Hunted|Haunted - Chapter 6 - Tower-Hamlets Stand-off

Out of all things that happened to him, Nexialist hated two the most – absence of his favourite recreational medicine in his system, and absence of his favourite energy drinks in the fridge. Usually, both tended to be pretty well-stocked, with occasionally only one or another running out. However, this time was different. His latest venture, stalking people and getting his nose into things nobody wanted him to know about, had ended with one more hitman owing him big time. This would be a usual occasion if this weren’t something that depleted both his drug and battery supply. And while the drug supply he’d already taken care of, and awaited delivery within a few hours, Bond was being stupidly difficult and refusing to buy him his caffeinated precious.

Which meant he needed to take the matter into his own hands. Which didn’t fucking add to his already dipping mood, as he went out onto the streets.

— Fucking mother-hen.

Nexialist grumbles as he stumbles through the neighbourhood, mask off, hood on, collar up against the wind and rain. It was raining cats and dogs, as per bloody usual in Nario. One would think he’d get used to it by now.

The nearest grocery store wasn’t as near as it would need to be called nearest, but Nex couldn’t care less. Apparently, people didn’t like putting their businesses in places where meth trade and knife and or gun fights were more common than people walking their dogs. That was understandable. On any other bloody day.

— “Take a walk”, she said. “Would be good for your health”, she said. Oh yeah, it’s not like I’m wanted in Cambodia, or something…

Nexialist mumbles under his breath, continuing his “walk”. The store is just a bit further down the road, and nobody bats an eye at him – most of the local illegal activities are happening indoors right now, and few random passersby know better than to pay more attention than a brief acknowledgement for something that doesn’t seem like an immediate threat. As for the cameras, there are no new ones here, and those few that were working last week either got torn down or spray-painted over. This means that for now, Nex is in the safest environment for going without a mask, but he would much rather die than acknowledge Bond’s efforts in making him live a semi-healthy lifestyle. First, he doesn’t see why she should care for him like that. They’re really not that close. Second, he didn’t ask her to do this, and he minded any intrusion in his life a lot. Third – was asking for the six-pack of monster, or pulse, or whatever else, that much?

— She's not even my parent, fucks sake… She's a bloody nobody.

He continued to mumble as he turned the corner. The store wasn't much farther away, only half a block, but this did nothing to lift his spirit. Nah, he's definitely taking a shortcut later, to come to the hideout sooner and bitch about the walk, the weather and the certain someone with good intentions where nobody asked for them.

The store was quiet. Nex went through the aisle, examining the cans. Then, satisfied with his examination, he took off a backpack and started filling it up. Four pink pulses, four blue pulses, four yellows, four greens. There are no six-packs, but hey, this is not a Marks & Spencer’s. The cashier at checkout looks at him with a hint of incredulousness, but doesn't attempt to make small talk, and Nexialist appreciates it. He just shoves the cashier a hundred sterling bill and motions to keep the change before leaving.

Outside, the weather is still shitty, but at least it doesn't rain any more. Nex hated the rain. He still remembered how it rained acid a few times in Carvington, and logically understood that it was not the same, but his logic didn't have anything on his paranoia. As he turned into the alley to use the shortcut to his hideout, however, he understood immediately that his paranoia was dumb and full of shit.

Picture this. A pretty narrow winding street, cars parked, houses rising around and whatnot. Near one of the walls there stood a chav. A thug, ordinary, spherical and in a vacuum. This particular chav was a bit too old to be considered a teenager, somewhere in his mid-twenties, maybe. Also, he was holding someone, who looked pretty much like a kid, by the shirt collar, back to the wall, and, judging by how the talk went, was clearly not in the mood.

It was so focken familiar, Nexialist could feel his insides twist, blood boil, and fury rise its ugly head. He could feel the memories swirling at the back of his mind. Memories of ugly red-grey-blackish streets, covered in dust and graphite, sometimes so much that you could leave footprints in it. Memories of a city where nobody would help and nobody would care, if you were starving, ill or getting assaulted. Especially if you were a kid who couldn't defend yourself well enough to escape.

The first second, Nex was just standing there and seeing red. The next, he moved towards the chav in fast strides, taking off his backpack on the move and reaching to his hidden pocket holster, where his favourite S&W was.

— Oi, Butters! — The chav had heard the call and turned to face him. Good. And he didn't have time to swing or go for his gun. Even better. Nex stopped some five feet from the bastard, looking him dead in the eye. — Kotch’a bit!
— Oh look, the next man is here, just when I needed him to be! — Chav laughed. The audacity of this bitch was outstanding… Sound of steps. Two more tracksuit-wearing cretins rounded a corner, appearing on peripherie. — Scram, punk. Or we’ll-
— You'll call the Jakes? — So, they think they have strength in numbers. Nex found himself unable to care about how many people he was facing. His only current concern was the kid’s well-being. — You’re dumb, or dumber?
— Watch it, rattie. — One of the original chav’s friends laughed, smiling a lopsided smile, and took a knife out of his pocket. — Nobody here will care about you screaming.
— Who said I’d be the one screaming?

Nex stared the three down, unblinking and slightly twitching. He wanted a bloody battery, and a few pills, so focken badly he could feel his mind buckling under strain. He had a bad day – understatement of a century, – and was very pissed off, both because the chavs stood in his way to the hideout and because what they did smelled dangerously of his own past and threatened to drown him in flashbacks.
He cocked the magnum. Audibly. Chavs heard it, because the laughter stopped, silenced immediately, as they all looked at Nexialist with new wariness in their eyes. Good.

— Now listen up, folks. I give you a choice. Either I leave here with the kid and everything you taxed him, or, — Nex paused, gripping his backpack more comfortably for swinging. — I’ll be making a trip to Thames tonight, and nobody will ever find your bodies.
— You're a lunatic… — One of the chavs mumbled.
— And you live in Tower Hamlets, of all places. — They could be mages, but even if they were, no mage could cast magic with a blown-off head, and they’d do something by now if they had even an ounce of magic in them. — Are a few candy coins worth dying for?
— You’re bluffing. — The leader scoffed, but not as confidently as before.
— Wanna bet? — Nex slightly tilted his head.

They stood there for three more seconds, tension in the air palpable. Then, finally, the gang leader slowly let go of the kid, letting them slide down the wall of the building. Grumbled, taking out a few banknotes from his pocket and showing them to the kid's chest.

— Here's your money, pipsqueak. You’re in luck… Let's go, fam, there's bigger fish to fry.

And, like that, the chavs were off. Nex breathed out a sigh of relief and let go of his pistol. Still feeling the adrenaline, he came closer, slightly swaying, to get a better look at the kid.

— Oi, blud. You good?