Arachnid on a Mission...

[Klaus]

The nameless one walks the streets of his once fine city, his mind disturbingly free of his master’s whisperings for the moment. It seemed like a lifetime since he had last stepped foot upon the weathered concrete of Berlin’s sidewalks, yet every step he took reassured him. It was though his very soul had found something it had lost.

Pedestrians paid him no mind, for there was nothing extraordinary about him to the casual observer. He moved among the masses as he had done before his Umbral exile; ignored, unnoticed, overlooked. This was just the way he liked it.

He had a purpose, he knew where he needed to be and what he needed to do. He was unsure if the building he sought was still standing, and whether or not his shattered memories could be trusted, yet he had to see for himself.

Stopping for a moment at a set of traffic lights, he scans the handful of nearby street signs before turning down a side street and continuing on his way.

[Klaus]

After a few more minutes of walking, a feeling of satisfaction fills the anonymous figure’s body as he spies a familiar sign: “Jürgen’s Pet Haven”. Almost allowing himself a smile, he pushes-open the store’s door and steps inside.

He examines the store’s wares for a second-or-two before approaching the smiling, long-haired assistant standing behind the counter. His nametag reads ‘Klaus’.

“Morning,” Klaus says, “How can I help you?”

The nameless individual stares at the clerk for a moment, he didn’t appear familiar. This was not the man he was looking for.

“I...” His mind falters, struggling to form the words he wishes to use. It had been so long since he had last spoken out-loud.

A look of impatience appears on Klaus’ face.

“Yes?” He asks, frowning slightly.

The unnamed visitor takes an embarrassingly long moment to compose himself before continuing.

“J... Jürgen,” He says, finally, “I... I wish to... speak... to speak with... Jürgen.”

The clerk shakes his head and gives the stranger a shrug.

“Didn’tcha hear?” He says, “Jürgen checked-out a few months back.”

“‘Checked-out?’” The other man echoes, not quite able to conceal the look of confusion on his face.

“Yeah,” The cashier replies, “Grumpy fucker just stopped showin’ up t’work one day. Cops found him dead in his garage a couple days later.”

He gives his customer a smile.

“No complaints here,” He says, “Old prick had no family. Left the shop t’me. I was gonna change the name of the store, but I didn’t see the point wasting cash on registering a new business name, y’know what I mean?”

The nameless man didn’t know what the clerk meant, nor did he care.

“I... I require supplies,” He says, “E... equip... equipment for... housing spiders. Tanks, heat-lamps, water... sprayers... etcetera.”

Klaus looks the man over before responding.

“Err, yeah,” He says, “Sure thing. I got what you need out back. How many tanks you lookin’ at buying?”

The unnamed customer frowns a little.

“Buy... buying?” He repeats, the memory of speech slowly returning to him, “Five... five should be... sufficient. A... approximately the size of that fish tank.”

He points to a medium-sized fish tank on the wall behind the cashier. Klaus turns, looks at the tank and nods.

“Yeah, I got a few of those out back,” He says, “I’ll go grab ‘em now if you like.”

“Thank... you.” The customer says, forcing a smile as Klaus ducks through a door marked ‘Employees Only’.

Once the cashier has left the room, the anonymous man heads over to the door he entered through. Flipping-over the ‘open’ sign, he slides the lock closed and returns to the counter.

After a few moments, Klaus returns with a flatbed trolley half-loaded with stock.

“Here ya go, buddy,” He says, motioning to the trolley, “Lemme just write all this up for ya.”

He pulls-out a receipt-book and pen and begins scribbling away as his nameless customer clears his throat noisily.

He looks-up as the man’s phlegmy hack continues.

“You okay, buddy?” He asks, his voice tinged with concern.

And with that, the mysterious figure spits a gob of toxic venom into Klaus’ face. His scream is cut short by a sharp blow to the throat, his body falling limply across the counter as the enigmatic shopper wipes a dribble of venom from his lower lip.

He looks down at the twitching corpse of the former cashier, rolling him over onto his back. His face is a mess of bubbling flesh and exposed bone, the top of his collar sizzling a little.

The nameless customer's eyes wander further south, coming to rest on the man's name tag.

"K... Klaus." The man says, riping the tag free from the cashier's shirt.

Yes. He had forgotten the name he had gone-by in nights past, and needed a new one. 'Klaus' was as good as any other.

He stuffs the tag into his pocket, grabs the trolley-load of stock, and leaves the store.