4.23.12; Watch Duty at Midnight

A gunshot rang out through the warehouse and off into the nearby street as Dameon charged forward. It would be difficult to see the state Sleeves is in, but with a lingering glance, one could see a grazing on the man's uncovered arm.

"Fuck!" the disheveled man called out as Dameon grabbed the gun, "Get the- You're fuckin' crazy!"

He began struggling with the young Uratha, his strength misleading for his size. Possibly because of drug usage. Regardless, he fights back fervently, the gun pointed up directly in the air.

"Damn right I am!" Dameon replied, gripping the mans gun and hand tightly. 'What have I gotten myself into?' He thought, as the gun pointed directly up in the air. In a swift moment, he attempts to knee the man in the gut, and rend the gun out of his hands.

Dameon swiftly fixes the gun on the man as he coughs blood over the floor. "You okay, Sleeves?" He says, as he takes a short step farther away from the man. 'That worked much better then expected,' he thought, in a moment of arrogance.

"Do I look okay?!" Sleeves spat out towards Dameon, his legs buckling a small amount underneath him until he finally drops into a sitting position, "Why the fuck did you let his ass in-"

Sleeves words are cut off as the other man begins another coughing fit, thick, heavy blood-filled phlegm exploding from his mouth near Dameon's feet.

"What's wrong with you?" Dameon asked curiously, as the man coughed uncontrollably. Everything seemed surreal, at the moment. He didn't exactly know what the business was, or who this man- and Sleeves, actually, were. Taking another step back to avoid the blood pooling at his feet, Dameon sighed. "Lets hope nobody heard and called the cops."

A kind of grueling nausea grew in his stomach as the blood pooled from the mans mouth, the pain he must have felt. Dameon cringed as Sleeves smashed his iron-toed boot into the groveling mans ribs. The cracking noise echoed in his ears, and he lowered his head and looked away. "Are you sure you want to kill him?" He mumbled, beginning to face the other direction. "Your blood is here. They'll find you, if you do." Dameon wasn't sure of his own arguments, but that's not what mattered; he just didn't want to see this man be killed.
'Come on,' he thought to himself. 'Don't kill him...'

There's one last moment of hesitation as Sleeves lifts his blood-covered boot mid-way into the air. Bringing it down with a sickening crunch, the man who was holding a gun just moments before expires, his skull visibly caved in and blood beginning to pool lightly on the floor.

"Cops ain't gonna find shit," Sleeves said as he took a step back, his hand lifting again to grip at the spot on his arm that'd be shot, "They don't give a fuck about some junkie scumbag.

There's another moments hesitation as he glances back towards Dameon, then the open box with the corpse of the asian man still inside. "Congrats, you just got fuckin' promoted," he says as he steps over the new corpse of the dead man and starts towards the far side of the warehouse, "Those assholes left their truck. I'm goin' to go see if they left the fuckin' keys." Continuing onward, he pauses and gestures from the corpse towards the open tool box, "You do this, you get eight hundred instead of two. Now load that body up in that toolbox."

Lower your Harmony by one point.

Harmony Lowered.

As the mans head was crushed in, Dameon winced. He did not look, but the sounds made him nearly vomit. As the blood spilled out, he could feel it pool up against his boots. He stayed in his position for a few moments, not moving at all. He listened to Sleeves' proposition, and nodded silently as he spoke. His voice was rough, and seemed to grind his eardrums. He sighed, "Alright.", turned the safety of the gun on before pocketing it, and moved the body to the toolbox, lowering it carefully.

Before waiting for more instructions, Dameon walked to the skull-crushed body, in the gray suit now stained with blood, and began sifting through his pockets, for money, or a wallet of some kind. He felt a rush of energy, sliding his hands down the pockets of the deceased- this was a new low, even for him. His nausea faded.

Henry Callot, Aged 35. Brown hair, blue eyes. 135 lbs.

The ID was clearly old. The man at this point was much, much lighter than 135. His brown hair had lost most of it's sheen, and any kind of smile he'd once had in that image was obliterated by the flesh and dismounted teeth dangling about in his mouth. Besides the ID, the wallet contains forty-five dollars and a membership card to a local grocery store.

The man's still-warm body slumps down into the toolbox next to the cold, decaying Asian gentleman.

"Key's're in the ignition," Sleeves mutters as he slams the lid of the toolbox down with his foot, waiting to make sure Dameon's limbs are out of reach in the process. Moving to take the bottom at one side, he gestures towards the large metal container, "Here, help me put this in the truck bed. I'll have someone come clean this place up in the meantime. We're headin' downriver."

Dameon stood over the body, staring directly at the mans I.D., examining his picture, and comparing it to the crumpled body before him. It's completely unrecognizable at this point. 'It's nice to know the name of the man I just saw die,' he thought taking the forty-five dollars and shoving it into a wallet of his own, which was previously empty. As he threw the wallet onto the ground, a moment of relief warmed his cold hands. As Sleeve's spoke, he looked up at him, and nodded quietly, and without a word, helped him move the container in the truck.

"Don't leave that kind of shit," Sleeves comments as he retrieves the wallet and stuffs it in his pocket. With that, he hauls the box up with a grunt and, leading, makes his way towards the white truck where it's back had been lowered.

"We're goin' with plan B," he says as he slides the toolbox farther onto the back, his eyes turning towards Dameon, "We're headin' up river about six miles. Gonna head to a small area there, away from the road and dump the bodies in the box. Any problems with that, you keep them to yourself."

With that, he closes the gate and makes heads into the drivers side of the truck.

Shrugging at Sleeves' comment on the wallet, and nodding at his comment on the river, Dameon slides to the passenger seat of the white truck, and throws his hood up over his head. As he leans back into the seat, and closes his door, he turns to his Employer, and with a blank face says to him, "Lets just make this quick, alright?"

"Don't have to fuckin' tell me," Sleeves murmurs as he turns the car on and jerks it into reverse. Carefully maneuvering around the pooled blood on the floor of the warehouse, he drives the truck out through the doorway, where he proceeds to park it once again.

"Wait here," he says as he pulls a cell phone from his pocket and leaves the truck. A moment passes as he dials a number before he begins towards the large entrance door's control. Slipping a key into the slot, he begins talking into his phone, though the contents of the conversation are lost to Dameon. The doorway closes, as does the drivers side as he slips back into his seat.

Turning the truck back on, he pulls out of the warehouse and begins driving along down the river-side road west.

Dameon, though silent the entire ride, is encompassed by many thoughts about the nights events. The stench of rot from both the truck and his memory surrounded him, as the car rocked side-to-side along the road. To think, only hours before, he was back at the lodge with the Old Man, and his new pack mates. He wondered what his pack was doing right now- and what they would think of him for partaking in this. Even though he had not known them long, or really at all, he felt bonded to them, by blood. He looked out the window, and began to stare at the bright moon, and he began to feel a longing feeling.

He closed his eyes and turned away from the window, before re-opening them. 'Once this job is over,' Dameon decided, 'I'm staying the fuck away from this guy.'

Sleeves stays quiet for most of the ride, his gaze shifting from the dark road ahead of them to the younger boy beside him every so often. His tattooed hands that lead up to even more heavily tattooed arms grip at the wheel tightly, though he adopts a visibly pained expression every so often as he looks down to the graze on his arm.


Upon leaving the city, the stars become much, much more vibrant. The river is visible on the right side of the truck, the lights of the truck sparkling on it's moving waters as they drive along.

Evetually, Sleeves breaks the silence:

"Dameon," he says with another furtive glance towards the boy in the passenger seat, "You fucked me back there. But you stayed when the other assholes left- So. Thanks."

"Sorry, didn't mean to fuck you." Dameon replied quietly, gazing off towards the moving waters beside him. After another moment of silence, he said, "I couldn't just leave you to die, I did let him in in the first place," and shrugged. "So, how much farther do we need to go?" The stars gleamed off the waters perfectly, but Dameon didn't care to pay too much more attention, and looked back at Sleeves.

"Just up there," Sleeves says as he lifts one hand to point towards the river a short distance ahead. Almost no time passes before he veers off of the room more towards the bank, the truck stopping just as he reaches the water.

"Hope you're not afraid to get wet," he comments with a humorless grin as he turns the truck off and pushes open the door.

As the car came to a stop, Dameon took a deep breath before stepping out of the truck, and stepping quietly on the bank of the river. "Not at all," he replied to Sleeves, and walked towards the back of the truck. "Once we got this dumped, is there anything else I should know before getting the hell out of here?"

"Don't go anywhere near that place for a few days," Sleeves comments as he pulls the gate of the truck down and leans in, using his non-injured arm to slide the toolbox out.

"Get up there and push the rest off," he says as he indicates the truck bed with his head, "You're a scrawny fuck, I'll take the weight."

"Done and done," Dameon mumbles, as he steps onto the truck. He leans down, and pushes the toolbox the rest of the way out. "I wasn't planning on going back there anyway," he spoke, and smirked slightly at the man before him. "You sure you can lift it yourself, with your injured arm and all?"

"My one arm is four of you," Sleeves comments as he takes the brunt of the weight against his chest. Holding the box up, he takes a step back to allow Dameon the ability to step off of the truck bed. With the young man's help, he begins making his way towards the river and, upon reaching the water, wades in a short distance.

If Dameon is to follow, the cold, rushing water would instantly shock him, him. Sleeves would continue along a good distance into the river until it drops off and deepens significantly. With the young man's help, he'd swing the toolbox out and throw it until it's sinking deep towards the riverbed.

Dameon chuckles slightly out of habit, and continues with Sleeves, wading into the water. The cold rushes up his spine, paralyzing him for a moment. After the moment had passed, he waded deeper into the water, before finally tossing out the toolbox. After a few moments of Silence had passed, he says, "Now that all is said and done, how bout we get out of this water, and you pay me?"

Sleeves immediately began trudging out of the freezing river water and back up towards the shore. Upon reaching dry land, one hand slid back to pull a wallet from his back pocket, and out came eight one hundred dollar bills. He didn't seem quite pleased with the turn of events, but he did at least look relieved to have it done.

"Your pay, plus the pay of those assholes who ran off," he says as he holds the money outstretched to Dameon, his eyes off down the road in one direction.