#thread | 001

the city-scape is as industrial as it is a complex and shallow bowl of oddities & varied unusual behaviours. where there are certainly odder folk, there are also grey shaded buildings to balance it out, where they are brightly coloured decor & lighting, there is always a dull businessman to rival it. perhaps the city itself could be split into two defining characteristics ; that which makes a city unique & then that which merely plays into the general trope of a typical and otherwise plain place to be.

in the beating heart, grey fumes and clouds mill about, inches from the ground, as if to swallow the greenery of the shrubs and pavement-side allotments out of sight, rendering it all to the drab same shade of charcoal as the rest of the first sector. he’d already heard of an even worse place, toxic waste a river-like common thread weaving about the second sector, alas he was well-set upon his goal of information seeking, over merely satisfying a wicked curiosity for all things deadly. 

note to self: there is an endless supply of poison unattended & unwanted. 

he lingers at the stony wall of a banking building, having scoured the streets for something more concrete than mere hunches ( he was trapped, of course, he had money but not a lot, he had no weapon and no allies. no clothes but the ones upon his back, no communicator & absolutely no idea what to do ). a bank at least was easy enough to locate. lingering there, he found the throbs of one impatient headache pressing at the skin of his temple. it was with perhaps the most irritated of voices with which he finally spoke, drawing attention to himself with a firm question, without so much as a greeting before the words pass his lips.

“ light? “