A Work of Art

Built on Sand

Sand. To call it anything but a haphazardly combined array of cheap amphetamines would be giving its manufacturers too much credit. Taking the powder is always a gamble; it could give you a blissful high and an agonizing crash, it could give you a heart attack, it could just be literal sand. The sole saving grace of it is the price, as even the most desperate beggar can pick up dropped change on a busy intersection and have enough for their next fix. It's ubiquitous to the point where even the cops won't bother taking you in for possession or use of it. Even someone like Reikas' dad, when he-

Taking a deep breath, Reikas ran his hand through his hair. Now's not the time to get distracted. There's work to do. He took out his phone and looked at the text message, a method of communication that was, on paper, dangerous thanks to essentially 0 encryption. At Eden's insistence though, Reikas and the employer swapped numbers; surely someone willing to give out info this easily traceable must be the real deal.

"This is Jade. I'm p sure my dealer is meeting with someone at 9 later today at Bilburie Bank, I think eden said you tagged it before (ur art is super unique btw.) Just get as much sand as you can, I'll pay depending on what you bring back."

Really, Reikas didn't want to get involved with this. The whole drug scene was a dangerous one to get into, and laying low wasn't something he was ready to do if the thing went haywire. But then again, there was too compelling of a case for her. She recognized his art! So what if Eden had to tell her about it, that didn't mean anything. And she said it was unique! Unique is good! She was clearly a real fan from the start of his career. Who would Reikas be if he denied a simple request from such a big fan?

The recognition made waiting in the pile of debris and garbage for a solid 45 minutes bearable, at least.

Sketching random designs in his black book, most of which being different styles of a sloppy signature, Reikas nearly jumped when he heard the pair of footsteps walking towards him. Peeking out, he could make out a tall, buff-looking woman with pink, professionally styled hair and dark skin and an almost impossibly thin and sickly pale person, face covered with a surgical mask. The latter spoke first.

"H-hey uh, Seraphim. New hairstyle, or-"

"Please stop Carmine. Just... you know the drill."

With a shaky hand, the gaunt figure reached into their pocket and pulled out a wallet, counting out several bills. Both of their eyes were on the money. Distracted. This was his time to shine. Pulling his mask down, Reikas made a fist, placing an old bottle cap on their thumb. He flicked it up, launching it. The sparkles in his eyes were hidden by the mask's dark circles, the two's smiles matching lengths. Bounce a bullet off the cap, ricochet it into her leg or something, take the drugs and get out. This was going to be so god damn cool. Reikas quickly shook off the garbage covering him and fired at the cap.

He missed.

He... missed? But how? It was his moment... It was perfect...

Lost in disbelief, Reikas hardly noticed as the woman charged him, throwing a wild haymaker. He snapped back to reality as he just narrowly ducked the fist. Panicking, he fired a shot at his assailant's legs in self-defense. The bullet just barely scraped her leg, but there seemed to be no reaction from Seraphim as she threw an uppercut, making direct contact with Reikas' chin. It was a strange, painful sensation; the intense, blunt agony of a punch from someone who knew how to throw one was expected. But the burning electricity was a surprise. Ripping the now-broken mask off, he looked at Seraphim's hands, cackling with electricity. He was enraged.

"Electricity implants? What the fuck is wrong with you? That's barbaric *and* tasteless."

The woman stopped mid-charge, pausing her attempted beatdown in favor of staring blankly. "...what."

"I mean, what's the message? 'I like punching and electricity'? And that codename, Seraphim... Christ, you need a redesign."

Seraphim gave a confused squint, taking her time to find any words to this frankly insane man. "Just get out of here. I don't wanna hurt you, you weird homeless man. Leave your gun and forget this happened."

"Like hell I will." Reikas scoffed, attempting to spin his pistol on his finger, before accidentally firing a shot.

The next hour was a blur. Reikas remembered Seraphim falling over, holding her abdomen. He remembered rushing over to help, without any idea as to how. He remembered the screams of agony as her stomach acid leaked out of the wound, burning her from the inside with no vital organs nearby to allow the sweet release of a quick death. He remembered pacing for a while until she stopped screaming, almost throwing up as he hesitantly searched her body for the sand. He remembered leaving the other person and his mask at the scene.

He knocked on the metal door.

"Reikas! Welcome back, I got worried for a second. Hey uh, where's your mask? And why are you... are you okay?"

Reikas walked inside, shoving the small stained bags of drugs into their arms. They watched as he stared ahead, wordlessly shambling to their bed, staring at the ceiling. A minute of silence passed before Reikas spoke, just above a whisper.

"My mask broke."