As he walked through the dark streets of Angles, Requiem felt a strange sense of tranquility wash over him. He had always liked the feeling of the city, at night. It had a special kind of feeling to it, which ate you whole, and made you feel so isolated. The night was his cloak, as he stole through the generally quiet city streets, walking towards his old broadcasting station.
He would arrive just in time for a special broadcast. He smiled to himself, and pulled his hood up over his head. His black coat trailed behind him the in air, as he walked.
Around him, he could feel the city, so to speak. It was a quiet night tonight, with not much going on. He gave a quiet sigh, and lost himself, as he walked.
This job was working out better then he could have dreamed.
When he finally got to what used to be his private domain, they refused to let him in, at first. It was not a particularly impressive building, but it was all he needed. A couple of seconds after he had finished knocking on the door, which was made of the remnants of a table-top, it opened a crack. An eye appeared in the crack. A thin chain still held it shut.
“And what of the world?” a voice from within asked quickly. Requiem rolled his eyes.
“Dead, let us rejoice and enjoy,” he sighed. He had made it up himself, though he had been wanting to replace it for a while, now. There was a pause.
“Who are you, and how?” the voice asked. There was a clanking, and the door was suddenly open wide in front of him. Standing before him was an extraordinarily thin fellow, wearing jeans and a T-shirt that looked like they would fit a skeleton. His sunken eyes and curled, wiry silver hair made him look slightly like exactly that.
“Come on, it hasn’t been that long, Jerem,” Requiem sighed. The man stepped aside, allowing him to step inside.
“James?” he said, in wonder. “I thought that you’d gotten screwed over after those bastard agents stole you for that work over.”
“Whatever made you think that?” he asked sarcastically.
“Well, they came and told us that, for starters,” Jerem said, looking at James strangely, as though there was something strange about him. Requiem clenched his fists, his urge to laugh at the irony of how the agents had screwed themselves over, won over by his urge to hit something.
“Well it hasn’t been that long, has it now,” he said, steadily. “And obviously, I’m here, and I’m just Requiem, so is there any problem?”
“Well,” Jerem said slowly, looking nervous. “You’ve been replaced, that’s the thing…”
“What?!” Requiem shouted, starting forwards. Jerem backed away quickly.
“What were we supposed to do, forget the message? No, we had to do it man, nothing personal.” Requiem watched the scared mans face, and took a deep breath, unballing his fists. His hands were shaking, he found, to his slight surprise.
“Ok, I understand. But I’m back now, so when do we start again?” Jerem’s face twisted uncomfortably. Requiem felt his heart rate increasing. He sensed that something was wrong.
“That’s the thing; we kind can’t let you start again. DJ_FallOutB is our new guy,” he said steadily, his face set. Requiem brought a hand up to his face, and closed his eyes, muttering silently.
“Listen man, I’m sorry, it’s just business,” Jerem said quickly.
“Since when did the people become business to you?” Requiem asked, his voice quivering slightly.
“Look man, you kno-” But he stopped, as Requiem raised a hand, to silence him. Without saying a word, he shoved past Jerem, and started up the wooden steps.
“Hey James, what are you doing? You can’t,” Jerem shouted after him, but Requiem was not listening. Ignoring Jerem’s continued protests; he pushed through the door at the top of the steps. Down the hallway, and through the metal door, that he knew led to the broadcasting room.
In front of him, was his favourite chair, in front of the wooden desk, upon which the base broadcasting module. His main problem was that there was already someone sitting on the chair, using his headphones.
The new guy was a young guy, no more then seventeen, with short, blond hair, and a dirty white T-Shirt. He started when Requiem barged in, messing up a segment he was saying, just as he entered. He stared at Requiem in disbelief. Requiem smiled evilly.
He sat down on the extra, wooden chair, pulled the spare microphone down, and, before the new kid could stop him, flicked the “On” switch on. He felt a stab of satisfaction, partially at the now green light on the microphone, but mostly at Mr. FallOut’s look of surprised horror.
“Sorry for the interruption, dear people, but we have a bit of a special situation here, so I think a special program is in order. I’m sure you know who I am, your very own DJ Requiem, but the thing is, it seems I’ve been replaced while I was away, but the question is, what do you guys want, people? That’ll be the issue of tonight’s Special call-in show.” He particularly savoured saying those last three words.
“Well, the truth is we thought you were dead, man,” Fallout laughed, finally recovering from the initial shock. “But I don’t know how you plan to do the call i-”
“Cut the crap, pretty boy,” Requiem laughed, shaking his head. “The phone number is 2112 133 769, and remember, I would love to hear your opinion on me being replaced by this guy.” He watched, with a growing sense of satisfaction, as FallOut’s face fell, as he heard their secret phone number broadcast. At a noise, Requiem glanced behind him, and saw Jerem standing in the doorway, looking shocked. He gasped. Requiem smiled.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jerem mouthed silently. Requiem merely gave him a sweet wave, and a grin. Just then, a clanking ringing of a phone filled the room, echoing around it.
“…and we have our first caller,” Fallout stuttered. Slowly, he put his finger forwards, and pressed the speaker-phone button.