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"Hey, dickwad, what's the matter?" The Metal Masked Assassin seemed to be in a good mood today. Well, not so much "good" as "not quite as murderous," but that was good for him.
Magnus sighed. He was lying on the couch in their living quarters. "Nothing," he replied, staring at the wall blankly.
"Shouldn't you be off torturing Toki and Abigail?"
"Mmh," Magnus said. "I guess so."
"What's the matter? Are you sick or something? You better not be sick, if I catch anything I'm going to literally kill you..."
"I'm not sick," Magnus said. "I'm fine. Whatever." He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
"Usually you love torturing them." The Assassin stood in front of Magnus, arms crossed over his chest, effectively blocking Magnus from moving any further. "Something's not right here."
"I told you, I'm fine!" Magnus yelled. Usually he wasn't brave or stupid enough to yell at the Assassin, but he was clearly having a bad day. He dodged the silver-faced man and stomped off, grabbing his whip as he headed to the torture dungeon full of cannibalistic Revengencers.
"Fine," the Assassin replied, "but if you get all depressed and kill yourself don't come crying to me!"
Yeah, Magnus was having a bad day. Quite honestly, he was having a bad week.
Magnus Hammersmith wasn't really an alcoholic; he just preferred to be slightly drunk all day, which not many people knew, since he was excellent at pretending to be sober. It shielded him from the horrors that were being committed daily around him, and from his own unforgettable past. But lately he'd been running low on booze money. Working with the Metal Masked Assassin was fulfilling and all that, but revenge didn't exactly pay well. He'd tried getting a second job, babysitting, prostitution, doing online surveys for money. Everything he tried to do failed horribly. (Especially the babysitting. Magnus was definitely not good with children.)
So Magnus was on a budget, and even he knew that things like food and paying his share of bills and buying new torture devices had to take priority over his drinking habit. It sucked.
"Everything sucks," he mused to himself, lost in thought as he stared down at the prostrate Toki Wartooth in the dungeon. "My life sucks. Ugh," he said in an emo voice.
Toki looked up from his mess of filth. "Whats?..."
"Nothing!" Magnus spat. "Keep licking my boots, bitch!"
After a while he went back upstairs. His heart just wasn't in the whole torturing thing today. He tried to distract himself from the dark turmoil of his thoughts by looking at Facebook to see if Dethklok had posted anything about trying to find Abigail and Toki, but he grunted with anger as he saw that his cellphone service had been shut off since he hadn't been able to pay the bill. He cursed and flung the stupid phone at the wall. This was the last straw.
He needed booze. For booze, he needed money. And he needed a way to get money, but he couldn't get a job since he wasn't educated at all and he smelled like blood and stale pot smoke all the time. There was only one thing to do, one thing that he was surprised he hadn't thought of already. He was going to have to commit burglary.
What was one more (petty) crime added to the list of atrocities on his conscience, anyway? In fact, this barely showed up on his conscience. He needed the money more than anyone else. He had to buy booze and pay for his cellphone or else he'd go crazy. He was practically doing society a favor.
When the Metal Masked Assassin disappeared mysteriously that evening, Magnus got out a sheet of paper to plan out how to steal some money. He knew that there were a series of low-income apartments right next to the modified warehouse they were living in. That night, he could break into one of them through a window and steal anything that was laying around. He wanted money but he supposed he could take a TV or jewelry if it was lying around. He could take his knife, too, and if anyone tried to stop him he could stab them. He smiled. This might actually be fun.
So, very late that night, Magnus pulled on a pair of gloves so he didn't leave any fingerprints and snuck out of the warehouse to crouch and wait near an apartment. He had his knife, and a crowbar, and just for good measure, a handgun. Stabbing people was very dramatic but he wanted to be on the safe side. His plan was brilliant, except for one very small thing: he'd forgotten a flashlight. The streetlights in this area of town were broken, so he stumbled around in near-total darkness, confused and tripping over potholes and cursing at himself for being such an idiot. At last, he collided with the side of a building. Good, he thought, looking up at a darkened window. Finally.
He didn't want to go around to the front, so he decided to climb up a straggling tree to get to the window and pry it open. He made a series of disgruntled sounds as he tried to climb the tree, squishing ants under his fingers and getting his clothes caught on the bark. This had been much easier in the fifth grade. It probably would've helped if he'd stretched, too. About halfway up he got a horrible cramp in his leg that almost made him yell out loud in pain. He bit down on his clenched fist and kept struggling upward.
At last, he'd reached the window. This was a shitty area of town, but it wasn't even locked. He pried it open and fumbled with the screen for nearly ten minutes before he removed it, pinching his fingers in the process. He set it down gently inside the window and eased himself through it, stretching his cramped body painfully.
When he finally got inside he looked around in the darkness. The room appeared to be deserted and quiet, and looked like a bedroom. There was a bureau drawer in one corner; maybe there'd be something valuable inside...He tiptoed across the room, feeling freaked out, and he almost had a strange feeling of déjà vu, like he'd been here before. Well, he'd stabbed people before, but this was insidious in a different way. He didn't want to get caught. He didn't want to know what happened to guys like him in jail.
He managed to open one of the drawers and rifled through its contents as quietly as he could. The drawer appeared to contain several identical extra-large men's black T-shirts with the sleeves cut off.
Something funny was going on here. He was beginning to think that this whole thing was a mistake...
There was a strange noise like a metal mask being attached to someone's face. Then the bedroom light was switched on, blinding Magnus. He turned around and saw something he'd wished never to see in his life: the Assassin bearing down at him, furious.
He was pinned to the wall by one of the Assassin's pale hands around his throat. He struggled for breath, clutching at the fingers closing his windpipe, but his struggling was halted by a spear poking very gently into his belly.
"What the fuck?" the Assassin muttered groggily.
"Ghkkkkh," went Magnus. The Assassin very slightly loosened his hold on the ex-guitarist's neck.
"What the fuck are you doing?" the Assassin repeated.
"I...I can explain!" Magnus coughed. "I just, uh..." That soulless stare had him pinned to the wall even more securely than those hands had. He sighed. "Well, I was trying to break into one of those apartments next door, but I guess I broke into our own house by accident."
The Assassin snorted. "I don't believe that. Are you fucking kidding me?"
"No! Gods, I wouldn't try to steal from you on purpose. I'm not that stupid."
"Why?" the Assassin said. The spear slowly drew away from Magnus' body. "Why did you even try to do this in the first place?"
"I just need the money!" Magnus felt almost like he was going to cry, which he wished desperately to avoid. "I don't know! I fucked up. I can't afford any more booze, and I don't know what to do..." He sighed and covered his face with his hands.
The Assassin stared at him, then burst into mocking laughter. "Fuck! How much of an idiot do you have to be?" Magnus turned away, trying to hide his face. He'd fucked up big time here. He might as well quit this whole thing. It'd been a stupid idea.
"I'm going to bed," he said. "Bye." He edged away, toward the door. He just wanted to be alone—well, being alone wasn't much fun when you were Magnus Hammersmith, but it was better than this.
"Hey. Wait," the Assassin said.
"What? You wanna make fun of me some more?"
"Yeah," said the silver-faced man bluntly. "But why didn't you just ask me if you needed money that bad?"
"I don't know! I don't like..." He trailed off and stared at the ground, kicking the carpet with his scuffed boot. "I don't like asking for help."
He winced as the Assassin pushed him into the wall. "You need to get over yourself. You're not too important to ask for a fucking favor."
"I know! I just don't wanna. Especially from you. You don't seem like the type to do people favors."
The Assassin nodded. "Good. That's what I'm going for. But we're in this together." He went to the drawer and went through it himself. He found out his wallet and pulled out a stack of probably-laundered twenty-dollar bills. "Damn. Just ask next time, you moron." He dropped the money into Magnus' hand.
"I can't take this," Magnus said.
"Stop being so goddamn proud! Take it! I told you, we're fucking partners, okay, this is yours now." The Assassin shoved Magnus. This was probably how he tried to show affection, Magnus decided; it was rather painful, but that was okay.
"Alright. Thank you," Magnus said.
"Don't thank me. I'm sure you'll think of some way to get to bed. Now go get drunk and go to bed. It's fucking 1 AM."
"Okay."
Magnus was pushed out the door, which was then slammed in his face. He went to his own room and curled up on the mattress on the floor. For some reason, he felt surprisingly okay; he didn't even feel the need to really go get drunk. He tucked the money into his pants pocket and fell asleep.