Glow, Part 1

"How tawdry, how dull." he thought. It was pathetic really, the attempt to invigorate the populace. No one wanted to know how or who or what the hell the new President was. They all knew that tomorrow would still happen. Taxes would still be collected, public transport would still run late and the people would still feel that their elected representatives were out of touch with reality.

Jenani Hurl dodged a taxi, zinging past well above the speed limit. Green eyes flicking from the live feed displaying the election results above a shop window to his destination on the other side of the busy street. "Michaeli’s. Goods bought and sold." proclaimed the hand lettered sign in the window. A dusty collection of out of date electrical goods, a tray of tarnished engagement rings and a couple of replica weapons adorned the display case behind the security grill. As Jenani reached the relative safety of the far pavement, a wedding dress on display caught his eye. It had intricate embroidery down the front, gold thread on white. It looked like the only thing in the window that was less than six months old. Discomforted by the change in window dressing, he cocked his head to the side, shrugging as he did so in a movement that any watcher knowing him would recognise.

A string of bells tinkled, tripped as he pushed through the heavy door. A hacking cough erupted from the back of the shop, hidden in the gloom. Jenani’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness.

"Alek? You open for trade?"

A snuffle accompanied the sounds of a heavy body dragging itself upright. An unpleasant gurgling, wheezing sound Jemani knew to be laughter emanated from behind the counter at the far end of the room.

"Always open, Jem-baby, always open. ’Specially for a star supplier like you." The gritty voice took form: a large, man-shaped being emerged from the shadows. "Got summat pretty for me?"

Jemani consciously dropped his broad shoulders and stepped forward. He hated coming in to drop goods at Alek’s. It stank of desperation to him. It gave him up for a mere thief, needing cash to survive. It denied his years of experience running high level intel missions for rival countries. His presence here made a mockery of the people who had died at his hand or by his side. He hated himself every time he crossed the threshold of Michaeli’s, but he hated his employers more. It was them that forced him to stoop this low. Them, that demanded he give up his integrity and professionalism for mere pay cheques. How he hated them. All of them.