Pandemonium [original]

Chapter Seventeen: Right Place, Wrong Time

Hollow eyes stared at the credit report for the month. "Shit."

Rhys and Mal were playing some kind of card game in the bedroom. Their loud laughs and occasional curses could be heard from the living room.

Zaria was out either working on her weapons or playing with Huey. She did a lot of that recently, and was rarely around.

Sephiram leaned over Caspian's shoulder, his eyes scanning the document. "What?"

Cas shook his head. "The funds haven't been refilled."

His words hung in the air for a moment. The fear in his voice was evident. Sephiram sucked in a breath.

"Well... That sucks."

Cas laughed, his voice hoarse. "Yeah. It really sucks."

Demi glanced up from the leather-bound book she had been reading. "There are other ways to make money." She suggested, a cruel smirk fell over her face.

"I have a feeling your ways involve something illegal. So no."

Demitri rolled her eyes. What a wimp.

Caspian massaged his temples. "This is really bad."

"It'll be fine. We can find work, or something." Sephiram pulled on red locks of hair. He twisted a few strands into a little spike, smiling. Cas nodded, but it was a little hard to imagine Mal or Rhys bagging groceries or Zaria walking dogs. They didn't even have identification. Any employment would have to be unofficial.

Sephiram seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "I think I know a guy. We could get school IDs or licenses or something."

"Tell me when you get tired of playing house," Demitri taunted.

***

"I know you can do better than that." Sephiram threatened. He leaned over the desk, absently tapping his gun as it was strapped to his side.

The bespectacled man let out a long sigh, "Don't even go there, blondie. I know your tricks."

Cas looked in surprise. Most people didn't talk back to Sephiram. This man didn't fear him, and even dared to talk back.

Electronic music pounded through the air. The bass was so loud it could be felt rattling their bones. Caspian and Sephiram stood in front of a rusted metal desk. An ancient computer and printing machine were the only other objects in the room. The room was decrepit: mysterious stains and foreboding splatters covered the walls. Dust was kicked up every time the scruffy man moved. it was suffocating. An old fluorescent light blinked in the corner.

The man who was currently having a glare-off with Sephiram was older, probably around forty or fifty. He had a scraggy mess of hair and a tattoo sleeve. One of the marks on his arm was a skull with wings. Caspian took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. This man wasn't the enemy. Probably.

In order to make money, they needed work. And unfortunately most well-paying jobs required normal, legal citizens. The Majin were neither of those things.

Sephiram and Demitri had their own contraband identification, but the others needed some, and fast.

They would have to work if they wanted to eat or have water and electricity. More importantly, they needed to be able to fund their rescue mission back into Discord.

"Fine. But you owe me big time. I'll make you as many as you need, but they won't be cheap." The man finally relented, "If I'm gong to jail for dealing with criminals, I'm sure as hell gonna live in luxury before I go."