It wouldn't be too hard for Ray to move away from dealing. He wasn't in too deep, nor was he invested in peddling the shit that would ruin lives. It still felt unnatural being influenced by a straight-edge remite, but he'd just remind himself that the heart wants what the heart wants.

The day was fairly plain. Spray painting patterns on vehicles was one of Ray's favourite jobs, but it still couldn't keep him away from a well-deserved smoke break.

Ray sat on a tattered bench outside the garage, observing the dimly lit street, taking a drag every few seconds.

A few dozen metres away, Ray saw someone leaning up against the side of a defaced pawn shop, inhaling a smoke in time with him.

The fuck is this. Ray paused before taking another puff to see if they really were syncing up with him. Sure enough, as Ray deliberately raised the smoke up to his mouth, the stranger mimicked his movements. The way Ray saw it, there were two explanations:

1. It was a Thresher trying to pull some dumb intimidation stunt.

2. It was Double being cheeky after their meetup a couple days ago.

Ray had an easy method to test which one it was.

"Blow me, two-face!" he yelled across the street.

The distant figure bent over in laughter. A few moments later, they began crossing the road, and Double's distinctly fucked face slowly came into view. He didn't look any better; if anything, his face was a touch more swollen than before.

"Hottie," Ray jabbed.

"I have sex every hour of every day," Double retorted as he approached Ray.

"Hope you didn't leak on them."

"Jesus."

"Too far?"

"Maybe."

Ray grunted in response. Double took a seat next to him.

"So, 'sup?" Ray asked.

"You out of the game?"

"...Probably. Yeah."

Double nodded. "Well I decided it doesn't matter. This shit sucks too much ass. I want to have some fun."

Ray slowly exhaled after a long drag on his cig. "You want guns," he quietly said.

Double gave Ray a steely glare. Unlike their previous encounters, Double was working extra hard not to drool where the halves of his face connected. His condition was clearly worsening.

"You know where I live?" Ray muttered.

"Uh-huh."

"Be there in one hour twenty. Meet you when I get off shift.

"Lookin' forward to it." Double sort of smiled to the best of their ability, before turning and walking back to his side of the street.

Just like that, the interaction was over, but a concern quickly began growing from the depths of Ray's circuitry. If Double was going after the pharmaceuticals and surgeons he felt such ire towards for barring his emergency operation, he'd probably be killing a lot of people on his way out - including people who might not deserve a hail of bullets.

God damnit. Camera boy is making me soft. Ray huffed. Never would've thought about that shit before...

He convinced himself of a compromise - he wouldn't go with Double on his shooting spree, even if he was supplying the dying man with weaponry. The "promise" made Ray feel better, even if he had no intention of going in the first place.

After the remainder of his smoke break, the rest of his work day continued being just as uneventful as before. The paint job he was working on was a gaudy black and gold flame pattern on some hipster car he wouldn't be caught dead in, but it was something he was decently skilled at. He had a certain level of pride in his work, even if he hated this particular car.

Ray couldn't stop thinking about Double, though. He was very curious about where exactly his acquaintance intended to hit, and if maybe he should try to convince him not to go through with it. He had the last hour of his shift to mull over it, but until the two met up and talked, he tried not to think too hard about the logistics of Double's plan.

Once the last sixty minutes were up, he checked out, slung his coat over his shoulder, and walked out of the garage.

~~~

Ray turned the corner to his run-down street, away from the hustle and bustle of commercial life. It was filthy, like the rest of Lower Miyatama's residential areas, but the interior of his home would always prove comfy.

...That is, if he'd make it there intact. Ray spotted some commotion up ahead in the middle of the road - a small, distant group of dark silhouettes focusing their attention on something on the pavement. Judging by their movements, it looked like a beating.

Not one to get involved in other peoples' business, he kept to the sidewalk, hoping to be left well enough alone.

But he slowed down for a moment as a thought sprung up into his head.

...What if this is my business.

He then sped back up, faster than his previous pace. Given that his pal was supposed to meet him here, Ray just needed to be sure it wasn't Double getting pummeled, then he'd be content leaving those hooligans to their ass-whooping.

As he approached the group and could identify more than just a dark silhouette of the assailants, fury and adrenaline pumped through his body. The helmeted, bug-eyed Threshers had an unmistakable appearance, and it didn't matter what they were doing outside his home - Ray's fist itched to meet their faces.

Low West Detail's no weapon policy was biting him in the ass; a gun would've been really handy right about then. Taking on four or five potentially armed gangsters alone with no weapons was suicidal.

How the fuck am I gonna handle this?

The rumble of a vehicle's engine vibrated through the ground. Ray glanced behind him to see a grey pickup truck turning onto the same road, driven by someone who was clearly human - certainly not part of the Thresher gang. Seeing as the fight was in the middle of the road, maybe this problem would fix itself.

The truck drove past Ray at a relatively slow speed, decelerating further as it approached the commotion. Much to Ray's satisfaction, the driver blared the truck's horn at the Threshers.

"CLEAR OFF!" Ray yelled, taking advantage of the truck's presence as it rolled between the himself and the group.

He heard some indistinct chatter and footsteps from the assailants before the truck continued driving, cautiously swerving around the scene of the incident. Ray saw the Threshers bolt off between a few buildings opposite his home, giving him an opportunity to power-walk over to the beaten figure, still wriggling on the pavement.

He didn't want to run straight to them in case it was someone he didn't know; he'd rather avoid an 'I'm not going to help you because you're a stranger and I just don't care' moment.

But as he walked closer, he soon realized he cared a lot.

"Fuck. Fuckin' shit," Ray growled, looking down at Double's maimed body.

The cyborg half of Double's face had been violently torn off. There was surprisingly little blood - instead, the mutilated half of his face was comprised of rotten brown and black tissue, exposed bits of skull, a mechanical eye dangling from the socket, and burst pockets of pus leaking down his face. The remaining half of his mouth was exposed to the open air, where Ray saw a bloody tongue quivering in shock.

The intact portion of his face was grimacing as he moaned in pain and distress, unable to form any coherent words.

Ray bent down and grabbed Double's hand, forcibly lifting the cyborg to his feet. He didn't bother asking if he was okay.

"Can you walk?" Ray asked.

Double took a couple of shaky steps in response.

Guiding Double over to his home just a few metres away, Ray yanked the front door open. "Get in," he commanded Double as he opened it for the maimed man. "Fuckin' shit. Shit!"

The cyborg hobbled inside, barely resisting the urge to clutch his face.

Ray stormed in behind him, slamming the front door on his way inside. "Fuck! Uh, get to the kitchen! Get some towels or shit, I dunno!" he shouted, running down the hall to his room.

Thank fuck Gyro's not here.

Throwing open the door to his room, he scrambled over to his closet, quickly unlocking both the dial and keypad locks to reveal his stash, loaded mostly with guns and relevant accessories. But there was one small pouch he had tucked away in the corner for an emergency just like this.

Ray picked up the cloth pouch and unzipped it, revealing a couple of syringes loaded with a clear liquid. He carefully grabbed them all and rushed back to his wailing acquaintance, who was shakily dabbing pus off his destroyed face with a paper towel, wincing with every touch.

"Shoot it." Ray handed a needle to Double. "Feveneid. Shit's like morphine."

All Double could respond with was a weak "hagh" before slipping his coat off, unrolling his left sleeve, and injecting himself in the upper arm with little regard for precision or safety. Once empty, he tossed the syringe to the floor.

"You still want guns?" Ray asked.

"Uh-huh!" Double drooled.

"C'mon." Ray led Double back down to his room, straight to the gun closet.

"Bitth, you held out on me," Double slobbered, speaking as coherently as he could.

"Shit's for emergencies! Like this! Only got a bit of it and ain't makin' you pay. Now gear up. We're hittin' those cunts hard."

Guess I don't need to worry about who he's storming after all.

One by one, Ray pulled out firearms from the closet - first, an assault rifle with three clips for Double. Next, two pistols, one for each of them, with three magazines each.

Finally, Nal-Taisam: Ray's prized possession - a modified, magazine fed light machine gun, already fully loaded in case of a home invasion or other such emergency. He held it in his right hand, discreetly pocketing his sidearm and spare ammo.

Double followed suit, stashing the sidearm under his cloak, but opting to hold his rifle in plain sight, at the ready.

"Fuck those threthers. Fuck them!" Double spat. "Kill all those fucks!"

"Need another shot?" Ray adjusted his coat collar.

"Fuck it! Come on!" Double marched out of the room with Ray close behind.

Without an ounce of subtlety, Double trudged outside and scanned the area. Standing by his side, Ray couldn't see any of the Threshers down the alleys they'd just skittered down.

"Where the fuck those thitstains go?" Double hissed.

"Know a Thresher hideout nearby. Probably went there. C'mon." Ray took the lead, marching back down the street from where he came just minutes prior.

"Go." Double kept pace, walking right beside Ray down the side of the road, ready to fire at the first sign of a threat.

This oughta be fun.