Vipul Chandrashekar
Feb 17th, 2011, 12:00:22 AM
Venice Beach
Vipul was nervous, and that was something he wasn't used to.
As a dozen kids played basketball on the open air court in front of the rickety bleachers where he sat, Vipul puffed away at a Marlboro Red, looking for his contact - a man he'd only known as Boz. All he had was a name and a vague description of what he'd look like. And the assurance that Boz was dangerous. But Vipul dealt with dangerous people all the time. He wasn't afraid for his life. Risking death wasn't the problem.
Half a block away, Vipul was also keeping watch over a satchel with $20,000 in cash. It seemed like a lot of money, and it was, but thanks to working a few dozen jobs, he was able to spool it together in two weeks of advance planning. The money wasn't the problem.
Exhaling, Vipul dropped the cigarette to his feet, crushing it on the wooden plank below. He looked right. He looked left. What was he doing here? What did he think he was going to do?
The sum of recent events was steering him down a path he wasn't really sure of. His previous worldview an naivete was starting to seem quite ignorant in the face of a world that was confusing and dark. Mutants, even well-meaning ones, were waking up to days that were only going to be more difficult than the ones previous. Rendecion House was already up to it's neck with street violence all around it, and that was without the threat of the Brotherhood or crackdowns from an increasingly hostile government complicating everyones' lives.
Vipul ran his hand through his hair, and felt the pressure and weight of the Glock in his pants, concealed by the loose shirt he was wearing.
This wasn't right at all. But the problem, the real problem was that Vipul was having a hard time seeing what was right.
Vipul was nervous, and that was something he wasn't used to.
As a dozen kids played basketball on the open air court in front of the rickety bleachers where he sat, Vipul puffed away at a Marlboro Red, looking for his contact - a man he'd only known as Boz. All he had was a name and a vague description of what he'd look like. And the assurance that Boz was dangerous. But Vipul dealt with dangerous people all the time. He wasn't afraid for his life. Risking death wasn't the problem.
Half a block away, Vipul was also keeping watch over a satchel with $20,000 in cash. It seemed like a lot of money, and it was, but thanks to working a few dozen jobs, he was able to spool it together in two weeks of advance planning. The money wasn't the problem.
Exhaling, Vipul dropped the cigarette to his feet, crushing it on the wooden plank below. He looked right. He looked left. What was he doing here? What did he think he was going to do?
The sum of recent events was steering him down a path he wasn't really sure of. His previous worldview an naivete was starting to seem quite ignorant in the face of a world that was confusing and dark. Mutants, even well-meaning ones, were waking up to days that were only going to be more difficult than the ones previous. Rendecion House was already up to it's neck with street violence all around it, and that was without the threat of the Brotherhood or crackdowns from an increasingly hostile government complicating everyones' lives.
Vipul ran his hand through his hair, and felt the pressure and weight of the Glock in his pants, concealed by the loose shirt he was wearing.
This wasn't right at all. But the problem, the real problem was that Vipul was having a hard time seeing what was right.