"Topic Title Here"

Cyrus looked down at the Den Den Mushi snail he had retrieved from the tidal pool earlier that day. The snail stared back up at him, unbothered by being carried by the strange man. It stared through him more than at him, its bulbous eyes unblinking and it seemed to not have a care in the world.
Not the brightest little guys are ya? Cyrus asked the snail tucked underneath his arm.
The snail simply stared forward in silence as Cyrus made his way through the throng of pirates, vagrants and overall degenerates that lined the streets of Mock Town so late at night.

Oh well, don't need to be smart, just effective. Now let's find ourselves a place to get to work, huh? Cyrus said to the snail, who again simply stared forward as snails of course couldn't talk. The Revolutionary wandered the streets for some time, passing bars and clubs, shops closed for the night and various other old buildings. The last time he had tried putting together one of his little experiments at a bar he had melted a chunk of bar top the size of both his fists straight through. Needless to say he had not been asked back to that bar since and Cyrus had learned his lesson about picking the right spot.

As he walked he passed by a particularly old, nearly crumbling and decrepit house. The house was slanted, as if sagging into the earth as its supports bent and buckled. Most of the windows had been nailed over with plywood, the few that weren't sat with broken glass, sunken into the face of the house. A rusted through, chainlink fence lined the perimeter of the small estate and the house was darker than the night itself.

Hmm definite murder house....or...or a possible substitute laboratory? Cyrus thought aloud, tapping his finger on his chin.
Yes indeed, I think this could be just the thing we need.

With that, the Revolutionary pushed on the gate to the chain link fence and cringed as the gate fell from its rusted hinges and clattered to the ground at his feet. He looked around the street to see numerous vagrants and hobos eye him angrily. Cyrus offered a sheepish grin and slight wave to some of them,
Sorry folks, probably won't happen again.

He then carefully stepped over the fallen gate, avoiding stepping on the old rusted wires and causing more of a scene, as well as avoiding possible tetanus, and walked up the door of the house. He grabbed the bronze handle and pushed, only to find it securely locked.
That's odd...owners must have locked it up to keep the local riff raff out. Cyrus thought allowed before really putting his shoulder into the door.

The door budged, the hinges and locks hissing beneath the weight of his shoulder but somehow managed to hang firm.
Really? The old abandoned house, rotting from the inside out just so happens to have a bank vault sturdy door? Cyrus asked the door directly only to snap his fingers as he realized what he could do.

Slashing his hand across the door frame with his threads, he watched as the pieces of wooden door collapsed to the ground floor of the house. He looked back to see a lone hobo staring at him from the street, metal can in hand, the man frowning at the commotion caused once again by the Revolutionary. Cyrus stared back at him before shooting him a finger gun gesture and a greasy smile. He then disappeared into the darkness of the old house and off the prying eyes of the street.

Inside he encountered the smell of human filth and feces. It smelled of rotting flesh and disease. Though he could hardly make it out in the dim light from the doorway, Cyrus could feel pieces of discarded trash littering the floor and brushing up against his boots as he walked. The sound of dozens of flies buzzed about the room in various corners, confirming the rotten smell.

Oi, who's there? Came a voice from the darkness. Cyrus turned to his left, towards the voice, trying to discern anything he could from the deep darkness. Moments later a lamp flickered on as Cyrus found himself staring at what he could only think of to be a rotting corpse holding an oil lantern in one hand and an old, rusty shotgun in the other. One of the two items was pointed level with Cyrus's chest and it wasn't the oil lantern.

The hell is you doin in my place of business? The walking corpse asked and in the light Cyrus could see the man had maybe 4 teeth left in his entire head, making his speech nearly impossible to discern. The Revolutionary looked around the rotting house, trash piled up in corners and spilled out into man made pathways. Stained mattresses had been thrown down haphazardly. Some were occupied by other walking corpses, needles sticking from their arms. Others lay empty, stains of varying colors, smells, and sizes the only occupants in these beds.

Respectfully sir, the hell kind of business happens here? Cyrus asked, both curious and concerned for the people in the mattresses. Some looked dead, others were faintly breathing and there were at least two Cyrus was positive were definitely dead and had been for some time now.

This? Wah this her is Randy's Crack Home. You got the cash we got the...crack...sh. Randy said, rolling the sh across his gums in thought, knowing it didn't sound right but his drugged mind too slow to process what exactly was wrong. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of the confusing thought, Randy adjusted the shotgun, emphasizing that it was still in fact there.
Anywho, don't matter wah this her is, jus matter that yous is trespessin. Dis her is mah properteh, wish means I can kills you on account of yous tresspessin.

Before Cyrus could even utter an explanation or word of denial, the cracked up idiot pulled the trigger of the shotgun. Cyrus jumped back reflexively, tightening his body and preparing to be ripped apart by shrapnel. However, instead a simple clicking noise filled the tension soaked air and Cyrus opened his eyes, pat his chest down with one hand and looked up at the man who looked equally as confused.

What in the- Randy began and dropped the butt of the shotgun to the floor, peering down the barrel with one eye.
Uh I'm no gun expert but I wouldn-
Randy tested the trigger again, trying to see what was wrong with the inner workings of his gun.
Randy quickly came face to face with a single shotgun slug, traveling hundreds of miles per hour through his eye and out the backside of his head.

From Cyrus's perspective the man's head exploded in a bloody, brainy mess. Although the Revolutionary wasn't entirely sure what had happened, the man's body crumpled to the floor. Apparently Randy had only had enough ammunition to load up one barrel of his double barrel shotgun. When he pulled the trigger earlier he pulled it enough to activate the firing mechanism of the first barrel, but not hard enough to activate the second firing mechanism of the second barrel. Fast forward to Randy pulling it again while looking down the barrel and what do you get? Well...Randy...splattered on the ceiling...and the floor...and even some of Randy on the drapes.

Cyrus stared at the dead body, his jaw hanging in awe and shock. Some bodies moved on the mattresses around him, but quickly returned to their drug induced stupors. Cyrus looked down at the snail under his arm, the snail simply stared back with a bored expression. Shaking his head, the Revolutionary stepped forward and took the oil lantern from Randy's now lifeless hand. In silence he tip toed around the mattresses and their occupants, careful not to disturb anymore of the drug addicts.

Reaching what was once the kitchen of the house, Cassius found an old table with a body on top. He wasn't sure whether the young man was alive or dead, but figured if he was alive then pushing him off the table would wake him up. If he was dead, well then he really wouldn't mind being pushed off the table now would he?

Turned out the guy was alive, as he fell from the table he sat straight up, screamed, looked at Cyrus, screamed, and then collapsed again into his drug induced coma.
The hell are these guys taking? Jeez. Cyrus said with a shake of his head as he placed the snail on the table along with the lantern for a light source.

He began picking out the pieces of scrap metal and wiring he had gotten from the dumpster the night before and placing them on the table beside the snail, who regarded everything with the same bored expression.
Not the most sterile of environments, but I'm not doctor and you snails are pretty resilient. Alright then, let's get started. The Revolutionary said with a mischievous grin.

Hours later Cyrus exited Randy's Crack Home with a new Den Den Mushi in hand. He wasn't sure if he'd sell it or keep this one for himself, the little bastard was tough throughout the whole operation and Cyrus had to admit he had grown a bit attached to the lifeless stare the Den Den Mushi seemed to regard everything with. He yawned as he stepped over the fallen gate and turned down the street towards the rising sun. Today was a new day and he wondered what other fun stories lay in wait.

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