by Logan Keys
But peace is temporary in an opportunistic world.
The diseases mankind so selflessly stamped from the planet were weaponized and sold to the highest bidder. Modified food began making people sick. Babies were born with defects and shorter life spans. The same miraculous energy source that lit the darkest corners of the world was used to destroy nearly half of it.
Ourovoros emerged following The Collapse and like a phoenix, humans again rose from the ashes of their own fire. With Oden’s guidance and scientific manipulation, mankind has rebuilt, reconditioned, and refined their existence. Now, hundreds of years later, the creation of a human life has become a transaction; a series of ones and zeros where quality and longevity are dictated by the weight of a dollar sign. Once again, men in white make promises they cannot keep.
The only cure for mortality is the curse of the damned.
Technology has done nothing but distance them from their humanity. In their rush to perfect their species, the world of men has created a race of beautiful monsters. The planet is crawling with beasts like the one peeling my skin away with his unnaturally blue eyes.
He is beautiful and hideous.
His mind is dark, his soul tainted by Oden’s propaganda and a steady diet of entitlement. It lingers heavily in the small space between us like the acrid stench of rancid fruit. Even in my depleted state, I taste his intent.
He smiles at me and leans back in his seat crossing his feet at the ankles. They breach the aisle and land just inches from the tips of my open-toe shoes. I pull my feet away and tuck them protectively beneath my seat then place my bag in my lap to cover my exposed thighs. He cocks his head at me and quirks a brow, clearly amused by my sudden modesty.
He yawns and I feel a twinge of nostalgia. I wish I could sleep. I’m exhausted and weary from my fruitless travels. It’s been months since I’ve fed in earnest. Sixteen billion humans on this Godforsaken planet, and I’m living off the blood of stray dogs and dark alley rodents.
It’s not ironic, it’s infuriating but rage is likely the only thing keeping me going at this point. Snakeskin’s kind have been hunting mine since The Collapse. They desire perfection and immortality. My blood could provide them with answers their sciences cannot. Thankfully, he is too stupid to realize what I am.
I pull a battered paperback from my bag and pretend to read but I can’t focus on the beautiful words I’ve long-since committed to memory. My attention is drawn to his massive feet. Everything about his serpent skin wingtips screams privilege, from the silver stitching to the gilded metal bindings. Snakes, along with most of the world’s undomesticated animal species, died out hundreds of years ago during the fallout period that followed The Collapse.
Such opulence is typically reserved for Ourovoros and their top shareholders, premier geneticists, or contracted mercenaries. Based on this man’s vacant expression and lack of visible scars, I’d guess him to be the former.
“That, there, is genuine python skin,” he says wiggling his feet in front of me. His voice is low and gravely. He speaks too slowly, as though I couldn’t possibly understand the depths of his intellect. “I don’t imagine Deficient trash such as yourself has ever seen anything so impressive before, have you?”
“No, sir.” I mutter, returning to my book.
“Based on that little get-up of yours, I’d guess you work in the entertainment sector.” He laughs and makes a lewd gesture with his tongue. “Can’t imagine your fancy book helps you much with that.”
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to remain in my seat. My hand twitches in my lap itching to crush his windpipe. My fangs descend scraping lightly against the inside of my bottom lip. I keep my mouth pressed shut and breathe slowly through my nose until they snap back into place.
“You like them, don’t you?” He leans forward and grabs my wrist. “They’ll look even better lying on your bedroom floor, Kitten.”
“Do not. Call me. Kitten.” I hiss. Rage boils in my chest and I see red.
He used to call me that.
It was the last word that scraped past my maker’s lips the night I ended his miserable existence. I’m about to reenact the glorious violence of that night when the metal door that connects our transport car to the next slams open.
A young man bursts through, frantic. His clothes are old and worn but they cling to him in all the right ways. His jaw is square and his eyes fierce. In his hand, he carries a rolled up white paper sack that reeks of spice. I freeze in place, temporarily stunned.
“There you are!” He stomps down the aisle toward me, his molasses-colored eyes locking with mine. “Where have you been?”
“What the hell?” I gape at him. Snakeskin is equally taken aback.
“Are you kidding me, right now?” He rolls his eyes dramatically then rakes his hair from his face. “I’ve been looking all over this damn transport for you. I tried you on your com five times. Why didn’t you answer?”
He stops just inches from Snakeskin’s outstretched arm, his worn shoes screeching against the floor. His nostrils flare and the muscle in his jaw tenses. He drops his chin, his dark lashes curling toward the white knuckles strangling my wrist. He’s angry. It’s rolling off him in waves.
I have no idea who this guy is, but he’s obviously lost his damn mind. I narrow my eyes and open my mouth to speak. He glances over at me and shakes his head back and forth, almost imperceptibly. His expression is intense, almost pleading.
As quickly as it appears, any trace of kindness is gone. He turns his back on me to face the human shackle binding me to this transport. His voice is steady, his shoulders square.
“Was she bothering you, Sir?” He glares back at me for a moment then drops his white bag onto my lap. The food inside the crumpled paper has gone tepid. It smells horrible and leaves an amber trail of grease across my knee. “I swear, I can’t leave my sister alone for five minutes without her stirring up trouble.”
“Sister?” Snakeskin and I say in unison.
“Step-sister, actually,” the young man says with disgust.
Heads turn all around us. The same people who refused to see this Elite monster just moments ago, are suddenly transfixed. Snakeskin’s eyes dart about. He seems unsettled by the attention. Though he doesn’t release me, his grip loosens slightly.
“I can’t believe you,” the young man growls down at me. His dark hair falls back into his face. “Seriously, all you had to do was sit quietly and read your stupid book while I got us something to eat. Instead, you wander off without telling me where you’re going? To make matters worse, you’ve managed to upset this fine Elite gentleman to the point he felt the need to restrain you?”
“I didn’t…” I stammer, completely baffled. Whispers fill the train car as the passengers take in the scene. “He was—“
“Enough,” he blurts, cutting me off like a petulant child. He grabs my hand roughly, tearing it away from the man in the snakeskin shoes. “I’m so sorry, sir. I promise, my sister will no longer be a problem for you.”
“Wait,” Snakeskin rises to his feet. “I’m not finished with her.”
“Grab your things,” he urges, stepping between me and my would-be captor. Their massive bodies fill the narrow aisle and a shadow falls over me. “We’re going to another car so you can’t bother this nice man anymore.”
Snakeskin peers over the stranger’s shoulder as he pulls me to my feet. Before either of us can argue, my “brother” drags me toward the exit door at the front of the transport car. I clutch my bag, my book, and the greasy paper sack to my chest and stumble down the narrow aisle. As the door slides open, I sneak a glance over my shoulder. Snakeskin is staring after me with murder in his eyes.
I can’t resist.
I flash him a toothy grin then retract my fangs as the doors close behind us.
“Keep going,” my new companion says, his hand still clutching mine. I can hear his heart beating frantically in his chest. “Don’t stop till we get to the front car.”
Despite his forceful nature and harsh words, I smell no ill intent. I nod and follow him. We make our way through four more cars in complete silence. When we reach the front car, he releases me, slams the door shut, and presses his back against it.
His olive skin has gone pale and beads of sweat form on his brow. He falls onto a nearby seat and drops his head into his hands. I quickly survey our surroundings. The transport car is empty, save for one other soul. An old man in rags sleeps soundly in the corner, his steady breath fogs the cracked window where his head rests.
“You must have a death wish,” the young man mutters to the floor.
“His, not mine,” I say.
I take one last glance toward the rear of the train. Snakeskin hasn’t followed me so I drop my bag and lower myself into the seat across from him. He raises his head and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Name’s Brody,” he says, reaching across the aisle with a shaky hand.
Instead of obliging his polite social gesture, I shove the pungent paper bag at him then cross my arms over my chest.
“Really?” He smirks. “I just saved your life, and you won’t even shake my hand? I’m hurt.”
I shrug, but a smile plays at my lips.
“Will you at least tell me your name?” He smooths his hair back and releases a shaky breath.
His heart is beating at an odd rhythm. I cock my head to the side and study his face. He’s young and beautiful, but he’s dying. I can smell it on him, but I don’t tell him that.
“What’s wrong with you, Brody?” I ask.
“Depends who you ask,” he smirks, tossing the paper bag into a nearby waste can. “So, Red, what brings you to illustrious ghettos of Eden City? Business or pleasure?”
“Why choose,” I say.
The train lurches and begins to slow. A buzzer echoes through the transport car and the old man wakes with a start. An overhead speaker crackles to life.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now approaching Eden City, Platform Twelve.” The man on the intercom sounds bored. “We will dock momentarily. Please secure your personal belongings and proceed in a calm and orderly fashion to the nearest terminal exit.”
“That’s me.” I say as I rise to my feet.
I throw my crimson waves over my shoulder and smooth down my new dress. It’s a futile gesture, I realize as I appraise my reflection in the darkened window. The sheer, white sheath does little to shield my porcelain flesh from prying eyes. I sigh and frown at the scrap of fabric covering my slender body. A necessary evil, I’m afraid. Even the most elaborate of traps is useless without bait.
“Wait!” Brody shouts after me as I make my way toward the exit. “You never told me your name.”
“No,” I smile back at him. “I didn’t.”
A handsome, middle-aged man sits at the end of the bar nursing a stout glass. One hand rubs a slow circle against his graying temple, the other holds a battered, silver com. His thumb slides deftly across the cloudy screen as he volleys with someone in the cybernetic ether.
He arrived by taxi nearly an hour ago, suitcase in hand, tie loose around his neck. I listen intently and study his movements while I pretend to drink the ridiculous pink martini sitting in front of me.
A young Elite man is passed out in his stool next to me, his head on the bar, hand still clutched around his glass. He was like that when I arrived, splayed before me, the perfect prop for my performance. I sit down next to him and sidle in close.
“Master?” I coo, stroking the drunk man’s hair. “Master, are you okay?”
“Looks like you’re a bit late to the party, sweetie.” The woman behind the bar eyes me with pity, convinced I am his.
“I…I missed my transport and had to wait an hour for the next,” I say, my lip quivering. “He’s going to be so angry with me.”
“Nonsense,” she waves me off. “Look at him. The way this fool’s been drinking, he won’t remember much of anything about this night. Have a seat and wait him out. When he wakes up, act like you’ve been here the whole time. If he asks too many questions just…you know, shift his focus.”
She has the decency to look uncomfortable.
“How about a cocktail while you wait?” Her smile is sincere. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”
I add my drinks to his tab and feign a steadily growing intoxication. When I’m sure no one is looking, I siphon my drinks into the mostly empty glass of mead growing stale in my sidekick’s limp hand. Even if I could drink alcohol, it would be a bad idea right now. Hunger and exhaustion have dulled my senses plenty and my head is already swimming. I’ve known hunger and exhaustion but it’s never gotten this bad before. I feel off and it has me a bit panicked. I shake away the gathering clouds and refocus my energy on the task at hand.
Food.
The businessman’s weathered features fall in stark contrast with the youthful verve around us. Virtue’s patronage is a writhing mixture of Eden’s distinct class system. A thumping bass, pulsing lights, and steady streams of chemical courage blur the lines between the city’s most beautiful Deficients and the low-level Elite slumming it in the ghettos in search of adventure. Citizens from both factions have approached me, but I’ve turned them all away.
I want this one.
The businessman rakes his fingers through his hair, powers off his com and shoves it into his pocket. His wedding band clanks against the side of his glass as he scoops it up from the bar. He drains the last of the amber liquid, then licks his lips. My eyes betray me following his tongue across their tender pink flesh. My attention doesn’t go unnoticed and his head jerks in my direction. Our eyes meet and a slow smile spreads across his face. His bottom teeth overlap slightly and his dimples are uneven.
He is deliciously imperfect, unaltered…and he’s alone.
I imagine how his blood will taste and my mouth begins to water. No sense delaying the inevitable. The hunger in my eyes seems to tell him the story he wants to hear. He hails the bartender and moments later a fresh glass of pink hell is placed in front of me. I run my fingers down the delicate stem and smile at him sweetly. In my haste to impress I swallow the entire cocktail in one gulp.
I immediately regret my lapse in judgment. My glass clatters to the bar top as the bitter liquid scrapes its way down my parched throat. It sears every neuron, scalding like warm water dumped over frostbitten fingers. The shock of it is all-consuming. My vision darkens at the edges and I falter, grasping feebly at the edge of the bar. My target rushes in, his strong hands pressed to my lower back and elbow.
“Easy, now, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he whispers, easing me back onto my stool. He sits down next to me and cradles my head against his neck, steadying me in my seat.
He smells delicious. The only thing tainting his blood is cheap bourbon and years of administrative servitude. My fangs descend and a low growl echoes in my chest. I let my hair fall into my face and hide beneath it while I struggle to get myself under control. His pulse echoes in my ears and I start to shake.
“Are you alright, honey?” His concern is undeniable, his arousal more so.
“I think so,” I lie.
“Perhaps I should escort you home,” he says, rubbing slow circles against my bare back. His fingers slip beneath the edge of my skirt and graze my hip. “You know, to make sure you get there safely.”
“That would be nice, thank you,” I say leaning farther into him. “I think I just need—”
“You need to eat,” says a familiar voice. “One too many on an empty stomach, I’m guessing?”
“B-brody?” My fangs retract and my head snaps up. I see his face behind me in the mirror behind the bar.
“Hello, little sister.” He winks at me and claps the businessman on his shoulder.
“Sister?” The businessman pales and my dinner immediately goes cold. His hands leave my skin as he backs away and a chill takes their place.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I shriek at
Brody. My hard-fought meal is gone and the room is spinning.
“Saving your ass again, apparently,” he says, shaking his head at me.
“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” I glare at him, but my vision is blurring. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? Are you following me?”
Is he one of them? He couldn’t be. He’s deficient, sick. How did he find me?
I press my hands to the bar and attempt to stand, but my legs will not cooperate. My head is buzzing and I feel cold. I’m angry and scared. I want to destroy something and paint the streets with blood. I want to curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep.
I just…want.
“Take it easy, Red. I’m not stalking you,” he says, rolling his eyes as he makes his way around the bar. “I work here.”
“How dignified.” I say, my words dripping with condescension.
“Yep,” he smiles, tossing a bar towel over his shoulder. “I’m living the dream.”
“You’re an ass,” I growl.
“So I’ve been told,” he shrugs and clears the glasses from the bar around me. “You’re cut off, by the way. We don’t want you to end up like your friend, here.”
He laughs and jerks his head toward the drunken pile of human flesh slumped in the stool next to me. His smug grin infuriates me. I’d rip it from his face and stomp on it but I wouldn’t want to ruin my new shoes. It took a lot out of me to compel the shop owner to let me walk off with them in the first place. Such a waste.
The door opens behind me and Brody’s smile falters. I don’t turn around. I couldn’t care less what has him on edge. He just ruined the one chance I had at a decent meal. He’s lucky I’m weak and struggling to see straight. I’ve killed for far less.
“It’s time for you to go,” he frowns at me.
“What?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“You’re drunk,” he says flatly. “Go home before you do something stupid that you can’t take back.”