Zoophobia: Alternative

Across the Universe -- Part 1

It was a sunny day in the city of Hamilton, Ontario. The scenery was a pleasant sight - the city was dotted with both trees and buildings, providing a nice balance of human ingenuity and natural splendor. Off the coast was Hamilton Harbor, where boats sailed about. Overall, Hamilton's scenery was a pleasant sight with a nice appeal to longtime inhabitants and tourists alike.

On one street corner in the city, a good number of people had gathered around one spot, as if watching something. Anybody close enough could hear what was drawing such a crowd -- the distorted yet harmonious melody of an electric guitar being played to a song that was fading out; specifically, Answering Machine, a song by The Replacements.

Everyone who had stopped to observe the performance watched as hands clad in imperial blue fingerless leather gloves moved up and down the strings as he plucked the riff that closed the song with ever decreasing volume. Eventually, the song faded out completely, and the guitarist, an 18-year old boy with amber eyes and scruffy dark auburn hair, stood up, still holding his guitar by the neck. The boy, Ryan Walker, wore a belt covered in spikes, ash grey tie-waist pants, and an electric indigo trench coat, unbuttoned to reveal the blue-violet t-shirt with a tropical indigo outline of a guitar that he wore underneath.

As his audience gave him a short yet impressed applause and started to disperse, Ryan walked in front of his guitar case to see how much money he'd raked in for the day. One look at the inside of his case, and a satisfied smile spread across his face.

"Alright, that's good enough for today."

Ryan gathered the assorted bills and coins and slipped them into his wallet. After that, he put his guitar inside, closed it, and picked it up with one hand, holding his amplifier and microphone stand in the other, before beginning his trek through the concrete jungle.

As Ryan rounded a corner, he noticed a large, black, rectangular box next to a clothing store he was walking by. It was a vending machine.

Ryan stopped in place as he pondered whether or not to indulge himself with a drink. Come to think of it, the whole day had left him a bit thirsty. He'd also made a slight amount more money than usual, so it wasn't like he'd be wasting much. He decided he could spare a dollar or two for just one day.

Ryan strode over to the vending machine as he took out his wallet and grabbed out a couple of bills to pay with. He inserted the rectangular scraps of paper into the slot, which sucked them inside like spaghetti noodles, and pressed a button. A few seconds later, something inside the machine fell with a plop into the takeout port. Ryan kneeled down and reached inside, taking out a bottle of orange soda.

Grinning eagerly, Ryan lifted his free hand to the cap of the bottle to unscrew it. However, as soon as his index finger and thumb touched the cap, a figure slipped by and snatched the drink right out of Ryan's hands, startling him.

Ryan's head jerked in the direction the beverage thief was headed to see him running into a nearby alleyway. His face went quickly from surprise to anger.

"Hey!" he shouted.

"Sorry, Professor Plum!" the guy mocked back. "You're gonna have to buy another!"

Ryan growled in response to the hooligan's taunt before turning around. His eyes widened slightly as they landed on a metal trash can nearby, and the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a wry smile.

Ryan looked around. Nobody seemed to be watching him; they were too focused on the pickpocket. Perfect.

Without skipping a beat, Ryan thrust out his arm toward the lid of the trash can, focusing his thoughts. Suddenly, his irises lit up with a mysterious neon indigo light. At the same time, a fiery aura of the same color manifested around his forearm, and then the lid of the bin, which began to float into the air.