Milton was your average tubby yellow Meerca. He had moved away to start a life
of his own, in hopes to one day be swimming in Neopoints and judging famous
food competitions. Yet everyone starts small, so his story begins within the
flimsy beige apartment in which he lived in…
Milton sighed as he sullenly glanced out the window at the fleeting light
of day, pausing only to allow the faint pain in his wrist to subside as he set
down his chopping knife onto the pale beige bench. With a stubby paw he swept
the chopped spices and peppers into a thick silver pot. Steam slithered into
the air and formed as a faint white ribbon. It twisted and writhed above the
simmering soup deep in the hollow of the pot. The shabby rusting cookware all
came with the apartment, which was rather depressing to live in as it was.
Milton merely settled his eyes upon a Mallard on the overgrown lawn below.
A wriggling grub lolled around in the Mallards strong curved beak. Just when
the feathery green wings of the Petpet protruded as the Mallard prepared to
fly off with his meal, a larger more roughed up relative dived and pecked at
his younger brother until the poor bird was forced to hand over his large juicy
catch.
Milton sighed, not able to pin on how this display of 'brotherly love' reminded
the Meerca of his life. The phone rang. The sound drifted from the lounge and
into the kitchen. Milton leapt off his creaky stool and made his way into the
dark room to answer the call.
It was his boss.
"Hello, Milton?"
"Yeah hey George! What's up?"
"Nothing really, it's just… we have those worker Mynci's coming in tomorrow,
and… we're going to have to let you go."
Milton's insides froze, and he began to tremble.
"You CAN'T fire me! I still need to pay off my debts for the guy who fixed
my VCR! This guy used to belong to the MAFIA! Who knows what this guy will do
to get his pay, and if anything I need a raise seeing I left my wallet on top
of the taxi when I came home from work today. And the guy threw me out so I
had to walk home because I couldn't pay the fare…" Milton muttered and trailed
off.
"Sorry buddy, but I don't think being a bank accountant is the job for you.
You'll just have to find another one. Everyone in this town has been in the
blimey mafia at least once."
"But my family have been bank accountants for many generations! In fact, I-I
may sue you!" Milton timidly threatened. There was a snort of laughter from
the receiver and George Bushly hung up on little Milton's career.
Milton took a deep breath in, and he smelled an odd scent I the air… kind
of like the cinnamon swirls you could get at the bakery... if they were overcooked.
His whole body continued to shake. He needed fresh air! Milton -with difficulty-
pushed up the stiff black latches to the balcony door. The balcony, like the
apartment, was very old and flimsy, yet what could you expect if you're only
paying 50 Neopoints a week to stay.
Milton placed his paws down and leaned against the scruffy wooden railing.
He was about to appreciate the tranquility and untamed bush that was his lawn,
to take his mind off money matters when the railing groaned under his weight,
and broke off. Milton fell from the sky, a yawning tingling sensation gathered
in his stomach as he fell. Yet a sore feeling quickly followed that on his bottom
as he bounced on gravel, and then on the lawn itself.
Although his balcony wasn't very high, it didn't mean if the railing broke
off it wouldn't hurt when you landed on it. Milton coughed, that funny smell
was outside too. Milton's green eyes bulged when he saw clouds of dark smoke
that curled through the air from his balcony door.
***
Through the thick smoke and smell of tobacco, Alfreido glanced over the card-littered
table to his unworthy opponent.
His scaly Skeith hands threw another card onto the mountain of kings, queens
and jacks with the smallest flick of his large bulky wrist. That's how Alfreido
was built. Big, bulky, and producing an essence of dominance that even out-smogged
the smoke that floated mindlessly in the air above them in the dark isolated
room.
The fellow player (who just happened to be a rather shifty looking Krawk,)
smoothed a crease on his shady outfit, before he mumbled through a cigar: "So,
Alfi, am I gunna be in da gang?"
Alfreido smirked, an identical brand of cigar issued smoke when he spoke with
his husky Italian accent.
"Depends on ifa you've got what it takes. It's a tougha business, and ifa
I cana trust you--"
"Sure! You can trust me Alfi! I'm tough, I'm mean, I'm lean! I don't think
even your handy men in da corner could match my strength when I'm cornered!"
The Krawks chest swelled to show his determination, and his deliberate (and
obviously fake) toughness.
The smirk on the Skeith's faced lingered, and crinkled his small dark eyes
which wandered to his two body-guards watching silently in the back of the room.
Like cloaked spectators, they made the atmosphere very tense, especially seeing
they made sure their Improved Lightning guns were clearly visible. Both men
had hands on the triggers with the guns still slipped conveniently in their
deep coat pockets, waiting for even the slightest hint from Alfreido to pull
them out and aim to injure.
"Well, youa loose dis round Mr. 'Bullet'. Better lucka next time eh?"
Alfreido gave a harsh chuckle as he placed his last card to top of the pile,
and waited for this 'Bullet' guy to pay up.
Bullet's brow beaded, and his eyes darted around.
"Eh, I don't got any Neopoints on me right now, err-Alfi, can I pay you back?"
"You hada better, I'ma busy man. 12,000 NP I believe isa the price you named.
Ia suppose you'da concentrate ona the game more next time, rather than youra
big talk and little brains act. Next tima we meet, bringa the money." Alfreido
spat his cigar onto the wine-soaked wood, and turned to leave with his two men
by his side. They were very much dwarfed by their boss, despite the fact they
were both Skeiths too. Alfreido reached inside his pocket and tossed an old
notepad on the floor to make room for his own Improved Lightning gun.
"Anda- 'Bullet', Ia suggest youa use your real name anda identity when dealing
with thugs. It takesa more thana name to impress Alfreido, so sticka to Ryan
Bolanski. Ifa you're to be one of us, thena you change your name." Alfreido
called from the door, his brown coat on his back was all Ryan could see. With
a mist of smoke that seemed to swirl with the sound of billowing coats, Alfreido
and his men were gone.
"He's good," Ryan murmured to himself hoarsely, his eyes wide with astonishment.
"He is very good."
To be continued... | 
