The Tranny's broken.
My head jerked up in horror and I stopped dead in my tracks.
A Tranny!? You can't call them that? Not in this day and age. And wait... What the hell did they mean, broken?
I swiftly looked to the left where the voice that had uttered this so calmly had came from.
It was the old smokers kitchen. The door was slightly ajar and I could hear the creaking of chairs from within.
Will we get rid of it then?
Said another voice in callous reply.
Get rid of it!? It???
This was insane.
Not only can you not call trans people, trannies in the 21st century. You shouldn't really be referring to them as it either.
And you certainly can't just get rid of them.
What the hell had I stumbled into here?
Had these men killed a trans person?!
Was I, even now, listening to a pair of murderers discussing what to do with a body?
You shouldn't have banged it so hard.
Grumbled the first voice.
Oh sweet jeebus!? They banged them to death!?
My heart went out for the poor thing. No doubt some willowy teen with a penchant for flammable garments and ridiculous heeled shoes.
What an ignominious way to go. Lured into little more than a cupboard and banged to death.
It was an accident, man.
Muttered the second one defensively.
I made a sneering face of contempt. They always said that, those cowardly murderers. I didn't mean to stove their head in with a shovel, guvnor. It was an accident!
Ach, don't worry about it. We can just get another one.
The first voice snorted as if life was so very cheap and human souls were just a tradable commodity.
I dunno, man. Is it even worth it these days?
The second voice didn't sound keen.
Aye, fuck it. We'll just jump up the town and grab a cheap one.
The first voice sneered.
That was it. They were just going to grab a random person in the town and make them their tranny?
What if this poor person displeased them, would they too be banged to death!?
Not on my watch.
I shoved open the door and popped my head around it.
Everything alright in here?
I steeled myself for the forlorn sight of a life cut short and two men smeared in blood as if it were jam, high fiving each other over their banging prowess.
I hoped they still didn't have their pork bifters out.
They didn't. There was no blood either.
Instead, their were just two dudes at a table starting at a cheap looking transistor radio.
Alright mate, tranny's fucked. We were thinking of getting a new one?
Voice number two pointed at the radio.
Ah... The tranny... The radio.
Carry on then chaps!