Meanwhile City

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Nephimzariel
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Meanwhile City

Post by Nephimzariel » Thu Jun 14, 2018 10:45 pm

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
MEANWHILE CITY
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


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Meanwhile City - a twilight bathed den of grey citizens where anything can become a religion, but religion is all. The Seventh Day Manicurists who worship nail polish, The Second Temple of the Nouveau Riche who won't so much as talk to you without a down payment, the Advocacy for Legalitarianism with its lawyers scurrying around in three piece business suits in useless cackling packs, and on and on the list goes.

Nothing is truly sacred anymore. Real religions died centuries ago and what was left of mankind's spirit - our soul - was buried right beside them. Shame too. Some of the Modern Day Models of Eden could change my whole perspective on life if it wasn't for their vow of chastity.


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The only sect that anyone takes too seriously anymore is the Temperate Order of Authoritarian Deliverance - the police of Meanwhile City; the clockwork cogs of the machines that run our lives. If you fail to register your religious affiliation, these are the ones dressed in black that come knocking on your door, or snatching you anonymously off of the streets without a word to your loved ones. These are the people that make you disappear. These are the bastards that made my brother disappear.

My name is Franklyn. Just Franklyn. I live off the grid and do whatever I can to bring these sons of bitches down and find my brother; or what's left of him. I can't be the only one who's lost someone.


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╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
...MEANWHILE...
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝


"Heya Frank."
"Hey Jimmy." Frank saddles up to the bar for the third day in a row to have some breakfast. "Whiskey. Neat."
"You got it, Frank."

A glass appears on the bar-top and Frank's eyes drop to the uncustomary white napkin that Jimmy knew better than to give him. Looking down though the golden amber liquid the word "Run" appears through the waves of the glass.

Frank takes a brief glance at the mirror that runs the length of the bar behind Jimmy for just such an occasion and spots them - eight TOADs - making their way for the front door; undoubtedly on their way to claim Frank. His pale canvas mask is lifted, folding the expressionless black eyes that are nothing but paint to reveal a stubble-coated chin and pink lips that part to down the whiskey - breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all - before Frank turns, replaces his mask and makes a straight line for the rear exit of the bar.

One hand slides down to take a comforting grip over the shotgun he has hidden in under his chocolate colored leather trench-coat.

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