Sky City (The Rise of an Orphan)

by RD Hale

  'It's like I'm flying!' Vytali howls.

  'Careful you don't lose your balance. You do know you can't really fly?'

  'So where we going next? You got anywhere in mind?' Vytali asks.

  'Titan Stolastic. Gambling den and cage fighting arena amongst other things. One scary place but amazing. Pole dancers every night... Need I go on?'

  'You sound like you know this place well. Anyone would think you were a bottom leveller...'

  Smirking, I watch the swayable elitist through the corner of my wayward eye and his unexpected excitement transforms a piece of scum into the coolest person on the planet.

  'No... Way... But how did you get into the city?'

  'Easy, when you have money... and contacts... Surprised? Disgusted?'

  'You kidding me? This is amazing. I knew there was something different about you! Wow, what was it like growing up in the slums?'

  'Miserable. My father died. My mother was a drug addict who abandoned me and my sister. We had to live at school... until we ran away and raised ourselves. Almost died of starvation, illness, murder. We grew up in filth.'

  'But it must've been exciting. I feel like I was raised in a prison cell. Always being told what to do, where I could go. I couldn't wait to leave.'

  'Believe me if I could trade places with you, I would. You don't know how lucky you are.'

  'Lucky? My dad used to beat the crap out of me. Every time I opened my mouth I was told I was the child of the devil or I was going to hell. I was never allowed to be me. I was miserable. If my parents knew I was here now, they'd...'

  'They'd what?' I ask.

  'I don't know. I think my mother would have heart failure!'

  Vytali leans over a sheer drop with a gentle updraft and he bursts out laughing, becoming too complacent even for my liking. The weight of his head almost sends him to an organ splattering fate, but his arm bolts back to heave his torso inwards and he hugs the frame tightly, suddenly pale as cheeks inflate. Again he laughs, this time reservedly and shakes his head to reawaken the sensible section of his brain.

  'I guess no-one has it easy in this world, eh?' I mutter.

  'You can say that again... So you ran away, raised yourself? You must have quite a story to tell.'

  'I do... My father died not long after I was born without ever laying eyes on me. A soldier killed like so many others, ordered to fight for the benefit of wealthy women who did not have to do the killing. I don't really feel sadness, just emptiness but his fate taught me a valuable lesson. I trust no-one.'

  'That's pretty sad... So what about your mother?'

  'I'll never know what happened to her. She could not look after herself let alone me. I remember the last day she dropped Emmi and me off at school. I cannot remember a great deal from back then, but I remember almost every second of that day.'

  Pausing to take a breath, I look into Vytali's eyes and he fixes my gaze as though listening intently so I continue: 'We sat in a cold hall as our teacher ploughed her fingers into piano keys, making us sing awful hymns. I remember her first lecture. She told us Anatolia is a land of great opportunity and if we work hard and pray we can achieve anything we want to, but the lazy amongst us will never achieve. She said Level Three Citizenship allows access to medical care and a state pension and we can earn an honest wage to contribute to our wonderful society. She made it sound like we should be fucking grateful. She said those of us who do well can go to college and apply for Level Two Citizenship, or even Level One. She had the nerve to suggest we could one day own a home... Can you believe that?

  She told us to raise our hands if we had any questions. I was the only one to raise a hand. Yes Arturo, she said. I asked if anyone from this school ever made it to Level Two and she replied: Not yet, because our students tend to not do as they are told. Then she asked why the goddess should help those who lack faith and said there are lots of children who've made it to Level Two so maybe I could be the first from our school. I asked if she'd ever been inside Sky City and she snapped back: Not yet. It was then that I started to see through the lies.

  I sat through mind-numbing stories from the Orientis which apparently had morals at the end and I spent the entire duration thinking I was gonna be in the gutter forever. My dream of being an astronaut died right there! At the end of the day Emmi and me waited for our mother, but she never came. After what seemed like an eternity our teacher pulled us in from the doorway and we spent a few nights sleeping on the hall floor with the orphans.

  One day the teacher took us to the side and told us our mother had to go away for a while so we were gonna have to continue staying at the school. Emmi looked utterly confused, she was only five. I tried to protest to no avail. They told all the kids it would only be for a while so I quickly realised she wasn't coming back.'

  'So what was she like - your mother?' Vytali asks.

  'Well I didn't understand at the time, but she was probably a drug addict. I can barely remember anything about her, other than her smile. She rarely smiled but it must have imprinted itself on me when she did. We used to huddle due to the broken heating system and she would whisper in my ear and tell me I'm better than this place. She said I should always remember that one day I'll get out of this. If I work hard, be a good person and believe in myself I'll find a way. Those words stuck with me and I always did believe in myself. It is the situation that I never believed in... and their goddess. After that day at school I never saw my mother again.'

  'So you were raised in a slum school?'

  'Well, until we escaped... One night when I was nearly thirteen our teacher dozed off in her chair so I whispered to my friends that we should run away. I snuck over to the teacher's chair as she snored and slipped my hand into her side pocket, pulling out a sticky handkerchief. I chucked it to the side and searched the top pocket in the breast of her coat. As I slid my fingers in, she let out a loud snort and I quickly pulled my hand out, thinking she'd woken up. The other kids sat at the back of the hall, stifling their giggles. I slipped my hand back in her pocket and pulled out the key, then I snuck over to the door and everyone jumped as the lock clunked.

  I waved to the guys and they looked at each other nervously, then hurried over. I carefully closed the door behind us, dropping the key on the ground as we fled. We ran into the night, laughing and the full scale of this place dawned on us. As we ventured through the darkness I realised we were now on our own. There was no going back and I was burdened with the responsibility of being the eldest. Emmi asked where we would go and I told her everything would be fine, concealing the fact I was just as uncertain as she was.

  We stumbled across a big building bursting from the surroundings. Back then we called it a castle! The odds were stacked against us, but that building became our refuge, our sanctuary. We gawped as we looked upwards, dwarfed by the relative enormity of the old warehouse. I suggested we go and explore inside and Smig gave me a bunk over the chain-link fence. I stood on tiptoes to peer through the windows and although it was near pitch black the building appeared to be abandoned.

  The main entrance had a sign above which read: Outside Of The Box Publishing and there was a rusty padlock on the doors. The others clambered over the fence as I scanned the ground and spotted a half-brick. A couple of well-placed strikes was all it took to make the lock crumble and we were in. The building was chilly and sparse and not knowing what else to do, we huddled in darkness, chattering the night away, imagining all the things we were gonna do with our freedom. And that place has been home to us ever since.'

  'Wow that is some story. Brings a tear to my eye! So your name is Arturo?'

  'Er yeah, sorry I should have said. Zain is just an alias.'

  'You sound too smart to be a bottom leveller. This doesn't make sense.'

  'That's because I do a lot of reading, I spend most of my time on the compuscreen.'

  'You still have a compuscreen? That's hilarious. I forgot those things exist. You have to take me to your place.'

&n
bsp; 'Maybe tomorrow. Come on, let's take a walk.'

  Vytali and I descend the stairs with the impression we are alone in the carcass until a few querulous boys, rolling dice on the first floor, jump to their feet and stroll towards the stairwell. Seeing as I handle such scenarios on a daily basis I know their territorial little minds just require an ego boost. If we remain a possible threat whilst allowing them to maintain an air of dominance, things should not get messy, but the blood drains from Vytali's submissive face as he stands motionless behind my apathetic posture, like his mind has vacated and forgot to take his still trembling body along. The most imbecilic one steps forward in a skull-print hoody and tilts his bitter, distorted face to the side. His tongue protrudes as he sizes me up, slapping a scaffolding pipe against his palm.

  'Hey, this place is ours. You better leave before we cave your skulls in and scoop out the shit!'

  'You may not have noticed, but we were just leaving. Sorry to have disturbed you. Come on, Vytali.'

  'Yeah, you better leave... I showed them, didn't I?'

  Vytali remains unresponsive until his legs realise he has been abandoned and spring into action, backpedalling down the few remaining steps. Steadying himself on the handrail, he scuttles out of this hollow shell. Unfollowed we stroll into old town, quickly forgetting about the blustering outburst as I prepare to give the outsider a night to remember.

  'What were those guys gonna do? Would they have killed us?' Vytali pants.

  'Nah, they would have probably just smashed our kneecaps and left us. Come on, tough guy.'

  Who Needs ID?

  We enter the time of night when senses heighten as packs of post-apocalyptic predators emerge under the influence of mind-altering substances. Dilapidated buildings encroach on us; eyesores unlikely to be rejuvenated. Limited light exposes patches of graffiti and signs of vandalism in a lower Level Three neighbourhood even less visually appealing than the slums.

  A stream of loosened concrete blocks wobble beneath our feet as we approach a windowless bus shelter covered in scrawls of marker pen: NYE is repeated numerous times. Dimmed streetlights flicker and some are fully broken, metallic stalks of shadow which may as well be pulled down. One is crooked and bent with exposed wires; it appears to have been hit by a vehicle.

  'I can't even imagine what it would be like living amongst this,' Vytali mumbles.

  We pass a building of charcoal window frames and jagged shards of glass as we follow a row of shops. Some are closed for the night, some permanently boarded up with metal shutters. A couple of takeaways are still open and Vytali gives a wide berth to the drunks lingering in the doorways.

  'If you show any sign of weakness they'll eat you for supper. You need to display confidence in your stride. Show me your inner tiger!'

  I pat Vytali's back and his frame flops as he tries to figure out how to position himself in this body language chess game. Two square-shouldered males march past and Vytali stiffens as we continue onto a busier street of squalid pubs with wooden signs bearing names like Crimson Panthera and Flying Equus. Through a clouded window I glimpse flat cap wearing drones sipping ale and smoking pipes as seconds are etched away by tedium.

  'Expect to see one or two stools flying out the windows,' I joke, but Vytali is unresponsive apart from the reflex of his bulging eyes; I do not think he saw the funny side.

  At the culmination of the street stands a tower of smoke-tainted clay and blacked out windows - a domineering playground for criminals and lowlives. Burly doormen at the entrance turn away protesting drunks who seem oblivious to the mandible crushing consequences of the bouncers losing patience.

  'Round here,' I instruct.

  We access a putrid alley, passing a man urinating against a wall and without batting an eyelid we clank up the stairs of a fire escape. At the top level I place my foot onto a handrail, disregarding the sheer drop as my fingertips cling to half an inch of doorframe. My leg pushes up and I tilt back to grab the projecting ledge, then clamber onto the roof.

  'More climbing? You're nuts!'

  My sidekick mimics my athleticism, weaving amongst chimneys and maintenance cabins to leap sprawling plateaus transformed into artworks by street painters with name tags like Rocketman and Goose. Dwarfed by the multi-tiered depravity, we eye the destination we are set to breach and there is no way of knowing how Vytali will cope with a sheltered college boy's nightmare.

  'There it is - Titan Stolastic. All we have to do is jump onto that metal thing and follow it round to the other side, then climb through the window. Easy!'

  'Are you kidding? That thing's rusted, it'll never hold our weight. Why can't we just go through the front door this time!' Vytali moans.

  'Can't, the bouncers would never let us in. Anyway that'd be boring!' I leap across to the ventilation shaft and the heavy landing loosens screws, but there can be no backing out due to the lack of running space which makes a return jump all but impossible. Looking over my shoulder I sneer as the befuddled tyro bounces on toes to psyche himself up.

  'Come on!' I yell, shimmying to the crook of the building and pressing palms tight against walls. Vytali clatters onto the shaft, slipping onto his knee and digging fingers behind the ventilation shaft to hold on for the sake of survival. 'You're too clumsy, mate! The windows on the other side are usually open. If they're not, we're stuck up here!'

  A bunch of drunks stumble to the guarded entrance, chanting jubilantly about today's football result and they look set to clash with the surprisingly choosey doormen, but they could so easily divulge our planned infiltration. We shimmy around the back of Titan Stolastic to a filthy sliding window with a small opening, behind which lies a passage of indistinct doors. Past experience confirms our vulnerability will be fleeting because I know just one door leads into the casino proper.

  'One more thing, when we get inside the corridor is not publicly accessible. We cannot get caught there.'

  'What happens if we do?'

  'They'll probably put our heads in a vice or something!'

  Placing fingers into the gap, I reposition my shoulders to force the stiff window which rattles open. My stomach tightens with every squeak as we clamber into an interior of beige walls lined with antique paintings - one of a little girl trying on her mother's shoe. We tread over the fading patterns of a worn carpet but a creaking door forces us to spin back as we reach a corner. Sneaking into a storage room, we leave the door slightly ajar to peer as a bouncer with deltoids bulging out of his vintage suit, mutters to himself and sits on a nearby seat.

  'Need a new job, sick of being pushed around.'

  Light shines from a row of head-height windows so I pass between the wheeled shelving units and an old punch bag to peek into the adjoining room. Quickly withdrawing my head I glimpse fedora wearing crooks at a long table covered in whiskey glasses and credit notes. I crouch a few yards from the criminal gathering, beckoning Vytali and we catch fragments of their conversation:

  'So we... rid of the body... get it sorted... cheat me, the c...'

  'Did you hear that? They killed someone!' I whisper as we sit with backs to the wall, waiting for the chance to squeeze out of a casino and a hard place.

  'It could be us next if they catch us.' The silhouette of Vytali trembles.

  'Don't be silly. We just need to get out of these corridors and we'll be fine,' I suggest.

  'How we gonna do that? That man is sat just out there!'

  'Simple, we wait until he goes.'

  'You think everything's simple!'

  A drawn out groan is followed by creaking floorboards and I sneak across to see the sulky minion plod back in the direction he came. The light goes out, plunging the corridor into semi-darkness as the catch clicks and I have no desire to wait for him to return.

  Restraining my breath I creep across to a barely noticeable round shape, feeling for what should be a handle. I pry the door open the tiniest bit, wincing as the hinges squeak and I notice table-shaped silhouettes inside the room. We enter, ru
shing to a glimmer of light shining from a door opposite and we peer through a small wired pane. Two approaching scoundrels are too busy nodding and grunting to notice as we scarper.

  'More men are coming. Quick!'

  We cower under a table in the corner as the suited pair stride inside with an air of menace and we are only partially concealed by chair legs and rows of tables as a man flicks a switch. Two dim lamps reveal floral wallpaper and paintings in chipped frames but the men face away from the lightsources. It is difficult to make out their features until the taller one lights a cigarette, illuminating his wrinkled face and slicked back hair as his chubby companion speaks:

  'So what next, Jerry? What do we do about the other guys?'

  'Forget about 'em!'

  'But they've been ripping you off.'

  'I know they have. And one of 'em paid with his life... Look if we go after them, this escalates into full scale war and we wipe each other out. What does that achieve? We've sent out a strong message. They'll think twice before messing with us again.'

  'But what if they think you're weak?'

  'Weak? You think I'm weak?'

  'Not at all, Jerry.'

  'Good. If I hear talk like that again, I'll cut your balls off!'

  The thugs sit with just two tables between us and them who are facing perpendicular as they converse with the one called Jerry not-so-subtly reinforcing their differing positions in the hierarchy. For several minutes I grip chair legs, knowing if they glance in this direction our silhouettes may be spotted.

  'Let's get out of here, we're being unsociable.'

  At last the men rise to their feet, sniffing as they straighten their suit jackets. The eyeline of the one called Jerry is just above and to the right of our table. Licking his finger, he fixes silver hair as though he is gazing into a mirror but I dare not look back to check if one is there. My hands tremble and I fear he may notice the shaking chair legs as I will the thugs to hurry the hell up.