Chapter 1: part 1: edge

Chapter 1: Part 1: Edge

[Milo's POV]

I snapped another beautiful little bar, hastily popping half a Xanax and looking around the dingy lower area of the Ninth Ward New Orleans cesspit apartment Samael and I were squatting in. This place was a dumpy, dingy, and ratty squalor-hole, but it was all we could afford- A.K.A. : NOTHING. It's hard to get a job when you've been on the run this long...

My Butt-Ugly brother emerged from the back room. There it was as always, resentment simmering in my fucking swimming pool of a brain. His creepy fucking milky green and gray eyes.

Jesus Christ, I can't believe I still hate him more after all those years split in group homes. But his sun-bleached black dreads always kept reminding me of our fucking sociopath father. He didn't give a shit what Dad did though. All Sam cared about was scamming'n getting caught. I wanted to tell Samael my plan to scam our way into an apartment. So we could stop drifting.

He stood there eying me standing straight up at 6′4". He knows I hate when he tries to talk literally and physically down to me. So, I piped up first.

"I saw some shit on a pole bout some 'private investigator' B.S." I nearly snarled at my brother trying to stand too now, meeting his weird-fuck unwavering eye contact...I hate that he doesn't react until you do, makes me feel like a caged animal. "We can head to the library when they come to fumigate this fuck-nest for roaches" I smiled at my own joke, maybe he'll get the hint... "and make our own flyer, pretend to follow some rich assholes, and say we found nothin'!"

He flashed a weird smile. his creepy and honestly fucking odd smile but he made sure to nod before turning his head and reaching into his pocket when he said,"Y'know, lil bro....."

--FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. My mind blasted to orbit, in rage as his stupid godamn little pissing contest had begun already.

"I actually had a good idea as well. Serendipitous how our similar minds still sync the same way...Wanna hear it?" He scratched his dreads as his light-colored eyes flashed with sadism. "We been doin' allot of 'Grab and Dashes' lately, and last time that sweaty guy nearly shot us." He let out a small nasty chortle that sounded like grating rocks.

"Can you get to the motherfucking point Sam for the love of god!" My left eye twitched as I fished out the other half bar of Xanax. Chewing my bitter little baby on reflex. I rubbed the plastic on my newest tattoo as I felt it bleed oozily. "Hate me". I smiled at myself again as Sam just waited for me to come back to our conversation

From his ripped cargo shorts, he fished out a half 3d printed white Glock 19. from the shitty pockets of his ripped cargo shorts "I'm not fucking around any longer Olim," he aimed the gun at my face, waiting for me to flinch…

I sat there looking up at my fraternal twin with a sneer on my face. One green/milky sightless eye, and his malice-filled gray eye. And I knew this was more than just someone "defending themselves"...

I twitched as I realized the gun had no magazine. "Did you just reverse my name....—god, fuck you." I slapped the gun from his dumbass hand. It flew and cracked through the wood rot-filled floor of the apartment. It thudded loudly into a rat-filled seam in the floorboard.

"FUCK!" We screamed in unison as I felt Samael's seething anger fill the silence.

"Hey man just be cool...we need rest for tomorrow. I'll fish it out, my bad okay?"

[Samael's POV]

Milo's insistent bitching was giving me a cranial bisecting migraine, but I tried to ignore it. I needed my brother, as much as I hated to admit it. We were two sides of the same crusted coin.

I retreated to my modest little room again. The one place I could get away from Milo's constant bitterness. I lit some candles and burned sage, whispering the ritual Haitian words I'd learned to keep dark spirits at bay. But lately, the rituals weren't working as well. The sibilant voices wrapping at the edges of my mind like annoying stray cats.

Ever since we came to this dark swampy place, New Orleans, I'd felt a sinister presence lurking. An ancient entity, hungry for chaos. It had spoken to me in sinister whispers, goading me to violence.

I'd named it, The Bagman...

I do not know if I am spat out redundantly to this karmic cycle to enact the deranged and petulant whims of what feels like my past yet maybe my destiny.

"Your brother hates you, Samael" the Bagman's voice echoed in my mind. "He resents your power. Why not show him who's in control?" the bodiless voice whispers cloaking my mind in my favorite feeling....hate. I smiled as I imagined Milo's rage.

Perhaps the Bagman was right. Maybe it was time to remind my brother why he should fear me.

*knock* *knock* my brother cracked the door. Tossing the nearly lost weapon into a pile of stolen clothes wed been wearing for the past 2 moons. "Don't do that shit again..." He slammed the door like he owned the vacant apartment we paid nothing for.

I pocketed the unloaded gun I'd printed. A prop for my little game. Milo's reaction would be entertaining to what I had planned as a little scrumptious and advantageous side quest if you will.

In truth, I needed him. We were two monsters, bound together by our past sins. New Orleans would be our playground of depravity. If only Milo would see we were stronger and united.

The Bagman would see to that. Its thirst for mayhem was useful, for now. But I would not become its slave. The occult forces in this city may have marked me, but I was still the master of my own fate.

Thoughts of our low-functioning serial killer father still made me laugh. Why hunt young girls and hurt those who can't even fight back? I'm going to show him what a true Apex hunter of both mind, spirit, and body can do to cleanse this plane of the existence of the dregs and garbage.

I should get a crawfish gumbo as well.....