What made , Friday night on Parris corner ?  The concrete strip of cul de sac that spat in the face of the city. Turning weekly from a place from a dead eyed footnote of the city above it , into a neighbourhood so aggressively dedicated to unwinding that they liked to end the day with a riot. Some would put the blame on the music , loud blasting bass that flowed from underground the countless unnamed clubs. Starting at 4 and ending at 7 in the morning. So loud it pushed out even the most persistent of sounds. Guns popping off and screaming sirens.
 There were the ones who blamed it on the youth , gangs of teens. Called feral by the media. That roamed on bikes looking to take their minds of exams , parents , girlfriends by losing their minds to cheap synthetics and good fights.

Was it made by the unfortunate residents ? Those cursed to live out every day on Parriss corner. The orchestra of modern life that ran out from their cracked windows. The sounds of crackling holograms , shrieking kids , drunken fathers ,beaten wives and mistresses spoiled in cheap jewels all filled the air above the party-goers and users. But everyone turned a blind eye , “ignore that drink another , snort another” was the motto.

Some blamed it on the constant government presence, banners , posters , holograms. All displaying the same image. Bold text and the faceless police promising to uphold the city with batons and bullets. And although the presence of actual officers was scarce. The air was filled with mosquito like heli-drones, zipping around dizzily. Shooting yellow beams on people's faces and playing tinny patriotic songs. One call from inside them and a whole standby team of MPD Riot would invade. “ It’s only natural to strike back when you can’t breathe like that “ they said.

Was it the imposing shrimp of “Hunks Diner”. An enormous billboard that towered over the rest of the buildings. Drenched in the lustrous (stolen) yellow neon that was so rarely seen outside of the higher level districts. The booths full of bottom level string men sitting in this bottom level diner ,breathing in the rich stench of sea-food,cheap beer and easy waitresses. Their suits stained with blood,acids and industrial material that accompanied the grinding work they did. Drinking to forget what they’d just done and getting ready to do it again.

No

It was Cyper.

Cyper who was there every Friday , sitting in between a disconnected pair of buildings. A residential with a red door and small rave/bookshop with a black one. His feet stuck out of the curb but his body was tilted back so his head was hidden in the shadows , not struck directly by the heli-drones cameras. He knew far well how to conceal himself from the MPD’s grasp. The whole evening revolved around him. While other pushers would stumble around inside clubs abandoning their clients at every turn. Or would pull up short on product. Cyper was always there on the same curb, dealing exact amounts. He didn’t talk , just took and gave wordlessly and without judgement.

In the tip of the right boot were four vacuum sealed baggies.Holding between them an exact 4.5 grams of DRUG. On a normal night someone tied up as loosely as he was  would be never able acquire. But tonight , was no regular night. He’d turned down his usuals with distaste and the odd drunks slobbering about needing to reach higher was threatened with a blade

This Friday he wasn’t a regular corner boy , this had been an arranged piece of work. When he’d come down to the docks and when Rosenthal had offered it to him Cyper had practically ripped it out his mouth knowing there were literally hundreds other corner boys hungry for a chance to shine.

Meet an unspecified and non-descript customer. Hand him the goods and take the money. The payout from this simple task was good, even with his marginal cut Cyper knew it was good money. More than enough for him to take the rest of the month off. Away from Parriss corner.

The danger of it was quite clear too , there was an endless number of ways for this to end up with him in a ditch or in the MPD interrogation rooms. To prevent either of those equally miserable fates, he’d loaded up his confidence with a small bump of DRUG and brought his revolver along. A lightweight piece of white steel-plastic.

Where the fuck are you.

Cyper couldn’t help but think over and over, it was difficult knowing when someone would turn up in his trade ,quoting 0000 hours as an established meeting time the host could expect an arrival at anything between 2330 hours or 0030.
It was now 0101 and his contact had crossed the threshold right as Cypers comedown had begun. His mind kept slipping from the task at hand and he felt the urge to fall down and sleep. He was far from addicted but even  with casual use drug held him in a vice. No wonder they keep coming back.

“ I’m sorry I’m late “ The voice came from behind him . He turned around to see a large dark shape standing at the end of the alley. He blinked a few times trying to get rid of the colorful haze over his eyes. Cyper wasn’t sure how to act , the contact had thrown him for an unexpected loop. People always approached him head on. Never from behind . The alley looped into somewhere deep in the city even he avoided. Getting to his feet , he tried to quickly make a plan of approach. The first words he said would be key to establishing this relationship.

“ Come closer will you ? “ stepping into the unlit was the last thing he was willing to do and the contact would know who was giving out the orders. He hoped

The contact took two steps , but still hung back. His head tipped back in invitation.

Cyper took his two steps , and slipped the revolver from his back pocket to inside his sleeve. The force of the hammer against his palm secured him. If he stabs me, or shoots me. The helis won’t even flag it. I’ll just fall down.

“ Have you got what I need ? “ , his voice was strained and the words seemed uncomfortable in his mouth. Every dragging second that passed by Cyper was more and more sure that’d he really didn’t want anything to do with this person. I could bend down, draw and...put a hole in his chest ?
A perfectly fine solution for about a minute but if he was a contact for someone big. A pair of strings would be sent around to put a bullet in him. If he was a cop he’d get ousted by his small criminal circle and most probably beaten to death in a holding cell.

“ Yeah, “ He bent down , kicked his boot off and tossed the contents into an open palm. His contact , opened it up , took a brief look at the contents. Sniffed , smiled a smile of  perfect white teeth that didn’t belong in the mouth of someone who dealt with what he was dealing. That was his first tip off , the teeth. They weren’t broken or black and he had a full pair.

He heard the fist crack against his head , before he felt it. Once he felt it. Cyper was down in a puddle , a tooth scattered out into the street. Two streams of blood  trickled down his cheeks from his nose and brow. His groans come out in hacking coughs.
The world pulsating black and red in dizzying spirals. He wasn’t sure where he was being taken when one of the enormous palms started dragging him across the street. To Hunks.