Strife

by M. T. Miller

  There was no ambush, nor any other complication for that matter. The group moved along, exchanging one piece of ruined scenery for another. Not so long ago, slummers of all kinds would have seeped out of the cracks to watch them pass. Creeping behind hovels, things that were once houses, and other kinds of shelter, they’d stand in line just to see Lord Nameless. Then the attempts on the Nameless’ life had started, and his walks in the slums became things to be avoided rather than witnessed.

  Perhaps that is for the best, he told himself. Less people would die that way. Although death was inevitable whenever he was involved. In some manner, people always died around the Nameless, and they would keep dying. Like Horace. Or Lydia. His hands shook, so he hid them inside his pockets. As always, he reassured himself that he barely even knew those people. As always, it failed to work.

  He had grown callous to death in general, but the snuffing of those two particular lives still hurt to a degree. He had mixed feelings about that. On one hand, it was a vulnerability that could be exploited. On the other, it was a reminder that he still had something resembling a conscience.

  Irrelevant. He was way too far into this whole thing to turn back. It is always darkest right before the dawn. He had found a way to minimize the loss of life that came just from his existence. That was the first step toward ultimate victory. The next was ending the reign of crime down on Babylon’s ground floor. That part too, he was successful with, albeit in a much more limited degree. Sometimes, he considered just ending the floor system, but he had a feeling that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  Finally. The sturdy, sizeable, yet low-roofed structure of the dungeon came into view on the Nameless’ sight. As if it didn’t stick out enough, some ten armed guards posed about in their characteristic grey uniforms. And that was only on that side. Having seen the Nameless’ group as it approached, one of the men came forward and raised his hand. The Nameless didn’t bother responding in kind.

  “We are successful, Corporal,” he said when he came closer. “The nude prisoner is to be taken to a solitary cell. He will stay there for the rest of the day, and is not to be visited. I will question him personally tomorrow. Is that clear?” Let hopelessness and despair soften him up.

  “Yes, my Lord,” the corporal said in a peculiar monotone. “The others are to be processed regularly?”

  “For now,” said the Nameless. “But keep them in a remote cell. I do not want them interacting with other prisoners.”

  “Affirmative,” the corporal nodded.

  “And how are my other guests?” the Nameless asked.

  “Still alive,” the corporal said. “The woman eats well. Exercises regularly, too. Healthy as a horse.”

  “I see,” the Nameless said. He took a step forward, and gestured for the corporal to move aside. “I think I will pay them a visit. Remember them in their prime before their youth wastes away.”

  “As you command,” said the corporal, his expression as cold as the tone of his voice.

  ***

  The stairs went on for so long it seemed that Babylon was deeper than it was tall. The Nameless was well aware that this was impossible, but the impression was nevertheless there. The few and far-between light bulbs that lazily attempted to light up the place only served to accentuate its hopelessness.

  The Nameless descended to the deepest level, greeted the pair of guards by the door, and told them to free his way. The cold, somewhat wide corridor he entered was just as dimly lit as the stairs. He proceeded forward, counting the bar-doors to his left and right. They were far apart, which was a waste of space but otherwise made sense. The deepest level was reserved for the most dangerous of prisoners. Having them conspire with each other was not wise.

  Ninth cell to the right. The Nameless’ gaze drifted. This part of the dungeon was practically empty. Aside from a religious fanatic that attacked some of his worshippers about a month ago, there were no new additions. The Nameless had him put into the farthest corner. The madman kept spouting quotes from the One True Church’s holy book, and made it impossible to converse with guests.

  There. A small wooden chair was right where the Nameless had left it. Whoever it was that delivered food was too scared to move it anywhere. No matter. Less work for me. He lifted it off the dust-covered floor, brought it up to the wall near the ninth cell to the right, and flicked a switch with his free hand. The explosion of light from the other side made him squint. In this fetid darkness, the sudden appearance of any illumination was a shock.

  “Son of a bitch!” a woman’s voice said from inside. It was melodic, even in its coarseness.

  “A god isn’t born,” said the Nameless. As far as I know. He moved several paces to his left, put the chair a couple of feet away from the bars, and sat. Of the women he knew, many were strong-minded and outspoken, but somehow what he admired in others—or at least, in one in particular—he disdained in Divine. Inside, she lay on an uncomfortable-looking bed on the left. Besides a small table (which obviously didn’t belong there), and a surprisingly clean bathroom in the right corner, there was nothing in the cell at all.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said with her forearm over her eyes. The blanket that covered her body was thick but ragged, having been patched together a countless number of times. She stretched her legs, and a pair of delicate feet stuck out from below it. “If I knew, I’d have insulted you worse.”

  “Good to know that this place has not broken your spirit,” the Nameless said.

  “Not going to give you the satisfaction,” Divine said as she slowly straightened herself into a sitting position. Her brown hair with blonde streaks, so lush before, now stuck to the sides of her face. Even though she wasn’t well-groomed anymore, she was still unusually pretty. She held her blanket closer, covering the striped prisoner’s uniform.

  “You think I take pleasure in this?” The Nameless removed his mask and laid it down on the floor. A lock of his own hair separated along with it, cut by the dented glass. The blood had already been reabsorbed into his body. He was whole, despite the shower of bullets he’d weathered in place of his men. The least I can do.

  “I know you do.” She leaned in a little bit. “This is vengeance for me stabbing you that time. You’ll keep coming to gloat whenever you feel like it. Why do you refuse to admit it?”

  “If I had a choice,” said the Nameless, “I would have us all work together. I have almost completely scourged what remains of the ground floor’s outlaws. I could have used your help. I could have used the help of the whole Crew. But…”

  The Nameless stopped talking for a moment. He considered telling Divine of the trouble he’d had with their previous comrades. No, that would not be a good decision. It could only make her more defiant, and she wasn’t easy to contain as it was. She’d tried to escape a total of three times now. No casualties, but a lot of bodily harm.

  “Ass,” she said.

  “What?” The Nameless raised his gaze up from the floor.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, “I thought we were playing a game of association. Guess I was wrong.”

  “You never cease to amuse me,” the Nameless said. “I have taken everything from you. Your old life of luxury is no more. There is nothing for you to do. I have even specifically ordered the jailors to feed you nothing but locally produced meat.” Divine’s expression went sour for a moment, but she rectified that quickly enough. “Yet you did not once ask to be let out. Most everyone else would have prostrated themselves before me at this point. This is perplexing.”

  “See, this is one of the few things we agree on,” said Divine. She rose slowly, planting her dainty feet on the floor. She came up to the bars. “This is ‘perplexing,’ I agree. You see, locked in a place like this, a girl is left with nothing but her own thoughts. And trust me, I did a whole lot of thinking.” She stuck her arm out through the bars, and pointed to the surrounding cells. “You could have had me locked up in any one of those. I could have been swimming in my
own filth by this point. But no, you had me put in here; a place that was not only spacious, but had a shower, of all things. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “You are not wrong,” said the Nameless, “yet I still do not see your point.”

  “Neither the first nor last thing you didn’t see coming,” she said, smiling bitterly. “What I am saying, Terror, is that you want me to think that I am trapped down here to waste and wither. You want your men to believe that the punishment for crossing you is worse than death. But the reality is, you want me desperate but unsoiled. Am I right?”

  “And what if I do?” The Nameless prevented himself from blinking as he stared her down. Dangerous or not, he still found it difficult to cause injury to a woman. A blurry glimpse of Lydia’s ruined face flashed before his eyes whenever he considered it.

  “How would I know?” Divine paced in circles along the center of her cell. “You’re the one with the head full of crazy thoughts. If anyone has any chance of knowing what goes on in there, it’s you.”

  “You consider me insane?” The Nameless resisted the urge to rise, but he did raise his voice. “You, who plotted to kill me for no reason at all?”

  “And from what I see, you’re still alive and kicking! No thanks to the hole I made in your stomach. I didn’t just plot to kill you, Terror, I did kill you. If you’d stayed dead, what I did wouldn’t have seemed half as crazy.”

  “You are doing little to help your case,” said the Nameless.

  “And why would I want to?” Divine stopped her pacing, and looked him straight in the eye. “So you show me kindness? Move me up, and then slowly secure my release? Find me a place in your own special unit? And then maybe, just maybe, make me its commander… if only I agree to suck your cock?”

  The Nameless’ eyes narrowed.

  “A bigger room for a quickie?” Divine extended her arms to her sides. “A view for some anal? The possibilities are endless, aren’t they?”

  “You are beyond hope,” the Nameless said as he took his mask and rose.

  “No, I just know your kind.” She came up to the bars, looking at his mask. “All the same. All trying to disguise your ugliness. The only real difference between you and the mad dogs outside is that you are an actual monster.”

  “Not denying that,” said the Nameless as he turned away. “Perhaps I am worse. But…” he gave her a sidelong stare, “perhaps I am just a little bit better, and you have just missed your chance. Think about that as you rot down here.”

  And with those words he left her. He didn’t feel like checking on his other guests.

  ***

  Having left the dungeon in a hurry, the Nameless made his way across one of the slums’ countless decomposing streets. The odor hit him again. It could not exactly be considered a stench, but it nevertheless turned breathing into somewhat of a chore. We need to expand. The words of David Torres, now Governor of Babylon, echoed inside the Nameless’ mind as he walked on.

  We need to expand, indeed, the Nameless confirmed as he looked up along the gigantic pillar that housed the lifts. He would reach it within minutes.

  David was a smart and learned man. There were far too many people down here, all lured with false promises of luxury and privilege. Transforming the city into something that could not only let them live, but live good lives at that, was absolutely impossible. However, the plains around the pyramid were vast, and turning them into a kind of outer city was absolutely doable.

  To do that, however, we need to have ourselves a peaceful inner city. He signaled for the elevator operator not to wait for him. He then noticed that the walk was taking longer than usual. Indeed, he was somewhat tired. This was unusual, especially considering he’d reaped so recently.

  I might have been pushing myself too far, he considered as he came up to the first wave of guards. He didn’t wonder if he’d been pushing them too far. There was no doubt that it was so. These men have signed up to serve. There will be no rest until we have fixed things. Not for them, and not for me.

  “Third floor, Lord Nameless?” one of them asked.

  “Yes, but first I want to inspect the shrine,” said the Nameless as he passed them by.

  “Of course.”

  Slowly, the Nameless approached the mass of people to the right of the pillar. Gathered in circles and prostrated around a ten-foot statue, their voices chimed in repetition.

  “Master of life!” they chanted.

  “Lord of death!”

  “Unbeatable!”

  “Savior of man!”

  Titles kept piling up. Only one or two of them the Nameless deserved. As his gaze leapt from one worshipper to the next, it eventually wound up on the statue. He knew what it looked like; he had been the model. Imposing, adorned in a trench coat, his inanimate counterpart watched over the crowd with a nonexistent pair of eyes on a blank face. David thought it would be iconic. The Nameless trusted his judgment.

  “It’s Him!” a worshipper shouted, raising her head.

  “Our Lord!” shouted someone else

  “Touch us! Bless us! Save us!” they all screamed as they rose in unison.

  “Careful, my Lord!” a guard said from the Nameless’ right. Another one came in from the other side. Both held their automatic weapons at the ready.

  “Nonsense,” the Nameless said as he stepped forward. “If I had to be cautious around my faithful, there would be no hope at all.” Underneath his mask, he smiled bitterly. If life were a play, I’d have been a clown.

  As the mass of people got closer, so did the smell of unwashed bodies overpower the already unpleasant odor of the slums. They would have encircled the Nameless had the guards not made them keep just a little bit of distance. The men and women shouted, screamed, and leapt in place, all for a mere chance to get noticed. If only that would do anything.

  “Lord Nameless!”

  “Those cracks! Are you injured, my Lord?”

  “Fool! He doesn’t hurt! He doesn’t die! Everyone knows this!”

  “You calling me faithless?”

  Bit by bit, the back of the crowd started to turn on itself. In reaction, the guards looked up to the Nameless, awaiting his order.

  “My faithful!” the Nameless bellowed. The shouting turned to a murmur within an instant, and then died down. What do I even say?

  “Times are hard,” his voice echoed from within his mask, “and the last thing we need is to fight among ourselves.” Good. Good!

  “This guy isn’t a true believer, my Lord!” said someone from the far back.

  “I come here every day!” the other man rebutted. “Even miss work from time to time!”

  “I never leave!” said a woman from the front row. Her hand was extended so far, she almost touched the Nameless’ shoulder.

  “There is no need for that,” the Nameless said. He raised his hand, extended his fingers, and touched those of the woman. The look in her face was that of complete and utter elation. “I am a practical god. I offer no scriptures nor false promises. I have said that I will protect those who stand with me, and that I am doing.” You feed me, and I will in turn feed you.

  He stepped forward, and placed his other hand over the woman’s wrist. “The rest is up to you. Do not let your work suffer. Any goods you produce will only serve to make life easier for the other faithful. Never forget this.”

  He slowly let go of the woman’s hand, and she pulled it back as if she were hypnotized. Even though he wore gloves, there was no doubt that she’d never wash it again.

  “I am here to make things better,” he said, “but for that I need your help. If you do not do your jobs, then I will not do mine! You matter! I matter!” He extended his hands up toward the artificial sky. “Everyone matters!”

  The crowd cheered, and for a moment, the Nameless though he noticed a hint of a smile on the face of the guard to his right.

  “Give them their rations earlier,” he said as he turned back toward the pillar. “No need to meet the worship-quota for
the day.

  “Are you certain of that, my Lord?” said a guard. “This shift has only begun.”

  “Yes,” the Nameless nodded. “Let them rest.”

  “As you command,” both men said in unison.

  A well-practiced reply. The Nameless came up to the closest opened elevator, entered, and waited for the door to close. The gears started to turn, loudly, as they had so many times before, and the machine began its ascent.

  I wonder how long this will last. Half of the guards obeyed his commands out of obvious fear. The rest either bought into him being an actual deity, or played along just to keep their jobs. He had been working hard to gain their trust, but it was coming along even slower than he expected.

  For all his worries, however, the Nameless was pleased with the way things were turning out. The strikes he organized against the city’s failing underworld not only served their purpose, but also more than satisfied his appetite for bloodshed. Aside from the actions of the Crew-backed gang, violent crime was becoming extinct. Fewer and fewer fatalities were being registered by official, as well as unofficial sources. Not one person had starved ever since he took over. Still a long way to go.

  David was not as pleased. In his words, they were running on fumes. Productivity had plummeted. As more and more poor citizens embraced the daily ritual of Nameless-worship as their source of sustenance, so did the city’s output of tradable goods suffer. But this was not as much of an issue as had been expected, because less and less of the outside was willing to trade in the first place.

  Both New Orleans and the White City had cut all communication with Babylon. Well, perhaps not all. Being the heart of the so-called One True Church of America, the White City never stopped bombarding the pyramid with all kinds of propaganda. From “You worship the devil,” to “Rebel and repent,” the messages never stopped. For all the Nameless knew, converts might lie in wait behind every corner.