"Shit, that feels a lot better," Jagger exhaled as he plopped down on the couch after taking a cold shower and having canned tuna and baked beans for dinner.
The room was a perfect bubble of quiet. On the second floor of the beauty salon, the staff lounge had remained untouched by the chaos outside. It was a small, comfortable space with faded wallpaper, a scarred coffee table, and a worn-out couch that welcomed Jagger's weight like an old friend. The air was faintly scented with lemon cleaning wipes and stale perfume. Through the curtains, the city outside had settled into a deep, uneasy silence.
In front of him lay the Bone Rattlers, vambraces, and band, their surfaces reflecting the faint glow from a single battery-powered lantern. He had cleaned himself as best as he could, scrubbing blood and grime from his skin under the cold spray of the shower. The food had been basic, but it was fuel, and right now, fuel was everything.
