BLACK INK SOCIETY {Sci-Fi Thriller} #Wattys2016

Part 1, 1: Cultivated Conversation

London, 2026

It was one of these nights more common in trashy novels than in the world of the living. The sky above the city presented itself in its best velvety black; It was a night for rooftop parties or sitting on the balcony, a night to revel in nostalgic thoughts.

Lupin could have been doing all of these things. If he hadn't found himself in the company of three brawny, less communicative, but all the more violent fellows in a backstreet.  What's more, said gentlemen appeared to be in an extremely bad mood, and Lupin decided that the situation required immediate clarification.

"One step at a time. I'm sure we can resolve this misunderstanding like civilized human beings."

"Misunderstanding?!" shouted his counterpart, and it occured to Lupin that the man presumeably did not share this point of view. "You stole my fucking car, you son of a bitch!"

Lupin raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "On the contrary, my friend. I merely borrowed it, with the firm intention of returning it to its rightful..."

He barely managed to dodge an aluminum base ball bat before it could shatter his skull and paint the wall with his brain cells. His interlocutor did not seem very interested in a non-violent conflict resolution.

Looking back, the situation he happened to find himself in could certainly have been prevented. Lupin threw a quick glance over his shoulder to examine his surroundings, or rather, find a way to evade what further pleasantries his adversaries might have in mind for him. The dark alleyway was bordered by the high brick walls of an abandoned factory building and a closed garage. Great. His only way of escape was currently being blocked by the square-shouldered leather jackets the South-Edge-Cartel had decided to send him as a token of appreciation.

"You're dead," growled one of the gangsters.

Lupin, who still felt very alive at this point, decided to forego his objection before the fateful annunciation could become true. It began to dawn on him that returning to the crime scene like some third-rate novel villain might not actually be the smartest thing to do. It was supposed to be an act of fairness - he had really intended to bring back the car - and it had ended with him running into the exact same man he had stolen the car from.

The car-owner, meanwhile, was far from happy about Lupins little trip, not really because of the car itself, but because of what was contained in the trunk.

"Gentlemen, if you'd be so kind to consider this. If I had originally intended to use the cocaine in your storage space for my own purposes - I hardly would have brought car and cargo back, don't you think? You are free to scale. I wouldn't be offended in the slightest."

"Quit your talking. Or I cut out your guts and stuff your mouth with 'em."

The idea of getting his guts separated from the rest of his body failed to appeal to Lupin. He was, in fact, equally fond of both his interior and exterior bodyparts. Although the latter were not much to look at, apart from a pair of keen, expressive hazel eyes, which were currently focused on his accusers. Their manners really did seem to be in need of a general overhaul. And so Lupin decided to leave the cheerful gathering.

"It's been a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he countered, "But if you'd excuse me now..."

His negotiating partners didn't seem willing to let him go so early. As Lupin wanted to take flight, the car owner grabbed him, twisted his arm behind his back and slammed him face first into the wall. That hurt.

"What's your name, arsehole?" the dealer hissed, closing his hand around Lupin's neck. "So I can teach your whole family a lesson!"

"Arsène Lupin," he mumbled against the bricks, which posed a considerable obstacle to his articulation, "At your serv...ouch." The pressure got worse, he heard something crack as he tried to move his head to the side. Where were the CCTV cameras when he actually needed them? It was long after curfew already.

"You shittin' me?" the third man demanded to know. "That's from a comic book."

"Not exclusively."

Because he was by no means weary of his young life, Lupin avoided it to point out the knowledge gap. He couldn't really tell who had come up with these stupid pseudonyms in the first place. He had been against it right from the start. With good reason, as he was just about to learn.