Had this been any other year, Pockets would’ve charged at the man, weaponless, and with his arms held out. Practically begging for death…as he had been for years.
But now, since his abuse of ADAM and EVE set it, along with the cozy life he was now living in a hovel with a few other splicers, he found himself genuinely happy for the first time in months.
He wasn’t about to let some young gun from the surface take away his quaint set-up. Thinking as quickly as his twisted brain would let him, he stood up on his knees. With a grin, he pulled his tattered tux jacket open, one shirt at a time. It was lined with hand-sewn pockets, each bulging with unknown items.
“…Whatcha wanna buy? Trade? Sell? You want it, I got it.”
When he sat up on his knees, he cocked the gun, prepared to shoot. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was watching as he pulled open his tux jacket and asked him if he wanted to buy.
Well, he did have some money. But he wasn’t willing to buy.
He took a step forward,glancing over all of the pockets stuffed with unknown things that he couldn’t distinguish. He shook out his electrobolt plasmid, then holding the hand out to him.
“ADAM. All that you have.”