Snippet #2698533

located in Chicago, a part of Us Against Them, one of the many universes on RPG.

Chicago

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Character Portrait: Opie Reyes
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It was ten past nine. 9:10pm to be exact. Opie had just finished cooking dinner for his little sister, Evelyn, and was cleaning the dishes. He was rushing the job, trying to get out of there as quick as possible. Not because he didn’t want to be around his little sister, but because he had a job waiting for him. A party was being held by Lola, one of his biggest clients, and there was a lot of money to be had.

Evelyn watched Opie, from their one single mattress. Their one bedroom apartment barely fit the both of them, and it was in the worst part of town, but it was all Opie could afford. He was the breadwinner of the family, and his family only consisted of him and Evelyn.

She was only twelve, but acted like she were twenty. Too mature for Opie’s liking. “Are you going somewhere?” Evelyn asked, innocently. “Just somewhere I need to be,” replied Opie, not wanting to get into it more than that. She smiled at him, mischievously. “Is it a girl?” her legs kicked excitedly, hoping for some juicy gossip. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to play with her whims tonight. Opie turned to Evelyn, and gave her that, shouldn’t you be going to bed look.

“Alright, alright. Just asking.” She rolled over, unsatisfied with his response. She was bored and wanted to play with her older brother. She assumed he was probably going to one of his many jobs, but what she didn’t know was that his job entailed selling pot to spoiled rich kids. Something he intended to keep from her at all costs.

He turned the faucet off, and flung dried his hands. Bending down, he put a hand on his sister’s head and looked her in the eyes. “I’m going to go out for a bit. Make sure you don’t open the door for anyone. Call 911, if there’s any trouble, alright?” She rolled her eyes at him. “I know already. I’m not ten you know.” Opie smiled warmly at her.

Then he went over and checked his backpack. He opened it up. Instead of books, notepads, and homework, like you’d expect from a regular high school student, his was filled with grams upon grams upon grams of every sort of weed strain there was. He made a quick mental inventory check, going through everything he had: Blue Dream, Sour Diesel, Og Kush, White Widow, Gorilla Glue, AK-47, Trainwreck, Pineapple Express, Headband, Purple Kush, Maui Wowie, Afghan Kush, God’s Gift, Skywalker, Lemon Kush, Purple Urkle, Golden Goat, and White Rhino.

Then he picked up the baggies, to look under it. A Glock 19 was right where it was supposed to be. He never needed to use it before, but it was always better being safe than sorry in his line of work. Sorry meant you were dead.

He slung the backpack over his shoulder and left the room. He flipped open his burner phone. A piece of shit flip phone from the stone ages. Then he texted Lola. “On my way. Leave the back gate open. Supplies are bumpin 2nite.”