Otter Starr Jinx's Story

One of those nights, in one of those places. Everyone's just getting drunk for the sake of getting drunk. Worn out faces of a generation that was robbed of everything we once held dear.
Three concrete pillars, their metallic skeletons partially exposed by time and human misdemeanor, are carrying the weight of the roof. The club itself is lit by several neon tubes, attached to the colorful walls. A huge bar in the left corner of the club, home to many who have lost faith in the world, is dominating the place. The bottles behind the bartender are stacked several lines deep against a mirror, creating the illusion of a never-ending reserve of drinks. The middle of the club is occupied by an empty, circular stage, used for the special kind of dancers, a DJ or a band on good days, for public beatings and cage-fights on bad days.
The entrance area is a long corridor, no guards needed.Thanks to the advance of RFID chips, the owner knows exactly who enters and leaves his club and if you get him to believe you're a potential troublemaker, he'll have you knocked cold and outside of his club before you can count to ten.
The dance floors in the back are empty today, no wonder, it's Tuesday and people have to work. The only clientele that will be served today will be gamblers, drunkards and dealers.
All in all, a normal day.

,, And I tell ya, we need men, real men in th' gov'ment, like th' white crusaders. Make Hinkel
pr'sdent and I tell ya, pa-ra-dise! " The old men at the corner of the bar shouts, clearly having had enough of both the political situation and the cheap bourbon he's drinking. While he keeps on ranting and shouting something about how they took care of old people back in the day, one of the easy girls this district so happily offers to everyone who can pay for them is hunting her prey. ,, Hey. I like your style. 's got something mysterious to it. Y' know, I can be mysterious too, you know, open for exploring. "
The man in a worn trench-coat, sitting directly across the bartender, keeps switching between sipping his even cheaper bourbon and iced water, seemingly untouched by the broads bad attempts at seducing him. A group of four men further inside the club, at a card table, start to cheer ,, Well lady, today's your lucky day, we all got our mining and drilling equipment right here. " The tall one with the long black hair and a cheap leather vest shouts, and the broad leaves the empty faced man at the table, hoping for another night of fun and excesses.
The man in the trench-coat leans further forward, and the light from below the bar reveals more of his looks - an old and worn brown trench-coat is hiding an even older black stinking hooded sweatshirt,
people are divided over what looks worse, his clothes or the face of his, split in two parts by a huge scar, leaving his mouth locked in an expression of disgust. While caressing his empty glass, his dark gloves make a barely audible squeaky noise. He asks with a rough and emotionless voice: ,, The old man bothering you? "
The bartender responds only with an annoyed " Give me a minute. " while sorting packs of cigarettes below the desk. This is one of the rare occasions her bodyguard ever spoke, so she hastily locks her precious little death-sticks away, eager to use this opportunity.

Meanwhile, at the card table, mood has turned. The only two persons left laughing are the young man with blue hair and the broad, now sitting on his lap. ,, You a cheater mate, I tell ya that. " The tall man with black hair shouts, pointing his right index finger into the blue haired mans face. ,, You gonna pay for this little man, you ain't got no idea who you messin' with Zeno." He adds, while his left hand is slowly going for the pouch he left on the table. The broad becomes seemingly nervous and leaves while murmuring something about freshening up, her red hair and the half removed dress adding a certain cliché-esque touch to it. Zeno leans back, grinning satisfied. The tall man makes a punch movement with his left arm, only to stop a few inches away from Zeno's face, holding up a members pass of the socialist party " I'm a member of this, and we gonna screw you over man, you ain't gonna be happy ever again in yo' entire life man. " Zeno, still smiling, used the man's monologue to carefully and slowly put away the money he just won. Without a word, he stands up and is about to leave the tall man with a short temper behind, but only after a few steps he stops, turns around and uses the opportunity of having the tall mans full attention to say something he always wanted to say.



Only a few blocks further to the north, in a safer and wealthier area, a man was waiting for the bus. An uncommon thing for someone in the middle-class area to wait for the bus this late, most of them being sound asleep now, getting rest for another challenging day. He remembers the last time he actually worked, and what it brought upon him. " A curse and a blessing. " he sometimes things. Without his former job at the factory, he would have never
been driven to walk the path of cybernetics.
The bus station is empty, lit only by one neon tube attached to it's ceiling, covering the area around it in an ominous yellow shroud. The whole field of view is plastered by apartment buildings, gray and dull. The only green left is a small patch of flowers in front of an apartment building, bearing a small sign " Erich Zahak - Private practice ". The man brushes his hand through his short hair, the movement accompanied by a short mechanical buzzing, and he thinks about just how similar the work of a doctor is to his own. The sound of footsteps tears the man out of his thoughts, the footsteps of three youngsters wearing their hair tied to knots. He recognizes the small neon dragon symbol on their jackets, and he knows he's in trouble. That's not a sign of a registered political party, but a gang sign.

Sitting in a nearly empty bus, a young woman is anxiously staring at her mobile phone.
" No missed calls. " She looks outside and is greeted by darkness, which is only broken by occasional street lamps. She has to hurry, soon the curfew will be in effect.
" No missed calls. " She should feel safe with all the things she's carrying with her, but she does not. " No miss- " The phone suddenly rings, with it's simple mechanic beeping.
Her finger on the button, she doesn't notice the bus is nearing the station she has to leave at. The beeping is interrupted by the sound of breaking glass and as she looks outside she sees three youngsters demolishing a bus station, with someone still inside. Like an impatient child the phone keeps begging for attention. She closes her eyes, rallies her thoughts and does what has to be done.

All in all, it had been a profitable evening. There was nothing like playing cards with a couple of fools that depended on dumb luck and a few well-known hands to win them money. What these men failed to realize was that it wasn't dumb luck or a sense of cosmic fairness that determined who won and who lost. No. It took skill to make a living from a deck of cards and the knowledge of each individual card as it relates to the whole and, no, he wasn't just talking about possible hands. It was difficult to keep track of each and every card that was played in-game as well as use those cards to guess just what wasn't played. But then, Zeno wasn't exactly a normal card-shark. He was the best.

Then, one of the men he had been playing with pulled out yet another playing card, only, this one, he thought mattered in the real world. The Socialist's Party, how quaint.

"You, sir, seem to be under the impression that everyone should be made to have same hand," Zeno told the man with the same grin he wore throughout the game as he picked his deck of cards back up and began to shuffle them, "But that is impossible. We may only play with the cards we are dealt."

He drew a card, "Sometimes, we are given an Ace and other times..."

He drew another card, this time gaining three of clubs, "We get something that is almost useless."

Again, he shuffled the deck, still with the same grin on his face, "At times, we are able to bank the system, draw the card we want."

He drew a few cards and, sure enough, he had a full house.

"Other times, we know what's heading for us, but there is no way to avoid it."

He drew some more and displayed a losing hand.

"At other times, you make your own luck," he stated, slipping the ace from before in and out of his sleeve like show, "Though, you have my word I was completely honest in our games."

"However, at the end of it all, we all draw the same card," Zeno stated with a grin, drawing the next card and holding out a card displaying a skeleton cloaked in black and wielding a scythe.

"Eh, in that case you might as well let us kill you," the man retorted angrily, glaring at the card shark, "If life's a game, then you might as well give up now!"

"Oh, it is a game, but we are human and we have no choice to play," Zeno stated simply, gathering up his card, "Some of us may fold, but that goes against every human instinct we have and folding itself is part of the game. Personally, though, I think we must play until the end for it is only at the end that we truly realize who we are. That is what death is, don't you think?"

He turned his back on the flabbergasted man along with the crowd he attracted with his speech, sitting in front of the bartender and stating, "I'll have a Screwdriver with real vodka. Not the cheap piss."

He laid out a hundred in front of her, grinning slightly, "I feel alive today."

Otter kept herself busy, sliding a rag over a glass to make it perfectly dry and putting it away along with the others that resembled it.
It wasn't as busy as she had seen it get, but there were enough people here that if they all paid for a drink and gave her a tip, she'd have enough money to last through until the weekend. But that wouldn't happen because half of the people inside couldn't even afford to buy a drink.
The bartender was dressed in a short, black, leather skirt with slits along the sides and a black v-neck shirt with an apron adorning her waist. Her dark hair with blue streaks was pulled back, only letting the short layers of her hair fall down around her features that she attempted to cover. She wore light makeup tonight, not wanting to bring anyone's attention to her more then she needed.
Her bodyguard asked her a question as she was shuffling under the counter, but she popped back up with another rag that she used to wipe down the bars surface.
"All in a regular night." She shrugged, not wanting to seem too irritated with the usual clientele, but she wasn't lying when she said that she was used to it.
Her eyes gazed to the clock that held her hostage. Only a few more minutes until she would be off for a break and she could finally smoke. She always counted down the minutes until she was allowed to go outside and light one up. When she turned back, a familiar face had sat down and she leaned over the bars edge, a smile on her face.
"Good evening, Zeno." He recited her his order and she winked at him, sauntering off toward the refrigerator to get the orange juice which she poured over ice in small glass. She had seen the bill he had placed in front of her and that was a nice enough bargain for her to reach on her tippy toes to reach the hardly touched alcohol stash that she so clinged to once everyone else had exited the facility.
She filled the remainder of the cup and headed back, popping in a little umbrella on the way. It wasn't required, but she felt like it had overall been a good night, so she did.
"Here you go, baby." She said, sliding the glass over to him and pulling the rag that she had left on her shoulder off and began to wipe the bar down in a different spot, keeping her ears open to what was being said around her.

,, Oi, you wanna fight? An old man like me? " The old man in the corner shouts, now even more drunk, towards the bodyguard. ,, You ugly, stinking bastard, didn't your mother teach you some manners? I gave my blood for this country, so you could at least show some decency! " The bodyguard, his face twisted in a genuine expression of disgust this time, lifts his finger, signaling he wants another drink.
Sunken in thoughts he's waiting for his drink, ignoring the old man's rantings. After all, he knew that feeling. A feeling he tried to drown with the cheapest bourbon he could get his fingers on.
Gulping down the glass of bourbon he glances over to the card table and something sinister sparks in his eyes.
,, Yeah, chill, I'll just call the boss. " The tall man with black hair says, attempting to calm down his seemingly angry companions. ,, Yo boss, Zeno - a card shark - just ripped us off. No, no 'course not. No, he just gave a weird speech and is at the bar now. Well, I can't just stand up and - No, not in the Magnet! Listen, can you send anyone here so we can clean up our reputation ag -. " The metallic casing of the phone gives in, and after a short electrical spark the phone leaves the bodyguards hand, plummeting lifelessly to the ground.
,, Zeno's protected. Lady at the bar wants no trouble. Lucky day for you. " He leans forward, his and the tall man's noses nearly touching ,, Please. Do me the favor and punch me. Make my day. " He whispers, his voice cracking like an old and rusty metal gate. The tall mans face is mirroring a mixture of fear and the desperate attempt not to throw up. A subtle facial twitch of the bodyguard reveals his genuine curiosity whether he honestly does smell that bad, or the man is just making a fool out of him. After a while the tall man, now just holding his breath, nods. As the bodyguard leaves the table, he isn't accompanied by the gasping for air and scared whispering he hoped for, but a burst of laughter and jokes about how bad he smells. His heavy elevator shoes make a metallic sound as he violently stops and stares at the bar.

"Why, thank you, love," Zeno told the bartender with a wide grin before taking a sip of his drink. He had to admit that he rather enjoyed the of the girl as she reached for the expensive stuff. It was a shame that girl from earlier had sneaked off, which was to be expected, he supposed. In his experience, girls of that type were rarely brave, unlike the girl before him. Otter was a different card altogether and had a good taste in hair-color.

"Well, it looks like I'll be staying the night here," Zeno noted with a frown as he listened to the confrontation between the bodyguard and the fool. He nodded in thanks at the bodyguard before turning his attention back to Otter. She was getting twitchy and that meant she was either itching for a drink or a cigarette.

"I guess I'll use the suite I usually stay in. If you want, you can join me for a smoke. It has its own air-filters," he told her, taking a guess at what vice was bothering her.

Otter looked up after she wiped the rest of the bar clean. It seemed like one of the older men was giving her bodyguard some trouble.
He seemed to look at her, almost pleadingly to let him have what he deserved and she shrugged, giving him a slight nod that it was okay if he wailed on him a bit in the back. It was easy to get away with. All she had to say that he was harrasing her and he came in and took care of the problem.
She came back to the main section of the bar where Zeno was sitting.
She bent over in the fridge to get out fresh ice for the beer cooler and when she arose after closing the door with her foot she looked to him, giving him a devilish smile and a wink.
She slammed the ice to the ground, breaking it apart so she could pour it into the cooler.
After she did she came back, nearly running to check the clock. It was time and she was so grateful.
She perked up when she heard Zeno ask if she wanted a smoke. She was willing to go for a free stick at any time and she was thankful that he asked her. It tended to get slightly boring being by herself.
"Yeah, I don't mind." She said smiling and shrugging. She sauntered out, leading him towards the back and she leaned against the brick wall of the building. She pulled out her lighter and waited for him to please her with his offering.

Zeno frowned slightly at the look the bodyguard was giving him. He would have had to be an idiot not to notice the unspoken threat, but nonetheless, he pretended that was just the case as he followed Otter out for a smoke. He wouldn't do anything as long as he was with her.

He handed her a cigarette before placing one in his own mouth and grinning, "How's work?"

Zeno dropped the little number into her palm and Otter clenched it between her fingers, just glad to have a freebie. She lit it up between her lips and closed her eyes, pulling in the nicotine with an elongated breath. She threw him the lighter before leaning against the wall with a foot up against the bricks that lay behind her.
She took another long drag and he tried for some conversation.
She thought for a moment, pulling her eyes from her tobacco product letting them raise to the sky where she stared at the stars for a moment before returning to her cigarette.
"It's work." She shrugged.
"No one ever really wants to complain because they'd rather have a job then be some low life without anything going for them." She ashed and continued, pulling more from her need.
"All I'm saying is that I'm happy with what I have and without a few of the people in my life-" Black hair fell to her chest when her head whipped to look behind her shoulder. Her bangs fell into her line of sight but it wasn't what she was trying to see. She let her eyes fall slowly as she drowned everything else out.
She felt like something was coming. As though she didn't need to be standing here any longer.
Immediately she slammed the remainder of the cigarette into the wall, extinguishing the cherry before she dropped it into her pocket. She took her lighter back from Zeno and pulled him close to her, her arms around his neck and she had to stand on her tip toes to whisper into his ear.
"Thanks for the cig. Catch you later, I hope." Before she hurried inside she stopped to give him a lingering look then slipped back inside to disappear into the back of the bar.

"You will if I'm not dead," Zeno told Otter with a shrug, watching her go as he finished his own cigarette. He of course, listened to what she told him in the little time they spent smoking, storing away that information for later. He did wonder what few people she was talking about. Part of him hoped he was included. She was a good friend and he'd be touched if she held him in such high esteem. As she left, however, as he listened closer to a sound that had been buzzing in the background for some time.

"Elected leaders! Elected leaders! Elected leaders! Elected leaders!"

A protest? No, it couldn't be. There hadn't been an event like that in 6 years. Still, he knew that there was neither a soccer game nor a concert in town tonight. If there was, he'd know about it. He didn't know about this and he didn't like that. With that thought, he began to walk silently towards the noise, faint though it was. It sounded about a kilometer away, within easy walking distance, he reasoned, and as long as he stayed in the shadows, nothing would harm him.

,, Everyone, please stay inside! There is no reason to panic. The Police has everything under control. "
The megaphone echoes through the street as a colon of police cars rushes past the confused Isaac and Brenna.
A group of heavily geared policemen, equipped with the newest Cybernetic armors, are slowly walking up the street.
,, Everyone, please stay inside! Everyone found outside will be tried for terrorism! " Their commanding officer is shouting,
his helmet amplifying his speech.
The red glowing night-visions the policemen are wearing grant them a certain surreal touch - more machine then men,
more tool than human they are cleansing the streets of every stain left on the system.
The doors of the hotel open and a young boy, heavily pierced, unsuited to wear the Hotel's uniform rushes out.
His eyes widen and you imagine this is the look a person facing the Grim reaper himself would have. He snaps out of it
as he realizes there are two other people out there. ,, Get inside for god's sake! " He shouts waving you over to
the hotel. As he's rushing up the steps of the hotel a loud buzz sounds and the door closes in front of him.
With pleading eyes, sinking to his knees, he looks over to you and close to tears he whimpers ,, I forgot to turn of the RFID detector. "

Slipping through the shadows Zeno made his way towards the noise. He soon realized where he was headed.
The Perishov, a small bar, crown jewel of ugliness. Before Zeno had the chance to hide properly, more and more
people were racing past him, towards the noise. He soon was engulfed in a stream of all society had to offer,
young people, old people, psyonics and augmented people - both female and male. The only thing he could do now,
was playing along.

The small TV screen hanging over the bar in the Magnet suddenly switched channels and what was left of
tonight's clientele went silent. The national emergency broadcast. It hasn't been used since, well, none
of you can remember the last time it has been used. A small line of red text on black background comes rolling in,
saying " Curfew in effect due to Terrorist gathering - - - Please stay at home ", and the picture shows
a large mass of people gathering around a small wooden platform, sadly there was no sound.

Zeno looked up, somehow he ended up in the middle ranks of this freak-show. A man on the podium, nothing unusual
about him, was shouting something about Injustice, something about how the banks control the economy and how
every member of parliament is nothing more but a puppet of the Bilderberg meeting. Zeno listened more carefully.
,, Brothers and sisters in arms! A wise man once said, that future will feel like a boot stomping on your face, forever!
He was wrong! We've got two boots in our face! " He's screaming into the megaphone and the mass starts cheering him.
,, I have enough! " He shouts, his face twisted in anger. ,, I want retribution! " Putting his open palm on his
chest he bows down, and coming back up he pulls out a simple leather mask. The mass follows his example and soon,
there are only a few left without masks. Mood changes, or so it appears, and everyone goes silent.

The TV in the bar, many eyes clinging on it now, shows the camera zoom in on to a man wearing a light-brown trenchcoat and
a classic hat. Carefully climbing the steps on to the podium he pulls his hands out of his pockets. The man who
spoke before hands him the megaphone while slightly bowing down. The text beneath the picture now reads:
,, Terrorist known as Masked man ret- " It suddenly stops rolling in, and gets replaced by one word, always
being repeated " Retribution." In the picture the TV now shows, a young girl kneeling at a portable computer pad
nods towards the Masked Man and out of nowhere the broadcast has sound.

,, I am, uh, glad, you all. . ." The Masked man sinks into thoughts, as if he had trouble finding words
. ,, Came. " He says snapping out of it. ,, This whole, ahm, establishment will be brought...down. " The crowd, now seemingly confused
and disappointed by his rhetoric skills, starts whispering to each other. ,, Tried to do it understandable. Will do it
properly. World has problems - the presumable necessity of safety corrupted the archetype of the state, rendering
it to but a husk - a farce - of what was once intended. The state, seemingly intangible in it's manifold branches
and bureaus, is hiding one simple truth - the apple of Eden - You are the state. " His voice is rough and empty,
similar to the of a long time smoker. ,, The state was turned to a fallen Leviathan - Hobbes would cry at this sight-
and sovereignty was taken from the highest sovereigns; you and me. The ego, it appears, is but a natural way of
self preservation - but it is not. The ego is a mirror, a reflection of what is, was and will be; aren't the decisions
and times to come, the ones affecting the present the most? Isn't the rise of presumable terrorism nothing but a
self-fulfilling prophecy, prophetised by the police state? The ego isn't one, the ego is three. The I, the Above-I
and the It. I, telling you to do, Above I telling you to do because it is good and It telling you to do, to satisfy your
primal needs. In these times, it appears only the It prevailed - it's roots buried deep into the abstract construct
of society. They killed Above I, very well. Let us feed It. " The crowd, perplexed by what they just heard, soon
starts cheering again as they see three women in expensive clothes being brought on to the podium and forced to kneel.
,, Who is more at fault? The fool, or the one blindly following the fool? These three women; presumably pure and innocent are nothing more but harpies -
dangerous leeches on societies teets; contributing nothing, wanting everything. " The women are crying, one of them
pleading for her life, as the masked man steps behind them. The first man who spoke on the podium gives the Masked man
a sledgehammer and takes the megaphone back in return. ,, Cornelia Schultz! " He shouts ,, Whore of well known soccer star Libvardo Franco;
monthly upkeep above 3 million. Engaged in creating fake grassroots movements. Days of honest work, zero. Sentence: Death. "
The Masked Man swings the hammer like a baseball bat and the crowd goes wild.
The hammer lands heavily on the girls head, and as she's falling to the side the gaping holes left after her eyeballs
scream the distilled essence of fear, intelligible in every language there is. The woman on the far right manages
to get up and in a desperate attempt to flee, runs into the crowd. ,, We are the executioners of this system! " The man with the megaphone shouts, as the
crowd has it's way with the fleeing girl. The last girl on the podium is sunken into prayers, as the Masked Man prepares for
another kill.