I've changed from sky to seas, so give me a chance:
Chapter 1:
March 4, 1956
My ass hurt, I was sitting in a lousy stool, and the beer tasted like piss water. That was the Rusty Seashell, home to rowdy sailors who thought old women strutting around in sparkly bras and torn shorts went for a good time. You see, my good buddy of 4 years Charles took me to the Seashell to celebrate for my promotion from old-fashioned cop to someone with a name. I was a Rapture Peacekeeper. Also known as that cop you'd usually see in movies. They walk into a room with a few buddies and shoot whoever needs to be shot. Ryan recognized my courage when I stopped some lowlife dockworker from going all action-star on the Tea Garden in Arcadia. My name is Victor, by the way.
"So..You get anything good yet?" asked Charles, yelling over the inconsiderate dockworkers. "No! I just got promoted Tuesday!" I yelled. I thought I heard him grunt in response, stirring his 'martini'...which was probably really ocean water. He took a sip, then spit it out. "This tastes like ocean water!" Charles yelled to everyone in the room.
Charles was a portly man of about 50. He was balding, and had this muttonstache I had a special hate for. He usually wore suspenders and a bright colored shirt...with jeans and dress shoes. Today he was wearing a Hawaiin shirt. Most clorblind guy I ever met. But we've been friends ever since I met him at my work at the docks...before I came Mr. Strict security guy.
On the other hand, I weighed about 120, usually wore a raincoat or a tux, which was always black. I like that Sicilian Mafia look, yknow? Real Gangster, right? Thing is...I ain't Italian, Irish, Russian, whatever you wish. I was born and raised a preppy white kid who usually had the crap beaten out of him in school. My hair is pitch black, Charles' hair is pitch white...we're complete opposites. Yet we're the best pair ever.
Suddenly, I looked around, and Charles was gone. I got up, payed for both of our drinks, and left to go look for Charles.



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