Ascent: Second Book of the Nameless Chronicle

by M. T. Miller

  “Is it that obvious?” The Nameless smiled.

  “You’re not going to back me up here?” The Grin turned to Divine, who seemed to be staring at the counter.

  “What? Oh, of course!” She appeared to have snapped out of a trance. “What were we talking about?”

  “Never mind. We’re leaving!” the Grin said, way too loud. He rose, and Divine did the same. She reached for her wallet, but her date had already dropped a bunch of chips on their table. Holding hands, they walked toward the door, and left the café.

  “Don’t mind him,” the waitress said as she brought the Nameless’ order. “He overreacts from time to time. But they’re friendly in general. Give great tips, too!”

  “Allow me to do the same,” the Nameless said, handing her about twice the price of his coffee. “If you could sit with me and answer some questions, I would be more than happy to give you even more.”

  “I…” She blushed. “Sir, I’m afraid that this is neither the time not place.”

  “And I am not that kind of man,” the Nameless said. “I have only recently arrived. I require answers. Nothing unwholesome, I assure you.”

  The girl turned toward the counter, as if waiting for approval. The barmaid nodded, and she sat opposite the Nameless.

  “Just make it quick, please,” she said, “I’m working, after all.”

  “Of course,” the Nameless said. He took a quick sip of his coffee, leaned in toward her face, and spoke. “What can you tell me about this floor?”

  “I could talk about that for hours,” she said, smiling. “It’s mostly service trade. As in, refreshments, restaurants, fine craftsmanship… recreation…”

  “I see. And this is enough to live off? To remain up here?”

  “Well, everything is expensive,” she said. “Much more expensive than down below. You’ll notice that the coffee you ordered is roughly fifteen times the second floor’s price. But it’s a rare blend, and that’s hard to come by. That more or less describes the way everything works up here.”

  “So, everyone trades in high-quality goods and services in exchange for a lot of money?”

  “More or less, yeah,” she nodded.

  “Understood,” the Nameless said. “Have you ever seen a member of the Management?”

  “Everyone asks that,” she said. “And no, I haven’t. Although there are rumors…” She came in closer. “Every once in a while, someone sees a bald man in a green suit. Rumor has it he’s in charge of the whole floor, though I don’t know if that’s true.” She backed down to her side. “The policemen of this floor supposedly get to see them all, for whatever that’s worth. But don’t even try asking them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t,” she said, the smile disappearing from her face.

  “One more question, if I may,” the Nameless said. Since the girl did not object, he continued. “Have you seen a pair of… colorful characters around this floor? Dyed hair, strange clothes, face paint, anything of the sort.”

  “There was a girl, I don’t know if she’s still around…”

  “Rush?” the Nameless said. “I know Rush. Is she the only one?”

  “Maybe…” the waitress said. “I think we had some more about a week ago. They only showed up once or twice, though. Haven’t seen or heard from them since.”

  “Green, yellow, red, a black-and white one, and… I think the last one was blue,” the Nameless said. “Not exactly something one sees every day, I imagine.”

  “That’s them,” she said.

  “And you say they have not appeared since?”

  “Not at all. Sorry,” the waitress said. “Can I go? People are waiting for me. Instead of, y’know, vice-versa.”

  “Of course,” the Nameless said as he handed her the rest of the promised tip. “Thank you, Miss…?”

  “Chloe,” she said as she took the money. “You seem nice, mister, so I’m going to give you a tip of my own: get work as soon as possible, and don’t overspend.”

  “Noted,” the Nameless said.

  “Good to know,” she said, waltzing back to the counter. The Nameless could not help but stare.

  Easy on the eyes. He took another sip of his coffee, then turned toward the window-wall. The sun was in its center, and it was difficult to look outside, but the Nameless did so just the same.

  So, people come here expecting freedom, only to be forced into another cage? He pondered the implications, only for his attention to be grabbed by the desert road. The third floor was high up, so no details could be made out, but there was no mistaking that something moved down there. A caravan? No, there were no horses. Rather, it was an array of the large, box-like things that the Skulls seemed to be so fond of back in the Underbelly.

  Had they come for him? Probably not. If the Manhunter camp had any survivors on their end, it was extremely unlikely that they knew he even lived. For all intents and purposes, he had died in combat with the Boneslinger.

  This time, he chugged his coffee instead of sipping it. The black stuff at the bottom found its way inside his mouth too, but he chewed it all up and swallowed it.

  Traders, most likely, the Nameless concluded about the horseless caravan. He turned away from the window and looked around the café. The patrons came from all walks of life, but most seemed to be around their physical prime. Who else could bear the rigors of working their way up the Pyramid?

  Some of them will descend tonight, he thought. That, or send hired help. Regardless, goods were coming in, and trades would have to be made. Some of it might be worth good money up here. He wiped his mouth, pleased with his conclusion. And around it goes, with no end in sight.

  He rose, giving a quick nod to both the waitress and the barmaid.

  “You’ll come see us again, right?” Chloe said, brandishing her smile.

  “Of course,” the Nameless confirmed.

  He stepped outside, shutting the glass door behind him.

  Now that I have seen this place, I do not envy its denizens at all, he thought as he set course toward his new place.

  ***

  The Nameless leapt from his bed, the revolver firmly in his hand. Like a terrified animal, he looked left and right, a moment before realizing he was in his own home.

  The place smells different, he thought as he willed himself to relax. He lowered his gun onto the bed, careful to avoid an accidental discharge. He did not even remember reaching for it under his pillow.

  Slowing down his breathing, the Nameless moved his shoulders back and forth. A loud cracking followed, a confirmation of a good night’s rest. He did not remember the last time he had that luxury.

  Well then, time to get moving. There were things to be done, and time was always precious. He used the bathroom, showered, and donned the still-dirty suit from yesterday. His fellow third-floorers would no doubt disapprove, but he did not care. After all, I am going downward.

  He opened the closet. The stench of his old things mixed badly with the pristine scent of the rest of the apartment. Regardless of the fact, he inhaled deep.

  One by one, the Nameless pulled the black bags out and opened them up. One contained his old trench coat and pants. Rancid from the blood and muck, it was beginning to mold. This might have some use, but I think it would be best if I got rid of it.

  The other two bags were full of archaic weaponry. While they would be tempting to use, he chose to travel lightly. Once again, there would be side stops on the way down.

  He reached inside the closet, taking a bullet from the pile he had been given. He took the revolver, opened it, and reloaded the single empty chamber. Then, putting the weapon bags back in their places, he took the bag with the dirty clothes. Making sure that he had the money pouch on him, he exited his place and locked it up.

  The first pair of guards were right where he expected. Unsurprisingly, they turned out to be the very same ones the sheriff had introduced him to.

  “Ahoy,” he said as he approached.

&nb
sp; “Greetings,” one of them said.

  “Is there any kind of map to this place?” the Nameless asked. “I keep getting lost.”

  “Afraid not,” the guard said. “Unlike the second floor, this one is more or less a modified five-star hotel. Tell us what you need, and we’ll help you out the best we can.”

  “Strange. But fair enough,” the Nameless said. “I seek to dispose of my trash. I also require a tailor, and a liquor store.”

  “There’s a trash chute at every corner of the floor,” the guard said. “Just go anywhere, and you should reach one eventually. Just throw your junk in there and forget about it.”

  “If you’re looking for a good tailor, try apartment 287,” the other guard said. “Works with everything. As for a liquor store, there are plenty. What’s your preferred poison?”

  “I was thinking wine.”

  “Then, you go to room 85. Specializes in it.”

  “Understood,” the Nameless said as he moved away from them. “My thanks.”

  “Yeah, don’t mention it,” the first guard said. “Just doing our jobs.”

  Which apparently means keeping me under your watch, the Nameless thought as he disappeared behind a corner.

  The rest of the morning went by in a blur. The tailor was a civil fellow, albeit far too friendly. The Nameless told him he wanted a long coat, let him take his measurements, and sped out of there. The wine merchant, on the other hand, seemed to have been a follower of the quick business philosophy. The whole trade took no longer than a minute.

  Good time, the Nameless thought as he looked at the large clock in front of the elevators. It was almost noon. Down on the second floor, he would have lost most of his day. Satisfied, he boarded the lift and rode it down to the hive. First, he set off toward the food stands. Having taken care of the body’s needs, his next stop was the apartment complex. Time for some answers.

  Some time (and a whole lot of shoving) later, the Nameless found himself in front of a familiar apartment. He straightened his back, signaled for the others to pass him by if they could, and knocked.

  With all the speed of a hungry dog, Frank opened the door.

  “Oh, come on!” he shouted, trying to slam it shut. The foot the Nameless put in his way did not allow it. “Come on, man! I didn’t do anything!”

  “I know,” the Nameless said as he raised the bottle of wine. “Let us change that.”

  Frank’s expression (if one might call it that) lighted up at the sight. However, it had had no effect on the unwillingness with which he moved to the side. “Come in,” he said in a subdued tone.

  “I have brought some paper cups,” the Nameless said as Frank closed the door. I thought you might need them with your no-lips problem.

  “Why… why are you even here?” Frank asked. He passed by the Nameless and sat on his bed. “I mean, I get that you’re here to drink with me. But why?”

  “This wine is from the third floor,” the Nameless said, smiling.

  “That still doesn’t ex—did you say third floor?”

  “Indeed.” The Nameless pulled the bottle out. It was the very same red stuff he drank with the Cleanup Crew. It was not too strong and quite sweet, something he assumed Frank might enjoy.

  “Screw my questions, then,” the former Skull said. “Let’s get hammered.”

  “I could not agree more,” the Nameless said. The questions will come after the wine has gone.

  They drank the wine in relative silence. With each cup he drank, Frank seemed to loosen up a little bit. By the time the bottle was empty, he did seem to have a bit of a smile on his face. That, or the Nameless saw what he wanted to see. One never could tell with those mutilations.

  “Frank,” the Nameless spoke up, sitting near the table. “There is something I would know.”

  “I bet it’s about blowing my nose-holes,” Frank said, his head wobbling as he sat on the bed. “Everyone always wants to know about that.”

  “Not exactly,” the Nameless said, although he had to admit that his interest was piqued. “I would know the Skulls’ history. What can you tell me about it?”

  “Man…” Frank ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “And we had such a good vibe going here. Why’d you have to ruin it?”

  “Because I require knowledge only you can provide, Frank,” the Nameless said.

  “Damn it. Worked me over with the booze, did you…” Frank let himself drop down on the bed. “Where do you want me to begin?”

  “At the earliest point you can,” the Nameless said. “When were they formed? How? Anything you can give, I want.”

  “Well… they said it started with a guy,” Frank said, still lying down. “Which is kinda dumb because more or less anything starts with a guy, right? Anyway, no one knows his real name. Today, everyone just refers to him as the First Skull.”

  “And I assume that this man is not the Boneslinger? I have been told that he came later.”

  “You’ve been told right,” Frank said. “No, in the beginning, there was only the First Skull. Most think he used to be a member of some racial purity group back when we still had a country. You know, ‘burn the blacks’ and all that.”

  The Nameless found the concept frighteningly familiar.

  “Somewhere around the time it became everyone for themselves, the First Skull got captured by some… gentlemen he had apparently wronged. The way they tell the story, you’d think they hurt him out of sheer malice, but I don’t buy it. What they did to him… you don’t get that without having a whole lot of skeletons in your closet.

  “The details vary,” he continued, “but the end result is always the same. They burned him, just the way he claimed they themselves should burn. Except, kinda messing with the whole point of the act, he survived.”

  “Being burned alive?” the Nameless asked.

  “Hey, no one said he looked pretty afterward.” Frank pointed at his own face. “By the time he was found, everything that was human about him was already burnt off. Along with, some would say, his sanity.”

  “He could not have been very useful like that,” the Nameless commented. “Heavy burns would turn a man into baggage, not someone a gang would idolize.”

  “Anyone else, yeah,” Frank said. “But the First Skull supposedly only got stronger. He recovered so quickly that members of other gangs soon joined the one he was forming. Not able to feel any pain anymore, he unleashed the largest wave of brutality this side of the country had ever endured. And the more he pillaged, the more men and women flocked to witness this living legend.”

  Was he something like me? the Nameless wondered. There was a chance. Or was the legend an exaggeration? Both were possible.

  “The story then goes on about how a bunch of dedicated gang members gladly turned their faces into likenesses of his own,” Frank said bitterly. “Of course, I don’t buy that one bit. No one does this to themselves without having to. I can attest to that.”

  “And how did one burnt man achieve that?” the Nameless asked.

  “Beats me,” Frank said. “So, the whole thing lasted for several years. Looting, pillaging, fucked-up hero worship. Gang members with scarification soon outnumbered those without, and it became mandatory. Not having a face does things to you, man. You start getting offended by those who do. This is how the Skulls were born.

  “Good thing it was a stillbirth,” he continued. “Soon after everything became formal, the First Skull was found dead; murdered in his sleep.”

  “Did they find the killer?”

  “Never,” Frank said. “After that, the gang splintered. Lieutenants formed their own little bands and went their separate ways, warring with each other from time to time. It was… it was bad.”

  “Were you a member then?

  “No,” Frank said. “I was one of the poor sobs who tried to survive without joining.” He lifted himself into a sitting position. “Do you know what it’s like getting robbed by one bunch of assholes, only to have another appear at your door
step a day or two later? Of course, both groups will kill you if you don’t give them anything. And after they’re gone, you have to deal with the other survivors. I don’t think Hell could do much worse than that.”

  “So it was then that you decided to join?”

  “No, not yet. I endured a whole year of that crap,” Frank said. “It was after the Boneslinger came into the picture that I considered it. Good for me.”

  My old friend, the Nameless thought. “What can you tell me about him?”

  “Not much,” Frank said. “The first thing I ever heard of him was when the local gangs chose to join his cause. The old ‘Slinger already had a bunch under his belt then. How he did it is as much your guess as mine.”

  “I take it that you never met the man, then?”

  “Nope, although I did see him once or twice from afar,” Frank said. “But it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the new Skulls were something different. Something with a purpose.”

  “That purpose being?”

  “Domination. As opposed to, you know, chaos,” Frank said. “The Boneslinger ran the gang like a business. They started doing a whole lot of racketeering. Even served as an army for hire once or twice. As a result, more and more regular Joes signed up. Myself included.”

  He stopped talking. Instead, he stared at the nearby wall.

  “What happened then?” the Nameless asked.

  “The fuck you think happened?” The way Frank shouted almost made the Nameless reach for his gun. “A farmer didn’t pay up, so we, a bunch of freshly cut recruits, were sent to collect. It didn’t sit well with me.”

  “Did you…?”

  “I’m not gonna tell you what happened there. Not nearly drunk enough for that. But after it was done, I said I was taking off for a piss and ran for the hills.”

  “I could make you tell me,” the Nameless said.

  “No,” Frank said as he stood up. “No you couldn’t. I’m taking that story to my grave, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  “Fine,” the Nameless said. He rose himself. “I think I am about done here anyway.”

  “Yeah, you know where the door is. Help yourself,” Frank said. He was as tense as a statue.