson couldn’t understand why no one had let her completely leave the Hall of Justice. Then Hershey had debriefed her and explained it was for her own good to decompress. Thanks to her extra abilities, they saw to it she would be ready for the next shift.

Rico didn’t respond at first, as if he hadn’t heard anybody speak up at all. He kept his eyes glued on the mirror in front of him, slipping on a new pair of shades he’d picked out from the pile of boxes littered around his lux-apt. This one had cupcakes on the rim, unlike the last pair which were shaped like lawgivers. A series of impulse purchases made last night while under the influence that he barely remembered, but it was a pleasant surprise to wake up to nonetheless. It worked even better as a prop.

He was feeling contradictory for the sake of it today. All zzized up and drunk, and nothing to do. He was just thinking of going for a dip in the hot tub to work out the ratcheting tension in his shoulders from a day of patrols - and other projects - until somebody came knock-knocking on his door, trying to have a serious conversation this and a this is the last straw that. You’d think a Judge would learn, but little Joe was always stubborn like that.

“Sure I can,” Rico finally said nonchalantly, after toeing the invisible line of Joseph’s patience for as long as he could. “What’s stopping you? What’s stopping me? You could always tell me not to, but I think we both know how productive that is. Don’t you have anything better to do than bother your big brother while he’s busy? Go on patrol? Crack a few skulls?”

it is days like this that elliot can swear he can feel his tattoo prickling under his skin like the bird there is trying to escape. early morning, it is; he still feels the nipping chill of night against his back even though the sun is warming his front. in an hour, anybody without shoes or serious callouses won’t be able to walk on the ground without burning their soles. for now, it is quite the opposite and elliot rolls over to warm his back. the area directly underneath him leeching his heat is warm in comparison to the stone he’s now on-- like a block of ice. he buries his head in his hands and breathes, and makes his body feel like his own.

his belly feels hollow and sore. fire prickles behind his eyes every time he closes them, only to explode into kaleidoscopic geometries of color. he can’t remember what happened last night, only that something did and it is the reason he feels like he’s been booted from death’s stoop. had the door slammed in his face. a shoe thrown at his retreating back through a window. in all probabilities, he’d settled down somewhere to spend the night and someone had spotted his damned tattoo-- and then they’d kicked him out. possibly forcefully. likely by throwing a bag over his head and kicking him until he decided to leave, if the vaguely boot-shaped bruise on his side proves anything.

the ache in the front of his head blooms into a stabbing pain when he raises his head to look at the sky, a fevered blue tempered only by white, rainless spits of clouds. this place is terrible. his nose is bleeding. he huffs and wipes his face, and gets blood all over his hands for the effort. it drips into his mouth and he gives up, rolls onto his back again, and lets the blood stem its own flow.

presently, his attention is brought to the gallivanting clouds. wind pushes each across the breathless expanse of sky, presses them together and pulls them apart like the too-saccharine spun sugar at that carnival. he spends another hour in iron-tinged contemplation, sunning himself like a cat on the cracked earth as blood slides thick over his tongue and dries on his hands. the clouds all travel one way--

the meg. megacity one. it hovers on the horizon, a mile away, a buzzing hive of humanity. elliot’s never been inside, only preyed on those old and infirm judges that chose to venture into the wastelands. of course, he’d always been a part of the frenetic mass of his-- former-- gang. one of the lucky ones to always survive. one of the judges brought a rad-cloak with him once, and elliot had claimed it as his own trophy and wore it around everywhere until it became tattered. then, he’d torn it into strips and made a braided belt out of it.

he should try, just once. he is, like all children, in the belief that downfalls are for others. he is no longer bleeding, and he is very hungry, and in his jacket he has a packet of something entirely unappetizing. he plans his attack as he eats. when has he become so numb to the taste? his belly whines and he mimics it back, petulance in a breath. he is done with the food far too quickly, and so makes his move.

he walks. saves his energy until he fully reaches the enormous walls of the meg. in a blink, he is out of the yellow desert and into a gray knot of concrete and humanity. someone notices him and screams. it’s better than being attacked, so he simply grins and makes his way deeper.

@dreddisms

Rico almost never went on patrol with a partner. Sure, it was against regs, but it cramped his style, he thought. He was more than good enough not to need one anyway. They’d just bring him down, get in his way. Some might see that as arrogance, but he preferred to think of it as confidence. And besides, who else could keep up with him? The only other one who came in close was his clone, and Rico didn’t feel up to a headache from the lawbook-on-legs this early in the morning. It didn’t help that he was just a little big hungover either, careful to scrub all traces of alcohol and sugar from his mouth.

But that also meant that it was much, much easier to flank him. And that’s how he managed to find himself in his current predicament. Pinned down in a place where he couldn’t poke his drokking head out without getting it ventilated. In the middle of a zziz bust gone just a little bit (a lot) wrong, he ducks his head just as three more punks burst into the room, bullets first.

Rico is quicker. Before their corpses are done falling to the ground, he slams the heavy door shut with a boot, and taps into his helmet comms as he braces his body against it, slightly peeved.

“Dredd to control. Requesting backup on my location.”

He hears the distant sound of shouting, then - is that a chainsaw revving up? 

Food was hard to come by these days, never mind an adequate amount. Arrie had been forced into scavenging dumpsters for a bite. She didn’t mind it too much, especially when she often scavenged as a dog that some people took pity on, but boy, she could kill for a proper meal; she could hardly remember the last time she had one of those. 

The shapeshifter kept mostly to the shadows, avoiding eye contact with anyone, not wanting to provoke anyone cruel enough to kick a dog. To her luck, she caught the scent of some warm fries and quickly followed it. A bag of them seemed to have been dropped suddenly in the middle of the alleyway, but with no one around, it was hers for the taking. 

Arrie was about halfway through her meal when a few armed men ran through her alleyway. She barely had enough time to get out of the way herself, yelping in surprise. The shapeshifter watched in horror as the rest of her meal was trampled to mush. She had no qualms with eating it, but she still angrily barked at them, unaware that she had alerted a certain Judge of where they had gone.

It was over, Dredd was cleared of wrongdoing, so Hershey could finally breath again. She knew her feelings were most likely misplaced in the hard judge, but they were there nonetheless. She’d thought about kissing him, but she smiled at him instead.