I struggled to remain conscious but found myself fading again only a few seconds later…
--
When I opened my one working eye again, it was far too dark to even tell where I was.
I felt around for the towel I'd been using to cover myself at night, but someone had taken it probably long ago. As I took in my surroundings, I noticed that I'd been halfway submerged in what seemed to be and reeked of sewer water. They'd tossed me in a small canal—a gutter where I could die alone, as if I'd never existed.
Dad.
Moving any part of my body forced the sensation of pain through my nerves, which had already begun shivering once I realized how frigid it was. If I didn't move, I wouldn’t make it this time… but I couldn't.
It took everything for my own heart to continue pulsating, acting as the quiet denial of my own fate. The rest of me—my extremities in particular—felt detached and remained unmovable. White-hued aquatic spheres fell from above and plunged and melted into my corneas, and I pressed my eyelids together. I allowed myself to completely relax. I shivered one last time before surrendering to the cold’s envelopment and letting destiny run its course…
It was then that a set of teeth bit through the collar of my shirt, and I felt something shake with effort as it dragged me from the shallow well of the canal. I recall trying to look once at whatever it was. Heavy curtains parted to reveal the black mastiff from earlier come to my rescue me a second time. But, what had initially appeared to be a canine before was now a dark, shimmering mass possessing grey, vertical slits in place of its eyes. This entity was much larger; it seemed to be almost formless. A broken glimmer of silvered light
The living, breathing nightmare happened to be the last dwindling moments of vision I was granted before my body sent me into another dissociative state…
--
I don't know exactly how much time I lost, but I remember brief moments in which I recovered to either numerous sharp pains or incoherent voices clouding over one another. I would fade in and out with a complete inability to see or comprehend anything. I thought I’d died, but whilst I was deceased I was cursed by an unimaginable number of dreams.
I remember a faceless man carrying what looked like a heavy cello up a lonely mountain towering above the Earth. He staggered forward relentlessly after what had been a long journey toward an obscure peak looming eerily before a figure obscured from my sight. What remained of the Sun, peeking behind edges of pure black, illuminated a swelling fog that began to surround the weary musician. While he efforted to keep his gaze affixed to his original purpose, a path emerged to the right and sloped downward into a pit echoing his name; a name known only to himself.
Drawn to the echoing sound, the musician strayed and progressed until he stood over the edge of the pit. The first step toward the center heightened all of his senses to their peak and caused him to experience a level of content and complacency he’d never felt before in his existence. His legs moved on their own, and he was quickly confronted with a short, slender pillar that sprang from the ground.
Within seconds, it expanded to resemble a face… the twisted image of the muzzle belonging to the black mastiff. It bared its glowing teeth and growled before lunging in for the kill and—!
--
I was in a hospital bed.
I noticed I’d begun convulsing violently. My vision adjusted to a large room adorned in blue lighting and filled with several flat beds, which were covered in grey sheets matching one another. A navy curtain was the only barrier separating each cot as men and women garbed in blue scrubs wandered from patient to patient. Directly to my right, a stranger obscured by one of the curtains began ranting loudly to himself.
He mumbled phrases and broken sentences I didn't quite understand and seemed to persistently repeat: “Hey! Where'd he go!?”
To my left, someone fought to breathe out of a device sealed onto her features. The constant rhythm of her respirations caused me to become more aware of my own situation…
An IV had been left in my arm, and a metallic cuff was clasped to my left bicep along with a thick, plastic clip clamped across my index finger. The cuff and clip were connected via two separate wires to a large monitor that displayed my vitals. In the background, I could hear my own heart rate beating at a rapid speed. I looked over at the monitor to see a blood pressure reading of 178/130 and noticed that a red light to the left of the screen began blinking frantically. I peered down to see a blue gown draped over my naked features and felt rivulets of sweat fall from my neck and chest soaking the sheets considerately placed underneath me.
From the corner of my right eye, I noticed a rather attractive female nurse clearly express shock upon seeing that I was awake. Before I could turn my head to make eye contact, she gasped and briskly moved away and that was the last I ever saw of her.
It was an urgent care center meant for the uninsured and less fortunate, and they’d been generous enough to supply televisions installed across the far wall. On the screen, I watched my first news broadcast aired by Citadel Entertainment—or, “C.E.”
Protesters from the Mid-City had gathered in the mostly corporate Blue Sector of the Upper-City to demand improvements in the gradually suffering job market; Captain Solar had just won a lucrative award for his acting in “Diamond-Eyed Soldiers”; a hip hop collective known as Hittin' Right released a mixtape that had become notorious for exposing the corruption within Federation bureaucracy and had sparked a series of riots against the Citadel Executives.
It was all the typical rundown of what went on in a country totally new to me—all of it except for the very last story told by News Anchor James Desando:
Desando glanced down at his notes for a brief moment as the image of something burning flashed on the screen behind him. He looked up toward the camera and said, “In closing tonight, as we celebrate President Derek's twentieth anniversary as the man who shaped this country, investigators from the Dawn Bureau still refuse to release info regarding a destroyed cruiser in the Third Quadrant of the Lower-City.
“Sources indicate that the vehicle was used by two middle-aged males to smuggle a yet unknown number of human cadavers. The culprits have been identified as Charles L. Mussel and Diedre Samo. Police report that although there’s was no evidence of a full-on, intentional wreck, the alleged smugglers perished after what is believed to be an abnormal technical malfunction that caused the cruiser’s engine to fail.
“Dawn Bureau Investigators, however, remain unconvinced and await further guidance from Federation Medical Examiners. This is James Desando from Citadel Entertainment Nightly News; good night, and thank you for watching!”
The program quickly switched over to a poorly-rated soap opera about a woman surviving alone in a country inhabited only by demons…
—and a doctor in a white coat suddenly blocked my view of the television screen. Another, seemingly less friendly nurse appeared at his side and walked over to nonchalantly tear the IV out of my arm. As she set about pressing gauze to the IV's point of penetration and bandaging the area, my assigned doctor copied down my vitals on his clipboard and murmured some words to the nurse without even looking in my direction. After she’d unplugged the monitor, the nurse unstrapped the cuff on my arm and helped me sit up in the bed. The doctor continued to ignore me as he looked condescendingly at the nurse.
“Get him out of here,” he sighed, “we’ve got twelve more inbound…”
She seemed slightly taken aback. “He just became alert, and now we're—are you sure?”
“The patient has made a full recovery, hasn't he?” His indifference strengthened. “As far as we're concerned, our work is done here.”
The doctor continued to ignore my presence altogether and walked away to disappear into another room in the building. With an expression of pity, the nurse took a stethoscope from a table next to me and quickly lifted up the back of my gown to press the instrument below my right scapula.
“Breathe in.”
/>
I did as she asked.
“Good.” She moved the stethoscope to the left and ordered, “Again.”
I obeyed and felt an oddly comforting chill run up my spine. When was the last time I'd felt someone touch me? She inspected my chest in a similar fashion and then carefully looked me over with more compassion than I'd witnessed in some time.
“What's your name?”
I looked into her dark, hazel eyes as if the answer to that question laid in her simple glance. She was the first person to allow me to stare at her for so long without responding with sheer disgust and abhorrence.
But… what was my name?
I responded with, “I-I… don’t know…”
She frowned. “Figures. We pulled a records check, took DNA samples, and had our people look through any public registry from here to occupied countries hundreds of miles away… and we found nothing. If you're in some kind of fugue state, kid, this would definitely be the worst time to have one.”
“Where am I?”
She seemed as if she wanted to hug me but resisted the impulse. “Come on, let's get you out of here. Can you stand?”
I slowly shuffled off the bed and allowed my feet to support me with whatever strength I could gather. For whatever reason, it was suddenly easier to support my own weight; I felt more steadfast than ever. I stretched extensively and yawned with content.
“You were on the brink of… passing. From starvation. We were ordered to pump you full of vital nutrients until your body readjusted itself accordingly. How do you feel?”
I had to relearn a language I somehow already knew. “G-good…”
After yawning once more, I was patted on the head by the nurse, who's expression had changed into a smile, and then was gestured to follow her through the clinic. We walked past a series of seemingly nameless patients of all ages, people the world had either rejected or failed to remember. The nurse was kind; she was someone who’d studied her entire life to pursue this line of work after feeling burdened by her own need to help those who suffered. Even at twelve years old, I could tell that she was fighting against something within herself. She was struggling to combat a cycle that had the homeless and less fortunate shuffling in and out of the same clinic for the same, reoccurring issues: starvation, overdoses, and would-be murder victims. I guess I belonged in two of those categories; regardless, the nurse must have had some kind of personal emptiness that she filled by participating in a never-ending struggle to combat the suffering of the Citadel’s society.
“There's a lot of others just like you, kid: lost, nameless, and left alone. You must have parents who immigrated here, but at your age you should know at least your own name…” She shook her head. “When they brought you in, you were rushed to the ER… no one expected you to make it, and you were just barely holding on, poor thing. The doctor you just saw managed to stabilize you, even though he was called in on his own vacation time at the very last minute.”
I didn't say anything and kept my head down.
“Don't think too badly of him. He's an ass at times, but the man really is an exceptional doctor. It's just that the government has been making it harder and harder for us to keep helping people the way we do now. Major Sofie pulled off some legislation we never thought would gain any ground—uh, but I'm not sure if it would make any sense to you, dear.” She frowned. “These issues are so entrenched in our own history that it would take more than a simple story to make you understand, but I'd hate to live in a world gone to nothing because of the mistakes we ignored.” The nurse rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Don't feel bad about it, please. Any of us would take you in, but the people above us would have our jobs if we breached our professional obligation to any patient.”
I was too disoriented to really process what she said.
We arrived at a set of double, glass doors which slowly parted to reveal a slouched figure garbed in an old, wool suit that was covered in animal hair. The man wore a set of cheap, black shoes that had been rigorously polished the morning of and seemed to reflect our images back at us. His sketchy smile betrayed missing teeth covered by cracked lips. They were encircled by an aging face; a face which exposed blotchy skin and a small rash centered around his lower left jaw.
I recognized him as the coat salesman from earlier.
“Tavon! You're okay!” He started to move toward me but was abruptly blocked by the nurse.
“You never give up, do you, Eze…”
“Now ma'am,” he bared his yellowed smile at us, “where do you reckon this boy will go next, huh?”
“I don't have time for the same arguments, Eze.” She exhaled, “Do you have a birth certificate, proof of matching DNA—the ability to pass a background check—a shelter as well?”
“Hell no—don't ask me questions you already know the answer to like I'm some scrub, miss. I found this kid in the streets a battered old mess! I had to bring him to you, remember?”
“I remember. But the fact remains that there's a process to this that you have to go through, and we both know you wouldn't make it past the first step.”
They quickly moved the conversation to the outside streets. Eze started lamenting: “And so what? You gonna throw his ass back onto the streets because he can't be integrated into your system?! He'll end up in the same situation with no guidance and possibly even dead the next time. You know how it is out there, Jillian!”
The nurse sighed and folded her arms. “Why do you keep trying to save everybody else? You can't seem to get yourself together, and do you still live… there?” Her expression was filled with repugnance.
Eze rested his hands on his hips and replied confidently, “I'm becoming a self-made man; I'm on a new road now.” He indicated his attire. “I'm going to become famous in business—I’ll change the world. C'mon, Jillian, don't let this kid suffer the same fate as the other lost boys wandering the Citadel. These kids think that when they've got nobody, they've gotta become somebody by doing something stupid. There was an execution on 23rd and Lu'1-6 the other day, a small group of kids who looked about his age packing heat. They killed someone who was probably two or three times their age! Slayed a grown man in outfits they mommas bought them. I—”
“Fine.” Nurse Jillian looked down in defeat. “You've always been a good guy, Eze. If you could just…”
Eze looked at her with a grim expression. “You know I can't. I'll be successful my own way, though.” He smiled again. “I can raise this boy to go beyond the Lower-City and be livin' large at the very top with my support!” He put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair. “I owe it to the world to make sure he's not another casualty…”
2
Mystery
--
Janelle
--
TAVON AND AALIYAH STALKED A NEW objective in a cruiser issued to the detective by the Dawn Bureau in surveillance of a woman known as Vendela Andrewa, the former operator of a private adoption center started out of Zone B. After experiencing significant boosts in her reported income, Vendela began Andrewa Centers for Growth and quickly expanded across the Mid-City. She went from a caretaker to the President of a company which flourished successfully in the Citadel.
Tavon concluded his first childhood memory while they were in their third night of stalking Vendela Andrewa, and Aaliyah had remained relatively somber throughout.
“I didn't know it was like that for you…” she said, partially in disbelief.
Tavon stared at the night sky through the cruiser's windows, tinted this time. “I figured you'd say that. But it wasn't ‘like that’ for me, because ‘that’ was all I knew. If a regular kid had gone from a good home to my situation, I think he would've been less likely to survive. Tell me more about this woman, though.”
Aaliyah snorted. “After the Genod & Portis Incident, the Bureau discovered several leads to traffickers we’d never heard of. The products? Everything from people to military equipment to drugs. Vendela, or ‘Suspect B,’ has been the
Bureau's biggest target in the last two years but we couldn't do anything because she's related to Lieutenant Shraeu… However, Shraeu might be getting promoted to Major if his campaign pans out. Tch. I know I’m not about to vote for him.”
“What did Andrewa do that makes her dirty?”
“Well, let’s just say the Andrewa Center left a trail of money behind. It pointed us to operations designed sell people of all ages and genders. Genod's biggest investor turned out to be the owner of a labor factory who was also a partner at Andrewa Centers for Growth. The investor disappeared off the face of the Earth after the incident, and now we have confidential informants talking about syndicates similar to the Center selling off kids they deem 'unfit for society.'”
“And?”
“And I'm working overtime to break into her big ass house, Tavon.” She groaned. “It’s obvious that we need to bust this woman, and I’m ready to see her get sentenced to life.”
Tavon laughed. “I couldn’t do what you do, Aaliyah.”
“Yeah. I know.” She smirked.
“You planning on barging in yourself?”
“Not exactly…” She gave Tavon a hopeful and innocent look.
The assassin grinned. “I guess there's a price to everything.”
“I was hoping you wouldn't think that; I didn't sleep with you for this favor.”
“Sure, whatever.” Tavon grew serious after receiving another anonymous text which read:
“Angelos Dojo on sixtieth floor. Monday. 10:00 AM.”
3
You're Gonna Need Me
“SO THAT'S HOW IT'S GOING TO BE, huh?” she says.
“What are you talking about?! –We've planned this from the beginning; you don't remember?” He responds, struggling to catch his breath. A warlord battling against his own cowardice.
“But I’ve changed my mind, Derek, and you're deciding that you can't step up and be a man?! After everything we’ve done for this country—for us!”
“That's not what this is about!”
Angelos Odyssey Page 31
