Mally's Diary: November 2049

Posted by anonymous. 

After the downfall of local cyber-ware enthusiast gang NONE MORE METAL, a collection of diary entries was discovered at [DATA EXPUNGED], New Rome. The details appear to be from one of the gang's more eccentric, potentially mentally unstable members.

Read at your own discretion.

Entry 2

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Observational Diary

By Maleficent

November 2049

Dearest Diary, I am still reeling from the pleasure of last night. The long, tireless tirade of sitting alone, fulfilling pointless job requests has finally been rewarded with something more…deliciously wild.

Sorry little Timmy, a casino heist is worth more than your lost cat.

I was picked up by them from a random street corner, then escorted to the place of interest. Whilst I partook in my usual hobby of people watching, I felt one of the grunts nudge my arm with something cold. Looking up, he was holding out a regular sized pistol. He asked if I knew how to fire the thing, and upon my reply of ‘no’, he very kindly showed me how. 

Thankfully I’m a quick learner, evidenced by the now permanent hole in the van’s floor (and one woman’s foot). I slid the thing in the makeshift holster on my belt, only slightly less out of the view than the knife in my boot. The darling gun nut then sat beside me for the rest of the trip, telling me more about the gang. I took several mental notes of him as we talked. He was quite a short and stout fellow, almost swallowed up by all that body armour. His rough face, disciplined demeanour and mild case of insanity lead me to believe he is past military. That, and the dog tag around his neck, engraved with the word ‘Zero’.

Zero…odd name…zero…zero…

[The number 0 is continuously written for another half page]

I became almost so engaged by profiling another human that I didn’t notice when the van abruptly stopped. As the doors swung wide open, the grunts bolted in unison. They pushed and shoved and scream and hollered as they madly dashed for the casino doors. On the way Zero grabbed my arm and told me to ‘stay close newbie’. I decided to comply for the time being. Thus, I infiltrated the mad dash, bursting through the entrance, upon which I was struck by a luxury I’ve never known. The jingles and clangs of coins in chorus of the chatter of fancily dressed folks delighted my ears. Smells of roasted pork mixed with sweaty desperation, happy and broken faces, smooth velvet curtains and polished desks, everything overwhelmed my senses. 

I stood, dumbfounded, for only a few seconds. The possibilities, oh the possibilities.

Before I could calculate how many games I could rig within the hour, my companions for the day came streaming past, pulling me back to reality. Right, I have a job to do. For now…

Ignoring the potential for misery over in the hall, I set my sights on the front desk instead. Particularly, the cute girl behind it. I do not remember what I said to her. I must have just rattled off a few lines I once heard in a film, gave a sly touch on her arm, then a direct jab at her pathetic single life.

She ran crying to the bathroom. Her friend followed suit, flashing me a dirty look as she did.

Meh.

I had jumped the desk by then and began pilfering through the tills.

One hundred, two hundred, three hundred.

I counted to the rhythm of the gunfire. Seems the others found a way to raid the store room behind me. I remember deciding to check on how they were doing. The floor was so, so red. It spilled so far…

That reminds me, I need to wash my shoes. And my hands.

[The next half page is unreadable due to red stains]

“But why do you want to hurt people?” I remember asking them. The two suited men at the desk looked so confused, bless them. Even though they hadn’t realised I was part of the group instigating the riot, it felt unwise to lend them back their guns. More takings for us. Besides, it’s funnier to mess with them. They weren’t having it though. A great, muscly arm swung for my head.

Swing and a miss. A bang, and a thump.

The bullet hits square in his forehead, now slumped over the desk. The bullet-hole drips, drips again onto my shoes. His friend, understandably furious, tried the same. The open slit in his throat gushes faster, engulfing my shoes in red.

Fuck, scrubbing is hard. Why won’t they stay clean!?

STAY     FUCKING        CLEAN    PLEASE.

I had fun today. None-More Metal said they’ll consider making me a member.

Oh diary, Dulce periculum