by M. T. Miller
“So… you cannot sell me a pass that would allow me to go all the way up to the third floor?”
“Bingo! I have no idea why. Maybe so a slum gang doesn’t interfere with the process, I dunno. So, you want to buy one, or rot down here? I hear both options have their charms,” the man said with a grin.
“I will buy one. You can give it to me along with my ID. How much?”
“A blue one,” the man answered. “That’s an equivalent of five thousand bucks, by the way. Here’s a leaflet that’ll get you up to speed. Assuming you can read, of course.”
The Nameless pulled out the collection of card-chips he had in his pocket, trying his best to ignore the pain in his wrist. A green one, three blues, two purples and a red. The way the overweight man’s eyes widened at the sight told him all he needed to know about how much money he had. Having placed almost all of it back inside his coat, the Nameless let the blue card fall on the public servant’s table. He grabbed it instantly.
“I should be back here within a couple of hours. I would appreciate it ready by then,” the Nameless said as he took the leaflet. Then, he started shambling away from the desk and deeper into the slums. There was no more time to waste. He needed someone’s life, and he needed it now.
“Enjoy the scenery!” the man behind the desk said.
Chapter Two
About ten minutes had passed since the Nameless began his tour of Babylon’s ground floor. He was on the lookout for a potential victim, and the odds were not looking good. Oh, there were most certainly people nearby: on the walkway, around it, and presumably in the patchwork houses as well. But he was not looking for innocent victims. At least not while they were in plain sight.
I need to find myself a brigand of some sort, he told himself. Those kinds of people were bound to be hated, even here. If he found a violent crime in progress, he would presumably be allowed to end it right then and there--even more violently, of course.
Nearly half an hour passed by like that, and the Nameless did not find anything remotely resembling what he was looking for. Instead, he had the opportunity to more intimately acquaint himself with the layout of the ground floor. The place was a maze of bricks, concrete, and badly folded sheet metal. People lived in pieced-together dwellings that barely managed to prevent passersby from sneaking peeks inside. Far above, and on surrounding walls, larger houses could be seen. These either hung from, or were built into, the main structure. The more extravagant decoration on those seemed to denote their owners as being of somewhat higher stature than the ones below. Although that is debatable, given that they still live here.
Suddenly, the sound of a woman screaming pulled him back into the moment. Instinctively, he moved his body to the side of the walkway and pressed his back against a house. His condition made that move significantly less graceful than he would have liked, but what was done was done. The few people that were nearby scattered immediately, leaving him alone to witness whatever was going on behind the corner.
“Are you going to give what’s due, or are we gonna have to cut you?” shouted a male, young by the sound of it.
“Please! Business hasn’t been that good!” a woman cried out, clearly in panic. “Everyone’s saving up to get higher, you know? They don’t ask for me that much anymore!”
As silently as he could, the Nameless snuck to the edge of the house he had been leaning against and took a quick look around the corner. A total of five people had gathered around a single woman.
Are these… are these men? They were obviously gang members of some kind, but the way they adorned and decorated themselves made it difficult for the Nameless to discern just who was male and who was female. Leather, chains, and spikes of all kinds covered their bodies, and their hair had been cut and colored in ways that defied reason. Everyone was on their feet, although the surrounded woman seemed ready to fall to her knees at any moment.
“And you expect me just take that at face value?” The man who’d spoken before moved toward her. Even among his own, he stood out. Instead of the colors that his colleagues prized, this man, presumably their leader, was completely monochrome. The Nameless’ failing vision did not let him see the details, but a distinct rattling sound he made with every step was enough to communicate just how much metal he had on him.
He grabbed the woman by the hair, pulled her face next to his, and started yelling. “Everyone has needs, my dear! Everyone! The worse things get, the more things people need! And everyone needs some sugar once in a while! Correct me if I’m wrong!”
“You—you’re right!” she whimpered. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Contrast!”
“And what does that mean, girl? What does it mean for you if I am right?” He leaned toward her, and the chains clattered.
“It means… it means that I haven’t tried hard enough,” the woman said reluctantly.
So, that is what this is all about. The Nameless weighed his options. He could barely see the gang members’ features, let alone if they had any weapons. More so, taking on even one of them would present a challenge in the state he was in. An assault of any kind was absolutely out of the question. But what else can I do?
“Exactly, my dear,” said Mr. Contrast. “And effort is important, you know? It tells me you care. It tells me you care about your pretty little face.” He rocked his left hand swiftly, and something metallic appeared in it. A knife? “And if you don’t care, then why should I?”
I cannot let them mutilate that woman! The Nameless bit the inside of his lower lip. He wanted to help. He really did. But he would die if he attempted this, and everything he had done up until that point would have been in vain. Sorry, girl. I will make them pay for this later.
As if his hand disagreed with his decision, his fingers contracted on their own, refusing to let go of the protruding brick he was holding onto. Come on, let go! He rocked his arm forward, expecting to wrest his hand free of the rickety house so he could get away from the scene. Instead, he pulled the whole brick out.
It took less than a second for all the gang members to turn their heads toward him. Somewhat surprised, their leader let the woman go, letting her fall on her backside. Within the blink of an eye, he produced a knife in his other hand, stepped forward, and shouted, “Someone wants to be cut in her place, huh? Fair enough! Show the fucker what happens when you mess with the Rainbows!” Like a pack of rabid wolves, they all hurled themselves at the Nameless in unison.
To hell with this city and the scum within it! There was no escape. His gut was telling him that he would have to either run or fight, and both options were completely impossible. Or perhaps there is a third one…
The men were no more than ten feet away. His hand was still grasping the brick and refusing to let go; a side effect of his warrior’s instinct. But this was not the time for him to be a warrior nor to rely on instincts. Right now, I need to make use of my brain.
It wasn’t easy. His whole body flat-out refused the idea. It fought him like he would have fought these punks, if only he could. Then, just as the first enemy was about to enter striking range, the Nameless’ fingers finally loosened their grip on the brick, and he knew that he had beaten himself.
“Please! I am just an innocent bystander!” He would have screamed if his coarse throat had allowed it. Giving his best imitation of an elderly, dying man, he dropped to the ground, covered his head, and laid in a fetal position. “Show mercy, I beg of you!”
Instead of mercy, there came a kick in the stomach. More followed soon enough, liberally spread over every body part he did not cover. Relentlessly, they kept pummeling him as he lay there, until their leader came in to replace one kind of agony with another.
“Fancy yourself a hero, huh?” The others stopped hitting him, allowing the one they called Contrast to come closer and roll the Nameless on his back. Then, with a sadistic grin, he sat on the Nameless’ chest, and let his feet rest on his wrists. “Allow me to show you just how much I disagree.”
With
a wave of his hand that he was barely capable of perceiving, Contrast sliced off a significant chunk of the Nameless’ nose. A split second later another move followed, this one cutting through his lips and taking out some of his teeth. Then, as if he was finishing a painting, the monochrome man swung both of his blades in a cross-like motion, barely missing the Nameless’ left eye, but completely ruining the other. Blood and other fluids seeped down his throat and onto the ground, and he started to choke.
“Voila!” Contrast exclaimed as he rose theatrically. “You’re officially a masterpiece. Enjoy!” The rest of the gang followed with a standing ovation. Wheezing, the Nameless tried to get a better look at them, desperate to find something, anything he could use to murder one of them and proceed to the next. That would require me to be able to move, though.
“Dibs!” shouted one of the men, a well-built sort with head full of spiky crimson-orange hair. “Unless—unless you want his stuff, boss!”
“Don’t care,” Contrast said. “I’m so pleased with my work I don’t even feel the need to cut her up. You hear me, dear? You can go!” He turned toward her as the knives disappeared from his hands. “But remember this: next time, try harder!” By the time he had finished his sentence, she was already around the corner.
During that time, the fire-haired gang member knelt before the Nameless’ body, and was about to go rummaging through his pockets.
The card-chips! No!
In desperation, the Nameless grabbed hold of the man’s arm, even while still choking on his own blood. With practically zero effort, the redheaded gangster twisted the hand, breaking it at the wrist. Beyond himself with pain, the Nameless tried to scream. The blood wouldn’t let him, and he only gurgled instead.
“Yeah, maybe that’ll keep you quiet!” The redheaded man shoved his hand into one of the Nameless’ coat pockets, grabbed hold of what was inside, and widened his eyes even before he pulled it out. “Erm, boss, I know you said you don’t care, but I really think you ought to take a look at this!”
“What now—holy fuck!” Contrast exclaimed the moment he laid eyes on the chips in the redhead’s hand. “How the… how in the bloody hell did he get that much money?” He turned his gaze back toward the Nameless. “Hey! Don’t you dare faint on me! I want to know, where did you get all this?” He leaned over the Nameless again, practically face-to-face. Even through the haze, the Nameless could tell that the man was wearing quite a bit of monochrome make-up.
“There’s more in his other pocket!” another man said. “Outside cash, a huge roll!”
“Answer, fuckface! Or I’ll do your name justice and actually fuck your face!”
At first, the Nameless tried to say something, but there was way too much coagulating blood in his throat. He started choking again, and the answer came by itself. The resulting eruption of fluids that poured from what was left of his mouth covered both his and Constrast’s faces in dark crimson. If he could, he would have laughed. Oh, did I ruin your make-up?
“You!” The formerly monochrome man was beyond furious. “You think you’re funny? Huh? Well, let me show you how I voice my disagreement!” Just the way it did before, a knife found its way into his left hand. Then, with the force of his entire body, he swung it downward, embedding it between the Nameless’ legs.
Pushed well beyond his limits, the Nameless found himself outright unable to breathe. His already narrowed vision darkened, and the voices around him turned to echoes before disappearing entirely. His body did not exist anymore, seemingly replaced with a knotted mass of pain. Then, thankfully, he lost consciousness, and faded into oblivion.
Chapter Three
He was roused by a blow to the head. Compared to the way the rest of his body felt, though, the pain was almost negligible. Still fighting for his breath, the Nameless opened his remaining eye, and saw that he was being dragged through a doorway by the end of his coat.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!” a woman sobbed out from behind him. Just barely, he tilted his head backward and saw that a good part of him was inside the house. It is that woman I tried to save.
“One more tug! One more, and you’ll be off the streets!” she cried again. If the Nameless even knew what to say to her, he did not manage to do it in time. What little of his body remained in one piece felt as if it was being torn apart when she pulled on his coat again, but by the time it was done, he was completely in.
“I’m going to get you help!” She came up to his face. The fact that she recoiled after getting close spoke volumes about the way he looked. “There’s a doctor, although he doesn’t live near! I’m gonna go and get him! Stay awake until I return, please!” She rose, went around him, and hurriedly passed through the entrance. “Thank you! And, sorry,” she said as she closed the door.
No doctor can help me, now or later, the Nameless thought. Merely laying in place was sheer agony, and he shuddered at the thought of trying to rise. There was no way for him to take a life and recover from his injuries. By all means, he was done for. In my state, I cannot kill an insect, let alone a human being.
Then, a peculiar sound caught his attention. It seemed like… wheezing. Unusual, due to the fact that it did not originate from him. He stopped breathing, focusing every last shred of attention into just staying still and listening.
There it is again! Someone was in the other room, fighting for breath just as much as he was.
But who could it be? he asked himself, a moment before declaring the question completely unimportant. It was only a matter of time until the girl returned, and any chance at recovery he might have would be long gone by then. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to raise his shoulders from the floor. What he saw of his body looked almost as bad as it felt. The butterfly knife was still planted firmly between his legs, and he knew that he would have to leave it there until recovery started. I am not too keen on bleeding to death.
Staying in that position was difficult. Turning on his belly and dragging himself across the room was worse. Every pull he made with his good hand, he had to follow with the rest of his body, all while fighting to suck enough air through his mutilated mug. And mocking him all the while, the knife inside his nether region danced with every move he made, threatening to send him right down to the floor if he made a single mistake.
An eternity of agony later, the Nameless had crawled all the way into the other room, leaving a bloody trail behind him.
There! On the bed! He immediately proceeded to drag himself toward the wheezing individual, any observations of the room itself and everything else about it beneath his notice. Just a little bit further. He forced himself to ignore his broken wrist while he grabbed hold of the sheets, inhaled as deeply as he could, and pulled. Just a moment before he would collapse on the floor, he managed to put one knee forward, giving his body some measure of stability.
For a moment, all the Nameless could do was keep his face pressed against the sheets, joining the bedridden individual in their wheezing. That was… beyond horrible. But if I stop now, I stop forever! he reminded himself. Hating his life, the world, and everything in it, he raised his head, forcing himself to gaze into the eyes of the person he was about to kill.
It was an old man; thin, pale, and evidently in great pain. He did not seem to react to the intruder’s presence. All he did was stare back.
You are in luck tonight. Wrapping his hands around the man’s throat, he bit his lower lip, and started squeezing. His right wrist disagreed with it, but he continued to do so anyway. Now lacking in air, the old man’s eyes widened, yet his expression remained the same. There was neither panic, hatred, nor regret on his face. Only the vacant stare of someone who was no longer there. No need to thank me, old man.
Then, an image flashed through the Nameless’ mind, shattering his concentration, and turning his grip as limp as the rest of his body. It was but a single memory, no more horrible than anything else he’d witnessed. But it was enough.
Damn it, Horace.
He released the man’s throat, and allowed his own body to slide downward. They do not even look alike.
The Nameless tried to force his mind away from the dead-end course it was on. But all he saw was his friend asking him to take his life. I… I cannot force myself to do it again. Having given up, he weakly turned around, causing his body to drop on its backside, shoulders up against the bed. The old man kept wheezing up above him, and the Nameless did the same.
You are indeed in luck, old man. “No one wants to die alone,” he tried to say, but what came out of his ruined mouth sounded like pure gibberish. Then, he remembered a thought he’d had earlier, while he was approaching the Pyramid. I guess it did end up with me failing to strangle someone to death. He laughed maniacally, almost choking in the process.
“You didn’t strike me as the type to give up easily.” A woman’s voice came from somewhere around the entrance.
Back already? If that was indeed the girl he had saved, then she really did work fast.
“Is this all it takes? One severe beating, and you choose to go down with the ship?” She entered the room the same way he’d crawled in, paying no heed to the trail of blood on the floor. It was most definitely not the old man’s presumed daughter. This one was Native American in origin, just the right height for her slender yet shapely build. She wore jeans and a tight-fitting denim vest over a transparent black tank top. Her face, an exquisite mixture of features both mundane and exotic, grabbed every last piece of attention he still had to give; while her hair, as black as coal, invited him to inspect its braids up close. She was, in a word, perfect.
A bit too perfect to be real. Is that you, Death? The Nameless tried to laugh, but his mangled face would not allow it. I guess our date was long overdue. After all, a full five days have passed since last I was dead.