by M. T. Miller
The Nameless now found himself on a wider walkway. As appeared to be the case with every part of this level, people of all sorts waited in lines in front of every available shop. He took a better look, and realized that the whole street seemed to be reserved for serving nothing but alcoholic beverages.
And I do not have any money. Perfect. Although I think I remember this part of the map. It was supposed to follow the food stands. Doing his best to ignore the infuriating scent of alcohol he could not afford, the Nameless sped through the wide walkway and took one of the many paths in front of him. According to his memory, they were all supposed to lead to the same general area. For once, he was right.
Apartments, the large glowing sign read. Underneath it, a torrent of people poured in and out through a strange, revolving door-like thing. Slightly to the left, another line of people waited their turn in front of a stand built into the structure’s wall. It stands to reason that they will issue me a key there, the Nameless concluded as he pushed his way through.
His memory of the next half hour was a blur. All he could recall was that he had been given a room number, along with everything else he would need in order to use it.
And use it he did.
***
“No!”
The Nameless awoke on the floor next to his bed, some twelve hours later. Sweat dripped off of him, and his limbs shivered as he rose. Dragging the palm of his hand across his face, he tried to recall the details of his nightmare, and failed.
It seems that I really needed that, he thought as he gave the room a quick glance. It was expectedly small, and he could not recall a single detail from seeing it last night. With uncertain steps he made his way toward the bathroom, where he dropped his underwear on the floor before taking a quick shower.
It felt good not to be covered in filth. He left the shower cabin, took a moment to stand in front of the mirror, and observed his reflection. Besides the stubble, he was almost presentable. Relieved that he no longer looked like the recently dead, he picked up his underwear, turned to his left, and returned to the only room of his apartment.
His clothes lay scattered across the floor, welcoming him with their unwholesome stench. Into the muck I go. Getting dressed was less than pleasant, but absolutely necessary. His stomach, empty for a few days now, roared when he fastened his belt buckle, reminding him that it had needs of its own.
So—I have a raging hunger, and no currency. He approached the door and grabbed the key. Hesitating to step outside, he stood there for a good while, doorknob in hand. As if it knew he was in need of motivation, his stomach let itself be heard again.
“Quiet,” he said as he opened the door. As if to mock him, the crowd on the other side was anything but quiet.
People of all types hustled through the corridor in both directions. Completely oblivious to each other’s presence, two men bumped into each other, followed through with a half-hearted apology, and went their respective ways.
Like drones in a beehive. He stepped out, closed the door, locked it, and placed the key inside one of his pockets. After making certain that his ID and pass were where they were supposed to be, he took a deep breath and proceeded toward the exit. Time to learn how this place works.
After enduring another suffocating trek, the Nameless found himself in front of the map at the place’s center. His mind now as clear as it could be, looking at the glowing thing was not nearly as much of a chore as it had been last night.
In order to eat, I need money. He traced his index finger along the sides of the picture. In order to earn money, I need to find myself some work. He would have settled for anything, from blacksmithing to carpentry. What he found instead was absolutely perfect.
Fighting cages. The Nameless found it difficult to contain his smile. Once more, he dragged his finger over the path toward his intended destination. Then, pleased with his choice, he turned toward the closest path and started swimming through the river of people.
The trip took longer than expected. He had taken a wrong turn somewhere, but luckily the detour didn’t bring him near the black man again—he still shivered at the thought of that shrine. To his surprise, one of the countless drones he met on his way was actually willing to talk back when spoken to.
“Fighting cages?” The man had to shout to overpower the noise around them. “You don’t seem like you’re doing well for yourself, so I assume you want to take part. Is it too late for me to ask you to turn back?
“Why would I?” the Nameless yelled back at the man. “I happen to be proficient with my fists!”
“Suit yourself! That way, then the third street to your right!” the man said, a moment before disappearing back into the crowd.
The instructions were sound, and quite soon, the Nameless found himself staring down the slopes of what appeared to be an amphitheater. Instead of rising from the ground, though, the stairs and seats descended into the floor itself, shaped from the Pyramid’s concrete and paved with polished stone. Five humongous square things dangled from the ceiling high above it, not dissimilar in appearance to the map back in the casino.
Down the path, in the amphitheater’s center, there were a total of five octagonal cages. Two were vacant, while in the others, men fought viciously. It appears that I have found my home here.
With hurried steps, the Nameless proceeded down the stairway. For some reason, there did not seem to be a lot of people within the area. Are the fights unpopular, or is there another reason?
The men (and the occasional woman) downstairs appeared indifferent to his presence, so he approached one of them.
“Ahoy,” the Nameless said to a muscle-bound, hairy monster of a man. “I am here to take part in the fights. How do I go about that?”
His reaction verging on laughter, he gave the Nameless a quick glance before speaking. “What hole did you crawl out of? Never mind, not sure I want to know.”
In a cemetery near the Underbelly, the Nameless wanted to quip, but stopped himself at the last moment.
“See that stocky guy over there?” The hairy monster turned to his right, pointing his finger toward a man in the middle of observing a fight. “That’s Jake. Talk to him. He’ll set you up.”
“Thank you,” the Nameless said, already on his way toward the man. “Greetings!” he exclaimed a moment later, causing the muscled shorty to partially turn around. “I was told that you could help me out. I wish to partake in the fights.”
“Look,” Jake said, pointing to the clinch in the closest cage. “The one in red, that’s you.”
“I would prefer to be the one who will win,” the Nameless said, having foreseen the outcome just as clearly. In surprise, Jake turned to face him, and missed the result. The man in blue put one of his feet behind those of the one in red, pushed forward, and they both crashed to the floor.
“How’d—oh, fuck, you’ve made me miss it!” Jake shouted as his eyes rapidly darted between the Nameless and the cage. Now in control, the man in blue pinned his opponent down, and the referee called it.
“Apologies,” the Nameless said, “but I am in urgent need of money. Can you help me become a fighter?”
“Well, appearances aside, you seem to know your thing. At least as far as watching goes. Come back later, somewhere around five. I’ll find you someone you can start with.”
“While I do appreciate the offer,” the Nameless said as he pointed toward the empty cages, “I would like it better if I could start somewhere around now.”
“You’re crazy. Listen, we don’t have any beginners here at the moment, and what we do have will break you over the knee. Be smart. Come back later.”
“Noted. I choose to fight what you have.”
“Jesus… Hey, Max!” Jake shouted as he turned toward the first row. A tower of a man rose in response. He was bronze-skinned, and shaved completely hairless.
“What’ve you got for me, Jake?” Max asked as he came up to them.
“This guy.” Jake extended his arm to
ward the Nameless. “Says he wants to fight someone right away. What do you think?”
“I don’t do murder,” Max said.
“Ain’t murder if you let ‘em live!” Jake smiled.
“I will bear you no ill will if I get injured,” the Nameless intruded. “In fact, I would consider it a privilege to fight you.”
“Alright, alright,” Max said. “But do me a favor and take a shower beforehand. You could pass for biological weaponry.”
Jake laughed.
The Nameless did not exactly get the joke.
***
The tight-fitting piece of clothing they provided was not altogether uncomfortable, but it made him feel exposed in a strange way. Even though it used to be black, the thing had been washed so many times that it turned grey.
He placed his belongings inside one of their many storage compartments, even though he was uncomfortable with the idea. His revolver was still there, and who knows what might happen if anyone were to find it. Still, what was done was done. There was a battle to be won, and dwelling on the past was not the way to do it.
“Men, I want a good, clean fight!” the referee shouted from outside the cage. Max stepped forward and extended his right hand.
“It ain’t too late to quit, you know?” he said as they shook.
“Consider the offer declined,” the Nameless said, releasing his grip.
“Ready?” the referee shouted. Instead of saying anything, both men took two steps back and raised their fists. “Go!”
The Nameless leapt to his right, avoiding Max’s initial jab. He is fast. Especially considering his size. Another quick strike followed. The Nameless dodged that one as well. And his reach prevents me from closing in. This will require a good feint.
With even greater speed, Max attacked again, this time barely missing his opponent’s face. Not wasting any time, the Nameless moved in for the counter. Or at least, he made it appear that way.
With impeccable timing, Max intercepted the Nameless’ right punch, grabbing him by the wrist. He had intended to twist and break it, but the Nameless immediately leapt upward, sending his left knee flying toward the large man’s face. Having no option other than to block it with his right forearm, Max did just that, and paid a heavy price.
With both of his opponent’s arms occupied, the Nameless’ real attack could commence. His left elbow, already up in the air, came crashing down. Not expecting anything of the sort, all Max could do was take it right on the forehead. Eyes crossed, he let go of the Nameless’ limbs, stumbling backward.
Good night. Having regained his footing, the Nameless formed a fist, stepped forward, and delivered a vicious uppercut to his opponent’s chin. Just to make certain that the fight was won, he kicked him in the diaphragm as well, sending Max straight to the floor.
The look on everybody’s faces was priceless. He strode toward the cage exit, and reminded the dumbstruck man to let him out. A moment later, a medic ran in, but the Nameless did not need to hear his diagnosis. Someone of Max’s size should be back on his feet relatively quickly.
“Ho-lee…” Jake said, and gestured to someone from the side seats while the Nameless approached him. A little boy leapt to his feet, and quickly ran toward them with a notebook and pen.
“Here, sir!” the boy said as he handed Jake the items.
“What do I book you as?” Jake asked, turning toward the Nameless.
“Horace Bones.” He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “When can I fight next?”
“Good name. Has quite a bit of mystique, I think.” Jake scribbled something in his notebook. “As for your question, there’s a precise way we schedule fights down here; you can’t just square off against whoever, whenever you like!”
“I am willing to learn.”
“Hah! Doesn’t even blink, this one! I like the cut of your jib, Bones!” People walked by, carrying an unconscious Max. “I think he would too, if he were still conscious! Anyway, this whole thing is a point-based system. Normally, you’re only allowed to fight opponents within a hundred points of your own worth. However, since you technically weren’t registered at the time of your little bout, no rules were broken. Get it?”
“Yes.”
“Normally, I’d match you with a couple of hundreds and see how you’d do. Then, I’d give you a point value: anywhere within one and two hundred. After that, you’re in the system, and you can start making money.”
“So I will not get paid for the fight I have just won?”
“I’m getting there!” Jake almost poked the Nameless with his pencil, but stopped at the last moment. “You get paid at the end of the day, based on your point value. You also get a large bonus for each fight won during a show—that’s every night from eight to twelve. That’s when the crowd comes and we light up the screens up there. You’re not required to fight every day, but you do lose ten percent of your value for every twenty-four hours of inactivity. Ummm…”
“And how do I increase my point value?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was going to tackle! Bravo! For each win over a higher-rated opponent, you get half the difference in your values added to your own, and he loses the same amount. Victory over anyone else gives you five. That’s about it. Yeah, I’ll be needing your ID so I can put you into the system.”
“It is in your locker, along with the rest of my belongings,” the Nameless said, remembering his revolver. “I will go and get it right now.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Jake finished writing in his notebook and passed it to the boy. “I’ll be waiting by that table by the wall. Come to me after you’ve finished changing.”
The Nameless was quick to return to his locker. Just barely managing to hide how on edge he was, he rummaged through the trench coat as soon as it was in his hands.
Everything is in its proper place. Sighing in relief, he pulled everything out slowly, so as not to risk the gun falling out. Then, after signaling to the clerk that everything was fine, he proceeded to the changing booths.
Some five minutes later, he was back with Jake, handing him the ID. Though the man seemed accustomed to all sorts of odors, even he had trouble hiding his discomfort toward the way the Nameless smelled.
“Listen, ehm, Mr. Bones,” Jake said while stamping a document. “I’m listing you as a two hundred, by the way. I’d rate you higher, but them’s the rules. Anyway, I’ve got an offer for you, and I’d really appreciate it if you accepted.”
“I am all ears.”
“I’m gonna give you your whole day’s pay right now, on the condition that you get yourself some new clothes, wash up before wearing them and either burn that chemical hazard you’ve got going there, or get it dry-cleaned. Like, ten times. Deal?”
The faster I keep racking up victories, the quicker this whole thing will go. He wanted to decline, but his stomach was faster than his mouth. It roared mercilessly before he was able to speak.
“I’ll take that as a yes!” Jake said, giving the Nameless his ID back, as well as a handful of credit chips. “Oh, yeah, you can keep that worn-out singlet we got for you to wear. If you want it, that is.”
“Thank you. For… for everything, actually,” the Nameless said as he took both cards. He pocketed them, turned around, and started walking toward the stairs.
“You’ll repay me by cleaning up!” Jake shouted from behind him.
First things first. If the Nameless could, he’d have travelled to the food stand in a straight line. Sadly, he had to settle for the longer route.
The money he had earned was just about sufficient for two portions of beef (which he devoured within record time), a pair of cheap black pants, a shirt, and shoes. For some reason, the clerk at the store kept referring to the last item as sneakers, but the Nameless promptly ignored him. As he headed home to clean up, he considered using the remainder of his paycheck to get his coat cleaned. But then he had another, infinitely better idea.
Of course. He opened the door to his apartmen
t and stepped inside. Even though he had spent less than a day there, the refuge the small place provided from the ruckus of the corridors made it feel like home. After breathing in the air, he tossed the gym bag that contained his new set of clothes, turned around, and grabbed the doorknob again.
Time to make preparations.
***
Back down among the slums of the ground floor, a filthy figure shambled through one of the many narrow streets. It had been doing so for well over half an hour, exchanging one walkway for another, and mostly being avoided.
No luck so far, the Nameless thought as he kept walking. His unsteady gait was an attempt at imitating his former, weaker state. He had seen many things during this visit to the slums, and most of them had made little to no sense. He had thought the place to be nothing but a refuge for the depraved, but it turned out to be much, much more.
Manufacturing buildings, cattle farms, work camps and the like lay scattered around ground level. As far as he could tell, they were not lacking in manpower. Barely clothed, malnourished, and sickly manpower, as a matter of fact.
So, the meat of Babylon’s production takes place here? And then it gets transported up to the next floor, where trade takes place?
Something moved to his right, deep inside one of the many darker alleys on the side of the main road. Still faking sickness, he turned around slowly, but saw absolutely nothing.
“Lookie here, guys!” someone shouted from some fifteen feet behind of him.
An ambush. The Nameless turned around again, finding himself faced with three men. By appearances, they seemed to be Asian. They wore very little, barely more than underwear and an assortment of archaic weaponry they kept strapped to themselves via bandages. Their bodies were wiry and covered with all kinds of tattoos, from familiar shapes to indecipherable drivel.
