It's always raining. The size of the drops, or their ferocity, didn't matter anymore. It's always raining.

Ducking into a shop, the man stood under the harsh and yellowed light of a single dirty overhead light. A greasy looking man sat at the til on a stool and chewed on the end of a cigar and he scanned the day's paper, looking for the juiciest bits of people's misfortunes for his own entertainment.

Shaking his head to rid his hair of droplets, the man headed towards the coffee station. A pale and scarred hand reached out to take the largest cup on display.

With his mind sternly commanding his hand to cease its tremors, the hand stayed still long enough so he could pour the coffee into the cup. He put the coffee pot back and hastily covered his other hand by tugging down his worn shirt sleeve, lest someone see what was etched into his skin.

He walked over, slightly limping, to the man at the counter. Placing the coffee cup down gently, he motioned for Greasy Man to hand him a pack of cigarettes.

With an expression that showed he was not happy about having this customer, Greasy Man reached under the counter and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slapped them on the table, denting the package in the process.

After looking at the pack and then at the Man, the ginger haired man snatched the pack and his coffee and began to leave the store.

"You need to pay for those!" Greasy Man growled, his hands reaching back underneath the counter.

Ginger slowly watched Man's movements and sipped his coffee. "Finish that move and it'll be your last," he said slowly.

"And what are you going to do about it, you ginger fuck?" Man scoffed, tightening his grip on the trusty and rusty old shotgun his hands were wrapping themselves around. The smooth worn wood of the stock and the cold unforgiving steel of the barrel felt as familiar as his old wife's body.

Taking two large steps, Ginger was back at the counter except this time he had leaned over slightly and grabbed Man's stained and dirty shirt in his hand. Ginger's other hand slowly swept a waterlogged lock off his left cheek.

Seeing what was on his cheek, Man quickly let go of the shotgun and wrenched himself free from Ginger. The fear that made Man's eyes sparkle in the yellow light and made his breath catch in his throat made Ginger feel good. Powerful. Alpha.

"That's what I fucking thought," he said darkly, lowering his hand and walking out of the store. He could see Man still collecting his thoughts and wits as he ducked h is head to light a cigarette.

The smoke unfurled and floated into the grey skies. Tilting his head back, Ginger let the cold drops fall on his face and closed his eyes. The cold water felt good against his scars and healing wounds.

He ran a hand down his face and his fingers skimmed over the contusion underneath his left jaw and he winced. That had been a mistake, to challenge his former captors who beat him within an inch of his life, but it had been worth it. He now had his freedom and all it had cost was his humanity. What little was left, anyways.

Taking a step, Ginger set off from the grungy dirt covered poor district towards the glittering neon Red Light District. The District where all sins and fantasies could be had for the right price. Where alcohol and drugs numbed your pathetic existence and made you forget about the mortgage, the kids and the failing marriage. Where humans were bought and sold for carnal consumption.

He reached the edge of the District, the neon lights and signs creating distorted art in the street's rain puddles. An old Auntie was leaning against the doorway of her cobbled together shack. Patched and stitched rags covered her, hiding her emaciated body. A wig that had seen better centuries was haphazardly pinned to her head, age and arthritis preventing her from wearing the matted and stinking wig properly.

"One ryo, one hole," she shouted at Ginger, trying to be heard over the rain and the music being pumped from the nightclubs. When Ginger crossed the street and entered the District she smiled. Her teeth were atrocious; stained brown from chew, cracked from age and the gums almost non existent from decades, if not a lifetime, of neglect. She grinned again when Ginger stopped a half a block from her shanty and waited with his hands in his pockets.

"If you're going to sell, sell" he said and waited to hear her sales pitch.

Taken aback, Old Whore was at a loss for words. Usually the men she serviced, who were all poor and all in varying degrees of giving up on life, just wordlessly paid her the coin and slid inside of her. It didn't matter to them if they were visible in the streets. Some of the more private ones request that they fuck inside.

Laws against lewdness, prostitution, vice of all kinds, didn't apply in the District. There was no law enforcement here and the underclass and their pimps and owners drove out, or murdered, anyone who tried to bring some sense of Justice and order to their District. There were only two absolutes in this world: children were to be protected and predator humans were to be caught and taught a lesson.

Looking at Old Whore, Ginger shook his head slightly and made a noise of disappointment. "I think it's time you got out of the game, Granny."

Granny narrowed her eyes at this impudent upstart. "And go where?! I have no family, my friends are buried and to get any level of service in this godforsaken shit hole city requires money! Which I also don't have!" She retorted, wrapping her rags around her body haughtily, a behaviour that gave a brief glimpse into her old life before she ended up here.

Shrugging, Ginger replied slowly, "then I suppose you'll die. Such is life." He turned from her and continued walking into the District, the neons and the pulsing music drawing him in deeper and deeper, towards its core and promising to slake his thirst for whatever it may be.