Dystopia

Copperhead's shaking hand holds three wadded hundred dollar bills as the shop bell rings above, beckoning him inside Eddie's Gun Emporium. Enthroned behind the counter on a stool chewing gum sits Eddie, overweight with a thick flannel buttoned up to the top, a thick beard masking the top three buttons. Copperhead shields his masked face from the blazing luminescence radiating down on his skull from a naked lightbulb swaying overhead.

"Get ya anything in particular?"

"Ruger, 9mm," Copperhead stammered through his mask, his voice raspy through his desiccated throat.

"ID please, ya know Dusty Fork has a mandatory three day waiting period? You don't look so good pal," Eddie says in between chomps of gum, his eyes and jaw moving up and down as he looks at Copperhead's pale white complexion, dead and sick, veins shining through translucent white skin, covered in patches by black military fatigues that barely hung on.

Copperhead placed the money on the counter, and proceeds to pull a leather wallet out of his pocket, expending great effort as he does so. He slaps his ID on the table, it is shining and brand new.

"Happy birthday pal," Eddie says as he inputs Copperhead's forged drivers license number manually. The room is quiet, no customers, just the clacking of keys.

"Sorry, no scanner today."

Copperhead coughs.

"Remove your mask please?"

Fighting off tremors and putting in the effort to stay upright was enough effort, but Copperhead conceded and pulled down his mask quickly, and then let go and let it snap back into place. He smiled sarcastically through yellowed teeth.

"Pickup is ready, be right back, pal."

Copperhead's eyes met the lightbulb in a rolling gesture, he let out a sigh and said nothing. Eddie's stool squeaked as he got up. He returned with a large pistol and a box of ammo.

"Anything else?"

Without saying anything Copperhead clawed the steel 9mm pistol and slid it into his waiting palm, weighing the weapon in his hand as he did so, and turned and left. He walked with a slight limp through the door and outside to his car. The smell of pine needles was thick in the mountain air, a light shimmer reflected off of the moisture on the pavement. Copperhead could see his breath as he navigated the fog tinted maze. Walking through the parking lot, his rented black sedan came through the mist and into focus. He got in. Copperhead was cloaked head to toe in black, with military issue combat boots and a shaved head. He wore a black turtle neck sweater, a black 1-9 mask over disease ridden brownish teeth, and dark wiry sunglasses with small black circles for lenses. He dropped into the drivers seat and tossed the Ruger and the ammo on the passenger side. He started the car and drove, steering hand over hand as he navigated the curvy roads contained in the mountain town of Dusty Fork, hidden deep within the Rockies, this small tree laden village has been Copperhead's hiding place for the past year. Drinking in mid morning Colorado for the last time, he contemplated the gravity of what he was about to do. The finality of this decision momentarily pierced his hardened military like facade, he was going to take the easiest way out.

He pulled up to an oak cabin, standing crooked and decrepit on the road side. There were no neighbors in sight, the nearest one being a mile away. The cabin, shrouded in decay and moss, barely stood, covered in water stains and weather wear, and housed nothing but Copperhead, a hot plate, and a mattress on the floor in the foyer. He sat down on the mattress and slowly loaded the Ruger. Shaking and panting he managed to load a bullet in the chamber, cocked the gun with an ominous click, and stuck the barrel in his mouth. His index finger was hovering over the trigger, he almost pushed it due to the tremors. A tear ran down his face, left a streak of salt on his cheek, and pattered on the toe of his boot. He pulled the trigger and the wall behind him splattered red. Grey flakes of brain coated the leather on his boots, now shining with streaks of fresh blood that pooled up on the linoleum in the entryway. Teeth and loose flecks of skull shattered everywhere like glass breaking, red oozed from the exit wound in the back of his head as his body fell forward, putting his head between his knees, his body slumped over dead. The air outside the cabin was completely still, save for a few startled birds and the whoosh of cool air down into the valley. The fog parted as a ptarmigan ascended into the air from it's perch on the roof, seeking refuge from the sudden crack of the gun shot.

Rémy slept a few miles away closer to town in her squad car. The afternoon sun peaked through the guard on her windshield as the day turned and cast a ray on her auburn copper hair. Her face was tilted to one side, her cheek resting on the headrest, her soft features were relaxed in a deep sleep, her eyelids concealing sky blue eyes with speckled dots of milky white. She was garbed in a blue police uniform reading Dusty Fork PD on the lapel, and a private's military insignia sewn into the shoulder in gold. She was brand new to the force, born and raised in Dusty Fork, with aspirations to join since childhood. Her eyes jolted awake as she rose and picked up her radio.

"Al, you woke me up dude, I still had 15 minutes what's going on?"

"Reports of gunshots up on County Road 12, the old Srauss place, been rented out for a year or two to some out of towner, you know it?"

"I'll be right there," Rémy said through a yawn as she stretched.

Her fist bumped the felt blue top of the squad car interior as she hung up the radio with her other hand, and started the car. She turned the knob on her radio as she drove, stifling the twangy guitar on the local southern gothic country station and donned large red tinted aviator sunglasses to match her hair. The silhouettes of her eyes were visible as the sunlight shone slightly through the lenses, the yellow line dividing the lanes curvedly reflected itself out of them, visible in the rear view mirror as her head bobbed side to side with the rhythm of her engine and the sway of the mountain roads. Her car crunched to a stop outside of Copperhead's cabin, smashing pine cones and dead branches in its wake underneath her tires.

She stepped up onto the porch and announced herself, Rémy learned most of her tactics in training, and what she lacked in field experience she made up for in rigid adherence to protocol. She found the splintery wooden front door left ajar, she kicked it open with the toe of her boot, exposing the crime scene in the entryway that took place almost an hour ago. The visceral display of suicide was shocking. Rèmy attempted to sift through the carnage using her nightstick, dropping her gun in the process. She managed to collect a flash drive from among the red soaked carpet fibers as evidence. Rémy covered her mouth and stepped out to radio back to the station. In her panicked state of unease she forgot to pick up her pistol, and turned her back on the crime scene. She had never seen a dead body before.

Upon picking up the radio she heard the humming of an engine up the road. Before reaching over the seat and procuring the yellow crime scene tape secured in a panel on the door Rémy was approached by two figures. Both donning black military fatigues and boots, with long blonde hair tied back in wiry pony tails and hairs poking out haphazardly. Their jackets depicted a red snake resembling a territorial cobra on the lapel, the bottom half of its body curled up as it reeled its head. They stood tall, with hardened, stern looks on their faces underneath small wiry sunglasses concealing even the periphery of their eyes. The woman on Rémy's left exuded an aura of softness, while the male figure on the right stood with his arms crossed in a totalitarian fashion.

"Go home, please." Mamba pleaded with Rémy through full lips and white teeth.

"We're a special suicide task force," Cottonmouth said stealing a glance at his sister, invisible underneath his sunglasses.

"Hester has been called, we need you to vacate now," he barked at her. Dust swept through the air in a haze, still settling from their approach, seemingly coming from nowhere.

Hester was the chief of the Dusty Fork police force, Rémy's boss. Wordlessly she obeyed and got back in her cruiser, the crackling of pebbles and rubber droned amongst the mountainous chimes of the creaking branches and chirping birds as she left. Alone amongst the dusty remnants of Rémy's departure, the duo entered the cabin and with adept efficiency began scooping brain matter and strewn about skin into red labeled biohazard bags they produced from their pockets.

"Are you sure this will work?" Cottonmouth asked, a pile of bloody brain pulp in his gloved palm.

"Well, Father knows what is best for the family, we've been through a lot, just keep going."

"I am sick of fuckin' washing blood off of me, why do we care about Neo City and it's politics, I always told Dad we shouldn't worry about these people, the fuckin' police, it is not our family's burden to bear."

Cottonmouth's face wore a piteous expression as a bead of sweat formed on his eyebrow. Mamba's deep set green eyes shimmered with sensitivity as they met her brother's. Underneath the walls of his surly persona there was a Cottonmouth Mamba knew as a genuinely compassionate human. Mamba felt extremely empathetic towards her brother's feelings and struggled to find the words to comfort him. There journey had been arduous.

"Remember what Father always told us, we are in debt to the city, the city breeds corruption and turmoil, but also has been our place to rest and hide, to be at peace. We owe the people of Neo City something, even if they will never sympathize with our struggles, the city protects us and we will protect it."

Mamba's stern yet familial compassion was what Cottonmouth needed to hear. He knew their quest was coming to a close, and found a new resolve through his sister's words of wisdom. Holding back a stressed tear of frustration, he tried to hold a sense of stoicism as he continued his duty. Which was currently picking bits of grey matter out of a dusty cabin's ruined shag carpet in the year 2026.

Rémy's tires squealed down the road as she sped towards the police station. A feeling of unease quipped her as she pulled into the parking lot, hopped out of her cruiser, and bolted in through the revolving door.

"Rémy...,"

Rémy brushed past Al cutting him off. She told herself she would apologize later. She cut right, after passing the desk, the lobby was empty. Not a lot of people got arrested in Dusty Fork, the booking center was empty with nobody tending to the property register behind the shatterproof glass. Hester's office was the door on the right. Rémy barged in.

"What the hell is your problem Hester, you know your dispatch sent me to a suicide with no backup, which is a huge violation of protocol, and then those two thugs showed up?"

"What?" Hester could barely form a sentence in between large bites of a bacon cheeseburger. He was a portly man with a flattop military haircut, large framed glasses and a DFPD tank top with grease stains on it. A large cigar sat burning in an ashtray on his desk next to his name plaque.

"Some out of towner shot himself, I didn't know what to do, I fuckin' panicked, and these two people showed up, they said they called you?"

Hester shrugged, mouth full of fries and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"You sound like you've had a day, I never made any call, there is no logs, you're just fine Rémy take the day off."

He mispronounced her name all the time which always pissed her off, she never had the resolve to correct him, especially with her being newer to the police force. The lamp on the corner of Hester's desk snaked its head over a photo of him and a woman in a dress, the frame cast a distorted silhouette over the spindles of cigar smoke exuded from the ember at the tip. Wordlessly, Rémy turned and left the office.

Her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned the lobby for Al, he must have just gotten off of his night shift working dispatch and gone home, leaving Rémy alone with her apathetic boss, unresponsive and viciously devouring greasy food in between puffs of tobacco in his office. Stifling tears, she felt something was off, some intuitive sense of the impending doom to follow. The flash drive sat quietly in her pocket, out of sight out of mind, jostled back and forth by her steps as she walked outside and input her key code into the police parking garage door.

Driving through her small town home, the old wooden aesthetic of the cabin style houses and trailers speckled amongst the green pines and deer reminded her of her childhood. The afternoon sun was in full swing, finally through with dispelling the fog and lifting the morning's dew from the grass amongst the rabbits and squirrels that scampered across the yellow in the road. The native rodents always made her think of hunting trips with her dad on the outskirts of Dusty Fork Village. She drove in silence, and tried to hold on to the comforting thoughts of adolescence as her SUV navigated the gravel roads home. On auto pilot, Rémy pulled into the driveway outside of her mobile home and cut the engine.

Rémy climbed out of her SUV and hurriedly cut through the rural pasture of green in her yard, hopping over a divider of yellow daphodils and a piney shrubbery, finally coming to a halt in front of her door. She struggled to produce her keys from her pocket, and with an exasperated breath pushed the door open and finally made it inside.

She passed a coffee table with envelopes and magazines piled atop it on her way to the kitchen. She ran to the sink and cupped her hands to splash some water in her face, it mixed with the stress tears running down her cheeks. Rémy had naturally elegant features, even with her face distorted in emotion. Her red acrylic nails bobbed up and down as she patted her face dry with a kitchen towel she grabbed from the handle on the oven. She hardly wore make up, and did not notice the water droplets now darkening the breast of her navy blue police uniform. Her small trailer was adorned with family photos and smiling snapshots of her and her friends from college. She looked upon one of her and Al graduating police academy together and beaming, she sighed fondly and rubbed her reddened eyes. Rémy leaned back against the counter and her heart sank as she ruminated on the previous events of the day. The bullet hole oozing blood from the back of the out of towner's head, the way his body was slumped, limp and lifeless in a pool of cranial viscera. Rémy had never seen anything like it in her life. Suicide was not a large issue in Dusty Fork Village, her top concern policing the town before today had been holding crossing signs and speaking at highschool anti-drug rallies. Dusty Fork had a population of 700, coated in resort owner's vacation homes they haven't seen in years, with locals, mostly retired people, speckled all around. There is more rabbits in Dusty Oak then actual people. Rémy feared for the safety of her sacred adolescent stomping grounds.

Left out of her stressful inclinations was the flash drive, she reached into the pocket of her blues and brought it to her eye, remembering picking it up, she regretted not turning it in. She was worried for Al, it was very out of charecter for him not to follow dispatch protocol, and then for him to not even log the response was even stranger. The flash drive was white with a golden insignia of a snake rearing back to strike lasered into the side. She ran her thumb along the carving, pondering the true origin of the twin siblings seen earlier at the crime scene. It seemed eerie that they just appeared out of nowhere, and Hester had no idea what she was talking about. Then again, Hester's conduct with Rémy was never professional despite her hard work for the department, he was always curtly dismissive and offputting.

Her eyes glanced over her cluttered coffee table and set on her laptop, she picked it up and flipped it open, cautiously inserting the flash drive into the USB port. A high pitched humming noise began to crescendo out of her computer speakers. As it grew louder it seemed to permeate her eardrums. The screen shattered into splintery cracks that spidered up the glass and turned it white. She covered her ears, the computer fell to the ground and she ran to the sink. Vomit spewed from her nose and mouth, her head shook violently. Drippy strings of yellow wormed their way down the drain and spewed over onto her mahogony colored cabinets. She was unable to answer a violent rapping at her front door. A kitchen chandlier shattered over her head spraying searing glass all over the countertop and across the kitchen tile floor, scratching small and sinister cuts in the purple flowers depicted between the grout.

"What the fuck is going on..."

"Seriously what the hell, we agreed on quiet before 11, will you please quit?" Her neighbor's voice rudely chastised her through the door.

Rémy collapsed in a heap on her kitchen floor, passed out cold, her head hit the tile with a pulverizing cracking sound.

The weather torn cabin was impeccably clean when Cottonmouth and Mamba were done with it. The amber glow of the dusky sunlight penetrated the blinds giving the one room abode a calming nighttime essence as the sun gradually shifted itself behind the mountains. Mamba let out a sigh of relief and used this calming purgatory in between night and day to counteract the egregious display of suicide that working for her father had thrust her into.

Her father had been there her whole life, although spearheading a clandestine anti-government operation that held up the foundation of 2280 Neo City had turned him into a very stern man, he always cared for Mamba and her paternal twin Cottonmouth. Mamba never knew her mother, and was gifted with the ability to embody not only her father's traits but to develope her own archetype of herself over the years. She absorbed teachings from her family and their business in politics, but was always looking for ways to dissipate the violence that plagued her memories and her upbringing. She knew her brother felt the same way, just internalized trauma differently than her. Mamba pondered over what affects these last few weeks have had on her brother as she drew a flash drive like rod from the breast pocket of her vest. Taking one last glance at the striking setting sun as it faded behind the Colorado Rockies, Mamba hurled the device at the brand new looking shag carpet. Cottonmouth and his sister temporarily faded out of existence, subconsciously holding onto their seconds between times as they return to Neo City, Mamba's home.