Ascent

by M. T. Miller

  But what would the sheriff do? The Nameless had undertaken that whole insanity in order to do his part of their bargain. He did not promise me a thing when I was lying down in that hospital, though. Wait—

  He recalled the last time he had been patched up. Were the doctor and the nurse the ones who had fixed him then? Highly unlikely. Given the extent of his injuries, they would have been shocked if they had seen him both times. No, that had to have been another hospital.

  Where was I even going with that line of thought? He was unable to come up with an answer. Damn. Everything is a mess.

  He closed his eyes, trying to clear everything up. By the time the sheriff’s voice could be heard from the hallway, his thoughts had become even more chaotic.

  “Is he in there?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mama said. “Seems to be alright.”

  “Of course he is,” the sheriff said, already well inside the Nameless’ white room. “I would like this to be private,” he continued, shutting the door. “Wakey-wakey, death machine!”

  “Beg your pardon?” the Nameless said, glad that he didn’t stutter anymore.

  “You should be begging for more than my pardon. But we’ll get to that,” the sheriff said as he sat on a chair. A foot or so away from the Nameless’ face, he pulled out a cigar and lit it. “So, how does one feel after massacring some thirty or so people? Granted, only one of them had a firearm, but still a ridiculous feat in itself.”

  “A firearm?” the Nameless said. That explains the ‘sorcery.’

  “Yeah.” The sheriff nodded, exhaling a thick cloud of disgusting smoke toward the Nameless. “Breathe in, it’s good for you. Builds character.”

  The Nameless’ reply came in the form of a cough.

  “Anyway, if you wanted to impress me, you did,” the sheriff said. “Not everyone can do what you did. Especially not while crippled.” His expression changed instantaneously.

  “Perhaps I was not as injured as you thought,” the Nameless said.

  “And perhaps you’re lying through your teeth! You know, the ones you didn’t have the last time we spoke!” the sheriff said, raising his voice and serving another helping of tobacco smoke. “But it doesn’t matter. Mission complete. Good work.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Now you rest up. You’ve earned it. Not the way I’d have liked you to, but you did.” The sheriff pressed his back against the chair. “When you become capable enough, which I assume will be soon, you’ll be getting yourself a third floor pass.”

  “Just like that?” the Nameless asked. I did not expect this to be so easy.

  “After what you’ve pulled off,” the sheriff said, “nothing is ‘just like that.’ You’ve earned a place in the Cleanup Crew, Bones. Yeah, one more thing.” He pulled a small pouch from the inside of his coat pocket. “Along with this,” he said, letting it drop on the Nameless’ chest.

  “I would like to open it,” the Nameless said, raising his bound arms slightly, “but I cannot.”

  “I know,” the sheriff said. “I’m just messing with you. It’s money. You’re entitled to a part of what we’ve plundered from the mansion. Nine green chips, plus some change. You’re a rich man.”

  “Ninety thousand dollars?” If he could, the Nameless would have leapt from his hospital bed.

  “We’ve busted a drug ring,” the sheriff said. “A lot of money to be made there. Too bad it’s punishable by means of unleashed maniac, right?”

  This is it. The Nameless relaxed, perhaps for the first time since he got to Babylon. No more crowds. No more pits. No more stench. He was not even aware of how widely he was grinning.

  “I can see that you’re happy,” the sheriff said. “That’s good. Keep performing admirably, and you’ll remain like that. But next time…” His cigar near its end, he exhaled a final puff of smoke before putting it out. “Do what I tell you to do.”

  The Nameless tried to speak, but the smoke did not allow it.

  The sheriff rose. “Well, I wanted to give you the good news myself. Thought you might not believe a messenger.” On his way to the door, he stopped moving just before he reached it. “Yeah, one more thing. It concerns your… rituals, down in the slums.”

  “Yes?”

  “Those privileges are restored to you,” the sheriff said. Then, without giving the Nameless a chance to say anything, he left the room.

  “Untie him, open his window, and don’t you dare touch the pouch,” he said to Mama.

  Did he say ‘window?’ The Nameless turned to his left. It was somewhat odd in appearance, and was closed in a way that didn’t let anything in. But it was most definitely a window. He smiled.

  I missed those. Ah. That explains it. This is the third floor.

  ***

  Having grown unaccustomed to the sight, the Nameless stared through the now-opened window of his hospital room. Up above, the sun shone in all its midday radiance. From down below, the Pyramid’s outer wall reflected it in kind. He felt good, despite the fact that two full days had passed since his last round of reaping.

  Like a child, he found himself unable to wrest himself away from the view. The roads, mountains and plains outside seemed unreal.

  I wonder if I will ever tread on them again.

  “Mr. Bones,” Mama said from behind him. “The sheriff is waiting for you, sir.” Although still courteous, the woman grew visibly less fond of her patient after seeing him up on his feet mere hours after waking.

  “Of course,” the Nameless said. Regretfully, he turned away from the scenery and caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror. He had donned an expensive-looking black suit that was waiting for him that morning. Despite not being custom-made, it fit like a glove. Only a day in here, and the sheriff already expected me out.

  In spite of what reason told him, the Nameless was glad that someone knew at least a piece of his secret. It reminded him of Horace.

  “Mama,” he said, turning to the nurse.

  “Yes, Mr. Bones?” she said wearily.

  “Thank you for taking care of me,” the Nameless said, already on his way out.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. The lack of endearment in her voice was disappointing.

  Nothing I can do about that. The Nameless passed through the pristinely white hallway, past the immaculately clothed nurses and patients. The reception was no less excessive, sporting a thin glass shielding with three nurses working behind it.

  “We hope that you’ve enjoyed your stay!” one of them, a male, said.

  “It was quite something. All the best,” the Nameless said as he grabbed the doorknob and exited the hospital.

  “What took you so long?” the sheriff said instead of a greeting. “The pants don’t go on the head no matter how many times you try.”

  Jokes. The Nameless could not tell if they were a sign of friendliness or an attempt at hiding its absence.

  “What’s wrong? Rush got your teeth?” The sheriff grinned.

  “Several of them. I got over it,” the Nameless said, in a blunt attempt to sound as inhuman as possible.

  “Right,” the sheriff said, somewhat more serious. Signaling for the Nameless to follow him, he set off, reaching inside his coat. He pulled out an envelope. “Your pass is here, as is your set of keys.”

  “Keys?”

  The sheriff nodded, upping the pace of his stride. “Of course. You’re going to need them.”

  “Excuse me?” the Nameless said as he followed. Trying to remain focused on the sheriff, he still couldn’t help but bask in the surrounding glory. In front of the hospital entrance was a characteristically minimalistic, but nevertheless eye-pleasing, hallway. As opposed to the grays of the second floor, nearly everything around them was white. The walls were just as smooth as the floor, and the ceiling sported the same elaborate light-sources he saw the first time he was there.

  “You’ve been excused way too many times,” the sheriff said. “I’ve set you up with an apartment. A basic one by the
floor standards, but still better than anything you might be used to. If you ever grow out of it, you can pay for a better one out of your own pocket.”

  “You did this for me?” the Nameless asked.

  “I can’t have you sleeping in the hallway,” the sheriff said. “A pass always comes with accommodations. Jesus, you weren’t this slow before.”

  “I am merely overwhelmed,” the Nameless said. How many people are even up here?

  “You’ll get used to it. Everyone else does,” the sheriff said as they approached his men. “Howdy. This here’s Horace Bones. He’ll be a regular up here. I expect you to shower him with affection.”

  “Of course,” one of the men said. The other one merely smiled.

  Meaning, ‘report his movements to me,’ most likely, the Nameless thought as he nodded.

  “Good men, both of ‘em,” the sheriff said as they proceeded, still in hearing range of the guards.

  “I believe you,” the Nameless said. Everyone is good while they do as they are told.

  “Guard duty up here is a prestigious position. I award it only to the best.”

  “If they were so good, would their expertise not be put to better use on the second floor?”

  “Doing what? Standing like robots?” The sheriff smiled. “Crime rate isn’t that high down there, Bones. Not the kind of crime that warrants intervention, anyway. You’ve caused some ruckus, yes, but before that, I can’t remember the last time we had a real incident.”

  “I see,” the Nameless said. What is a robot?

  “No important work is done on the second floor,” the sheriff continued. “Everyone is so preoccupied with their own survival and potential advancement they can barely even fathom committing a crime. The few who do rarely manage to hide it, due to the crowdedness. You tried killing anyone in their apartment? The remains stink, and it’s not like you can get rid of the body.”

  “Is that why I was able to smuggle so many weapons up?” the Nameless asked.

  “Among other reasons, yes. Too much going on under the hood for me to get into details, Bones. But trust me when I say this: Babylon’s police force, although perfectly capable, is more of a tool of intimidation than anything else. So why not reward the better ones? Always more where they came from.”

  “Understood,” the Nameless said. Except for the part where people like Frank the ex-Skull get beaten up on a daily basis, and no one bats an eye.

  “Sure you do,” the sheriff said, in a tone that could mean anything. He stopped moving, pointing toward a nearby door. “This! We’re here. You do the honors, Bones.”

  Door 206. The Nameless approached the entrance to his new home. With swift motions, he ripped the envelope open. He pocketed the pass, stuck the key in the lock, and turned it. A click and a push later, the door slid in, and he could not help but stare.

  The apartment was well over three hundred square feet. Except for the presumed entrance to the bathroom, everything was inside a single, giant room. On one side and near the bathroom, there was a spacious bed and a set of lockers. In the middle, there was a dining table, along with something that was probably a kitchen. He did not have a name for the thing that the final third of the apartment was arranged around, but it reminded him of the gigantic screens above the fighting pits.

  “This is…” The Nameless wanted to turn his gaze toward the sheriff, but could not make himself. “I do not know what to say.”

  “A ‘thank you’ would be a start,” the sheriff said. “Your old stuff is inside the locker, by the way. All of it, if you catch my drift.”

  “And you do not fear that I might misuse it?” the Nameless said, trying to make sense of the black screen.

  “Be my guest,” the sheriff said. “In the slums. You lift a finger at anyone on this level, and a hail of bullets will be on you faster than you can fart. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly,” the Nameless said.

  “Splendid. Now, I’m sure you want to have some time to dry-hump your new furniture, but you’ll have to save it for later. We’re not done.”

  “Not done?” The Nameless finally managed to look at the sheriff. He smiled. “Do you have anything else for me?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” the sheriff said. “You are invited to lunch.”

  “With whom?”

  “Why, your future partners, of course,” the sheriff said. “Come along. You’re to get a better look at the Cleanup Crew!”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I do not have my mask,” the Nameless said.

  Both he and the sheriff stood in front of door 307. If memory served, it was the very same place that housed the previous meeting.

  “It’s back in your room,” the sheriff said. “But you won’t need it. You’re officially a member, so you’ll only be wearing it on the job.” He turned the knob, pointing inside. “After you, Bones.”

  The Nameless entered, and the sheriff followed. After passing through the very same hallway, the men found themselves within the meeting room. The Cleanup Crew was already there, apparently waiting for them. This time, none of them were wearing masks. Plates and glasses lay on the table, accompanied by a large number of covered-up silver pots. A long, red bottle stuck out, presumably containing wine.

  “My most esteemed associates,” the sheriff said, “our apologies for the wait. But I assure you, it was more than worth it!” He put his hand on the Nameless’ shoulder. “This man is about to make your job a whole lot easier!”

  “I’m sure he is,” the Grin said. His features were chiseled, and his skinniness accentuated them even further. “And after that, he’s going to go and fix this whole apocalypse thing, right?”

  The others did not say anything.

  “That, Grin, is something we’ll have to work on,” the sheriff said. He pointed for the Nameless to take his seat, and then he did the same.

  “So…” Uncle said. “How’d you do it?”

  “Do what?” the Nameless asked, perfectly aware of what the man meant.

  “Make that tie go with that shirt,” Uncle said. He was middle-aged, with a completely unremarkable face. His hair was grey and he had slight stubble. “What do you think?”

  “I guess you are referring to the job I did yesterday,” the Nameless said. “I will have to disappoint you. A man has to keep his trade secrets.”

  “And we’re supposed to leave it at that?” The Grin turned to the sheriff.

  “You leave this at that, I leave something else somewhere else,” the sheriff said in an abrasive tone.

  “You’re pressing that button way too much,” the Grin said.

  “Don’t put it in front of me, and I won’t be pressing it,” the sheriff said. “Are we done?”

  “Oh, we’re done,” the Grin said as he let his back rest against his chair. It was made of white wood, like more or less every piece of furniture in the room. “You won’t hear any more of this. Not from me, anyway.”

  “Perfect.” The sheriff looked at Divine. “Do you want to ask about the incident as well? Or can we move to something important for a change of pace?”

  “As you wish,” she said. Her face was quite pretty; oval, with full lips and a straight nose between a set of dark brown eyes. “This doesn’t interest me much.”

  “It should,” the sheriff said. “This man will be joining the vanguard. That means you, him, and Eagle will have to cover each other’s asses. His strengths will be your strengths. His weaknesses, your weaknesses. This goes for you too.” He turned to the Nameless as he finished his sentence.

  “And that is exactly why they are being that way,” Eagle interceded. “How are we supposed to rely on someone we know nothing about?”

  The sheriff sighed. “Tell them what you do,” he said, still looking at the Nameless.

  I wish I knew, the Nameless thought. Nevertheless, he had to give them something.

  “I am extremely proficient in armed and unarmed combat,” he said. “I appear to be the best I have
ever seen in those areas of expertise. As for shooting—“

  “Is that why that girl mauled you like a bear?” Divine smiled.

  Caught by surprise, the Nameless raised his eyebrows. “I made a mistake during that match. I have paid the price.”

  “Sure seems that way,” she said. “With all the bruises and fractures you seem to be sporting.”

  “That is another one of my talents,” the Nameless said. “I recover fast. And I seem to be a decent shot.” Time will tell how good I am without Rush’s concoctions, though.

  “So we can give you a good bashing and you’ll get right back up?” the Grin quipped.

  “Yes. Yes, I would,” the Nameless stared him in the eyes. “Although I wonder if the same goes for you.”

  “Alright, break it up!” the sheriff shouted. “Now you know what he can do. Satisfied?”

  “What about his weaknesses?” Divine said. “What would you say you are lacking in, Mister…?”

  “Terror,” the Grin butted in again.

  The sheriff gave him another one of his looks, so he continued.

  “I’m actually serious this time. They called him the terror of the underworld!” He glanced at everyone present. “Not to use that to our advantage would just be stupid!”

  The sheriff pressed his hand against his forehead. “Do I have a fever, am I going senile, or does he actually have a point?”

  “It happens from time to time,” Divine said. Within a split second, she exchanged knowing glances with the Grin. Had the Nameless blinked, he would have missed it.

  Lovers? Or something else? the Nameless wondered.

  “New guy,” the sheriff said. “At the end, the decision is yours. Do you wish to be known as the Terror?”

  “One moniker is as good as any other,” the Nameless said. “Why not?”

  “That settles it, then.” The sheriff rose, extending his hand. “Welcome to the Cleanup Crew, Mr. Terror!”