Cause of Death: Desolation

Welcome to Hound Hole

Lunch was thirty minutes ago... Dakota clears their throat, cracking their fingers underneath the counter, resenting the ever-expanding line of customers. Sale day. Customers lined up with piles of clothes and shoes and movies and books, one woman had a basket filled to the brim with glass decorations that Dakota wanted to have the pleasure of breaking one by one. The same way the scanning beep of each of those items would gradually chip away at their sanity. 67 beeps later and they could probably go eat something.

"Are you part of our rewards club?" Carolina echoes in Dakota's head but no words escape their lips as they gaze at the weed-scented teenager. He clearly wasn't, no use wasting breath. They felt Carolina tug in their brain but ignored her.

She made Dakota worry.

They had used her voice, Carolina's, for the phone interview and when River pulled the strings to get Dakota the shit colored vest, they drained their head of the training videos and Carolina's voice, replaced with apathetic uninterest, a rehearsed low tone and muscle memory. Scan. Bag. Scan. Bag. Scan. Bag.

Hound Hole was stupidly huge. The sliding front doors weren't enough to barricade the employees from the foaming-mouthed customers itching to get their junk. Bright red price tags acting like the red capes of matadors as the herds trample through the aisles. The carts near the front door act like battering rams as customers weave and fight their way through the center aisles of shoes and media, knocking over winter boots and weak-spined picture books to get at the cheap, used furniture in the far left corner of the store. Parents swerving through the electronics aisle to get at the half-priced sports gear and office supplies. Late back to school shopping. Dakota has a horrendously wonderful view of all of it, register 9 sitting right between the office supplies and wretched sports gear, dads fight over who touched the golf club first. Its a truly despicable display of humanity. But register 9 is the farthest away from the dressing rooms, sorting racks, the bathroom, the breakroom. And, of course, the front door.

"Do I have any coupon?" Dakota's eyes sluggishly climbed the body of a blond polish lady. She's built like one of the donation crates, wide enough to carry a questionably stained couch from this register to the furniture section.

Dakota sighs, clearing their throat. Deepen the voice. Not girly. Not annoying. Not like Carolina. Purposely unamused. "Type your phone number into the card machine and I can check."

The customer nodded and Dakota's poison-ivy eyes watched her struggle with fat fingers on the tiny card keypad. Dakota let out an even deeper sigh, scratching the newly scabbed stripes on their wrist. They flare their nostrils as the customer takes her time, feeling Fox Feet hiss in the back of their throat.

"Stupid bitch. Taking too long. You're never gonna get out of here. Look at that line. It takes 30 seconds to type in a phone number and her time is already up."

Dakota's gaze fixed on the screen, a barrage of rectangles with useless text and buttons that they never read or tapped without River's help. They looked at the woman's name, phone number and-

"You have a 20% off coupon." Flatly. "But you can save it for another day."

The customer frowned. My god. "Why can't I use it today?"

Video regurgitating. "Only one discount per customer, no coupons on sale days."

"Oh. Okay." The woman began to pile on her glass figures and porcelain babies.

Dakota felt Carolina make their fingers tingle as they picked up a figure that looked shockingly like Carolina at five. "Looks like something Auntie would buy-"

"Shut the fuck up about Auntie, you pathetic little bitch." Fox Feet hisses, Dakota taking a deep breath to reset their brain. Fox Feet didn't like Carol. Neither did Dakota but they felt bad for her. She was just trying. Like Dakota. Just trying.