In a shadowed alcove Ferret drew the damp ended slug of his roll up eyeing an old television box nestled in an upper corner of the backbar and which was draped in techno colourful propaganda bunting and occultist rosaries.

Ferret had a small, spherical bald head disproportionate to his brawny frame which was leathery with hell-fire and sporadic nourishment. He had a wide mouth framed by a goatee he’d braided and secured with two emerald beads and was wearing eighties sky blue jeans and an oily jacket. His skin was tattooed with a watery blue ink and then veiled in fine, silver hairs. Above a v of sun-leathered ribs, Ferret's throat contracted, the beads in his tobacco stained whiskers bobbing with a glint of gold from their table's dying candle stubs.

He and his crew were freshly docked from Level Seven Violence's crates, crowds, crewman, humidity, unwashed armpits, streaked inner thighs and eighteenth century ship sails against scarlet storm clouds and above pink salt waters. Ferret's head dipped scrutinizing the backs of shoulders, necks and heads. Back at the dockyard, it's billboards where weather reports, news blasts and stock prices normally revolved, he'd got his first heads up on the fall of two gods of the Hierarchy.

Bad times.

Ferret had worked those docks since seventeen ten. A seventeen ten when angels n God were things ye feared. Ferret looked down at the dirt-darkened emerald painted table. A seventeen ten when not long not a lad his ma'am had'ad a resin one. Clear as day sittin' pride 'o place that angel. Long time ago that. Deep down still me ma'am's lad. Keep 'er in mind. Had ta keep things like that in mind, told all the new lads, otherwise ye'd go propa' rotten.

Ferret chewed the last of the paper's tobacco between his back teeth. Ney simple Ma'. There ain't no goo' or evil. I ain't an evil man. I still feel like ye boy. I try ta be. Survival ju' get in the way do'n't it? Didn't pick a side. Picked a man. Me friend, in' e? Ye'd respect that Ma. I know ye would.

Never been anything like this. Technology didn't exist back them. Messages were smaller, 'tween rival crews 'an gangs 'n dealers. Messages are safer when they're smaller. Weren't nothin' sacred t' Marc. Family. Ferret nodded. He's a good man. Yeah I'll follow ye, Marc. Ney for this though. I'll follow ye 'cause ye me bro'er. Ain't never seen a man who hates God like Marc du.

The back of an outstretched arm slammed against Ferret's chest. Ferret grunted his creased, blue eyes zigzagging over the skinny, sandy-haired lad he'd taken on as his newest crew member. The boy, recently human, deeply paranoid, was flat over the table his finger pointing urgently and his round eyes popping. Ferret's nose screwed and he slammed a hand down over the back of the boy's neck plastering him to the table "Don't point ye prat" Ferret sniffed