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Walkabout - Chapter 1

By Chinaren · Jul 1, 2020 ·
Ian is a young man who has his health, good looks, and a very special ability. He also has a lot of people who want him dead.
  1. Here's the start of one I recently begun. It's only a short way in, so if you wish to read more, goto opuspath.com and check it out.

    Note, warning, whatever: Contains language.


    It was a medium sized city, somewhere in a place he'd never heard of.

    Ian had once seen a cartoon with a man driving a car. The man had been holding a map labelled 'nowhere', and there was a sign by the road saying 'Now entering the Middle.'

    This must have been how he felt.

    “Well, fuck it.” It was hardly the first strange place he'd ended up.

    Following his intuition, he turned around and walked down a nondescript street in the failing light.

    Ian hated being somewhere new when it was dark. He liked to get his bearings when it was light, then he could find his way around better.

    Still, it was what it was.

    Glancing at his watch he noted that it was half past seven. Still plenty of time.

    The street he was on was on the outskirts of the town centre, home to all the shops and businesses that aspired to be on the main street, but hadn't quite made it. Second rate burger joints and charity shops lined the road. And bars. And, yes, there it was. A club.

    The 'Rowdy Buck' wasn't busy when he strolled up to it, but there was still a large bald white man with tattoos on his head outside.

    “ID,” the bouncer said, when it became clear Ian was intending to enter.

    “These are not the droids you are looking for,” Ian said in way of reply, waving a hand.

    The bouncer went blank for a moment, and Ian slid inside. He'd always been a fan of Star Wars.

    The bar wasn't busy yet, but there was still a reasonable smattering of clients. Mostly middle aged guys on their own, but some younger couples.

    He looked around. There was a pattern to these things, and he was well familiar with it.

    Crossing the dance floor, he made his way to the corner of the place, to an unmarked door. It opened at his touch, and, going through, he found himself in small but clean office. It was dominated by a desk that was covered in paperwork. Behind it sat a large man with an even larger beard.

    “Who the fuck are you?” he began to rise.

    “I'm employed here,” Ian said.

    The man hesitated a moment. A strong willed one this chap. Then he sank back into his chair. “Oh, yes,” he said.

    “I'm Ian, you hired me a week ago, but I had stuff to do, only just arrived.”

    “Yeah... yeah sure,” said the man, frowning.

    “What's your name?”

    “Kevin,” the man answered, still uncertainly.

    “Well, Kevin, I need a room. Where's the best place?” Ian dumped his backpack down on the floor.

    “We have a spare room upstairs, I was saving it for... saving it for...” Kevin frowned, as if confused. Not surprisingly.

    “You were saving it for me,” Ian said. “Where is it?”

    “Oh, yes. Sure.” Kevin pulled out a drawer and, after a moment of fumbling about, pulled out a key on a tarnished ring. “Here. Number three.” He threw the key at Ian, who caught it with his left hand. “That way.” He nodded to a door at the back of the office.

    “Cool. See you around.” Ian picked his bag up again and headed towards the exit.

    “Yeah...” Kevin shook his head. Ian did too, he'd have to watch this one.

    Still, nothing to worry about for the moment. He made his way up a rickety flight of steps, coated with a carpet that that was apparently held together with semen stains, and found a brown wooden door with a faded 'three' embossed upon it.

    Using the key, he opened it to find a surprisingly roomy and clean place beyond. There was even an en-suite bathroom.

    “Top notch,” Ian said, throwing himself onto the bed. “This will do.”


    The club was in full swing, and Ian had hooked his mark. A fit older guy, probably about fifty. Grey haired, but surprisingly intelligent and strong willed, he'd stood out the moment he'd walked in.

    It had taken Ian only minutes to hook him. His new friend was called Ron, and he was the owner of some precious gem business, just passing through.

    As they went, this one was good. He was clean, well educated and paid for everything without Ian having to even suggest it.

    And when it got late, he wasn't adversed to staggering up to Ian's new room for some... extras.

    All in all a good night was had by all. Ian went to sleep as satisfied as he'd been in a while.


    Sunlight streaming in woke him.

    “Damn.” Ian rubbed at his head. He hated mornings, it was when he was weakest, unsure of himself.

    He frowned and looked at his hand. It was covered in something.

    “What the hell?”

    Sitting up he looked around. The place was trashed. His nice new room was a tip, with most of the furniture matchwood.

    That wasn't all. Ian's nice new friend had been treated to more of the same. He was ripped apart. Pieces of Ron decorated the walls, floor, furniture and Ian.

    “What the fu...”

    There was a hammering at the door. The sort of hammering that suggests serious people in uniform are on the other side, and would like to come in. The sort of people that wish to ask questions, such as... 'what the fuck happened to Ron and why did you do it?'”

    Instinct took over, and he ran to the window, which overlooked the car park, which, he saw, was full of flashing blue lights.

    “Oh bollocks,” he said.

    About Author

    I was here, then I was there, now I'm back here again. In a while I may be neither here nor there.


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