Sharp-Dressed Man

March 31st 2102

23:28

"Ah, kiddo, you're finally awake."

Ukira slowly opened his eyes. He was lying against the side of a sofa, greeted by a tall, six-foot-three guy with a head of dreads, a rice-picker ronin hat, a long overcoat — and, oddly enough, a pair of short shorts with socks and sandals.

Not what you'd picture driving this modded-out hot-rod of a van — yet, somehow, this wannabe hippy behind the wheel made perfect sense.

"So... you gonna answer me, or are you just gonna look at me with that blank face?"

The unusually dressed man had an incredibly warm smile — a little too warm, like one forced out of habit, a mask meant to win people over.

"What do you want?"

Ukira glared at the hippy, looking him up and down with dead eyes — trying to read this strange man's game.

"Is that how you greet your protector? Wow. Harsh."

The man stood and crossed to the opposite side of the van, rummaging in a small fridge. A metal tab cracked open, the hiss of carbonation filling the quiet.

"Protector...? You didn't protect shit."

Ukira sat up and spat on the floor, the bitterness in him too deep to hide. Whatever curse sat heavy on his soul refused to let him feel gratitude.

"If you're such a great protector, who the hell was that guy with the lightning? And where's my sister? If you're so great, why was I getting jumped in the streets every other day, huh?"

The dread-headed man sighed long and loud — overly dramatic — before taking one last gulp and setting the can down with a dull thud.

"It's... complicated"

Ukira stood, his hand clenching the arm of the sofa so tight it left a faint scorch mark where his palm had been.

"Don't tell me it's complicated. If you're a 'protector,' surely you should protect someone."

He grabbed a nearby photo frame from the cabinet beside the sofa, an old, yellowed picture.

The print was warped and poorly developed which makes sense considering Dark Rooms are just myths in the New World.

He hurled it across the van.

The so-called protector lifted his hand, drawing a perfect circle in the air. Within that circle: pitch black nothingness. Like a tiny black hole, it swallowed the photo whole.

In the blink of an eye, he spun another circle with his free hand, and the picture shot right back out of the void. Whizzing straight at Ukira.

"You're really starting to tick me off. I nurse you back to health, and this is how you treat me? Breaking my stuff?"

The picture smacked Ukira right in the face, hard enough to snap his head upward. The pure absurdity of it froze him for a second, long enough for him to stumble backward in disbelief.

"Yeah... okay, I'm sor— so— sorr—"

Ukira's mouth twisted into an unsettling grin. Not the kind of grin anyone would ever make willingly. Not something human. It was the sort of smile that made your skin crawl. Like a fart in an elevator, wrong, trapped, and impossible to ignore.

"Just... just stop. Please. Are you even trying? Is that what you think a smile is?"

The man rubbed his temple, groaning.

"Just sit back down, kid."

He dragged a chair from a tucked-away desk, flipped it around, and straddled it backward. The backrest faced Ukira as he leaned forward; resting his forearms on the top bar and his chin on his hands, legs splayed for maximum comfort.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot, yeah?"

He said, smiling like a used-car salesman who'd just run over your cat.

"My name is. Actually, scratch that. You can call me Sanguchi."

He tapped his chest.

"I'm the Sin of Gluttony and your assigned protector. For the past three years, I've been watching over you. I know it doesn't seem that way, what with Cogton literally exploding on itself and your sister, another Zodiac, being kidnapped... though, explaining that would be way too complicated right now."

Ukira slumped deeper into the leather sofa, staring blankly at the van ceiling.

"Look, I get it. You're bored,"

Sanguchi sighed.

"Just know I've got your best interest in mind. Now, let's move along, yeah? There's no point staying in this refugee camp and I very much doubt you've got anyone to say goodbye to"

Sanguchii still carrying his can in his hand up to the front of the van: with it rumbling to life the engine vibrating away with a throaty snarl and grumble like a bear rolling over. Black tar smoke smeared out the exhausts filling the outside of the vehicle in smog.

The cracked dashboard glowed faintly. The gauges flickered and spun around clearly only for show due to the fact they seemingly have no real way of logically spinning that wildly.

The van rolled along to what used to be the old right gateway; going beyond the remnants of the town into the neighboring Heap. Outside, the wasteland stretched on: dunes of scrap metal and shattered visages of buildings, beneath a dying moon as midnight grew closer.

Ukira sat silently in the same old sofa he awoke in, staring through the back window, leaving behind the world he once knew the roads and pathways wind around with the van skipping over all the turns driving in a straight line through the musk and rubbish. The world beyond looked like it been poorly glued together

"So" Sanguchii started, shifting gears while lazily driving with one hand. Sipping away at his can of cola. "You ever been too far from Cogtonn before?"

Ukira gave no answer for a few moments before muttering "Weren't you meant to be looking over me as a protector, shouldn't you know where ive been"

Sanguchii rolled his eyes at the clear lack of attention Ukira had been paying.

"I did say earlier. 'last 3 years' before, I meant in your life as a whole"

Ukira looked flustered and kinda stammered at a response to something that clearly was taking a jab at him, especially coming from his 'protector'. Most likely thinking something along the lines of, what's even this guys deal, why does he care?

"I..uh..no, no I haven't. Why do you care anyway"

Sanguchi did the responsible thing and ignored it, it's quite clear Iteza is just trying to get a rise out of him and in his mind it seemed way to much effort to indulge this brat's obvious questions with an obvious answer.

Ukira continued staring out the window, watching his home town disappear into the horizon; although it wasn't exactly home to him; the majority of people saw him as just a smelly rat kid, who dug through the Heap every day, even though everyone else was just like that. He was bullied, belittled and threatened. Other then by Solomon.

Solomon! In the heat of the collapse, his kidnapped sister and then his semi-abduction by one of the Sins. He totally forgot about the old man, Ukira never got to say goodbye or even knew if the guy was alright. It was probably too late now anyway, Solomon probably wouldn't mind if he knew why Ukira couldn't.

As the mirage of Cogtonn vanished in the distance a couple dust balls appeared behind. It could have been just from the vans tail lights, illuminating the dirt blown into the air by the tires, perhaps Ukira is just imagining things from the stressful few moments up to recent, but these were real, they had to be. And that's because they are real, it was bikes specifically it was a band of,

motorcycles.

They were completely different to the ones that masked man had.

These were covered in spikes and also seemed way more scrapped together, one had a passenger cart with a giant speaker sat in it whereas another had a what looks like a body made of a crystal, just straight up a large crystal with a gearbox, tires and handlebars.

That's when Ukira noticed a huge truck, armor plated windows, all sorts of gadgets and machinery sticking out of its plating and windows. If Sanguchii's van was the king of the road, this truck was a god. But Ukira is a non-believer in the terms of the outside world, he did however believe if they didn't stop they'd be ran off the side of the road.

"Oh great, the locals"

Sanguchii slowed down turning over to the side of what presumably is a road. The next following 30 to 40 seconds were followed up by the incoming machines getting louder and louder and louder. Until they stopped, parallel and opposite the van.

At a closer inspection there was only two bikes and a single truck, up close the truck was actually quite small and had a flat bed with the front cab being miniature. Presumably this wasn't there fire power, but just something to carry around whatever junk they found. Which begs to question what exactly is there fire power, because now it just left the two, Sanguchii and Ukira, feeling incredibly embarrassed for stopping for such a fun sized crew.

The door of the cargo carrier swung open and a man dressed head to toe in black stepped out. His jeans were baggy and torn complimented by suspenders in dark purple along with a belt in a brown, an incredibly dull brown. The type you'd most likely think is black but to someone as keen eyed as Ukira he could spot that shade even if it was miles away.

The emo wannabe moved up to the window.

His cloak was made out of what looked to be torn and tested banners of clans, hopefully the bad kind, maybe this guy wasn't too bad. He just seemed like a morally grey bounty hunter. Fitting his wardrobe was so monochrome. One thing for sure though, this man reeked of decay, decay and sorrow. And he curated it, he wore the loss like a cologne. Every piece of his outfit looked like it had a story, perhaps all just trophies of his huntings.

As he stood in place he appeared quite restless, foot tapping against the floor like when your afk in a Sonic game, his foot was trampling something at-least, crunching. Ukira whispered to himself that he hoped it was glass. The wind blew against the inspectors cloak, making his stolen insignia keychains, create a melody of loss like a wind chime of the deceased.

On his head was a beaten up cowboy hat, with smolders and stains, even holes. He wore a full face helmet, the eye holes shattered and replaced with a clear material opposed to the small shards of limo tinted glass in the corners of the sockets.

Without a word he tapped his knuckle against the van's shell it strangely made a metallic twang. The man had a full arm prosthetic. From shoulder to palm. His fingers slowly crunched and clicked into position, telling Sanguchii to roll the window down.

He obliged, even tho it wasn't as if the window was hiding any sounds from outside due to the cracks and chips in it.

Sanguchii, swirling his can around in a circular motion, before placing it down on the dashboard.

"Can i help you, sir"?

Sanguchii wasn't hiding it, that sir was complete and utter mockery of that man, making Ukira burst out laughing. Even the way he pratically got saliva on the 'cops' face.

After he finished laughing Ukira really began to question exactly what kind of protector provokes people, before quickly coming to the conclusion that a pretty funny one does.