chapter two, WHEREFORE ART THOU, NIKI?

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II. Wherefore Art Thou, Niki?


Niko's more than aware of the thing called the Murphy's law and what exactly it holds

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Niko's more than aware of the thing called the Murphy's law and what exactly it holds. It's the one that blabbers about how anything that can happen will happen—but, quite frankly, Niko thinks his own version of it, in which everything bad that can happen actually does happen (to him, that is), is far superior. As he's on some pavement, somewhere, legs burning and twirling and eyes feeling particularly strange, he thinks that he must have been a serial killer in a previous life. One that killed entire villages without showing even the slightest of hesitation; the slightest bit of remorse. Or perhaps a vicious creature who gnawed at childrens innocent flesh like a dog would at their beloved bone. Surely, he must have been. Because Niko, in all honesty, can't think of another crime that can entice the type of misery he's feeling. It's either that damn law, or, the universe that has been conspiring—

  "Kiddo? You got some stuff?" A hoarse voice resounds and rings in his ears like a mantra. Like a dog, with its ears perched on top of its head, Niko looks around himself to find a beggar, with two teeth (at most) in the front of his mouth all yellowy and rotten. Niko frowns, a deep one that makes him look much older than he is, and wonders what the hell stuff refers though. Wonders why this man is speaking in cryptic codes instead of just telling him precisely what he seems to be looking so desperately for. When Niko doesn't answer, the man speaks up again, letting his stare linger on the boy's disheveled hair and torn-up pants. "God, you look like you just came back from hell."

Niko isn't sure why the Gods are playing him like this. How absolutely horrid he must look if a beggar, unwashed skin and decade-old shoes and all, tells him he looks like Hell. And the beggar seemed pretty honest, too.

  "So do you? The stuff? The huff?" He asks again, eyes wide and suggestive, as if he's sure Niko knows what he's talking about. He doesn't.

  "N-No—I don't know what you're talking about—" the rather explicable stutter finds its way into Niko's mouth, an upmost incapability to form a coherent sentence, the same he gets around Marley and Annette at times. The corners of the other man's mouth twist upwards in a crooked grin, showcasing his lack of teeth even more, looking as if he's beyond amused with Niko's oblivion, which he probably believes is feigned. When the man steps forward, Niko takes a few steps back.

  Rolling his eyes, the beggar grabs onto Niko's shirt roughly, the fabric bunching up between his fat fingers, "Come on, kiddo, don't be scared. I'm not going to hurt or tell on you. Just want to see my good friend, Mary Jane, again. I can see in your eyes that you can make it happen. Can't you?"

  "I-I don't know a Mary Jane—she's in Spider-Man, though, I think," Niko says and moves his hand forwards to push the man off his body, and almost screams like a child being taken of their candy when white slivers suddenly cover the man's face. His eyes widen to the size of saucers when the man shouts in both shock and agony as he can't see a damn thing because of the strange fluid covering his face. Niko looks almost apologetic when he runs away, almost tripping over his own feet and cursing his body for abandoning him when he needs its support the most. "Fuck, oh my God, I'm sorry, uh, bye."

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