Surge

Juncture 1 Chapter 7: Jessica Smith

23rd November, 5,045 G.A.

Another minute, another penny.

All that laid in front of me, at the dead-end of an alley, was a screaming homeless man defending himself with the lid of a trash can as an improvised shield and a handle of a broom without the actual broom.

The attacker in question?

A fucking Dachshund.

The sustained barking by the assaulter riled up the entire neighbourhood, countless dogs from all sorts of well-off people joined in on the yapping. Surely enough, another two stray dogs approached me at the mouth of the alley from behind, running. One was a Fox Terrier and the other was a Beagle. I stepped to the side.

The homeless man shrieked at the sight.

I couldn't help but smile a little, exhaling some air from my nose in response.

While they were terrorising the poor, probably Talentless man, I took a look at the surroundings of the alley. It was dingy to say the least, the light only creeping up from the mouth. The walls on either side were horridly humid, it allowed for dust to accumulate and stick to them, mould growing exponentially like a virus. I suspected that if I were to approach the man I would simply suffocate to death, drown under all the moisture and putrid smells.

The man however, had clearly set this up as his home.

Well, as much of a home he could possibly make with limited resources and the very atmosphere of the area.

At the very end of the alleyway, he rooted a makeshift shelter, making a tent in the process. Four metal pipes were placed under each corner of an old bed sheet. The bed sheet-shelter also held more cloth above it, probably to help with whenever it rained. Each of the four pipes were kept standing by a bundle of rocks with varying sizes, the pipes were placed in the centre of each bundle.

Underneath the squalor roof, one would find empty wooden crates with a random assortment of items placed upon them. I could also spot a carpet on the ground along with an empty can, no doubt to store his savings. Right beside his shelter was a campfire with a frying pan above it, holding...

Ah.

He had an entire chunk of red meat cooking up.

Perhaps if the alien environment in the alley was not so harsh on the senses, a human would be able to actually smell the cooking steak. A dog, however, would know no such limits.

Soon enough, even more strays from around the neighbourhood would come to approach the crime scene, some joining in on the excessive barking while others were more wary and curious, tilting their little heads to one side and sniffing my shoes.

As entertaining as the entire sight should have been, I was nonetheless frustrated at the time wasted looking for danger, only to find...this.

I decided to step away from the scene and look elsewhere. Before I left, I tossed a penny at his direction, a measure of pity and apologetics.

Another minute, another penny.

I closed my eyes.

Then I opened them once more.

Danger Sense.

Blotches of colours radiated my vision, they ranged from mild hues of greens and blues to harsh yellows from time to time. Actually discerning what I was seeing in front of me while my Sense was activated proved to be impossible. I lost track on the amount of times I left it on while I was running to get to a scene as quickly as possible and was left reeling on the pavement from kicking one of those damn red water hydrants.