Page 192 of The Wicked

We settled Saucy Chika on a chair, and he rubbed his head as a groan left him.

I took a chair opposite him, and Dog settled on the arm of the chair while Devil stood at the side. Upper walked in with alaptop, settling on a chair as he worked on finding who sent that email.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“Chika,” he answered as Milk came out with a sandwich and a glass of milk, which I was sure was mixed with something that would give him his energy back. “Thank you,” he said with a smile, which she returned before taking the space next to Upper.

“Why is there ‘Saucy’ right before ‘Chika,’ though,” Dog asked.

“Dog,” I groaned in a warning.

“What? Don’t pretend like you don’t want to know too.”

Chika drank half of the water in the glass before dropping it down and picking up the sandwich. “It’s company protocol,” he answered before taking a bite of the sandwich.

“Company protocol to… put in something sexy before your name?” Dog asked.

“Bruv, my boss is tapped,” Chika muttered with his mouth full. “My name’s calm compared to the madness they got here. Man’s got Busty Chloe, Sex God Mason, COCK-ey Christian, and the worst one, Glistening Pink Candy. It only gets worse from this point.”

“Why do youworkthere?” I couldn’t help but ask because that protocol was shit.

“Bruv, you try cuttin’ from a job that pays a thousand pounds every two days, just cause man’s gotta wear some dead name tag and serve wastemen in London. You think my uni fees and rent pay themselves?”

“A thousand pounds every two days—that’s amazing! What name do you think I’ll get?” Milk asked with an excited grin.

“Creamy Milk, definitely Creamy Milk,” I said with a wide smile, nodding with Milk.

“Come again. Did you say London?” Devil cut into our distracting exchange.

“Yeah—hold up, where is this?” He looked around.

“Italy… Milan.”

Chika almost choked on the sandwich he was eating. “Say what?”

“Yeah, you are far from home, Spider-Man,” Dog said.

“What day is it?” he asked with wide eyes.

“Uh… July eleventh? Tuesday, the year 2023?” Milk said.

“Holy shit,” Chika mused aloud. “Holy fucking shit?”

“Is he having a seizure?” Dog asked.

Chika dropped the half-eaten sandwich and picked up the glass of milk, gulping everything down loudly before he finished and set the glass on the center table.

“I’m sweatin’.” He untucked his polo. “Nah, I’m sweatin’ bad. I need air, fam.”

“The aircon’s working perfectly,” Milk answered.

“Bruv, I’m sweatin’ tears right now. I just lost my job, yeah? And—fuck, I didn’t even do that big quiz for that class I’m failing. Man was on my knees beggin’ for a retake, fam! And I still missed it. Plus, I skipped that school competition where I was meant to chat about fire and water or some shit—

“That’s dumb,” Upper said.

“I know,” Chika said, blowing out a breath and, well—freaking out. “This is fucked up. The last time I was proper awake was the seventh. After I got attacked? It’s just dust, fam. Can’t remember shit.”

I sat up, longing to get to the point. “What happened? Tell us what you remember.”