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A Moment of Weakness

 
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“Every rose, has its thorn… just like every night, has its dawn… just like every cowboy, sings a sad, sad song…” BOOM!

The music stopped abruptly as the .50 calibre round turned the refurbished stereo back into the pile of scrap it had started as, albeit now in slightly less potentially useful condition.

 

That one is not going in the fucking daily mix.

 

Markus sighed and holstered the revolver as he stood up from the amorphous pile of scrap he had been working on.

 

Damn it, I need a drink

 

The abandoned house he was using for his workshop this week offered few comforts beyond keeping the rain off his machines. To either side of the device he had just permanently put out of service were large metal contraptions. One was clearly a distillery of a scale that would suggest Markus was considering opening his own bar. The other, was the cobbled together scrap that formed his personal computer terminal, used almost exclusively for monitoring and updating his radio broadcast. He had been previewing the latest batch of audio files when a stint of sappy songs finally pushed his limits. It was this recent perchance for melancholy that provided an excuse for the oversized home brewery.

 

He opened a beer. I wonder if I could isolate the emotions gene and remove it. This humanity is entirely inefficient

 

 He sat on the floor; there was no furniture, just his tools and collection of spare pieces of junk.

 

Who am I kidding? I’d miss those fleeting moments that make this shithole world liveable

 

 He scanned the room, noting the open boxes of shells near his shotgun, then the black smoking stereo.

 

Damn, shouldn’t have done that. It’s going to suck using up processing power on previewing new material while I repair the piece of shit.

 

He finished the beer and tossed the can into the air, then pulled his gun and blasted a hole in it so large that the aluminum cylinder nearly split in two.

 

I hate beer.

 

He turned a spigot on the distiller and filled a bottle with his latest batch of mead. Stepping over to the computer, he found his microphone. He stared at it for a while, remembering the party just the night before.  Wasteland Asylum went pretty well for his first Monday night party.

 

Come on Markus, you’re a DJ, cheer up. DJ Blood doesn’t brood or get upset over trivial shit. DJ Blood doesn’t shoot his only freestanding music player when some song comes on that makes him feel something. That is what crazy technophile hermits do, and no one likes crazy technophile hermits. Now suck it up, do your mic check, and go back to fixing your toys.

 

He took a deep breath, followed by a long gulp from the bottle. After checking to make sure the microphone wasn’t broadcasting, he turned it on to check it still worked after throwing it across the room earlier.

 

“Check, check, this is DJ Markus Blood coming to you live on the one and only Wasteland Radio!”

 

He forced a smile as he talked. When he was done, he turned it off and stepped out of the house to sit on the patch of dry grass next to his bike.

 

It was late morning then, and early afternoon by the time the bottle was dry. He knew he was drunk. In fact, he had been drunk all day. He didn’t used to drink like this, but then again, he didn’t used to feel like this either.

 

Life was fucking easier before I woke up.

 

He tossed the bottle, letting it smash in the street as he rose and suited up in his armour. He hopped on his bike and pulled away. No one noticed as he headed north out of town: Wasteland Radio blaring at maximum volume.

Comments

((Yay! My first Markus story and it's a dark one, hehe. I don't know why but I felt like giving you all a little glimpse into the lesser-seen personal side of WLR's normally friendly and easy-going DJ))

((Markus shoots his own radio equipment? Now I know how I you managed to get your mic to work properly! "You saw what happened to your pal... "  *mic starts working*))

The llama's called. They want their drama back.

((haha yeah he has his moments, especially when he's had a few drinks. Sometimes the brute force method works though Tongue out))

(I will need to remember not to get on your bad side.. and avoid your pmsing. *wink*  Kinda even feel bad for Markus.. and Antonio is right .. we seriously need to find you a woman.) 

((*laughs* hey Markus isn't that emo is he? Ok maybe in this story he is, but that was the point. Normally I play him as a pretty happy and lighthearted guy: smiling, laughing, cracking jokes. I feel sometimes that he might come off as one dimensional, like, he's too much of the "good guy". That is part of what inspired me to write this. He has his own issues and demons to work out, but he keeps them bottled up out of sight, or tries to at least.

He's kinda become a borderline alcoholic as a way of coping))



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