When I was first planning Flashwave, this was the original concept! Idk why I'm so excited, but I just think it's cool how a story can change so much 😂

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SYNOPSIS:

After graduating college, Dark and his friend, Jack, move west to the bustling streets of San Bernardino, California. It's the perfect place to start a new life, filled with opportunity, jobs, money, and... drugs.

With Dark's keen eye for anything illegal, and Jack's taste for marijuana, both of them try and search for the famed "Warfstache" that everyone talks about. However, San Bernadino—known for its criminal activity—still gives them no preparation for the harsh reality of "Warfstache's" infamous persona.

When Jack goes missing after a night out at the bar, Dark panics, searching for his friend in every crevice of the city and asking every person he can if he'd been seen. His panic becomes known by Warfstache, and Dark only realizes how much he's made himself an open target when he comes face to face with the infamous criminal at his very doorstep.

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CHAPTER 1

"Five hundred dollars," slurred Wilford, pressing the gun against the man's lips.

    Fear glistened through the tears in his eyes as the cool metal of the gun pressed against his skin, the blood from his head quivering down his face with each violent shake of his body. Whimpers stole from his throat in curt sounds. Dog-like.

    "Five hundred fuckin' dollars, Chappie," he growled. His finger tightened over the trigger, and Chappie's eyes widened further. "I've given you a week, and you still don't have my goddamn money. What do you have to say for yourself?"

    Chappie thickly swallowed, pressing himself harder into the wall. "B-b—business hasn't been too good lately, Wilford, I-I—the customers, t-the shop, y-yknow how it is—"

    "Like hell I do," hissed Will. "I don't take shit from nobody, you hear me? Especially lowlife scum like you. I'm tired of your goddamn excuses."

    Wilford scoffed and tore the gun from Chappie's face, leaving him flinching and trembling. He stared down at him, eyes dark and nose scrunched in utter distaste, his shadow dark over Chappie's quivering body.

    "I won't even waste a bullet on you," he spat.

    Chappie trembled, though his eyes lit up. "O-oh... W-Wilford, thank you—"

    "Take care of him," said Wilford, nodding back at one of the men behind him. "And make sure you clean up all of his guts from the floor." He shoved the gun back in his holster, the heels of his shoes clicking against the pavement as he began to walk away. "I don't wanna big ol' mess like last time."

    Chappie's eyes widened, and he shriveled against the wall as the other men surrounded him, crying and begging for mercy.

    "P-please—please, Mr. Warfstache! Don't kill me—oh, God, no, p-please—!"

    Wilford smiled at the sound of his screams and walked off, utter delight coiling in his stomach at the sound of fists pounding into his helpless figure. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, lazily staring into the street and the darkness ahead.

    "You deserve it, kid," he hummed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it at his lips. He inhaled carefully, letting the rush fill his head. "Life's no fun without a bit of madness, after all."

    Wilford walked away from the man's now-pulverized body with a sadistic smile, the smoke puffing thick from his lips and curling carefully into the cold, night sky.

* * *

Cigarette smoke curled into that same night sky—though, it was one hundred miles away.

    Dark leaned against the car door and watched the city lights flit by, his eyes tired and dry. His coal-black hair fluttered as cold air rushed in through the open window, chilling his face and the insides of the speeding car.

    "Hey," said Jack through the darkness, the lights of the highway flitting across his face, "You alright?"

    Dark made a low sound in response, bringing the cigarette to his lips and inhaling. He stayed quiet for a while, humming in content as he blew out a large puff of smoke. Its thick curls flew out of the window in a second.

    "Just tired," said Dark. He shifted in the passenger side, moving his head away from the wide-open window. The greenish light from the radio highlighted the lines of his face, shining with the time 3 AM, and Dark squinted at it through tired eyes. They'd been driving for over ten hours. "How are you still able to drive at this hour, anyway?"

    "Black coffee does wonders, Dame," he said with a smile, using Dark's least-favorite nickname. He glanced at Dark through the corner of his eye, noting his lack of warm clothes. "Ay, put on a jacket for Christ's sake. Aren't you cold?"

    Dark took another drag of the cigarette and shook his head, exhaling and tugging on his thin, white tank top. "We should get a hotel."

    Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. "I'm the one driving," he said. "Sleep in the back instead of whining like a little baby. There's only a hundred miles left, anyway."

    Dark groaned, and he rolled up the window, slouching in his seat. "I'll stay up," he said.

    "Hey, hey—window down if yer smoking, asswipe."

    Dark fluttered his lashes and made a puppy face, exhaling a puff of smoke in Jack's direction. "But I'll get cold," he whined dramatically.

    "Oh my god," snickered Jack, waving the smoke from his face.

    They both laughed, and Dark gave in, rolling down the window with a toothy smile. He threw the cigarette out of the car, rolling it back up and raising a brow over at Jack.

    "There. Better now?" he asked. Jack made a sound of uncertainty.

    "Welll, you still littered—"

    "Oh, whatever," huffed Dark with a smile, reclining his chair and folding his hands on his stomach. "You've been friends with me for this long. Might as well get used to the smell of cigarettes."

    "The more you smoke, the grosser it smells. You even smell like it, doofus."

    Dark smiled, eyelids drooping. They passed through a tunnel, and the lights above flashed by, making him squint lazily.

    "Yeah, yeah," he hummed. Jack glanced over and reached into the back of the car, throwing a jacket on top of Dark's body.

    "You know I'll kick you outside whenever you wanna smoke in the new house, right?" he asked, smiling when Dark pulled the jacket around his bare arms. "That stuff stains walls."

    Dark pursed his lips, staring out the window. The tunnel was long gone—back to bright, yellowish LEDS highlighting the highway. How much longer were they to their new house, anyway? Thirty, twenty... maybe even ten minutes? Eh, he was too tired to properly guess.

    "True," he sighed, closing his eyes. He yawned wide, though he smirked through it. "You'll never get me to quit, though."

    Jack gave an amused scoff. "Maybe eventually," he said. "I'll never join you, though."

    Dark hummed, his head tipping and jerking back into place as his mind threatened to fall asleep. His eyes fluttered back open, dry and begging for rest, but he forced himself to stay awake. "I thought you liked it, though," he said. "Remember that one time you tried?"

    "In college?" Jack laughed, shaking his head. "Hell no! I just didn't want to look like a loser coughin' in front of all those other kids. Now that we're adults, they're the ones who're the losers." He rose a brow over at Dark. "You included."

    Dark chuckled, tempted to grab another cigarette just to spite him. "You say that, yet you're a whore for weed."

    "Ayy, listen, weed's good. I only do it when I'm really stressed."

    "Sure," Dark snickered. He shifted onto his side, resting his hands under his face and gazing at Jack. "Speaking of weed... you think there'll be dealers where we'll live?"

    Jack scoffed, glancing over at him with an incredulous look. "It's California, Dark."

    "I mean good ones," he said. "I'd never talk about that ratty shit."

    "We'll have to find out," said Jack with a shrug. "Yknow, yer ex—Mark—" Dark rose a brow at the name but ignored it. "He told me there's a man named Warfstache who has some really good drugs. So good that he was tempted not to move at all."

    "What kind of name is Warfstache?" laughed Dark, bringing his knees up to his chest. He shifted the jacket over his shoulders so it'd cover his body better. "Sounds like a drag queen or something."

    "All I know is that he's a good dealer," said Jack with a shrug. "I know I'll ask for a gram or two if I find him."

    "Sounds like a nutcase," he hummed, closing his eyes. He sighed, about to fall asleep again. "Are we there, yet?"

    Jack chuckled and patted Dark's shoulder. "Sleep," he said. "We'll be there in an hour."

    Dark sighed, and grumbled a curt "fine," nestling into the chair and closing his eyes, falling asleep in seconds.

    Eighty miles away, in those dark streets, Wilford's men cleaned up the remains of Chappie's dead body from the pavement, his eyes swollen shut and knees clutched into his chest.

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Thank you so much for readinggg! I won't be continuing this, so if you want to use this idea for a story, go all out! ☺️

Have a wonderful day, and see you tomorrow on Strangulate!

Love, Sh. A. xoxo