Sooner or Later You're Gonna be Mine

Chapter 1 : Red Smoke

"Oh God, I was hearin' da rumors, but I didn't believe he'd actually do it.  As if our town wasn't a big miserable wasteland of violence, misery and murder already, now he's actually welcomin' their kind into it as well."

Frisk paused, her hairbrush in mid-stroke, as she heard the piano man grumble crudely under his breath.  She hadn't sang in this club before and truth be told, it didn't have a great dressing room for performers to get "all dolled up" as many owners put it, so Frisk took it upon herself to dress up in the ladies' bathroom. 

After putting on her shimmery low-cut baby-blue dress and applying all that heavy makeup to her face, she exited the bathroom, leaving her aftershow clothes in one of the broken stalls and began brushing her hair on stage.  It didn't take much to style it, which was one of the main reason why Frisk had cut it short into a bob hairstyle. One less stupid thing she had to worry about before she got on stage.   Just brush it till it looks neat, put a flower in it and the crowds still think you look like a "million bucks." 

Not that Frisk cared too much about what her "fans" thought of her.  All she wanted to do was sing, get paid and go home before she saw another fight break out between the members of her audience. 

Gang members erupting into violent and bloody fights in the middle of her songs were becoming more and more common over the last few months.  And what were these fights over?  Anything really.  Gang members entering other gang territory, drug deals gone bad, gun deals wrong horribly bad.  It didn't matter.  The result was always the same:  somebody would be leaving in a body bag.

Frisk hadn't gotten used to it, but she had definitely become quicker with dodging flying bullets and pieces of furniture that came her way. 

She tried to deny it when she was younger, but now it was obvious.  Her once pretty city was quickly sinking into corruption thanks largely to the mob groups that were overtaking large areas of her city.  The dons and high-class mobsters ran everything from the small mom and pop stores to the police force.  Even the city's officials were nothing more than corrupt individuals in nice suits with clean smiles.  The good decent poor folks suffered the most, having to pay out "protection fees"  but there were always ways to make money. 

Everybody had a price.  Everybody could endure or change themselves for money.  Frisk knew.  To her despair, she watched a number of her long-time friends get lost in the world of easy money and quick deaths.  She had been to more funerals than birthdays parties this year alone.  She could never blame them though. 

The world was going through a depression after all.  And Frisk herself was not exactly a wealthy professional singer.  Right now her gigs were seedy clubs with even seedier owners, whose businesses reeked of cigar smoke and strong booze and no matter how many times Frisk showered the smell seemed to linger.  

And her nightly audiences were the lowest class of criminals.  Not that Frisk judged on them on poverty levels.  In fact, most of the best people she knew were struggling to get by.  But when it all came down to the wire a rich mobster was just as bad as his poor lackey.  Both types murder for money and power and both types will harm the innocent to get what they want.

Frisk really needed to get out.  She just hadn't saved enough money yet.  She may have been a popular singer in these types of bars, but the pay wasn't great.  She made just enough to pay for her crappy apartment, her bills and the protection fee her local police force demanded of its residents.

The piano man saw her baffled look and pulled back the curtain even further so she could get a good look at her audience for the night.

She squinted through the cigarette smoke that lightly covered the many faces of her audience and tried to see what he was moaning about.