Extract has a minion!

Blep the Scurry

CREDITS

profile template (c) helix (get it)
Background by: AlphaCoders
Overlay by: Morse
Story and Edits by: Potion

The crowd cheers as she pulls her dark purple hood over her head. She takes advantage of the magicians entrance to quickly scan the crowd for any potential vunerabilities. As the lights dim, the magicians' lights flicker and the stage fog thickens. The crowd oohs and ahhs, clapping joyously. Extract spots her first victim, she swiftly grabs the unsuspecting spectators wallet. She stands a moment in place and continues on her way. No one has noticed. Her nimble fingers allow her to grab items with precision, and her slender body flits through the crowd with ease.

The show is over, and Extract is nowhere to be seen, her dark figure is already quickly navigating the alleyways of the darkened city, lit only by the street lights or blinking neon signs.

The sun had disappeared behind the smog a very long time ago. Only the elderly were able to describe the warmth on their skin, the light gleaming through the trees in the forest, or a rainbow in the sky after a light rain. These were things made of myth in my world. Sunlight was now captured and bottled or manufactured by Apollo Enterprises, selling the precious commodity for top dollar. I shake my head at this thought as I head to my favorite hiding place to count the nights loot.

To my memory, I had only ever gotten a quick glimpse of real bottled sunlight once in a bar, a drunken man had bragged about how he'd gotten ahold of it, then in a drunken stupor broken the bottle. The golden, blinding light shot out in all directions. I still remember the feeling of the heat burning slightly before it faded away within moments. It terrified me more than anything, while everyone else seemed to be enchanted by it. I much preferred manufactured sunlight, which is cold and has an almost blue hue to it. Most people seem to have trouble telling the difference.

I remove the bolts on the large vent, then climb in, careful to replace the cover once inside. After a little climbing and a few tight spaces, I arrive at what I've called home for the last four years. Situated on the last floor of a run-down apartment building, the tiny room is no bigger than a walk-in closet. At one end, there's a shattered circular window with a beautiful view of the neon-lit city. On the other, a dusty mattress on the floor with a few blankets and a pillow. The decoration is modest, with a few plastic flowers, a portrait of a beautiful cotton candy sunset that’s looking a little tattered, and a large box overflowing with discarded wallets scattered here and there. I pull the hood off my head and places todays' wallets on the mattress, flipping through them quickly, only taking notice of one handsome man's picture ID, "Sorry, Dylan." I feel a slight twinge of guilt for a moment, before realizing he had no money. I toss it into the pile before grumbling, "Two measly bucks. So much for dinner."

I suddenly hear the screeching of tires and loud music on the street below. It catches my attention, so I head to the window and look below to see that four racing cars have lined up : a drag race is beginning. I quickly notice a girl, one eye covered by her short blonde hair, bargaining with a large, hairy man. I can tell even from far away that she is loaded, and doesn't even seem to try to hide it. The girl heads towards her fancy, black sports car, which reflects the blue and red neon lights. The girl revs her engine as I pull my hood back over my head. "Dinner is served."