Episode I
The city outside was meant to be Amsterdam. As if that even mattered. Wile E. Coyote and Shitty Pants were back from the rounds and had brought some "Blue Tulip". Not his favourite, but, hey, who could complain in this day and age?
He excused himself. Shooting up in public was akin to farting out loud in his books and the sight of Wile E. already on his way to never-never land with a syringe jutting from his arm was definitely a non-plusser.
Yeah, so Amsterdam, eh? Good point. It could've been anywhere or nowhere. What He could see from his window was an empty warehouse, all the windows boarded up, litter blowing in gusts up and down the street, and there, yonder, a patch of green from the slime vats of the Municipal Depo.
However far He craned his neck, he couldn't see the sky. It would probably be black with soot and pregnant with rain.
Suddenly, as if God had decided that enough was enough, a ray of sunlight bolted down from heaven. It paused on the vats and sent cryptic signals made up of aquamarine shimmers onto He's ceiling and then it moved off, searching for a more receptive audience. Beyond the Depo, the messenger made out a tapestry of rooftops just about visible through the murky atmosphere.
Yes, this could be Amsterdam, but "here" was Junk City and "there" was Cyberville. The "there" apartment blocks hadn't been so much as in hiding, as blending in with the grey background. Now, under the harsh light, they seemed to gleam like a shoal in a grim sea.
But He wasn't fooled. He knew that up close they were as grubby and downtrodden as the ones this side of the canal.
He excused himself. Shooting up in public was akin to farting out loud in his books and the sight of Wile E. already on his way to never-never land with a syringe jutting from his arm was definitely a non-plusser.
Yeah, so Amsterdam, eh? Good point. It could've been anywhere or nowhere. What He could see from his window was an empty warehouse, all the windows boarded up, litter blowing in gusts up and down the street, and there, yonder, a patch of green from the slime vats of the Municipal Depo.
However far He craned his neck, he couldn't see the sky. It would probably be black with soot and pregnant with rain.
Suddenly, as if God had decided that enough was enough, a ray of sunlight bolted down from heaven. It paused on the vats and sent cryptic signals made up of aquamarine shimmers onto He's ceiling and then it moved off, searching for a more receptive audience. Beyond the Depo, the messenger made out a tapestry of rooftops just about visible through the murky atmosphere.
Yes, this could be Amsterdam, but "here" was Junk City and "there" was Cyberville. The "there" apartment blocks hadn't been so much as in hiding, as blending in with the grey background. Now, under the harsh light, they seemed to gleam like a shoal in a grim sea.
But He wasn't fooled. He knew that up close they were as grubby and downtrodden as the ones this side of the canal.
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