# Proto-Doomer Anon

Title: Proto-Doomer Anon
Status: Incomplete
Characters: Anon, Fang, Trish, Reed, Naomi
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
​
>Friday evening.
>Skin Row.
>Making my way through the rundown shacks to the one I have been calling home for the last couple of months.
>That would be somewhat depressing normally, but today I've got myself a little something to make it all better.
>Something that will go nicely with a half-finished bottle of Pepsi Max.
>Well, a half-finished bottle of sweet, Pepsi Max-flavored water I accidentally have let decarbonate overnight.
>Yeah, if there's any silver lining to living in the shithole like this, it would be how laughably easy an underage can buy some cheap shitty whiskey around here.
>Emphasis on "cheap", even 0,7 L of bootleg alcohol probably shouldn't cost a week's worth of highscooler allowance.
>Oh well, you get what you pay for. What's the fun in getting fucked up on something that's not 30% cologne, anyway?
>Getting closer to the porch, I notice a group of familiarly seizure-inducing baseball team mascots.
>Trish, Reed, Naomi, Naser and, of course, her were actively discussing something right in front of my home right until I showed up.
>Now, they're all just looking at me.
>Me and a bottle of liver cirrhosis I've had in my hand. Probably should've put it in a plastic bag or something.
>Guess it's up to me to break the silence this time.
Anon: "Uh... Busted?"
>Smooth.
>I would've probably cringe'd my colon out if I still had a care about not dropping pasta in front of anyone from that goddamn school.
Naomi: "No-no-no, do not worry Anon. Neither Principal •Spears nor anyone else from Volcano High will know about this, I promise."
>Oh goody, the worst possible scenario averted. Now all that's left is to deal with the runner-up that's right in front of me.
>Wait, did I just took her word on faith?
>...
>Whatever. It doesn't matter.
Anon: "So. what's with a social call, then?"
Naser: "This... Is not a social call."
Anon: "Good, 'cause I'm not sharing."
>After passing through the crowd and making sure not to lock eyes with her, I open the main door and, before I can slip back into the safety of my sanctum, get stopped by a suprisingly muscular pink hand.
Reed: "Dude, we need to talk. Let us in."
Anon: "And what would the subject be, I wonder?"
>C'mon, surprise me. Couldn't possibly be the world's single most "not the only person".
Trish: "It's... us, Anon. The way we've been treating each other."
Anon: "...Goaded them into the group session, huh Fang?"
>The last unwelcome guest can only shuffle around behind my back to confirm that the words have reached her.
>Good. Do not say anything.
>Do not make me look at you. Do not look at me.
>Do not allow eye contact.
>...
>I carefully consider my options.
​
**Let them in**
**Tell them to fuck off**
​
>**Let them in**
**Tell them to fuck off**
​
>Better rip the band-aid, Raptor Jesus knows they're gonna make a scene at school later I won't deal with this shit right here and now.
Anon: "Ok, fine, come in. Again, I'm not sharing, so the best you can hope for is some tea."
>I open the door and the Sour Patch Crew one by one.
>...Maybe it's good that they showed up all together like that.
>It was a long time coming anyway.