Station

by Jarrett Brandon Early

  As Hadder continued his silent assessment, he soon understood how the behemoth came by his unusual name. Six long metal spikes stuck out from the man's skull, one positioned directly in the middle of his forehead, surrounding his shaved head like a small army of pikemen. Between each long spike, which Hadder had no doubt was used during fights, was a smaller one, probably more for decoration than its utility. Despite the frightful appearance, a small part of Hadder admired the man.

  How do you ensure that your crown cannot be worn by another? Weld it to your fucking head.

  Removing his stare from The Krown, who was still looking at him as if he were a steak, Hadder swept his gaze from side to side, making a note of what he could. They were in an enormous tent, heavy carpets were strewn about for comfort and lounging. To his left, Hadder saw Cal and Otho, standing at attention. Although they were not bound in any way, at least a dozen risers surrounded them, aiming cocked crossbows at their faces. Behind him, Hadder could hear wild laughter, the occasional argument, and a few choice insults thrown his way. This, coupled with the thick smoke that permeated the tent and stank of meat, told Hadder that he was in a kind of meeting or dining hall, not dissimilar to the one he visited in the south.

  Four women, naked except for the leather hot pants and knee-high boots they wore, knelt to either side of The Krown's throne, pawing at him occasionally. Farther to the right of The Krown, the tusked man waited patiently, his eyes fixed solely on Hadder, offering a challenge.

  The Krown shifted on his throne, leaned forward threateningly, and removed the hands of one of his concubines from his veiny shoulder. "The Caesars have informed me of why you have come, Marlin Hadder." His voice was deep and melodic, almost operatic in quality. Tremendous power resonated in that voice. "Tell me why I should do as you ask, and not burn you alive to feed my army." A cheer went up from behind Hadder, something soft and wet struck him from the side.

  Hadder did his best to sound confident, a boy throwing stones into a tornado. "One of your men broke the cardinal rule of Station. Not only did he illegally cross the Skirt, but he murdered an innocent woman while there, someone who was beloved by the community."

  "I don't see what any of this has to do with me, Setter."

  "Some say that you ordered the attack, that you are testing the Skirt. If this is true, Albany Rott may have something to say about your rule here." A murmuring trickled through the hidden crowd. "But allow me my vengeance, and everyone will chalk it up to a lone wolf, acting only in selfish bloodlust."

  "And you think I fear Albany Rott?"

  There was a danger in the question. Hadder knew he needed to tread lightly before the unstable man-beast. "No, I don't. But I think you're not ready yet for an all-out war with him. You're still consolidating power in the Rising. Until that's done, you can't win a war against the combined forces of Rott's Caesars and Rounds' forces. You'd be stuck in a vice, squashed from both sides."

  The Krown wanted to throttle the small man before him, wanted to tear him limb from limb, tossing the pieces to his dogs of war. But he couldn't deny the truth of what Marlin Hadder was saying. The war with Rott would come soon enough, but not now. All the pieces were yet to be put in place. "And who is it that you think wronged you, plain man? I would make sure that he is even one of mine before I entertain your proposal."

  "The fiend's name is Skeelis." An eruption occurred behind Hadder, too many different sounds to pick out one general reaction.

  The Krown smiled wickedly. "Ahh, yes, Skeelis. My treasured mercenary, my skilled killer. A valuable resource to me, Setter. Not one I will simply give away."

  The tusked man walked over and whispered into The Krown's ear. The Krown's green eyes went wide, and his evil smile grew, showing teeth filed to sharp points, something Hadder had missed upon first glance. "I believe you remember Wagner here. He was the one who captured you and your Caesars."

  "Easily captured, my king," added Wagner, his tusks bouncing with the words.

  Hadder ignored the tusked man and addressed The Krown. "I don't see how he would know how easy it was. Pig-face here stayed so far from the battle, I thought him another Setter tourist."

  Wagner stepped forward, a murderous scowl on his face, but was restrained by The Krown.

  "Enough! Wagner here has come up with the most grand compromise - a chance at vengeance for you, some entertainment for me and my men. It's been too long since our last fight, and we miss the sight of blood." To no one in particular, "Someone, bring me Skeelis! And quickly!"

  Hadder simply hung uncomfortably for the next few minutes, the pain in his wrists not being helped by the looks still being shot at him by Wagner, who had returned to his place on The Krown's right. Cal and Otho spoke quietly amongst themselves. If they were concerned about Hadder's safety, they positively refused to show it. Before long, Hadder heard the tent's large front flap open, and Skeelis lumbered past on warped legs to stand between him and The Krown, facing both. Thick leather encased his forearms, scabbards for his bladed arms.

  "Skeelis, my pet, do you know this Setter who has come to us?"

  The fiend known as Skeelis looked over to Hadder, recognition flashing in its dark eyes and on its scarred gray face. That wicked smile again, the same he'd seen when immobilized on the Skirt and in The Soiree Noire moments before Reena Song's brutal murder. A forked tongue poked out between pointed teeth as if tasting the air around Hadder, testing for fear. "I know not this Setter, my king," hissed the fiend in a high-pitched gravelly voice. "Most those I meet become one of my lovely masks, but I have not this face."

  Hadder's eyes fell to Skeelis's belt, where there hung several masks of human flesh, reminding Hadder of their first meeting.

  "Well now, Skeelis," The Krown continued, as if speaking to a child, "This man says you crossed the Skirt and hurt one of his lady friends."

  "Skeelis doesn't hurt. Skeelis butchers." The fiend giggled.

  "Butchered one of his lady friends, then. Why would you do such a thing, sweet Skeelis?"

  Skeelis looked to The Krown, a questioning look on his abused face, as if he didn't know where The Krown wanted him to take this. "Poor Skeelis would never do such a thing, my king. But if poor Skeelis were to do such a thing, maybe he would do it because she poisoned the air with her sweetness. Maybe she made poor Skeelis's eyes water. Maybe poor Skeelis had to taste the source of this poisoned air. Maybe poor Skeelis wanted to see what she looked like holding her own head. But I would never do such a thing, my king. So I cannot say for sure."

  The Krown chuckled to himself, obviously tickled by Skeelis's ridiculous half-confession. "All of us here are convinced of your innocence, dear Skeelis. Are we not!?" The crowd behind Hadder broke into a cheer. "But this man, this Setter, and these Caesars, they think you guilty. They want retribution from sweet Skeelis." Skeelis hissed at Hadder as the crowd began to boo. Another piece of half-eaten food struck Haddeer from behind. ‘'But I think I've come to a solution, one that will satisfy all aggrieved parties, myself included." The Krown stood up, began feeding into the crowd's growing excitement. "Sweet Skeelis, would you meet this man, this Setter, this accuser, in one-on-one combat!? To clear your good name and that of your cherished king?!"

  Skeelis's wicked grin was back. He began to anxiously scratch at the leather hiding the razor-sharp blades that ran down his forearms. "I accept the challenge, my king."

  The Krown spread his arms, speaking more to the throng than to the combatants. "Then, in one hour, let it be known that sweet Skeelis will face the Setter Marlin Hadder. The two will settle their differences once and for all - in the Meat Show!"

  Cheers exploded across the meeting tent, a palpable buzz falling over the entire encampment. Hadder could hear Risers quickly exiting the tent, most likely to fill their heads with chemicals before securing good seats to the show.

  The Krown spoke to Skeelis, showmanship all gone. "Skeelis, go prepare yourself. I want to see you wearing this man's face at dinner tomorrow. You'll be my g
uest of honor." Skeelis bowed and marched away, sliding the tube of leather down and showing the inside of his forearm to Hadder before passing out of sight. The Krown motioned to Hadder. "Cut the Setter down, let him prepare for his fate."

  Two Risers approached and cut the leather bonds from Hadder's wrists. He dropped to his knees from the assault of weight and rubbed his raw flesh, working to get feeling back in his hands. After a needed moment of recovery, Hadder worked his way back to feet to face The Krown, who had returned to his throne, a topless woman now on his lap.

  "I have another condition to discuss regarding Skeelis."

  The Krown, who was playfully choking the woman atop him, refused to look in Hadder's direction as he responded. "I'm a busy man, Marlin Hadder. A king has much to do, many moving pieces to control. I don't have time to waste. And negotiating with dead men is something I consider a major waste of time. You have your one-on-one fight, as promised. And you'll have your martyr's death, this I promise. Now get out of my sight. I'll see you soon. In the Meat Show."

  CHAPTER 20

  Hadder and the trailing Caesars were marched due east towards the Station Wall, a small battalion of Risers encircling them with weapons at the ready. Cal and Otho were without their impressive blades, those having been confiscated when they were first captured. As Hadder walked, he tensed and released various muscles of his body, ensuring that each was primed for an explosion of movement. There would be no warmup period, Hadder knew, no feeling out rounds. He needed to be ready out of the gate. While he readied his muscles for a fight, he worked hard to control his breathing, using several relaxation methods he had picked up in his years of training across disciplines and teachers.

  Within a few minutes, the group came upon a sizeable makeshift coliseum, crafted from discarded timber, and filled in with loose concrete. Although wide, with a large circumference, the arena wasn't very high, rising maybe thirty feet above the ground. There was only one entrance to the coliseum, a simple gap in the construction that had an ugly gate made of bones that was now pulled to the side. Risers poured through the hole, hooting and hollering, seemingly having made good use of the hour of preparation.

  Every Riser that Hadder saw had some kind of extreme combat Elevation - spiked knuckles here, a blade replacing a forearm there. Each wore scars from numerous battles, and all walked with the swagger of those who were confident in their ability to come out on top in physical confrontations. What they lacked in discipline and military precision, The Krown's army made up for in numbers, hatred, and a passion for bloodletting. If it came to open battle, Hadder questioned if Ego Rounds could hold up to The Krown's disciples. And if Ego Rounds fell, the remainder of Station was in grave danger.

  Hadder finally reached the entrance gap and was welcomed by the decomposing bodies of two fallen Risers, one hanging on each side. Both had been up there for a while, with rib bones peeking through strips of falling skin and chunks of flesh missing, perhaps meals for some lucky scavenger. The corpses had been posed on their perches, arms swinging towards the gate to invite participant and spectator alike, zombie ringmasters welcoming everyone to a circus of death. To the right of the entrance, a large wooden sign had been nailed to the outer wall. In a shaky hand, three words had been written in blood, which had dried to a dark stain - The Meat Show.

  "Last week's Meat, Setter," said one of the Riser guards to Hadder, drawing his attention back to the bodies. "I wonder how you'll look up there?"

  "I'll make sure you look good, handsome boy," a female guard chimed in. "I'll pop that dick of yours out, carrion for the birds." All the Risers had a good laugh at that one.

  As they passed through the gate and into the coliseum, Cal and Otho were pulled to the left, and all of the guards followed them save four who kept behind Hadder, guarding the gate, as he entered the arena. As he was about to step onto the sandy floor, a Riser poked his back with a metal staff. "Hey, Meat, can I have your shirt when you're dead?" The other three laughed at the question but stopped abruptly when Hadder turned back, a cold look in his eyes that chilled even their fiery hearts.

  "No, you can't."

  And with that, Hadder stepped onto the arena floor. It was supremely simple, with no obstacles or caches of weapons strewn about, just a sandy dirt floor that allowed for little in terms of sophisticated strategy. Large lights sat at the edges of the arena floor that, when coupled with the four spotlights that sat atop the coliseum wall, illuminated the show for all to see. The crowd of Risers roared as Hadder became clear to all, their collective noise rattling Hadder's eardrums and almost bringing tears to his eyes. Looking around, Hadder was surprised by the sheer number of Risers that The Krown had under his command. When all of his forces were assembled as they were here, Hadder could not deny that they were an impressive bunch.

  To his left, Hadder could see The Krown sitting in what would be equal to box seats situated at the lowest level on the fifty-yard line. Concubines draped over him, The Krown sat comfortably, drinking from a horned goblet, waiting as if to see a movie to which he already knew the ending. On the other end of the arena, Skeelis paced back and forth, occasionally clasping hands with excited Risers in the crowd. Hadder supposed himself to be the away team.

  A tiny man in a dirty orange tuxedo took the center of the arena to much fanfare. No more than four feet in height, the small man looked out of place in the Rising, where the meek certainly did not inherit the earth. A metal box gleamed at his throat, and three small horn speakers jutted out from his oversized head, one above each ear and another in the back. The Risers called out in unison, "Vizzano," and the man bowed in appreciation. He lifted his short arms into the air, sending the crowd into a frenzy, before dropping them and ushering in complete silence.

  "My lovely Risers, how delicious it is to be joined here today." A giant's voice boomed from the diminutive man, multiplied many times over by the mechanism at his throat, and thundered into the air by his permanent head speakers. "How lucky are we, to serve The Krown, a just and noble king who knows what his people want. Nay! What his people need!" The crowd flared up, only to go quiet again. "On this beautiful Haela, under the Idol Moon, our benevolent king has put together, for our viewing pleasure, the resolution of a dispute between two men. One a fellow Riser, who shares in our dream of a fallen city. And the other, a cowardly Setter, whose name will be forgotten before it's even whispered on the lips of those who will mourn him.

  "This will be a one-on-one affair, a fight of the purest sort, with no tricks or tomfoolery afoot. Hand-to-hand, that's what we like here, with nothing more than the man and his combat Elevations to prove his worth." Vizzano turned to face Hadder before continuing his speech. "And for those of us without combat Elevations, please kiss the reaper on your way out." Risers cried out in laughter, pointing at the fool who failed to even bring a knife to a gunfight. Vizzano faced the crowd once more, sucked in air for final delivery. "A fight! To the death! Two engaged in combat! One will leave as a man! The other will exit as Meat! My lovely Risers, I give you…The Meat Show!"

  Super Bowls aren't this loud, thought Hadder as he watched Vizzano take another bow before stepping out of the arena, reappearing in The Krown's box seating, where he was promptly given a drink and a woman. The crowd had reached a new level of frenzy, would not be quieted until blood was shed, and a lot of it.

  Skeelis began to stalk his way towards Hadder, that bowlegged walk more akin to primate than man. As Skeelis moved forward, he held both arms out wide to his sides, showing the razor-sharp blades that ran the lengths of both forearms. Although he was wearing one of his skin masks, that unmistakably cruel smile could still be seen through the mouth hole.

  Hadder also began to move forward, bending low to scoop up a handful of sand on his way. Both men accelerated their paces as they approached the middle of the arena, Skeelis clearly out of control with bloodlust. When they were still several feet apart, Hadder noticed Skeelis's right arm cocking back for a sweeping blow aimed to neatly slic
e across Hadder's throat. Hadder immediately slowed his run and stepped into a front kick, catching Skeelis cleanly in the chest, his arm still out wide. The force of the kicked, increased by the fiend's forward momentum, blew air from Skeelis's lungs and forced him back. As he stumbled backward, Hadder threw his handful of sand into Skeelis's face. While the skin mask deflected some of the grains, many more found their way into the Riser's eyes.

  Skeelis hissed a curse and threw his mask to the side before clawing at his eyes. Hadder moved in, delivering a straight right to the jaw followed by a leg kick that felt more like kicking a banana tree than a human appendage. As Skeelis stumbled, Hadder continued to throw blows, connecting with a left hook and right uppercut before finishing the combination with an overhand right that smashed into Skeelis's temple.

  To Hadder's disappointment and surprise, the clean shots failed to drop Skeelis. Instead, they sent the twisted creature forward in a fury, arms hunting for flesh. With no time to move backward, Hadder pushed ahead instead, getting inside of Skeelis's blows and grabbing the Riser behind the head with both hands, securing a Muay Thai plum clinch. Pulling down with all his strength, Hadder forced Skeelis's head down while simultaneously bringing his left knee up, crushing the man's already destroyed nose.

  As Hadder positioned himself for another strike, this time with the right knee, Skeelis brought his bladed forearms up to slash at Hadder in unison, opening deep cuts into the tops of his arms and forcing him to relinquish his grip.

  Now it was Hadder's turn to stumble back, blood pouring from the long fissures that now adorned both arms. Skeelis continued forward, a hissing, manic laughter flowing from his crooked mouth. Hadder grew increasingly worried as his options became limited. The fiend's gnarly legs made leg kicks ineffective while its destroyed brain left head attacks impotent. Even worse, those devilish implants made clinch work a dangerous tactic that would leave Hadder a scarred mess even if he managed to win.