They are rough and minimally edited for clarity. About once a week I'll post a new beginning. Hope you find them as interesting as I have.
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Pod held the long gun up at the ready, sitting astride his framework on the roof as the car swung around the corner. He had a black sash around his forehead. His arms were brown and muscular; scarred, partially covered by rags and tokens and bandages. But he was clean. One of the first rules. Preserve your health by staying clean. Important in a job that required top health.
Shotgun was a young man's job. Some old men were Shotguns; a few—the hardy, the uncommonly physically gifted. Those with the physiology for it.
Pod knew his job was precarious. Knew he might die before he retired or got promoted. Didn't care. He was feeding his sister and her brood as well as his tired old mother. They depended on him. And he was avenging his father's death. Not to mention his brother who had been slain by the Shotgun of a rival gang.
And Pod had plans for the future. Plans to settle down and hire a Shotgun of his own one day. Pod wanted to be a gang boss.
Letitia had no such plans. Letitia was a librarian, for such libraries as still existed, and prided herself on her ability to find any scrap of information or data needed. She wore glasses, a pair she had recovered from a tip that seemed to be just right.
She sat in the old, ancient room with dusty shelves surrounding her. A bit of light entered through the long tall window. The panes were filthy and full of cobwebs.