by Alex Fall
Fake Arty sighed and fiddled with one of his sleeves. "You're in pain aren't you? In the real world?"
"Yes! I was hoping to escape it by sleeping for a while, but then I had to go and dream about you!"
"I'm sorry you're in pain. I know you hurt mentally too."
I stepped up to his face and snarled, "You don't know *cuss* about me!"
"Don't cuss."
I grabbed his shirt and pulled back to shatter his face but paused. I got absolutely no satisfaction from breaking Fake Arty, so there was no point in hitting him. My anger bubbled up, so I shouted and bashed through a small nightstand.
He genuinely smiled and said, "Thank you for not hitting me."
I turned and shattered his face apart without hesitation. Fake Arty was now sitting on the bed, waiting for me to face him. He chuckled and shook his head. "I should have known."
"*cuss* you!" I shouted.
"Don't cuss. And Erin, why are you so angry?"
I approached while staring in angry disbelief."Why am I so angry?” I instantly gripped his neck to choke him, but not enough pressure pressure to break him. I wanted a way to hurt him, but there was none. The Fake just smirked and watched me do it. “You are the stupidest figment I've ever heard of. Figure it out."
"You don't have to be that way..."
My fingers tightened until his neck cracked and his head rolled off and shattered on the ground. Out of frustration I tossed the remains of his body into the wall and shattered them also.
"Hey, it's completely fine to vent here in your dreams," Fake Arty said. He was standing by the kitchen area. "No one is watching or listening. You can still be you. I just want to know why you choose to be angry."
I gritted my teeth over the fact that no matter how many times I shattered him, he was still there. "Go away."
"I can't."
"Then drop dead!" I said, locking my eyes with his.
He sighed. "You're going to wake up soon...How is Sharon?"
I opened the door and tried to leave my room, but the music was much louder in the hallway and prodded at a headache that I wasn't aware I had. I shut the door and fumed, irritated that I had to be in this room with Fake Arty. "She's none of your concern."
"Do you like taking care of her?"
"No."
"Hm...you answered pretty fast. Are you SURE that's your answer?"
"Absolutely!" I faced him and bored into his eyes with mine.
Completely unaffected, he asked, "Then why not just leave her?"
"Stupid girl doesn't know how to take care of herself."
"That would be because she's just a girl. And you could have left her with any Dwellers, but you haven't. Is that because you like taking care of her?"
The way he talked was no longer like the real Arty, but more like some personified reasoning part of my subconscious mind. It was annoying...
"No, I don't like taking care of her."
Fake Arty smirked. "Then perhaps, as a figment of your imagination, I know you better than you know yourself."
My fists clenched. "Are you saying I'm wrong?"
He put his hands up to show that he meant no trouble. "Erin, I'm not saying you're wrong. Just....How about the next time Sharon gets put in danger, watch how you react. You might be sur-"
My eyes cracked open to take in the real world, along with a dull headache. Immediately, the cold air rubbed my skin to remind me that I don't ever get to be comfortable. It was dark in the drain tunnels, but the trickles of water running through reflected the sunlight outside enough for me to see. It was afternoon now, and I somehow got meaningful sleep, a good bit of it too. Sharon was playing some imaginary game with her hands but stopped and turned away as soon as she saw my eyes. I stretched my legs, stiff from sleeping on concrete, but upon moving, all the pain in my body awakened and screeched in protest, especially the hole in my leg. I rolled over slowly, pulling a flashlight out of the pack for us to see. Sharon faced the other direction until her eyes adjusted then looked back at me. She gasped and recoiled a bit at the sight of my body.
"What?" I asked, still a touch loopy from the sedatives.
She just pointed.
Oh dang... That looks bad. The wrapping on my leg was pretty blood soaked, and I'm sure the one on my back was not much better. Even after sealing the wound, it still oozed. Come to think of it, that might be why I'm so tired and cold...
Shortly after sitting up, my stomach growled and my guts adopted a very acidic feeling. My throat went slick and I began to feel light headed. Oh, I hate the side effects of my pain blockers. I crawled over to the water trickle in the tunnel and waited on all fours. And then...vomiting.
“Sapphire?” the child asked in concern.
Cold sweats, muscle tremors, coughing and trying to catch my breath followed my episode. There was still some more of this junk in me. Sometimes I really hate life.
I flexed my diaphragm and a second wave of vomit came; the scraps, if you will. This time I felt weak, leaving me in the fetal position before my pool of puke. I'm so cold. Did Sharon say something to me a second ago? I can't remember very well. When I could move again, I dug out my medicine bag and started injecting and swallowing all the medicines I needed to heal. Once everything was done, I tightened the bandages, gently slipped on a new shirt, then stood. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, then let my mind fall into a sort of meditation until the pain slacked off. Sharon watched curiously without any words.
The tunnels smelled old and dank, and periodically the smell of dirt wafted through. The air was chilled, and occasionally just enough air flow was summoned in the tunnels to send a chill up me. My wounds throbbed, everything from my recently seared stab and gunshot wounds, to the heavy bruises on my back, front and particularly my arms. Subtle sounds tickled at my ears from all around. Drops of water periodically hitting the concrete from deep within the tunnel system, the slight howl of the breeze outside, Sharon breathing through her nose, and...that faint regular bump.
That bumping didn't fit. It was so out of place that the more I focused on it, the more I began to think it was musical. A need for answers grew inside me. I opened my eyes and scooped up my pack.
"Where are we going?" Sharon asked.
"To find that noise."
"What noise?"
The fact that Sharon couldn't sense it meant it was coming from far away. I hobbled, with Sharon following, through the tunnels trying to locate the source of the noise. The deeper we traveled, the harder to locate it became. The noise seemed to echo through the tunnels, louder in some areas and quieter in others. To get my bearings, I would rest my ear against the walls of the tunnel system in an effort to pinpoint the noise.
"Sapphire eyes?" Sharon timidly asked.
Oh great, she's starting up already. "What?"
"Um....will we get to eat soon?"
"I doubt it." I looked back when Sharon fell silent. That wasn't the answer she was hoping for, but she'll get over skipping several meals. There's more important things on hand.
The sound of poorly concealed footsteps and the slight swish of cloth had me draw my shotgun and aim it into an unknown person's chest. Out of reflex, they had a sidearm drawn and aimed at my head. Sharon flinched and stepped back at the sight of more Greaters.
"Well...now I know you aren't just lost," the guy said at seeing my shotgun.
"I guess the only remaining option is stupid," another man's voice said from the shadows. Despite the shadows, I saw he was wearing a baggy jacket, with athletic pants and shoes, but no visible weapon. Tacky...
Without even questioning it, I pulled the trigger and fired point blank into the first guy's chest, weaving out the way of his pistol before it discharged, masking my pain behind a face of hatred. I swirled my gun around and aimed with precision at the man in the shadows who now had his hands up in a defensive stance. The noisy guy, wearing all black with pure white shoes, the guy I shot, was now lying on the ground yelping in pain. Still facing forw
ard, I looked down to see that he had no armor on underneath the holes in his flimsy shirt, but instead just had a slew of fresh bruises.
"Ha! Fool, that's what you get for pulling a gun on sapphire eyes!" The man in the shadows said to his friend that I just shot.
"He's not wearing armor, how is he alive?" I asked forcefully.
"Obviously cause he's a Tank, you retard."
Tank? Is that a reference to his power? I've never heard of tanks before. Perhaps that is what the one man was that lived through falling off the building. Either way, irritation prompted me to again pull the trigger, but this man dashed with inhuman speed out of the way. Great, a Slick.
"Mane! Chick's crunchy!"
His speech annoyed me. Heavy slang denoted a lack of imagination, which seemed to apply to this Greater. On top of that, Sharon was somewhere behind me, whimpering in terror. I think that started because of the gunfire?
"Why are you down here?" I asked.
"We supposed to ask you that!" The tank said. "Come here, lank!"
The tank charged me instead of picking up his pistol. This one also lacked problem solving intelligence. I clumsily sidestepped his grab, cracked him across the face with my gun, and after noting that it had little effect, scooped his neck into a headlock. It was hard to keep my balance with only one working leg.
"Why are you down here?" I repeated, holding the end of the shotgun close to the choking Tank's eyes.
"Fool, you got yourself caught," the slick said to his friend. "And you, don't you know anything? I bet even the kid knows who we is.”
We all glanced over to Sharon, who was cowering against the far wall. She didn't want to speak.
"Ah heck naw! She a Lesser?" The slick moved almost instantly and grabbed her. Though she didn't want to handled, Sharon submitted herself to whatever the Slick was about to do to her out of fear. The slick simply ripped her left sleeve off.
"One spot. She a lesser!"
"Last chance to answer my questions. Why are you down here?"
"Gangers," the Tank sputtered. I shoved him away and shot him again for my own pleasure.
"And what do Gangers need in the sewers?"
"Uh, what do YOU need on our turf?" The slick asked.
Turf? This is where they hide? Then the bumping is likely from them. And if they are patrolling this area, then that means a hub is nearby. If their hub is nearby, then that bumping is likely music.
"Take me to where the music is playing."
The two of them paused, though the tank was still groaning in pain. "You mean you was looking for us? On purpose?" The slick asked.
"I'm looking for the music. I couldn't care less about you."
"How....did you even hear?" The tank asked between breaths.
"Let's go 'Slick,'" I said, completely ignoring the Tank's question.
"Whoa, what? You shot my mane. And I've got your little slave hostage, and you're all beat to *cuss.* What make you think you can demand anything?"
My first reaction was to threaten the Tank, but the Slick could retort by threatening Sharon. If I continued trying to intimidate or demand, I would come across as desperate and I would lose control of the situation. Besides, even if I threatened the Tank, he could still fight back. I could always burn them...but considering the lack of intelligence, and the fact that he talked down to me, an appeal to his pride seemed more appropriate.
"I can demand whatever the heck I want, and there's nothing you can do about. You think that just because you're fast, I can't hurt you?" I poured my death stare into his face. "You will not leave this tunnel without getting burned."
The slick laughed in disbelief. Even the Tank, who now got around to sitting up, chuckled. "You kidding me right now?" The Slick asked rhetorically.
"I'd like to see you try to hit me."
He took the bait. His grip on Sharon relaxed and his sure foot shifted ever so slightly to grip the ground. I went ahead and started awakening the disease within me, summoning up power to be on hand.
In a split second, he dashed off of Sharon and at me. There was no telling for sure where he would hit, and there was no avoiding the blow. However, I stood still and continued charging up. In that split second that he moved, his fist met me in my stomach. My mind slowed to process my actions. The time his fist made contact was just long enough to let my inner sickness pour all the power I had charged out of my stomach area. The whole time his fist was in contact with me, I intended to pour flame onto him.
Flames violently erupted from me in no particular direction, burning floor, walls, and the ceiling, and I fell back and slid down the tunnel. Pain ate at my consciousness, as the blow itself hurt, but the burns on my stomach did too, fresh and old alike. It felt as if someone released a bucket of boiling water onto my midriff, onto an area that was just punched and already trying to heal from previous burns, and that's not including the concrete scrape on my back from sliding. The slick, at seeing the eruption of fire, ran to the other side of the tunnel then froze. If I had focused that fire all into the slick, there might not have been much of him left. But even as is, he dropped to his knees and tried to scream, but no noise came out. His fist looked as if he roasted it over a campfire, and stray burns stretched across the rest of his arm, his chest, face, and upper leg. His injured arm began to tremble, and he moved as little as he could. Both Sharon and the Tank watched in horror.
I couldn't stand it anymore. I had anticipated the pain, but when I finally inhaled, my breathing turned into loud growls and moans. Tears of pain collected at my eyes, and my mind begged for me to stay still. My body tried to deny me the right to move, but my raw willpower told me that I risked death not to continue my intimidation. Through exaggerated snarling and cursing, I stood. The burn is actually not as bad as I was expecting, but there was much more power in that blow than I accounted for. Though slow, I limped my way in front of the Tank, sputtering silent expletives almost every other step.
I cussed once more then spat between my growls, "...told you...I'd burn you.” My belly was on the edge of spasming out of control, and the burns hurt absurdly bad, pain coursing through me with every breath. Even still, it didn't compare to the worst I've ever had.
"You!....take me...to the music," I demanded of the tank.
He scrambled to his feet, no longer aware of the pain his bruises should have afforded him. Eyeing my tattered, burned shirt and slew of burns and injuries, he stated, "You're not normal... What kind of Burn you is?"
I snapped my fingers to get Sharon's attention (which hurt the burns on my palms) and she quietly, tearfully stepped just close enough to enter my vision, staring at the ground as usual.
"I'm Sapphire Eyes. Now....take us...to the music."
* * *
Bass from the speakers almost knocked me over. Our party had just made it past the reluctant doormen, who opened up a thick metal hatch to allow us access to some underground concourse. On the other side was a secret world. The interior seemed to be several main assembly halls, one for gambling and ring fights, one for dancing and eating, and one for the Gang's business. All the areas seemed to be hooked up to a loud sound system that blasted heavy ghetto beats. The music was irritating enough, but the volume was so intense that it hurt me.
Earlier, we had been winding through the subterranean tunnels for some time before the Slick gave up on traveling. The Tank found another patrol and sent them to get assistance. Their 'assistance' was a few medics, and a lot of guards. Sharon and I were escorted back to the hub, deep underground and out of sight. Sharon watched in terror as all the looming and frightening gangers sneered and jeered at us. She tried to cling to me, but I confined her to holding a part of my arm that wasn't burnt, as I was afraid of buckling due to pain. I was still dragging myself and still slowing down.
Quite promptly, we were lead around a series of twists and turns in the business hall, finding ourselves approaching a conspicuously nice room. It seemed to be some small area that once served for some form of ma
intenance, but was now blocked off and swathed with carpet, velvet, and shiny trinkets. Besides the pool table in the center of the room, there was another table that served as a desk for a dark skinned man dressed in a purposefully tattered suit and bright red vest. He was smoking a cigar, an expensive habit for a world where no one produced cigarettes or cigars anymore.
He seemed to be in the middle of enjoying some book, leaned back in his chair with his feet on the desk. Once he saw our troop approaching however, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "Can't a man get five minutes to his hobby around here?" He shouted.
One of the well equipped gangers in our group stepped forward and bowed. "Pardon us sir, but considering her request and the amount of interest surrounding her, we thought you would like to meet the burn known as Sapphire Eyes for yourself."
The man in the suit bolted forward and looked out the side of his eyes. "You brought me Sapphire Eyes?"
A hand shoved me forward. The consequent pain locked me up and I collapsed onto the ground in front of the troop. Trying to hide my gasping, I looked up to examine the man that stood out of his chair.
"*cuss,* girl! They ain't said nothing ‘bout your scars." He walked around and knelt over me to examine me. I could tell he was big, probably from working out. He had one, maybe two firearms on him, and plenty of hidden scars to confirm his fighting experience. He also had a couple of tattoos concealed underneath his clothes. Plus, he stank of spiced tobacco. "My my, they weren't lying ‘bout your sapphire eyes though," he said in an eerie voice with a sick grin forming on his face. "And I didn't know that you was a girl...Aw, I'm sorry, you in pain?"
He patted me on the shoulder, which sent my stab wound spasming out of control. My back tightened up and I growled, sending waves of pain through my stomach and surrounding burns. The man chuckled and stood back up.
"Heh, and you dragged your child servant with you too? Come here little girl."
I watched a short man shove Sharon forward as well, who stumbled and fell on all fours behind me. The man in the suit stepped forward calmly while everyone in the room fell silent and still.
