Loonybird

Similarly to Asher Cullen—everyone inside the Hawthorn Mental Institution was trapped in the monotony of a routine.

Each day, the staff would wake up the patients at eight o'clock and lead them to the cafeteria for breakfast, careful to keep the female patients away from the males, who lived on the other side of the hospital.

Hawthorn had strict rules; boys and girls were not allowed to interact at all. Even making eye contact with someone of the opposite gender was enough to land a patient in hot water. Everyone would be given their medication first thing in the morning, and if anyone refused, they would be restrained and force-fed their pills. If anyone acted out, the staff was trained to take them down. Four people would pin the patient to the ground, the patient's arms and legs spread out across the white tiled floor, each doctor positioned on top of one of their limbs, keeping them entirely immobile until someone arrived with a syringe and a straitjacket. Maniacal behavior was nipped in the bud quickly, and simply wasn't tolerated. Unruly patients would be restrained, sedated, trapped in a straitjacket, and locked away for a minimum of twenty-four hours.

No one in the hospital was allowed to use pens, pencils, or anything else with a sharp edge. Every afternoon, all the girls would be herded to the group room, where the counselors would speak with them and orchestrate therapeutic group activities, give the patients an art project (using markers and crayons only), or watch a movie together, mostly emotional chick-flicks or educational films.

After group was over, the patients would be given one hour of free time, during which they could all visit each other's rooms and talk, though their doors would be propped open and the staff would be sitting in the hallway, keeping a vigilante watch on all of them.

After that, they were taken to the cafeteria to collect their dinner, and then, it was lights out. Locked doors, lights off, and no noise.

There were three small beds in each room, as all of them had roommates, strangers at first, but over time, the girls would usually get to know one another. It wasn't all bad; it was a nice place to meet likeminded friends, fellow screwed-up-in-the-head girls who didn't have a solid grasp on their lives.

At least—that's how Olivia felt about it.

Olivia's two roommates were Sammi and Hailey. Sammi was a homely, somewhat geeky sort of girl with long, unkempt hair, and she rarely spoke to anyone. Hailey was a tall brunet with pigtails who had Bi-Polar Disorder, and her mood would fluctuate dramatically at seemingly random times.

After spending months as the girls' roommate, Olivia considered them friends now. She didn't totally understand their mental issues, as Olivia's own issues were different. Still, it hardly mattered. They all ended up here due to some hardships in life and in their own heads, and that—if nothing else—they all had very much in common.

In fact, Olivia suspected she could manage her problems without the help of antidepressants.

For about a week and a half, she'd been dodging her regular dose of medication. The staff would always watch the patients swallow their pills, and afterward, the patients would open their mouths wide, confirming that they had swallowed the pill.

But, Olivia taught herself a new trick; she started swallowing the pills halfway, keeping them lodged in her throat until the staff members moved on to the next room. Then, she'd go into the bathroom, stick her finger down her throat, and regurgitate the medication into the toilet, flushing it away when she was done. It was a difficult trick to pull off without swallowing the pill completely, and it certainly wasn't pleasant—but it was worth it.

All her thoughts and feelings were flooding back to her now, filling her with a rush of happiness and emotion. She started dreaming again, and she felt things she hadn't felt in a long time—bombardments of happiness, sadness, anger, and motivation.

It was almost as if the grayness of the world around her had flourished with color once more.

And on the final day of normality—the Hawthorn staff continued their usual routine at first. The news stations and social media updates showed no yet signs of the terror to come, but the reality of the oncoming tragedy would soon make itself known.

The patients expected to awaken to their daily routine—the staff waking them up at eight o'clock, feeding them medication, escorting them to the cafeteria, then leading them to the group room—but Olivia knew something was amiss the moment she opened her eyes.

The sun was peeking into the room through the blinds on the window. It was beautifully bright outside, brighter than the eight o'clock sun. Not to mention, Olivia couldn't remember the last time she woke herself up; she was always awoken by one of the Hawthorn staff members. Today, however, she seemed to have overslept, and judging by the brightness of the sun outside, it was well after eight o'clock in the morning. It was incredibly strange, as she hadn't been allowed to oversleep since sometime before her incarceration here, and the staff would always arrive to wake them rather early.

Olivia sat upright, glimpsing over at the other two beds.

Sammi and Hailey were both still sound asleep.

"O… kay," Olivia muttered, leaping from her bed and spinning around in front of the mirror.

Her white gown tented over her slender body like a curtain, as it did every day. Her short, straight, and dirty-blonde hair was scraggly from where she'd slept on it, though she rather liked her bedhead, as it seemed to reflect her usual aloof attitude.

After surveying herself in the mirror and giggling at her hair, Olivia leaped onto her bed and bounded off of it, landing on Sammi's bed and bouncing up and down.

"Wake up!" Olivia chanted, hopping above Sammi's legs and making her flop up and down atop the mattress. "We overslept! Wake uuup!"

Sammi groaned irritably into her pillow.

Olivia jumped over to Hailey's bed and began bouncing again. "Hailey! Wake up! We slept past eight! Come ooon!"

Hailey blinked herself awake and rubbed her eyes, giving her a bizarre sort of look.

Olivia jumped off the bed, watching as the other two girls sleepily crawled out of their blankets, both of them glancing at the window, noticing the abnormal brightness outside.

"What time is it?" Sammi yawned. "It looks like noon outside…"

"Why didn't they wake us up?" Hailey wondered, standing at the window and peeking out the blinds. "What the f…"

"I don't know," Olivia said happily, feeling oddly excited. "It's different! It's nice to have a change. Maybe all the doctors left. Maybe they all went on 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘬𝘦!"

"Yeeeah… right," Sammi moaned.

Olivia was practically jumping in place, hoping that something exciting had finally happened in Hawthorn Mental Institution.

She was the oldest of the three girls, but one couldn't tell from her behavior. She often acted like an overexcited child whenever she was in a good mood. Sammi, on the other hand, rarely smiled and never grew excited, and Hailey only experienced manic episodes once in a blue moon, as the depressive side of her seemed to dominate her mood more often.

Between the three of them, Olivia was the happiest—and, arguably, the most immature.

"Hey!" Olivia exclaimed, skipping over to Hailey and pointing at her, her finger hovering about an inch away from Hailey's nose. "Boundaries! Boundaries!"

Hailey laughed, smacking her hand away. "You're gonna get in trouble."

"No I'm not," Olivia beamed. "Nobody's here!"

Hailey shot her a caustic smirk.

Hawthorn had a lot of rules, and one of them was called Boundaries. It was a general rule for the patients; the rule was meant to encourage the patients to respect one another's boundaries and personal space. The patients were not allowed to touch each other, even with hugs or high-fives. But, many times, whenever the girls weren't in the direct eyeshot of a Hawthorn staff member, they'd hold out their hands or point their fingers at each other, testing the rule and sometimes breaking it on purpose. It was Hawthorn's equivalent to the 𝘐'𝘮 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘛𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘠𝘰𝘶 game.

For a moment, the three girls simply glimpsed around their room, as if waiting for an explanation to appear from the walls.

Then, Olivia turned to the door, which—oddly enough—wasn't even closed. It was propped open, standing ajar the way it always did during their free time in the afternoon, but never in the morning.

Olivia peeked out the door, glancing up and down the vacant white hall.

Usually, there were always staff members in the hallway—but now, there was no one. All of the rooms had their doors propped open, and none of the doctors, patients, or counselors were anywhere in sight.

"Where is everyone?" Hailey asked, peering over Olivia's shoulder. "What's going on? Why's everyone's room open?"

"We can escape," Olivia murmured, feeling a thrilling wave of elation. "Come on, you guys."

"Escape?" Sammi asked, rearing back in shock. "You're out of your mind."

"Out of my—did you 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 just say that?" Olivia responded, giving Sammi a wildly amused scoff. "Look where we 𝘢𝘳𝘦, Sammi. Hellooo?"

Olivia then moved to leave the room, but Hailey grabbed her shoulder and halted her.

"Should we?" Hailey asked. "We might get in trouble…"

"It doesn't matter," Olivia replied casually. "Something's obviously going on, and they can't blame us for looking around. We're just trying to figure out why the doctors are gone and the doors are open."

"No… you said you wanted to escape," Hailey argued.

"Well… if I 𝘤𝘢𝘯, I 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭," Olivia told her with a smirk. "I didn't wanna come here in the first place. But if we get caught, we'll just tell them we were looking for Ms. Alex. We'll just tell them we were looking for someone who could tell us what's going on. Okay?"

Hailey wore a doubtful face. Nevertheless, she followed Olivia out of the room, and the two girls began inching down the hall.

"I'm staying here," Sammi called after them, turning away and heading back to her bed.

Olivia glimpsed back at her room, then faced forward again. "Oh, she's a chicken shit. Fuck it—if I can get out today, I will. I'm going for it."

"Where will you even go?" Hailey whispered, glancing around cautiously. "I thought you didn't wanna go back to your…"

"Shh," Olivia interrupted, holding up a hand. "I hear something. You hear that?"

The two of them stopped at the end of the hallway, leaning over the threshold of the double-doors. At the end of the hall was a set of metal double-doors that led to the rest of the hallways and rooms. These doors were always closed and locked until the staff would unlock it and escort the girls to the cafeteria—but this door, like the others, was standing open when it shouldn't have been. The hallway beyond it was slightly darker, only half of the lights on, and further down the hall—presumably around the corner—was a faint little noise, a series of soft, muffled sobs.

"Someone's crying," Olivia determined. "C'mon."

She entered the hallway—the hallway containing the boys' rooms, the area the girls were forbidden to enter unless the staff were taking them to the cafeteria. Hailey groaned out a sigh before following after her.

The boys' rooms were open as well, and most of them were still asleep. A few of the boys poked their heads out of their rooms, spotting the two girls and quickly breaking eye contact.

Olivia spotted a skinny blond boy with long hair and glasses.

He glanced at her once, then instantly turned away and hid himself in his room.

Olivia sprinted toward the room and leaned inside, seeing the tall blond boy as he sat on the edge of his bed. His two roommates were still sleeping.

"Hey," Olivia said. "Do you know what's going on? Why're all the doors open?"

The boy looked up, then averted his eyes once more. "I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Yeah, and we're not supposed to be allowed out of our rooms unless the counselors are taking us somewhere, but all of our rooms were left open. None of the counselors are here, either," Olivia told him. "I don't think we have to worry about the rules right now—I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. This is really weird. The security here is usually freaking crazy—but now, everything's just open, and nobody's watching us. Don't you think that's weird?"

The blond boy met her eyes again, and this time, he didn't look away. "Yeah. I just thought… maybe they're doing a drill or something. I'm just waiting for them to come back."

"A drill?" Hailey echoed. "What kind of drill would it be? Why would they all leave without taking us with them?"

"Maybe that's how their drills work here," the blond boy shrugged. "Maybe they're trained to leave us all behind in the event of an emergency. We're not particularly important people. We're all just a bunch of crazies to them."

Hailey's eyes widened. "They wouldn't really do that, would they?"

"Who cares," Olivia said dismissively. "We can get out—that's all I care about. Let's go!"

"No way," the blond boy said, shaking his head. "I'm staying here."

Olivia sighed, spinning on her heel and continuing down the hallway with Hailey following closely behind.

Moments later, Olivia perked up again, listening intently, as the muffled sobs were growing the slightest bit louder.

The two girls reached the end of the hall and turned left.

Just around the corner, a woman was sitting in a metal folding chair against the wall, her face buried in her hands, trying her best to cry silently. She was in uniform, and she had dark auburn hair, much of it now hanging gloomily over her visage.

"Ms. Alex?" Olivia said. "What's going on?"

Ms. Alex gasped, quickly wiping her eyes and composing herself.

She was one of the kinder counselors here, and she was Olivia's favorite employee here at Hawthorn. Her face harbored lines, as she was middle-aged, but she was always warm and understanding with her patients, unlike many of the staff members here.

"Sorry," Ms. Alex mumbled, smiling weakly. "It's just a hard day. My…"

"What's wrong?" Olivia asked her, taken back by Ms. Alex's tears. She'd never seen the counselor in such a state before.

"My… my mother died yesterday," Ms. Alex told them. "And a few people here ended up… going... it… it doesn't…"

She trailed off, Olivia and Hailey trading grave expressions.

"People 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦?" Olivia inquired. "What happened to the people here?"

"I'm sorry about your mom," Hailey said remorsefully.

"Oh—yeah, I'm sorry," Olivia quickly added. "I'm sorry about your mom."

Ms. Alex shook her head. "Don't worry about it. The people here... have been... taken by their families. And... Mrs. Kimbly and Mrs. Davidson left yesterday with the others. They all went back to their families…"

She lost her words again, wincing and shaking her head before wiping her eyes once more.

The girls watched her sadly for a moment.

"What… what happened?" Hailey asked, her voice hitting a high note, sounding as if she very much didn't want the answer. "Is it COVID? Are people getting COVID…?"

"No… it's not… I don't know what it is," Ms. Alex hissed into her hands. "I don't know what's happening, but... it's not COVID. Everything's just falling apart… and the riots are..."

Olivia and Hailey exchanged faces again, both of them looking and feeling more concerned by the second. Neither of them could know what was going on—but whatever it was, it was most assuredly a massive emergency of some kind. That much was undoubtedly clear.

Olivia then took a deep breath, summoning the nerve to ask the most unnerving question on her mind now.

"Ms. Alex… are people dying?"

Ms. Alex's cries slowly dwindled away, her body falling eerily still. She easefully raised her head, gazing up at the two young women before her with the most painful smile either of them had ever seen.

"Don't worry about it… w-we're handling everything," the counselor assured. "Just… go back to your rooms… and wait for lunchtime."

Hailey nodded in agreement and headed back down the hall, motioning for Olivia to follow.

Olivia stared at her, shaking her head.

"Olivia," Hailey muttered. "Just come back. Come on…"

Olivia traded eyes with Hailey and Ms. Alex, who were both watching her expectantly.

But as of now—with the haunting news they'd just heard, and with one of their most reliable counselors lamented into a crying fit—it seemed things had changed drastically somehow, and she knew that attempting to return to their usual routines wouldn't magically make things all right again.

No…

If ever there was a time for a change, it was now.

"Sorry," Olivia breathed, giving Hailey a regretful smile. "Tell Sammi bye for me."

At that—Olivia spun around and shot down the hallway like a bullet.

Hailey screamed after her. Ms. Alex made a grab for her and missed, she and Hailey shouting for her to come back—but Olivia tried her best to ignore their voices, darting down the hall and flying past all the rooms.

Possessed with adrenaline, her heart racing and her breaths rapid, Olivia sprinted down numerous halls—past the cafeteria, past the office—past the youth wing—and finally, she reached the double-doors that led to the front lobby.

Olivia exploded through the double-doors—thrusting them open and staggering to a stop.

The lobby was a maroon color, and—unlike most of the hospital—it was still occupied by staff members, two of them sitting behind the front desk, one of them standing guard at the front door.

The three staff members whirled around, their jaws dropping as they spotted the patient.

Olivia sprang into action again—dashing past the two women behind the front desk; she ran in a full circle around the man at the door, narrowly dodging him as he lunged at her, grabbing and groping—but she made it past him just by a hair, bashing the glass doors open and running outside, sunlight sweeping over her, fresh air filling her lungs.

The man—a security guard—stumbled outside after her. "GET BACK HERE!"

Olivia darted across the parking lot, reaching the street and running down the hill as quickly as her feet would carry her, her bare feet splashing in puddles of rainwater, branches and leaves hovering over her on either side of the road, sunlight streaming between the branches.

It was gloriously beautiful—and she'd almost forgot what it was like to be outside until now.

Down the hill and beyond the trees, she saw Downtown Knoxville in the distance—and she ran, not daring to look back once.

-----

Asher sauntered out of Knoxville Credit loan with a strange, whimsical smirk.

He meandered down the sidewalk, pocketing his hands in his suit and feeling oddly rushed inside, though strangely unbothered by all the chaos kicking off behind him.

Up and down the street—countless mobs of people were rioting, large black trucks had arrived on scene, and several riot-patrol-looking authorities were fighting and yelling against all the mobs, struggling to calm them down as they ran around shattering windows and attacking the occasional random passerby. Some people were being compliantly escorted into the black trucks while others continued to act insanely—and Asher glanced back at them all, eyeing the chaos for a second and scoffing out a brief laugh, just before he decided to cross the street.

He marched on, feeling utterly refreshed in the most bizarre and unexplainable way.

After all, it hardly mattered what he did now; he could end his own life, or he could have a bit of fun before something else eventually brought him to an end.

Either way—it seemed the world was a place of free reign now.

He didn't know why, and didn't care to know—all that mattered was this new, electrifying freedom that felt to be filling him to the brim, making him know for certain that he could simply do whatever he wanted.

Asher wandered down an emptier street, one occupied only by a group of four rioters, who were sprinting down the opposite way after seizing several armfuls of electronics from a store they had just burgled. The electronics store had an alarm that was blaring deafening from the corner of the street, and the group of four young rioters ran down the way as fast as possible, Asher sparing them no glance as he carried on down the adjacent sidewalk.

He glimpsed to the right, seeing that he was passing by a liquor store, and he pushed the glass door open with a faint 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘢-𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨. He reached toward the shelf at the window, collected a large, expensive bottle of red wine, and slid out of the store again, popping the bottle open and taking a swig as he marched onward.

His phone began to ring, muffled in his pocket and vibrating against his side.

Asher sighed, using his free hand to slip the phone out and survey it, and he saw that the incoming call was from Elliot.

"Oooh… shut up," he chuckled, turning the phone off and stuffing it away. "Not now."

Asher took another swig before closing the bottle, letting it hang casually by his side as he rounded another corner at an intersection, slowly leaving the sound of the wailing alarm behind. This intersection, contrary to how it usually was this time of day, was oddly void of traffic—a single car whizzing past and running a red light, a few more of them jackknifing around each other farther down the street, past the park.

An air of urgency was in the atmosphere, and it seemed to dictate everyone's movements—except for Asher, who strode down the strip on Gay Street without care.

The strip still had many cars parked along the stretch on either side, but the traffic lanes were emptier than ever. The pedestrians who often walked this street and visited the shops were few and far in between. In fact, the only ones in sight were a couple groups of people glancing around in confusion from the sidewalks, hearing the far-distant ambiance of sirens, yelling, alarms, and the occasional rubber bullet firing off, hearing all of the insanity from afar despite that they had no clue what was going on—and a few other people were rushing out of the shops, hurrying to pile back into their cars and flee the area.

It seemed that not everyone was aware of whatever insane chaos had broken out, as they hadn't seen the rioters around the block and giant black trucks escorting large groups of homebodies away. Some people were just as lost and uninformed as Asher was, yet still, he didn't care much why it was unfolding. He was simply glad it was.

"Hey—𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳!"

Someone shouted from the intersection, the voice growing louder as thick, rapid footsteps approached him from behind.

Asher sighed and rolled his neck, biting his lip and beginning to turn.

"You think you can steal from me?!" the large man screamed, a heavyset man who was barreling toward him from the nearest intersection. "I'm not havin' anybody fuck with my shop! Fuck all y'all crazy motherf—"

He stopped dead just a couple yards away—when Asher slipped his pistol out from the rim of his suit pants, aiming it squarely at his head.

There was a tense pause—the large man gaping at him, suddenly speechless.

"You wanna die for a bottle of wine?" Asher asked, his soft, raspy voice seeming more sinister than it ever had.

The large man said nothing, opening his mouth several times and slowly raising his hands.

"World's ending, and I just need a drink," Asher exhaled, gently tilting his head. "You care so damn much about your shop, then go back and guard it from the 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 crazy fuckers—'cause there's a 𝘭𝘰𝘵 of 'em out now."

The man finally managed to close his mouth, swallowing and taking a wary step back. He slowly distanced himself from Asher, then turned on his heel and speed-walked back toward the intersection where he came from, vanishing around the distant corner soon after.

Asher lowered his gun, staring after him and releasing a cloud of breath—smirking coldly again, primed and rushed, his heart making a jump of excitement. He spun around, took another drink of the wine, closed the bottle, and carried on—crossing the street and wandering down the sidewalk as if he'd done nothing out of the ordinary.

A car shot past him on Gay Street, narrowly missing him as the panicked driver hurriedly raced away. The wind made Asher's suit jacket flutter to the side, the vehicle barely missing him by inches, but he didn't so much as blink, simply venturing onto the opposite sidewalk and making his way toward his usual diner.

As he did, he spotted the first familiar sight since the chaos started.

Sitting against the wall, just beside the entrance to a convenient store, was a skinny homeless man wrapped up in a damaged wool coat, a beanie fixed onto his messy black hairs as he mindlessly fidgeted with a handheld game system.

The homeless man perked up, spotting Asher and climbing to his feet.

"Ash!" he grinned, moving toward him.

"Hey, Roy," Asher replied with a nod. "Nobody fuckin' with you out here?"

"Nah… not yet," the homeless man named Roy said with a laugh. "I don't know what's poppin' off, man, but people are freakin' the fuck out. I ain't gonna get no cash at this rate."

"No check from the government yet?"

"Nah… they're doin' that runaround shit again. And, now that the whole damn world's comin' to an end, I ain't holdin' my breath on that. I ain't never gonna see any of my money again now."

Asher gave him a thoughtful look. "No money from the people today?"

"Nope. Not now," Roy snickered and shook his head, swatting loosely toward the rest of the open walkway. "Everybody's 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯' now."

Asher's eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting over to the convenient store, then back.

"Just go in there and take something," he advised.

Roy made a confused face, glimpsing at the store and looking hesitant.

"If you're hungry, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 something," Asher reiterated. "They've got plenty."

"They're gonna throw me out again," Roy mumbled uncertainly. "Or call the cops…"

Asher scoffed out a laugh. "No they're not. You haven't seen everywhere else. They can't keep a violent span of riots under control right now. They're not gonna care what 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 doing."

Roy gnawed his lip, looking to the store again and staring through the glass, seeing the burly manager standing just behind the front counter.

"Karl's in there," he uttered. "He fuckin' hates me."

"Well…" Asher cocked his head, smirking and slipping his pistol out again, holding it upright and perking his brow. "Karl's not bulletproof."

Roy's eyes widened, glancing quickly between Asher and the store. "𝘋𝘢𝘮𝘯, man—I don't wanna 𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 nobody! Why do you 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 that—?!"

"Hey. We're not gonna kill anybody," Asher assured with an eerily calm voice. "You're gonna go on a shopping spree, and he's just gonna be motivated not to 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 you."

Roy stared at him for several seconds, breathing out a faint, anxious laugh. "You're a fuckin' loony-toon. Y'know that?"

Asher maintained his smirk, making a mild little shrug.

"I don't…" Roy glimpsed between Asher and the store several more times. "Aaah… I don't know, man…"

"Roy. You earned all the money that they're trying to keep from you," Asher explained clearly. "And Karl, and the rest of these fucktards—they treat you like trash, and they have for a long damn time now. All you're trying to do is eat and not die. So let's just get that shit done."

Roy gave him a long, skeptical stare, eyeing the gun in his hand. "You're gonna get in some serious trouble, man…"

"No… I'm not," Asher said with certainty. "Because the world's gone crazy… and I'm not even gonna be here much longer."

Roy squinted at him. "Where you going?"

Asher sighed, choosing not to answer. He lowered the gun, gave him a serious look, and made a subtle nod toward the glass doors.

"You're gonna fill up as many damn bags as you can carry," Asher instructed in a low, firm tone. "And then, you're gonna put some distance between yourself and here. You're gonna go far away, hunker down somewhere, and just have a fucking feast. You hear?"

Roy stared, falling still and barely managing a nod.

Then, Asher nodded and broke into a brisk stride, pushing the glass doors open and waving for him to enter.

Roy shuffled into the store, glimpsing over at Karl and looking nervous.

Karl—who had been reading the newspaper—lowered the paper and slapped it down to the counter beside the register, his eyes locking onto Roy.

"Oh no—hell no—nuh-uh," Karl barked, his face scrunching up and twisting his mustache, shaking his head at the homeless man. "Get out. You know better. Get the fuck out!"

"Who-hoa," Asher laughed, standing with his back to the metal doorframe and casually aiming his pistol at Karl. "That ain't how you treat 𝘢𝘭𝘭 your customers, is it?"

Karl seemed to fall eerily still in his stance, suddenly expressionless, gazing into the pistol as his face slowly drained of color.

Roy glanced between the two, and Asher gave him a gentle nod, motioning for him to go.

"Get you some food," Asher told him, his eyes still resting on Karl. "Go."

Roy swallowed and hurried off, snatching several plastic grocery bags from the front before rushing to the back of the store.

Asher and Karl merely stared at one another, the only sound being the coolers popping open in the back and the rustling of Roy scooping out as many of the cold foods and drinks as possible, shoving them all into grocery bags.

Then, Karl's hand twitched, his fingers outstretching, grazing against the smartphone that was sitting beside the register—

BANG.

Karl jumped and staggered—his back slamming into the glass case of tobacco products behind him as his phone sparked and flew off the counter.

Roy leaped from his skin as well, nearly dropping all his looted goods and rushing to grab whatever he could even faster.

Asher's eyes narrowed pensively at the manager, pushing off the doorframe and making a slow stride toward the front counter.

"Then next time I pull the trigger," he glowered with serpentine rasp. "One of your fucking 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 is gonna go flying instead. You understand me?"

Karl stood stock still against the tobacco case, just beginning to tremble, his mouth sealed shut and his hands now raised.

"I kn… I know you," Karl sputtered breathlessly. "Y… you work at the credit place."

Asher gently tilted his head, unaware that his icy smile was beginning to make its return.

"You ever shot anyone before, office boy?" Karl exhaled, raising his brows challengingly at Asher. "I doubt if you could."

"Oh… I have," Asher said softly, his finger grazing the trigger. "Gimme a reason to do it again."

Karl's brow hardened, ogling Asher as if he'd never seen anything quite like him before.

"Yeah… it was a place like this, actually," Asher chuckled, motioning to the store around him with his wine bottle. "Old friend of mine worked in a place like this, way back in the day… and someone tried to rob the place while I was there. I shot that fucker without a thought. Red tape and legal bullshit followed me for a while… but y'know what?"

He loomed even closer, hovering over the counter and slowly moving his gun, aiming it directly at the palm of Karl's hand.

"Right here," Asher whispered sinisterly. "I shot him 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 here. Kinda hard to hold a gun when your hand don't work."

"Ah-huh," Karl exhaled, his voice shaking. "So… what… instead of saving the day, now you're 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 the robbing? Oooh, what a big man."

Asher let out a low, breathless laugh. "I'm not robbing you. I'm just taking what the world owes us. Got nothing to do with you."

Karl's face twisted up again, glaring at him with apprehension. "The world owes you 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵."

Roy emerged from the back aisles, several overstuffed grocery bags hanging from his arms.

Asher straightened up, aligning the gun with Karl's head again and making him jump.

"The world shoulda treated us better," he muttered.

"Oh… boo-hoo," Karl growled. "Like anyone gives a—"

BANG.

CR-SHKKK.

Karl ducked down and shielded himself, hiding behind the counter—and the tobacco case exploded, a wave of shattered glass raining down to the floor.

A long, tense silence fell, Asher's gun still held outright, Roy gaping at him from behind.

Then, Karl slowly emerged from behind the counter, grasping onto it and peeking out at Asher with anxious disdain.

"Menthols," Asher said, jutting the gun once at the cigarettes section. "Please."

Karl's rounded face seemed to tighten, his mouth sealing tightly shut again, grinding his teeth. He slowly straightened out, pulling a carton of menthols from the shelf and swiping loose shards of glass from it before placing it on the counter.

Asher moved forward and collected the cigarette carton, snatching Karl's newspaper away as well. Then, he moved swiftly back, propping the glass door open with his leg and gesturing for Roy to go ahead.

Roy hurried out of the store.

Asher remained in the doorway, his new belongings stuffed under one arm, still holding the manager at gunpoint with the other.

"If you call the cops… or if you 𝘵𝘳𝘺 to," Asher snarled. "Then I will make sure you die before I ever do. You understand me?"

Karl glared hatefully at him for several seconds, then made a mild, hesitant nod.

Asher cocked his head and lowered his arm. "Then we're done here…"

He strolled outside, letting the glass doors swing shut, turning to Roy and facing both him and the store, keeping a vigilant eye on Karl even after he was outside.

Roy ogled him bizarrely. "That was 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺, man…!"

"Yeah, well…" Asher's eyes shifted alertly between Roy and the store's window, eyeing Karl inside, who was still standing motionlessly behind the counter. "You need to go disappear somewhere. Just don't go to Broadway, because the fuckers at the tramp camp are just gonna take all that shit from you."

"Yeah… I know," Roy nodded, adjusting all the heavy bags on his arms and starting down the sidewalk. "Thanks, man…!"

Asher waved him off, watching until Roy had vanished into the nearest alleyway.

He gave a final glimpse to the store, seeing that Karl hadn't yet moved, then resumed his pace down the sidewalk yet again, taking a drink of his wine and heading to the diner.

The diner was near the end of this stretch, and many more of the cars that had been parked on either side had vanished now, a strange, peculiar silence in the air of the strip.

Asher pushed the diner's door open, venturing inside and taking a look around.

The booths along the wall facing the street were all empty, their huge windows casting sunlight over each one, and the tables across the way appeared to be empty as well, no noise aside from the TV up in the corner. The TV was on a comedy channel, but the bottom of the screen had a bright red caption on it, displaying some kind of emergency headline that he didn't care to read.

Asher placed his wine and cigarettes in the corner of the nearest booth, tossing the newspaper on its table before turning and facing the front counter.

A plump woman named Margaret peeked out from behind the employee door, an older woman who he'd spoken to many times in the past, though now, she seemed hesitant to face any of her customers.

"Not here to rob you," Asher assured. "Just hungry."

Margaret gulped, easefully pushing the door open and stepping out. "Ah… usual…?"

"Yeah," Asher nodded, turning and sinking down in his booth.

Margaret vanished off to the back again to make his order, and Asher flipped the newspaper open, reading it calmly and feeling strangely at peace, glad to finally visit the diner when the place was totally empty.

He didn't feel alarmed or aghast at his actions a short while ago, and he didn't care at all what consequences might arise.

If the police showed up here to apprehend him—which he didn't think likely right now—then he might just draw his gun on them, and he wouldn't have to worry about anything after that point. If the cops never showed up, then he'd simply leave after a nice lunch consisting of a bacon cheeseburger and fries, taking whatever he wanted from wherever he pleased, until someone eventually caught him off-guard.

It didn't matter.

Asher raised his eyebrows, reading his favorite comic strips and chuckling at one of them.

Margaret emerged from the back a short while later, placing his plate of hot, fresh food down in front of him. She walked off and came back with an iced tea, setting it beside him as well before the disappeared to the back once more.

Asher sat alone in his booth, his eyes venturing up the page and landing on another comic he liked, eating one of his fries and smirking at the funnies he read.

𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨-𝘢-𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Someone rushed into the store, sprinting inside from just behind him, but he didn't care.

He started reading the next comic—just when he noticed that the newcomer had sank into his booth, now sitting directly across from him.

Asher lowered his paper, his brow deepening, eyeing Olivia in bewilderment.