Credit to @willpeter for this picture.Parting Worlds (A Patreon Preview)SRY BRO. HRD 2 TEYP. BIG THU
Credit to @willpeter for this picture.
Parting Worlds (A Patreon Preview)
SRY BRO. HRD 2 TEYP. BIG THUMS. HUHUH. FEEL GUD THO. FOUND MY PLACE. LIVIN THE DREAM. BRO, IT’S … IT’S…. FUCK. CAN’T THINK OF THE WORD. FUUUUUUUCK. NEVUR THOT BEIN DUM WUD FEEL SO GUD. I M BIG NOW. BIG MEAT. U WANT 2 B MEAT LYK ME, COME HERE. I’LL B WEIGHTING, BRO. DON’T 4GET. SAVE THAT 4 L8R. HUHUHUH.
Bryant looked at the last message from his old friend. Chris had included a map pin for GPS. It had been six months since he last heard from the man. Six months. His apartment had been cleared out. A missing person’s case had long since been filed.
The police had investigated the site from the address after Bryant provided it. All they found was an old parking garage cordoned off by a chain-link fence. A warrant obtained using the information yielded no further results. The space was empty, the building abandoned. There was no sign of foul play. No drugs, no tags, no evidence of any prior occupation, save for what looked like a needle of some kind. Careful investigation revealed the space had once housed a tattoo parlor before transitioning to this structure. The needle was a part of a tattoo kit, probably left at the scene when the brick and mortar folded and went mobile.
So, why was he here now, listening to the echo of his own footsteps?
His eyes roved through the murky space as dim light flickered from the fixtures overhead. A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the fence. He’d seen the photos from the scene. The police made everything public after they’d finished chasing down the lead. And now, here he was.
“Why?” he murmured to himself. The officers had already tried everything. Did he really think he could do better?
The woven metal was cold against his fingers as they grasped the chain link. Black lines streaked over his skin, a sign of the time that had passed and the lack of human contact in the area. A wooden pallet had been laid against one side of the gate. A long metal chain draped at the other side, tied to the bar. Perhaps it was meant to prevent entry? But if so, someone had undone those efforts. It hissed, rattled, and clattered as Bryant slowly pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked and squealed from disuse.
“It won’t work that way, you know.”
Bryant jumped in surprise and turned swiftly. The man that stood there was … average in just about every way one could imagine. He carried an unremarkable face with a pair of shaded glasses that drew one’s focus away from the remainder of his appearance while the clouded lenses obscured his eyes.
“Who are you?” Bryant finally managed to say.
The man shrugged. “I go by many names. I suppose you can call me the Gatekeeper.”
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