I just want to pet Riley and CoD:Ghost 2

Your mind was a violent whirlwind of fear and panic as the Grim Reaper wordlessly drags you through the damp, empty London streets, your hand shaking in his gloved grip. The static ringing in your ears drowning out the rain as your heart beats faster and out of tempo with every step you take, leading you closer to your final resting place- probably in a dumpster hidden in an alleyway.

You always had a hunch that you would die young, probably becoming a topic on a true crime podcast, a victim of a completely preventable accident, or from your own reckless stupidity and you were fine with that. You were here for a fun time, not a long time. That being said, you figured you’d die in your late twenties to your mid thirties- an age you figured to be the time when you’ve checked off everything in your bucket list, and not in your goddamn teens.

It was so fucking unfair.

You were still young, not even three months in your Independent Era, and still figuring out what you really wanted to do with your newfound freedom and responsibilities you were honestly eager to tackle. Yet here you were about to die just because you tried to steal from someone to survive a cruel and harsh world?

Cringe.

You haven’t even experienced what retail therapy with your own money was like. Haven’t ordered a piece of steak at some overpriced fancy place. Still haven’t bribed the feisty cat freeloading in your flat into loving you. Fucking hell, your bestie hasn’t even paid back the money he owes you!

A fiery determination lights up within you, granting you the courage to fight back as the static dies down and fades into the drops of rain as your heart slowly beats to a slower rhythm.

You can’t die yet.

Not when you haven’t proven your mother wrong yet.

For a moment, everything was a blur save for the Muscular Figure of Death in front of you. Your eyes scanned his terrifying form, searching for even a hint of a twitch in his muscles and a turning head as your free hand slowly reached into your jacket’s pocket, blindly searching for the familiar shape of a small spray bottle.

You knew it was only a matter of time before the Grim Reaper turned around and put a stop to your escape attempt.

You need to move faster.

Search every corner of the pocket.

You need to escape right now.

“Calm down.”

Your limbs relax -almost to the point of going limp- as your fingers brush against the familiar plastic of the spray bottle. With a burst of energy and bravado, you grabbed your weapon and raised it to the Grim Reaper’s face as fast as you could.

“Eat pepper, Chuckle Nuts!”

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you frantically press on the pump. The first few pumps release nothing, resulting in a wave of fear to rise. But you didn’t give up. You tried again and a weak mist of pepper-infused water quickly calmed your nerves. Serotonin racing through your brain with every push as you watch a stronger mist forced out of the bottle and into the Reaper’s eyes.

You were expecting the Grim Reaper to fall to the floor, curl up into a ball and cry like a bitch as capsicum assaults his eyes. Instead, he just blankly stares at you. In fact the stare was so blank, it felt like your attempt at self-defense didn’t deserve the brain power and time to judge or even acknowledge it.

“I’m just….gonna….go?” You said so weakly it was actually pathetic, your finger still placed on the trigger, ready to be pressed should the Grim Reaper say no.

The two of you now awkwardly stood in the middle of the street, the constant pitter-patter of the rain and the occasional car driving by cutting through the silence. You don’t say anything as you slowly tug your hand away from the Grim Reaper, but much to your surprise, he lets you go without a fuss.

“What….” You breathed out in disbelief, staring at your now freed hand as if it would slowly turn into dust. Your instincts scream at you to just leave but curiosity and confusion makes you look at the Grim Reaper’s face before you could stop yourself.

You wished that your instincts were stronger.

Instead of a dark, empty void eager to devour your soul like you expected, you see something much more horrifying. Brown eyes that remind you of a man long gone from your life.

You don’t remember much after that other than legging it before the Grim Reaper decides to chase after you.

You don’t know how long you’ve been running or what part of London you’re now in, having taken so many random turns just to make sure the Grim Reaper was off your back. Your phone died at some point in your escape and you didn’t want to ask strangers for help. At the very least, you were sure the Grim Reaper decided you weren’t his problem anymore.

It’s fine though.

You weren’t lost. You’re just on a whimsical adventure, the start of your character arc even. The Grim Reaper wasn’t even chasing you anymore. Maybe if you were lucky you could find someone to pickpocket-

“Fucking hell!” You yelped as the drizzle of rain turned into a torrent with a clap of thunder.

“Great. Just great.” You grumbled under your breath as you sought shelter under a nearby building. You wrap your arms around your body in an attempt to stay warm, but with your favorite jacket completely soaked and clinging to your shivering body it did fuck all.

The familiar acid of self-hatred once again bubbles up in your stomach and burns your throat as you stare at the ground, watching the ripples dance to the beat of the rain drops. Before you knew it, your mind began to wander through a valley of what-ifs. Would you still be in this situation if you had planned your finances better? If you agreed to rent a bedsit instead of having the comfort of privacy? Maybe you shouldn’t have spent so much money on decorations to celebrate having your own place and should’ve put up with the cold emptiness of the room. God, why were you such an idiot?

You don’t notice the door nearby opening and the man approaching you, the rain drowning out the soft chime of the bell and the splashing footsteps, until the harsh drops of rain stops assaulting your body and a thick, warm coat is draped over you followed by a gruff Scottish accent.

“Aren’t ye a bit underdressed for the weather, lass?” Your head snaps up and you see a man sporting the lamest mohawk you’ve seen in your life holding an umbrella to shield both of you from the rain. He was massive like the Grim Reaper from earlier, but slightly shorter in height and definitely friendlier. He reminds you of the Golden Retriever from earlier if you were being honest.

“It’s phishin’ it doon out here.” He commented before shrugging his head towards the entrance where another man wearing a cap stood. “Why don’t ye head inside before ye get sick?”

“Oh, uh, no need.” You stammered out immediately, nerves still jittery from the encounter with the Grim Reaper. You may be an idiot but you weren’t that idiotic to follow a stranger into another building in a neighborhood you weren’t familiar with. You slowly removed the coat - trying to delay the inevitable loss of warmth- before shoving it into the Scotsman’s chest, ignoring the way he stared at your arms shivering from the cold. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll just wait for the rain to stop out here.”

You immediately step away, choosing to brave the harsh rain rather than put yourself in a much more dangerous situation, but a much louder clap of thunder forces you to step back. You ignored the chuckle the Scotsman was letting out and instead raised your middle finger at the dark sky, hoping it would miraculously stop the rain so you could get out of here and back into your flat. It didn’t work.

“Well?” The Scotsman hummed, tilting the umbrella more towards you. “Looks like the rain’s stayin’ for a few more hours.”

“Fine.” You huffed after a moment of hesitation. You didn't discount-pepper sprayed the Grim Reaper just to die from the cold rain. What were you? A homeless Victorian Era child? The Scotsman didn’t say anything as he draped the coat back on you before guiding you towards the door, the umbrella still raised to protect you from the rain.

“Christ, Soap. Stop making a mess.” The Man in the Cap sighs as he casually tosses a carelessly balled up wrinkled towel at the Scotsman’s face once the doors were closed - but not locked- behind you. He then shifts his attention to you with a friendly grin and hands you a neatly folded towel. “Welcome to Pub 141, luv. Just got the kettle on so why don’t you get changed in the break room? We’ve got some spare shirts and pants there, though they’ll probably be too big for you.”

You don’t say anything as you take the towel, but you do give him an appreciative nod before shifting your gaze back to the Scotsman. You know you shouldn’t say it, especially with the hospitality they’ve been giving you, but the urge was too much. Self-control was never your strong suit.

‘Not selected by employer’

Another frustrated groan escapes your lips as you delete Indeed off your phone for the fifth time this week. You knew job hunting was never easy, especially for someone with no experience and fresh out of high school, but you never thought it would be this hard. 

All the jobs you had applied to were labelled “Urgently Hiring” or “No experience needed”, and yet all you got were a flood of rejection emails and the occasional chatbot AI saying you weren't a good fit for their company . How were you supposed to build up a resume when not a single job was willing to give you at least an initial interview?!

You wanted to find the person responsible for fucking up the job market and talk to them with your fist. Maybe piss and shit on their graves if they were dead. 

You sighed in resignation before glancing at the time on your phone. 

Three in the afternoon.

A perfect time for an afternoon snack, or at least it would have been if Past You hadn't been a fucking idiot and spent most of your money on pricey food and drinks to reward Herself for job hunting the past few days. As a result, Present-In-The-Mood-For-Snacks- You didn't even have enough to buy three pieces of chicken nuggets unless she took some from your rent money. 

“God, I know I bitch about you all the time, but help me get a job.” You muttered to yourself as you leaned back against the bench and stared at the slowly darkening sky. 

Rain was coming.

You should head back to the dumpster of a flat that you now call home or you could find some poor, unlucky sap to steal money from and finally treat yourself to chicken nuggets with large fries and a soft serve.

 Rain also meant that people would be so focused on getting out of the rain and into their warm homes to notice you’ve already stolen their wallets

….At least, that's what you hoped. 

You had an embarrassingly small success rate with your pickpocketing attempts. Always getting caught in the act, whether while your hand was in someone's pocket or already a few steps away with your victim’s wallet in hand. It didn't matter though, you were good at running away before your victim or the police could get their hands on you. 

On the bright side, failure meant experience. Experience led to progress. Progress guaranteed success. Success validated your need to treat yourself to fast food.

With growing determination, you donned the new pair of sunglasses you found on the ground yesterday and pulled your hood up to shield yourself from the early drops of rain. 

You’ve failed so many times and if you were still the pessimist Younger You was, you would’ve given up. Instead, Present You was stronger. More persistent!  

This time you will succeed!

Unfortunately God decided to become a petty bitch and turned the ever bustling London streets into a wet, deserted street until you encountered a few pedestrians thirty minutes into your quest for money. 

A few feet in front of you was a grumbling soaked man walking a delighted Golden Retriever. You weren’t sure if the two had already been walking outside before the rain started or the cute pupper demanded to go outside at the first drop of rain. 

To his left, slightly ahead of him,  was a middle-aged woman screaming into her phone. You presumed she was some kind of upper management based on how she’s been complaining about interns and how nobody wanted to do unpaid overtime anymore.  

The hooded figure some steps away from the middle-aged woman absolutely terrified you. The man was large, built almost like a fucking tank, and dressed head to toe in dark clothing while his hood hid his face. For a brief moment you panicked and wondered if you were staring at the Grim Reaper himself, but multiple blinks confirmed he was just an ordinary man albeit terrifying. 

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. The man and his dog were out of the question, after all, the dog clearly deserves the best things in life and how was he going to get that if his owner was broke? This left you with two options left. 

Karen or Large Scary Man?

Karen seemed rich with how she was dressed in designer brands and that meant it was morally acceptable to steal from her. Compared to Large Scary Man, who you weren't even sure if he had money inside his wallet, she was an easier target with how she was now focused on cursing out some poor bastard on the other side of the phone. 

On the other hand, she’d scream if she caught you trying to pickpocket her, and with your luck and God deeming you unworthy of nice things in life, you won't be surprised if the streets would suddenly be filled with cops. 

The Large Scary Man was dangerous. Very dangerous .

There was no doubt in your mind that Large Scary Man would break you in half just for trying to pickpocket him. He even seems like the type to hold grudges and ensure all of the people who wronged him, no matter how small, slept six feet underground. There was also the possibility of him helping catch you if he caught you trying to pickpocket Karen.

Time’s running out. In a few moments, Karen and eventually Large Scary Man, would pass by you. You need to decide now. 

Each step you took resulted in a shaky breath. 

Just a bit more and you’d be close to your target.

Be inconspicuous. Don't rouse any suspicion. 

You slowly raise your hand. 

Today was going to be the day you finally succeeded in pickpocketing.

You slowly reach towards their pocket.

Almost to the finish line.

You’re pretty sure that you pissed yourself the moment your target’s hand held a tight grip on your wrist with a force that shouldn't belong to a rich middle-aged woman.

“Don't even think about it.”

Looking up was possibly the biggest mistake you've ever made because instead of an angry woman, you found yourself staring at the bottom half of a skull.

Who knew that Large Scary Man turned out to be the actual Grim Fucking Reaper?

“Why don’t we have a little chat.”  That was all the Grim Reaper said before dragging you by the wrist. 

This was it. 

You were going to die.