In daylight hours, Brad had a job with a long and grand sounding title that entailed him travelling from branch to branch delivering PowerPoint presentations accompanied by much pretentious business speak. His only real fear was that sooner or later someone would ask him what he was actually talking about in these meetings and discover that he didn't have a clue either.
Being employed as a professional bullshit artist came with a sizeable salary. One that allowed him to dress in a horrible fusion of Armani skate punk, complete with $2000 hand-crafted stingray skin hightops. Another of the things that came with his ill-earned wealth was a certain arrogance and cruelty.
The high-pitched squeals of small animals fighting caught Brad's attention. Rats were battling each other under the platform. It wasn't a sound you often heard, but the emptiness of the underground station amplified the squeaks.
Brad detached himself from his perch to investigate the commotion. The rats weren't visible from the platform yet, but Brad had a solution to remedy that problem. He removed a small packet of M&Ms from his pocket and emptied the contents onto the tracks below.
Rats are, by nature, hoarders and will never pass up the chance to scarper off with chocolatey goodness. The squeaking stopped as the M&Ms hit the tracks, the combatants breaking off their disagreement to stuff their mouths with as many treats as possible. Unfortunately while it was possible to fit three M&Ms in their little rat mouths, the curved shape of the outer shell caused the middle M&M to pop out repeatedly. Rat greed locked the rodents in an endless loop of attempting to insert that third M&M.
While the rats were busy, Brad retrieved a couple of cans from a drink dispenser and returned to watch the rodents. The first can split on impact with the rail and skittered off down the tracks, its pressurised contents spraying in all directions.
Laughing quietly as the startled rodents abandoned their midnight snack, Brad waited patiently until they resumed their feeding. He raised his arm to launch the second missile, when his wrist was caught in a steel grip. Spinning to face the interloper, Brad's smart rebuke died on his lips.
A tall, slender, Sudanese woman in a gold embellished turquoise sari, lowered Brad's arm and removed the can from his hand. The scalpel blades implanted in the tip of each finger leaving shallow cuts that barely broke the surface of his skin. She slowly shook her head, before gracefully lobbing the can into the nearest bin.
Brad followed the arc of the can as it hit the receptacle with a clang. He spun back to the woman, but she had vanished.
As he checked the platform before closing the station for the night, the guard found an expensively dressed young man wedged into a gap between two vending machines. The wild-eyed man was staring at the back of his hand that sported fine lines of dried blood and babbling incoherently about a razor girl.
Part of the RazorGirl!verse