Death to the Creative Mind

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The gun at been staring at me for a few hours now. The one-eyed barrel blinking intermittently judging me with its thoughts so loud I could hear it. I had spent the last few minutes fumbling through my old stuff for bullets. I could only find two in the pocket of an old jacket. Better than nothing right? I loaded them into my dad’s rusty revolver, spun it once and placed the nozzle against my temple. My palms were sweaty as hell. The heat in the room was about what? 50°C? Who cares? I was on my way to hell already, this was freezing in comparison.
Stop!

Let’s rewind to two days ago when things weren’t so hot.
It was my first time in Kazaku and I was eager to meet Jane. She was an archeology student (according to her) from the University of Darvone. She told me that she was about to make a ground breaking find of the lost spaceship of the infamous Captain Roxaro Ogradiri.
Quickstory; Rox was famed to have visited about 300 exoplanets and plundered over 2235 cargo vessels in space. No matter how heavily guarded they were, Rox always found a way to jump in and out of their cargo holds without triggering the alarms or setting off any guards, and as a result had carted away with the most treasured jewels the universe had ever seen or heard of. Rumor had it that he once broke into the sacred vault in Otumaka and stole the Crystal of Ostera which is said to hold the power of death. Rumours go on further to say that elixirs brewed from the crystal by a master crystologist holds the power to call back the souls of the dead.
Rumors right? Anyways, Jane was bound on finding Roxaro’s spaceship and had been digging around the rocky desert of Azzura for clues and from what she last told me, she was getting close to finding the key that points to the key.
The cab from the airport dropped me off in front of an old pub. The Guilty Saint of Kaz’. I looked at my phone one more time to confirm that I was standing in the right place. The cursor on the screen was blinking, locked in place with the destination marked for me by Jane.
The pub was just at the edge of a dark alley. The sunlight was almost fully down and I could barely see the shady looking figures moving into the street corners and out. The smell of cat urine blowing downwind was strong. Stronger than the whims of whiskey oozing out of the pub and the faint noise of a racket going on within.
Zachariah?
A clear voice called from above
Is that you?
Jane?
I replied looking up with a gloom tone of surprise in my voice as I didn’t expect that an apartment could be located anywhere in this kind or grim neighborhood let alone in the same building as this unholy den of riff raffs.
Come in and take the stairs up.
She said poking her head back in and closing the windows above.
Walking into the pub I noticed quite a number of oddities. A conjoined twin in the head was the bartender, a few unclad hookers in corners sucking on some poor customers’ dicks. A weak fist fight in the middle of the room with a few broken bottle shards lying all around. A small crowd of drunk souls cheering and swearing. A broken jukebox playing the saddest jazz music I’ve ever heard, and everyone else smoking or drinking something I’m sure is purely illegal and acting like everything around was normal.
Up here Zach!
Jane shouted on the top of her voice poking her head out from the door at the top of the stairs.
I hurriedly ran up the flight of stairs pulling by small luggage behind me.
Her room was barely lit and I couldn’t really see much except for the obvious table littered with books, notes and sheets of paper. It smelled like sardines and molded bread and a hint of jaffweed.
You live here?
I asked as I dropped my bag on the small couch beside the door.
I own here.
She replied lighting a cigarette and offering me a stick.
I’m sorry. I don’t smoke.
I replied, turning down her offer.
Well…
She said, puffing out a cloud of smoke...
I’m about to smoke out the Devil from Hell.