Dead Awakened/Issue 2 (old)

Place: Courtyard Highrise Building>

Time: 8:18 AM, 102 minutes until flight arrival

Kenberg closes the door behind him silently. He tidies his jacket up a bit while he walks toward the end of the hall. Upon walking some feet away from his door, he starts hear echoes of a familiar voice, growing louder from the other end.

“… he’s twelve, Gina. He ain’t goin’ like that place! He’s all grown up!” A dark-skinned man wearing his workout gear, complete with sweatbands, was talking loudly on the cellphone clasped on his right ear.

He takes notice of Kenberg, doing a few glances as they got closer. “Hold on a sec—” He puts his cellphone down to his chest, covering it with his other hand.

“Mornin’ Kenny!” the man greets, a friendly grin on his face; his transition from serious to friendly was almost instant.

“H-hey Darrius,” he replies, smirking and waving at him. The man nods once, then instantly returns talking in his phone. “What about Chotski’s? They full?...”

The man he had just passed by was Darrius Hutchins. Once a desk jockey, he now serves as a bodyguard for his boss. Out of everyone in the firm, he’s visibly the most successful, mostly because of his background in education, and his family. Of course, he’s also the busiest.

Darrius’s voice fades behind him as he reaches the elevator to his left. He presses the down button once and stands in front of the shiny, silver doors.

He looks to his left side once, and sees Darrius already out of view; his room was actually his “office”, just on the opposite side of Kenberg’s door. Once he faces the elevator, the doors slide open. He finds nobody inside the elevator, much like normal early mornings, and steps inside.



He felt a bit nervous on the way down, mostly at the thought of saying hi to the concierge girl, Sam; he can’t imagine the awkwardness that’ll unfold upon doing it. Her silent, looking-down demeanor is enough to drive any regular in the apartment away.

The elevator beeps, and the doors swing open. Kenberg is greeted by the bright, sunny white light emanating from the field of entrance doors in front of him. He steps out of the elevator, and sees Sam to his far right corner. She looked the same, as it always has been for the past year; extremely curly hair tied to a ponytail, her eyes looking down on something hidden below the concierge counter.

He’s fully aware a simple “hi” wouldn’t suffice. So he’s got to change it up. He walks toward the entrance, glancing at Sam once along the way.

“Morning, Sam.” He follows it up with a faint smirk.

Surprisingly, she looks up at him. “Hey Ken.”

Hard part’s over. “Did uh… did Striker pass by not too long ago?”

“Uh…” Sam pauses, trailing her eyes across the entrance doors. “… y-yeah. I opened one of the doors for him about half an hour ago.”

“Oh. Alright.” He nods at her. “See ya.” She nods silently in reply, returning to her reading.

Nothing out of the ordinary today. Striker still knows when to walk himself. Sam is still the silent concierge girl.

At least now he can say to his uncle that he said hi to her.



He stuffs both his hands on the pockets of his leather jacket, looking left and right for Jaime. His car, let alone himself, seems to be nowhere in sight. All there was were the few other usual cars parked on the sidewalk, and some other cars driving along the street, people walking on the sidewalks. A normal day.

He’s a bit confused, but he knows Jaime will show up any time now. He’s always serious about his job, even if today’s technically a day-off. He’s always been serious about his job, no matter what the task was.

Kenberg stands there for a second, letting the mist come out of his mouth. It was a cold morning regardless of the sun clearly visible in the semi-cloudy sky.

He looks to his right, toward the neighboring coffee place he always likes to visit at a time like this. Peet’s Coffee and Tea. Not a week goes by when he doesn’t visit it.

He could smell the coffee beans brewing as soon as he entered. There were at least four other people present, sitting on their respective tables, talking amongst themselves.

The coffee smell and atmosphere makes Kenberg smile, as he approaches the cashier. A young caucasian man, probably in his teens, was there to take his order.

“I’ll just have the caffé Americano,” he orders. The cashier nods and types the register with ease. “Three forty-five, please.”

As Kenberg was handing him the money, he couldn’t help but notice the pair of eyes looking at him from his left. He glances him a few times, and sees him wearing a dark-brown beanie.

Once the sliding pop of the register sounds, he takes his receipt and scrapes the coins off the counter, slipping it on his jean pocket. He walks over to his left, where he’d receive his coffee, and where the pair of eyes came from.

He gets a better view of the person looking at him; aside for his tightly-worn beanie, he wore the standard brown employee apron. The man wasn’t looking at him this time, instead looking left and right at the tools and utensils below him, as if he was completely clueless.

“Um…” the man starts. He had a dark-brown, bushy beard, its color just a bit richer than his faded beanie. “You got a coffee, right?”

Kenberg looks at him weirdly. “Uh… yeah.”

“Right…” The man scratches his forehead while he continues to figure out his own confusion. Kenberg doesn’t mind at all; coffee is always coffee, and if he does something funny with it, he’ll see it for himself.

“Um…” The man looks to his teenaged co-worker, who was looking weirdly at him too, much like Kenberg.

“Yeah, um…” The man stops what he’s doing, and turns to his right. “Hey, Grace!” he shouts.



“So uh, yeah… my bad.” The bearded man raises his coffee cup at Kenberg, an apologetic, pursed-lips expression on his face.

He doesn’t know how this happened; five minutes ago, the barista calls for his manager, then one thing led to another. Now Kenberg’s got his coffee on his hand, while he’s sitting down with the barista in question, lacking his apron, right in front of him.

“Um…” He shakes his head slowly, and takes a sip of his cup. “I—it’s fine.”

The man replaces his expression with a smile. “Awesome.” The man continues to look at him.

“Did you really just… quit?” Kenberg asks, hoping to banish the awkwardness from his look.

The man looks at the manager, a middle-aged Latina woman who has taken his spot. She returns it with an unimpressed look.

“Yeah,” he says, in stride.

“Oh.” Kenberg pauses, and takes another sip.

“I’m tired of it, you know? My wife’s been buggin’ me to get a… ‘real’ job. Being a coffee… mixologist doesn’t feel like a real job. To me, at least.” He pauses, takes a long sip of his coffee, and leans back on his seat casually.

“I mean, sure I don’t make enough oiling the canvas, expressing myself through color, shape, and… c-complexity—but I love doing it. I work hard to get paid for that shit. I—I stand there, in the sidewalk, or… in a… coffee shop like this—” He looks around the place. “—to get commissions, money. I didn’t even get a degree! Spent a lot of time in the navy—but I don’t care! Who needs a sailor nowadays?” He leans forward and prepares to tap the surface of the table with his index finger. “I. Have. A job. Already.”

Kenberg, a bit astonished, couldn’t help but just look at him. “So uh… so you paint?”

“Bingo,” the man replies, leaning back again and drinking his coffee.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t want to say it, but he reminds him of those walking, rambling hobos wandering in the streets. The beard, the headgear, and the attire seals it all up.

“I’m Echo, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Oh, uh—” The man interrupts him by taking out his cellphone from his pocket. Kenberg doesn’t know if he should go on, or wait.

“Go ahead,” the man named Echo requests, putting the cellphone on his ear. “Still gotta ring.”

“I-I’m Kenberg.”

“Kenberg.” Echo nods, and smiles. “Where do you… hold on.”

He stops relaxing on his chair as his face becomes more serious. “H-hello? Diane?”

Kenberg could hear the loud voice on the other end of his phone.

“Okay, but you knew it wasn’t going to happen from the start.” Echo pauses, glancing him once. “Taxi’s are expensive! Do you know how much more money we’d lose?” He playfully points at his phone and looks at him with a teasing expression.

“Thank—thank you honey. See ya here.” He hangs up, and places the cellphone back in his pocket.

“Man. Sometimes I think my own wife is my mother. Always wanting the best for me…” Echo finishes his coffee after a long chug.

“Anyway… so, uh, where do you work, Ken?”

He couldn’t believe he just downed his coffee like it was beer, or water. “I… I’m a bodyguard. I—I live on the building next to this place. That’s pretty much our office…”

“Oh, that place?” Echo’s change in expression tells him that he seems to be familiar with it. “Hm. So you’re a big shot, eh?”

Kenberg smirks, out of modesty. “I—uh—no… not really. The pay’s pretty standard.”

“Oh. Well, as long as you’re not showing your money around like the rich people in this god-forsaken city, then… we’ll be fine.”

Kenberg nods, just about becoming aware of the time he’s spent talking to him. Maybe Jaime’s already waiting for him out there.

He looks at the entrance to confirm it, but instead sees a woman entering instead. She wore a cargo jacket to accompany her messily-tied top-knot.

“Echo!” she grumbles, stomping towards him. He assumes a look if grumpiness and turns to her.

“Do you know how kind enough Grace was to give you this job?” She glances her once, while Echo tries to maintain his attention. “There were five other people in line wanting this job, and all you do is throw it away! Do you know how much you’d make working here in a month as opposed to… selling those paintings?”

Echo stands up, as his overall expression becomes less proud, and more regretful. It was evident to Kenberg that the woman shouting at him was his wife.

“I—I know, but…”

“But, nothing! What are you gonna do for money now? I’m already working two jobs here to maintain the apartment… while all you do is paint, and wait an eternity to get paid! Ever thought of using that navy experience for once—”

Echo looked defeated at this time, not bothering to face her wife. “—Okay, okay… I—I get your point.” He wasn’t proud to be arguing in front of a person he just met.

“I—I just… don’t feel like working here, alright?”

“Don’t feel like working here? Is it because I’m not here? You know we don’t have room on the other—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pauses, looks at her, and puts his hands in her arms. “Look. I’m old enough to get my own job. You don’t need to help me out on that.”

Diane starts to lose her fuming expression. “I like painting. Love it. I… I was lazy before. Wasn’t looking hard enough for commissions. I’ll…” He puts his hands down, and smiles at her. “I’ll try harder this time. Call up a few people who bought my stuff a while ago. Search up new clients.” His pleading look was starting to influence her.

Her look of fierceness starts to subside, changing her first impression with Kenberg to a much calmer one. “All I… all I ask is some help. It’s awesome being the breadwinner, but… I still need help, you know.”

“Yeah.” Echo proudly nods. “I gotcha.” He turns to Kenberg, who was trying his best not to pay attention, innocently drinking his coffee.

“S’why I married this woman.” Echo points to Diane while he looks around in the room; his only audience was Grace, who seemed to look more pleased this time, the teenaged cashier, and Ken.

“Alrighty then.” Echo picks up his empty cup, while Diane says her goodbye to Grace. She then walks to the entrance door, looking at Echo to see if he’s following.

“I’ll see ya ‘round, Ken,” Echo says, as a farewell. He rushes to his wife’s side. “Did you know that guy was my first and last customer?...” he says to her, as their voices fade.

As soon as the couple vanishes, Kenberg notices Jaime coming into view, walking casually in the sidewalk, probably looking for him.