《the City》


 Intro

    The concrete jungle crazed over the skyline of the City. Crumbling skyscrapers and hulking blocks of public housing formed a network linked by Skypaths, which are then again plastered over by myriad of monorail lines punching through city blocks, school buildings, hospitals, to whatever destinations the lifeblood of the city ¨C its Denizens make their way to. Identical digital displays clung onto the faces of four grey shapeless towers on each corner of the City. The displays lit up with a single reading for the whole city to see. It reads ¡°3¡±. It was a good day, not great of course, but good enough.


    Our story begins in this place. A rusted monorail in a passable condition pulled into station number 37. As passengers step off the train, a metal plate on an opposite wall reads ¡°37 - Plain station¡±. This is one of the better stations; there actually is a signage, correct one too. A couple of hawkers sat against the weathered station wall, goods spread out in front of them. An array of mechanical clocks, sunshades, swiss army knives and assorted semi-useful/useless stuff are displayed on tarred canvas cloths. Thermos flasks, plastic cups and various packets of instant drinks, single cigarette butts are amongst the display.


    A middle-aged man wearing a weathered, but well-maintained suit exited the train with the passengers, carrying a small briefcase handcuffed to his left hand. His longish brown hair is clipped neatly into a bun, and he wore a pair of thin rectangular framed spectacles. The man¡¯s name is Ethan, to most of his acquaintances. Stepping past the hawkers, he made his way towards the station exit ¨C a single winding staircase spanning two stories high. Already, a crowd milled around the stairs, the more impatient ones pushing their way to the front, nudging the slow ones along. A crude peeling sign next to the staircase reads ¡°maximum capacity ¨C 5 adults¡±. It is pointedly ignored by the crowd. The stairs creaked and protested and wobbled under the burden, to no avail. Ethan slipped a pocket watch out from his vest. Giving it a cursory glance, he replaced it in his inner pocket.


    A minor eternity later, Ethan found himself at the bottom of the stairs. A series of abandoned hovels adorned the landscape, accompanied by small mountains of thrash. In front of the ransacked abodes, a circular water fountain seeps brackish liquid. A broken angel statue leaned over a cracked section of the fountain wall. A mad man¡¯s version of a chateau if you¡¯d like. Already, the monorail passengers dispersed into various directions, leaving Ethan alone under the stairs.


    The fading sunlight creeps through occasional cracks of skyline. Ethan took a mental note of the position of fading light, finding his bearings. To one unaccustomed to the City, It may seem like an elementary exercise. Yet, it¡¯s not such a simple thing to do in the shifting, ever-changing chaotic revel that the City is. One turn into the wrong alley for the more careless-minded Denizens of the City more often than not takes a literal turn for the worse, much worse. There are places in the City that one does not simply turn back from, easily.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    A soft, barely audible, distinctive click and a soft whirring sound sounded a few hundred paces away. If Ethan heard the sound, there was no discernable change in his expression. A click in the jungle that is the City can mean a few things, and none of them are good things. It may very well mean bad things for someone else, but in the City, one does not live long with that mindset.


    Ethan made his way into the maze of the City with confident strides. The City is literally a labyrinth. Possibly, it is mankind¡¯s crowning achievement in the exercise of confounding its fellow species. Twisting roads lead into buildings, monkey ladders, overgrown hedges, often branching off into various intersections presenting one with choices of windowsills to climb into (amongst other varieties of pathways). One enters a tunnel only to emerge through a grating, the top floor of an office building, the lunch room of an abandoned curtains factory. The main produce of the City is new alleys, and pathways and shortcuts which lead to haphazard places which makes entirely zero sense. The secondary produce, it is said, is dead bodies. Street gangs claimed stretches of urban wastage of the city blocks, relieving unfortunate pedestrians of their valuables, and more often than not, their lives. Opium dens run by the gangs occupies small basements and empty lofts, offering a mind boggling amount of mind altering drugs and concoctions, many of which are deadly to its consumers (the only variation of which is the speed in which the proccess occurs). A perpetual stench of rotting corpses pervades the City blocks. Abandoned housings, darkened doorways, quiet alleys are prime dumping ground for the byproduce of the City.


    Manic laughter rang out behind a frayed curtain as Ethan walked past a row of half demolished public housing. An abandoned excavator parked amid the debris, left by its operator on his eternal lunch break. Ethan ignored the sound and continued on his way. Sounds of gunshots rang a few blocks away, accompanied with screams, shoutings and what seems to be return gunshots. The alley Ethan turned into is strewn with mounds of garbage. Cockroaches scuttled amongst the rubbish and scattered out of Ethan¡¯s path. Weather-worn posters adorned the grimy walls of the alley.


    Ethan heard another soft click, this time much closer. Just around the alley, I¡¯d better hurry. Ethan quickened his pace and scanned the left wall. His gaze fell on a peeling poster. He felt the wall around it and found an irregularity, which depressed slightly and pushed back against his touch. He waited. Crunch crunch. Crunch crunch. He could hear footsteps around the bend of the alley, one from each end. For once, Ethan looks worried. Just as he was about to reach into his suit pocket, a pair of hands appeared from the wall and grasped Ethan. It looked as if the wall is speeding towards him, and momentarily before contact, he turned his head away and closed his eyes in reflex. When the impact did not come, Ethan opened his eyes. He found himself in a narrow walkway. It looks like a fire escape of sorts common for a multi-story building. In front of him, a young-ish blonde woman dressed in a grey-black fatigue placed a finger over her lips, the meaning of which was not lost on Ethan. Slowly, Ethan turned to face the ¡°wall¡± he came through and saw a holograph projector set mounted around the opening he came from. A solid trick-door is moving soundlessly back into place. Outside, crunching footsteps stopped momentarily.

 Chapter 1

    ¡°Where¡¯s the fucking chump?¡± A clipped voice queried.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t he go your way? Its a one-fricking-way fricking alley.¡± A second voice said.


    ¡°Oh of course, I didn¡¯t notice him walking past me in this spacious walkway.¡±


    ¡°No need to get peppy, he must¡¯ve noticed us and pulled some trick. Let¡¯s split up again and search every inch of this area, he can¡¯t be far.¡±


    ¡°Right. I¡¯d swear he turned in this way.¡±


    After a few moments, footsteps marked the leaving of the individuals, inches away from their target.


    Ethan turned back to face the woman, who is now lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. She breathed out the smoke and placed a hand by her waist, throwing him a look of irritation.


    Sighing, she said. ¡°That was too close Ethan, what on earth were you thinking? Lose them first next time, or die trying, see if I care.¡±


    A wry smile broke over his face ¡°Its good to see you too Rachel, its been a while.¡±


    ¡°So, why the hell are you here?¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t I just come by to see you? Is it not possible I¡¯m here just for a social visit?¡±


    ¡°Cut the bullshit, I¡¯m going to throw you out to those Ghouls.¡± Rachel did not look amused. She dropped her cigarette on the floor and ground it with her boots.


    ¡°Right, sorry for that. Can we talk inside? This is going to take a while.¡± Ethan held up the small briefcase he was holding.


    Rachel folded her arms and stared at him. ¡°Whatever is inside, I¡¯m not going to like it am I?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. That depends.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re being cryptic, that¡¯s never good news. In fact, you¡¯re never good news.¡±


    Ethan looked thoughtful.


    ¡°That¡¯s harsh. But not entirely unfair.¡±


    Rachel looked at Ethan evenly. Finally, she gave another sigh. ¡°Fuck. Fine.¡± Rachel turned and walked towards a stainless metal door at the end of the walkway. A broken exit sign adorned the top of the door.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The stainless metal door led to a darkened lift lobby. By the time Ethan caught up, Rachel was already waiting in a lift. As he entered, Rachel tapped a series of buttons. The lift beeped as its doors closed. The lift was perfectly silent, and Ethan began to suspect that it was faulty. As he was about to open his mouth, the lift doors opened to a private suite, with glass windows adorning the far end of the room. Ethan walked towards the window and found himself looking down at a section of the City¡¯s monorail. In the distance, a monitoring tower reads ¡°3¡±.


    ¡°I like the view.¡± Rachel stated.


    ¡°I can see that.¡±


    ¡°Plus it doesn¡¯t stink like the ground level.¡±


    ¡°A definite perk.¡± Ethan looked away from the glass window and sat to the side of Rachel on the couch, laying the briefcase on a group of crates stacked knee-high (a makeshift coffee table it seems).


    It was a normal looking briefcase. Dark brown, no markings and slightly weathered, though obviously well-kept. It seems inconspicuous enough. A sturdy mounted lock mechanism sat in between the briefcase¡¯s handle, it was a dial-based mechanism. There were no discernable markings on the dials that Rachel could see, and there were a total of 7 dials of decreasing diameters ¨C practically endless possibility of passcodes.


    Ethan calibrated the outermost dial. Satisfied, he pushed it down and worked on the second outermost dial. After he worked through the last dial, the lock mechanism rotated, replaced by a small sheet of clear crystal framed by bands of gold lines, roughly 1¡± by 0.5¡±. Ethan placed his right thumb on it. After a few moments, the briefcase popped open half an inch.


    ¡°Precautions. Can¡¯t ever be too careful¡± Ethan said.


    Rachel rolled her eyes and tapped the table impatiently.


    Ethan turned the briefcase towards her, and lifted the lid theatrically.


    At first, Rachel looked puzzled, then she gasped a little. ¡°I-Is that..¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m pretty sure it is.¡± Ethan nodded.


    ¡°But that¡¯s impossi..Where did you get it? What were you thinking Ethan?!¡±


    ¡°Its a long story, a really fucking long story. Bloody too. Then again, they¡¯re all bloody. My stories, I mean.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got nothing but time. Anyway, this is exactly why you¡¯re here aren¡¯t you. I have no choice now, I have to know.¡±


    ¡°Still sharp as ever Rachel.¡± Ethan smiled wryly.


    Rachel scowled, and gave him a gesture to get on with it.


    Leaning back slightly against the couch, Ethan took a deep breath, and realised that he himself has been tense the whole time. He massaged his temples, trying to collect his thoughts.


    ¡°Where to begin.¡± he muttered, half to himself.


    ¡°Now that I find myself in the situation in which I envisioned before I set out on this..errand. Strangely, I find myself not fully prepared for this occasion.¡±


    ¡°You must forgive me of course, I¡¯ve turned this over and over in my mind but real-life has a way of realising itself in entirely different ways. Expectations are terrible things.¡±


    ¡°The simplest way, I guess, is that I should just dive into it. I¡¯ve stalled enough. Whatever it is, all shall be revealed to you when I finish. Try not to interrupt me, okay?¡± Ethan gave her a friendly wink.


    ¡°Yes, I am at your mercy, old fool.¡± Rachel leaned forward slightly on her couch.

 Chapter 2

    Before the City turned into a paradise for the psychopaths and the apathetic, there was the Establishment. The Establishment took over shortly after the Last Betrayal, maintaining some degree of order over the City. In the early days, the Establishment¡¯s council was ambitious. Determination to outdo their predecessors led the Establishment to push hard for ground-breaking research. Scientific experiments abandoned by the previous Regiment, deemed unethical or controversial are restarted. Projects considered too dangerous and environmentally irresponsible are given unrestricted funding and access. Morals are secondary, after all, it¡¯s for the sake of ushering a new Golden Age for humankind. For a short period of time, the City flourished. The freedom granted to creative minds (albeit the more twisted ones) resulted in various breakthroughs in fields which has remained stagnant for centuries.


    The Meat Research Lab (MRL) are one of the multitude of companies which were funded by research grants by the Establishment. The MRL mission statement was simple enough ¨C to be the first company to grow sustainable lab grown meat to feed the planet. It was an ambitious, but important project. After all, the altered conditions of the planet after the Great War left it in no state to sustain most of its living creatures. It was a few years before they were successful in reproducing GM meat which looks and tastes like real meat. The Establishment basked in the shared glory as MRL won numerous awards and plaudits. Grocery shops, convenient stores and supermarkets all over the City carried MRL products ¨C MRL¡¯s Aged Kobe Beef, MRL¡¯s Country Chicken, MRL¡¯s Tender Off-the-Bone Ribs. The future looks bright for the MRL.


    That is, until the first body was found ripped to shreds near an MRL facility. A second body followed suit within days. Then ten more bodies the following week. The City¡¯s Denizens panicked and demanded an investigation into the facilities, whose proximity to these attacks warranted suspicions. A search order was promptly issued, and a squadron of military personal investigated the MRL facility, under vehement protests by MRL.


    Growing cells in cultures is common practice for any laboratory, what MRL was doing was growing whole animals in tanks, submerged in a chemically-engineered amniotic baths. On top of that, MRL¡¯s scientists were splicing animal¡¯s DNAs to reproduce better quality specimens. Aside from more tender meat texture and the perfect amount of marbling, they removed pesky things such as eyes, horns, hoofs, feathers, furs as well as adding more things such as extra limbs, an extra dozen pair of ribs. When the squad investigating the facility came into one of MRL¡¯s culture chambers, they saw endless rows of tanks containing floating misshapen shapes. The contents of the tank twitched occasionally under the glow of the fluorescent lights, some imperfect ones had an eye, or three. Several officers of the law puked. It was like a dystopian laboratory owned by a mad scientist, it probably was.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    In situations like this, as is the case in any civilized world, the press had a field day. MRL was shut down to widespread public condemnation, and the facilities were cordoned off from the public pending further investigation. Under threat of the death penalty and promises of lighter sentences, several of MRL¡¯s executives admitted that a few of its experimental specimens unfortunately went missing. All of the MRL¡¯s executives were sentenced to imprisonment for life and shipped off to the Establishment¡¯s Super Maximum Prison.


    Little is known about the unholy abominations created by the MRL, as most records of the company¡¯s experiments have been permanently wiped by MRL the day the facility was searched. What little eyewitness accounts of Rippers attacks are often supplemented by exaggerations, as well as the mad ravings of survivors of the attack.


    A compilation of accounts approximate the Rippers to be roughly 6 to 8 feet in length, dark-coloured or greyish, six to eight legged, a pair of blackened insect-like wings covered the whole of its back. Multiple jaws are scattered throughout its body. It has a tiny head which is dominated by its jaws. Aptly described, it was like a giant cockroach from hell. Some controversial accounts claim that it is highly intelligent and used its victim¡¯s body like a skin puppet to lure more victims. One thing is certain though; the Rippers avoids bright places and hunts in the night time.


    However, even with the closing of the MRL facilities, the frequency of Rippers attacks did not decrease. In fact, it has been increasing steadily, striking terror into the Denizens of the City. Some of the more paranoid Denizens of the City speculated that the Establishment secretly continued the production of Rippers. Some of them suspect that Rippers are the Establishment¡¯s means of enforcing its curfew. Other more paranoid Denizens suspect that the Establishment uses the Rippers as a means of keeping the City¡¯s population down. With all the Establishment¡¯s food programs crashing, it was hard enough feeding everyone in the City. If history has told us one thing, hungry people usually leads to revolt, whereas dead people are much better-behaved. Fear is as good motivator as any to keep people in line.

 Chapter 3

    It was the just past noon, yet the City is covered in a blanket of darkness, punctured here and there by occasional glimmers of burning fires in buildings. Thick greenish angry clouds poured down acid on the City. The blood, grime and refuse of the city melded with the vile rain water. Rather than cleaning it up, the mixture congealed and stuck fast against the drainage gratings and cracks of manholes interspersed amongst the City¡¯s pavements. Clouds of noxious fumes wafted up from these vile mixtures. On days like these, the street level of the City is off-limits to anyone sane and able-bodied enough to find refuge. And on days like these, the Rippers prowl the City, like a cruel god¡¯s idea of a holiday gift (for it is a holiday of sorts for the Denizens of the City, an off day from murder and entrapment, an uneasy sort of Truce born out of inconvenience and gut-splattering terror).


    An old woman sat near the fire with a little girl sleeping on her lap. Next to them, members of a street gang were playing cards. A heavyset man with gang tattoos conversed in gruff tones with his companions, a black man with a chin piercing and a Chinese man rolling a coin over his knuckles. The chatter died down as a hooded figure stepped into the circle of light cast by the fire. The handful of the City¡¯s Denizens huddling by the warmth of the fire gave a cursory glance at the newcomer.


    ¡°Mind if I rested here for a bit?¡± the newcomer said cheerfully.


    The black man with the chin piercing shrugged.


    ¡°We¡¯re all strangers here, but you¡¯re welcome to my fire, young man.¡± the old woman said.


    Taking the cue, the newcomer sat down in an unoccupied spot by the flame and put down his bag. He pulled back his hood and ran a hand through his short brown hair. He rubbed his clammy hands together and held it over the fire.


    ¡°When¡¯s this bloody rain gonna stop? It¡¯s been non-stop for a week.¡± the heavyset tattooed man groused.


    ¡°Don¡¯t exaggerate; it¡¯s only been three days. That¡¯s how it is, its monsoon season you know.¡± the old woman said, all the while knitting what seems to be a scratchy scarf.


    ¡°Monsoon my ass, its July. There ain¡¯t no monsoon in Summer.¡± the man with tattoos highlighted his point by jabbing his heavy fingers accusingly at the old woman.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think the usual rule applies, we as a race have comprehensively screwed over the planet¡¯s ecosystem in a single generation. Now, we enjoy the fruits of our ancestor¡¯s hard work.¡± the newcomer offered with a bitter smile, waving his hands at the surroundings.


    ¡°You¡¯re one of those smart asses. Hey, we have a smart ass over here.¡± the tattooed man said, smiling without humour, cracking his knuckles.


    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong you know.¡± the old woman said, half distracted by her knitting.


    ¡°You know, things weren¡¯t always this way. When I was growing up, we had fresh fruits, vegetables, meat and dairy from farms. Fields and fields of corns and barley filled the countryside. We had clean air and wild flowers sprout everywhere along river banks with clear running water...¡± her knitting forgotten, the old woman trailed off as she gazed off into the distance.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Establishment man; they are the ones that screwed over everyone. They destroyed the City with their diabolical experiments and corruption. The monsters they create in their secret labs are still running around the City. We should have taken them out sooner, those rat bastards.¡± the Chinese man punched into his palm, as if to emphasize his point.


    ¡°I think¡­things were already beyond help before they came along. That¡¯s why the Old Worlders made a break for it when they could, towards the end of the Final War.¡± the newcomer said. ¡°Of course, when the war was over, the new Establishment did nobody a favour by fucking everyone else in the ass, with all their false promises and blustering about a new golden age for humanity. Everyone left behind are just sick of all the fighting, they are just looking for someone to lead them. They saw the Establishment and they saw what they want to see ¨C a better future. Or at least, someone else to take responsibility.¡± he added.


    The girl, who is now awake, stared quietly at the newcomer and clung to the old woman. Blonde ringlets framed her violet eyes. Her piercing stare unnerved the newcomer.


    ¡°That¡¯s how it is, this is where we are, and everyone has to accept that. I¡¯ve lived through good times, the only regret I have is the younger ones, they don¡¯t deserve to suffer the consequences of our mistakes.¡± the old woman stroked the little girl¡¯s hair affectionately and continued her knitting.


    ¡°Granny, tell me stories about the space people again.¡± the little girl said in a high pitched voice.


    ¡°Sure honey, if you¡¯d be a good girl and help me with lunch.¡± the old woman turned to the newcomer. ¡°You will be joining us?¡± she asked pointedly.


    ¡°That will be lovely¡± he rummaged through his coat and produced something wrapped in newspaper, leaning over the fire and passed it to the old woman.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Why I¡¯d be damned.¡± she exclaimed as she unwrapped it. The label on the rusted tin reads MRL¡¯s Mediterranean Tinned Tuna.


    Curious, the street gang leaned over to look at the tin.


    The tattooed man made a face. ¡°I ain¡¯t eating no monster meat.¡±


    ¡°You can have the stew, or you can have nothing. Times are hard enough without being picky.¡± the old woman held the little girl¡¯s hand and moved towards the window, where a dented pot, a small knife and a hardwood plank (a makeshift chopping board) on a crate served as a kitchen.


    ¡°Yeah sure, stew sounds great.¡± the tattooed man grumbled.


    ¡°Those are just rumours spread by the Establishment you know. They saw how profitable MRL was, and they swooped in and claimed it for themselves.¡± the newcomer said.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me any.¡± the Chinese man slipped out a joint and lit it over the open fire. He took a puff and offered it to the newcomer. The newcomer took an appreciative puff.


    ¡°I hear there¡¯s a settlement in the Northern Post. And they¡¯re growing things again, in real soil.¡± the newcomer said, passing the cigarette to the black man.


    ¡°That¡¯s just a rumour man, there¡¯s nothing out there. Just like everywhere else.¡± the Chinese man said.


    ¡°No, I mean it makes sense. For most of the World¡¯s history, the North has been nothing but an icy wasteland. But with the increase in the temperature over the past 20 years, the North should be a pretty habitable place, hypothetically.¡± the newcomer argued.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just temperature; the radiation from the Nukes in the Final War contaminated all the soil. Anything you grow that actually doesn¡¯t die will kill you with all the radiation.¡± the black man said.


    ¡°There¡¯s a chance it¡¯s not contaminated, the soil is under layers and layers of glaciers, which has melted off in the past decade. Plus, the Great War was concentrated mostly in the..¡±


    The Chinese man held up his hand and interrupted the newcomer ¡°Listen man, I hear what you¡¯re saying, and that¡¯s a lot of IFs. Even if that¡¯s true, there¡¯s no way to travel to the North, the Piers are under the control of the Ghouls. Even if you make it all the way there, you¡¯ll just get shot down before you get near any settlement. Everyone in this City is irradiated; anyone who¡¯ll risk whatever uncontaminated settlement they have to welcome you must be a nut case. It¡¯s every man for himself in these times.¡±


    ¡°You know, it¡¯s not the City that will kill you, it¡¯s your expectations and hope that will eat you alive.¡± the black man said.


    The newcomer heaved a heavy sigh. Whatever glimmer he had in his eyes at the beginning of evening seemed to have dulled, or maybe it was never there in the first place. A collective silence descended upon the group. The black man had started reading a small tattered book, its pages yellowed with age, while the Chinese man and the tattooed man continued their card game.


    The old woman and little girl came back with the pot, now filled to the brim, and set it hanging over the fire. After a few minutes, bits of chopped meat and vegetables bubbled gently amongst the mud brown gravy of the stew. The old woman ladled the stew and tasted it. She added a handful of black pepper and stirred the stew.


    ¡°So what¡¯s your name, young man.¡± the old woman asked the newcomer as she placed the ladle on the hardwood plank.


    ¡°I¡¯m Ethan, pleased to meet you. And you are?¡±


    ¡°You can call me Marla, this is my granddaughter Rachel.¡± the little girl looked away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be rude Rachel, shake this gentleman¡¯s hands¡±


    Shyly, she obliged and shook Ethan¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Nice to meet you Rachel¡± Ethan smiled at her, Rachel studied her shoelaces.


    ¡°Oh so we¡¯re playing house, how nice.¡± the tattooed man sneered.


    ¡°This is my fire, you can be civil or you can go find another one. On an empty stomach. Good luck with the Rippers out there.¡± the old woman mentioned casually.


    ¡°Tsk. Fine. I¡¯m Dave, my acquaintance here¡¯s Leroy and Wising.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t butcher my name you oaf, it¡¯s Wei Xin.¡± the Chinese man corrected him.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I said. Asian names.¡± the tattooed man rolled his eyes.


    The old woman started ladling out the stew into various chipped bowls and handed them out. Eager hands snatched up the steaming bowls of stew.


    Ethan blew on his stew and tasted it. It was an interesting flavour, not exactly unpleasant, but one wouldn¡¯t go so far to say it¡¯s tasty. There were dehydrated mushrooms, bits of lettuce, tomato pieces, various chunks of greyish and brown pieces (amongst which are his contributions), all drowned in a mud brown peppery gravy. Eat enough stews and your standards will be low enough. In the City, any nourishment is better than an empty stomach.


    After finishing the stew, Ethan stacked his bowl on the plank, on top of the other bowls.


    ¡°Here, let me wash those¡± Ethan made a move to pick up the dishes and was stopped short by the old woman.


    ¡°My fire, my hospitality. Rachel, serve these gentlemen some tea.¡± she said, pushing some cups towards the little girl and picking up the dishes.


    Rachel held the boiling kettle up with both hands and neatly poured the boiling contents into 6 cups. Ethan and the gang members mumbled thanks as they received the tea.


    Ethan took a small sip of the tea. He felt warmth spreading out his whole body. After a few moments, he stood up and walked over to a window with his cup of tea. He looked out over the City blocks. The grey-greenish cloud seemed to only grow thicker since the morning; any patches of the sun in the sky are now blotted out by the clouds. The torrential rain fell unceasingly on the City. Ethan could see occasional fires illuminating the windows of buildings. Denizens of the city with any sense at all would be holed up in higher levels of the City¡¯s buildings. The ground level of the City is drowned in thick greenish mist. Any unfortunate individual who finds themself on the streets in such conditions would have close to zero visibility, surrounded with god knows what nightmares stalking through the fog, a highly unappealing prospect. Ethan, for one, was glad he was relatively well-sheltered.

 Chapter 4

    Later that evening, the rain subsided into a drizzle, the orange glow of sunset pierced through random cracks in the cloud, like a blood seeping through, bleeding over the City. The fog retreated into the sewer tunnels criss-crossing the underbelly of the City, restoring some visibility on the street level. Embers of the dying fire glowed and shone on its occupants ¨C a little girl, an old woman and three gang members. The old woman was busy, turning out the pockets, checking out the soles of shoes, and going through the gang members¡¯ belongings with quiet efficacy. There were no protests from the owners; after all, they are in a deep sleep, almost too deep. The little girl was sorting through the loot ¨C a switchblade, some clothings, various currencies, some dried jerky, a transistor radio, amongst other assorted knick knacks. They only took whatever is valuable and light enough to carry.


    When they were done with the gang members, they turned to their remaining victim. Ethan¡¯s figure lay slumped against the wall below the window sill. He was in a seated position, his arms crossed over his body. A line of fading sunset shone across Ethan¡¯s chest, which rose and fell gently with his light snoring.


    As the old woman started patting down Ethan¡¯s pants, a vicelike grip held her right arm.


    ¡°Why Marla, we¡¯ve just met. I think you¡¯re being overly familiar.¡± Ethan smiled at her, but the smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes.


    The colour drained from Marla¡¯s face. ¡°A..ah..¡±


    ¡°Drop that, little girl. You don¡¯t even know what to do with that.¡±


    Rachel was holding the small knife, her little face tight with fear.


    ¡°Seriously, I don¡¯t want to hurt little kids but if you come at me, no promises. Drop it.¡± Ethan said sternly.


    Rachel dropped her knife and started sobbing.


    ¡°Shh shh...its alright dear.¡± Marla stroked the little girl¡¯s back with her left hand.


    ¡°Listen, you can have all our things. Do anything to me, but leave her alone.¡± the old woman begged, tears welling up in her eyes.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Ethan gave her a cold stare. After a moment, he released his grip on her. Marla winced a little and massaged blood circulation back into her arm.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your things.¡± Ethan said flatly.


    He lighted a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke out of the window. It was fully dark now.


    ¡°Is that how it is right now? There¡¯s no more shelters, no more safe places from the monsters out there. Shit on the Truce right. Sometimes I think the real monsters are people.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Marla said quietly.


    ¡°No? What were YOU doing then? What were you thinking of doing after your little stunt here? From breaking the Truce? You¡¯ll be hunted down all over the City by their gang. Your safest bet is slitting their throats.¡±


    The old woman covered her mouth and looked mortified.


    ¡°What?¡± Ethan began unkindly, snorting. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re naive enough to think you can walk away from this? You¡¯ve never thought this through have you?¡±


    Marla teared up and sobbed a little.


    A small hand slapped the cigarette away from his hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bully grandma.¡± the little girl scowled at him with determination, her bottom lips trembling.


    At this, Ethan¡¯s face softened a touch. He sighed and said ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was unfair.¡±


    ¡°No, you are right.¡± Marla dabbed a little at her eyes. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be doing this if I¡¯m not desperate. And it seems that this was a horrible idea.¡±


    ¡°Yes it is. Now, you need to fix this, how long do we have? How much sedative did you apply?¡± Ethan said.


    ¡°H-How did you know?¡±


    ¡°No time, we can chat later.¡±


    ¡°We should have a good 2-3 hours.¡±


    ¡°Okay, you need to replace everything you stole from them, don¡¯t give them any reason to suspect anything is amiss. I¡¯ll help you pack up your things and we need to leave, the quicker the better.¡± Ethan looked out of the window. ¡°Its still drizzling a little, not ideal but it¡¯ll have to do. We don¡¯t want to be around when they wake up and start asking questions.¡±


    ¡°Since you have class A sedative, I¡¯m assuming you found a hospital medical cache. Its probably mostly useless to you, but I have use of it.¡± Ethan said simply. The old woman nodded and grabbed the bag of stolen goods. They¡¯ll have to work quickly.

 Chapter 5

    The putrid stench of the City¡¯s streets very own stew ¨C a concoction of the City¡¯s filth, excretions and secretions, permeates its sodden streets. The day is almost done, and the rain clouds still drizzled unceasingly, though with less enthusiasm. Little, if any of the Denizens of the city will be tempted to be up and about tonight. Three sleeping gang members of the Black Crosses lie by the dying embers of a fire, their possessions replaced, clueless that it was missing in the first place. Downstairs in the lobby of the building, three figures stood on top of the flight of steps leading to the entrance of the building. The remains of the lighting fixtures which adorned the front of the building flickered as they wore their coats and secured their belongings, preparing to brave the City streets. It would be a long night for them, like most nights in the City.


    Ethan wore his hood over his head and zipped up his jacket. Marla was helping Rachel put on a pair of woollen gloves, and the scratchy scarf she was knitting. All of them wore gas masks, if not to protect themselves against the toxic smog, at least to ward off some of the evil smell of the rain drenched streets of the City.


    Ethan set his mask¡¯s transistor frequency to the matching receiver set he lent Marla.


    ¡°Test. Test.¡±


    ¡°Okay I can hear you¡± Marla¡¯s voice crackled over his headset.


    ¡°Let¡¯s move fast and quietly. Stay together. If you and Rachel gets lost, don¡¯t panic, stay in transmission range.¡±


    Marla nodded and held Rachel¡¯s hand tightly.


    ¡°If you see anything or anyone, ignore it. No one sane is out now, and we can¡¯t afford to help anyone. Am I clear?¡± Ethan added, he looked evenly at Marla.


    ¡°O-Ok..¡± Marla¡¯s replied nervously, clutching Rachel¡¯s hand even tighter, the other hand holding a rucksack full of their belongings.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Our safe house is 7 blocks from here, near the Depot.¡± said Marla.


    ¡°Okay. You lead the way then.¡± Ethan slung his bag across his shoulder and looked down the steps at the streets. He turned on the starlight scope of his night vision. Calibrating the mask¡¯s lens, the City streets came into being, bathed in a sinister greenish tint. A fine mist hung low over broken pavement, which was covered by a layer of sludgy substance and coagulated rubbish heaps. Dark stains (Blood? Dirt?) covered the walls of the buildings and rubbles.


    The viscous admixture sucked and squelched at their boots with every step. It was like moving through a swamp. They tried avoiding the goo-like substance, hopping onto bits and pieces of broken planks, rubbles and thrash piles. It did not really help much, since it covered so much of the streets. Occasionally, the composite stuck so fast that their boots squelched free from one¡¯s feet. They had to pry it loose before continuing their journey. Along the way, they passed through a block of abandoned public housings ¨C a series of shapeless buildings converged around a shattered cobbled square. A series of insane laughter, punctuated by uncontrollable sobbing and sounds of breaking glass from one of the windows made them hasten their pace, however pointless trying may seem in a river of quicksand.


    It was an overall frustrating and tiring endeavour. It took them the better part of an hour to reach the halfway point of their destination. A dozen statues of horses used to mark the entrance of the City¡¯s Central Park. Now, barely a handful of them are left strewn on the ground, next to a large crater marked their former companions¡¯ position (before they were blasted into oblivion by a bomb¡¯s blast). A monument to the state of the City. Ethan thought.


    ¡°We should take a short break. It¡¯s a pretty open space; we can make an easy getaway if anything turns up.¡± Ethan said.


    ¡°Okay¡±. Marla said. The girls were breathing heavily, and looked grateful for the brief intermission.


    They sat sheltered in one¡¯s of the Central Park¡¯s pavilions, the few remaining structures that remained relatively intact. The rain has stopped completely now. The weather, being what they are in these times, it would be foolish to think that was the end of the rain. The sooner they get to their safe house, the better.


    ¡°Meow¡±


    They looked out and saw two glowing blue eyes looking towards the pavilion. A plastic yellow mechanical cat observed the occupants of the pavilion. After a while, it lost interest and stalked away. It prowled around the broken statues of the park, occasionally leaping over craters, and in between debris and statues, before disappearing into the darkness.

 Chapter 6

    ¡°So, how did you know about the sedative?¡± Marla asked, her voice crackling over the Ethan¡¯s helmet.


    ¡°I¡¯m a doctor.¡± Ethan said. ¡°Or rather, I was a doctor. The aesthetic you used is almost tasteless, but I could taste the slight bitterness. Of course, you were smart enough to mask it with the bitterness of the tea. I did take a sip you know, and then I poured the rest out of the window.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Marla said. ¡°If you¡¯re a doctor..¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a long story. I think that¡¯s enough about me. You, on the other hand, have some explaining to do. From your inexperience, I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re new to this business. Why risk it? Why put her in danger?¡± Ethan nodded at Rachel¡¯s sleeping form, her head leaning against Marla¡¯s side, her little arms hugging her.


    Marla stayed silent.


    After a few moments, she gently brushed back the little girl¡¯s golden curls and showed Ethan her neck. A jet black circular device sunk into the nape of Rachel¡¯s neck. All around the innocuous looking device, a network of blackened veins stretched out, fading as it stretches outwards.


    ¡°What the FUCK. WHO?¡±


    Marla, shocked by Ethan¡¯s anger, drew back instinctively.


    ¡°It was the Raiders. Rachel¡¯s father owed them money, a lot of money, from gambling mostly. A few months ago, he just disappeared. A few of them ransacked our place and took everything of value. It was not enough, there wasn¡¯t much.¡±


    The static of the receiver distorted Marla¡¯s sobbing, not unlike how the very first conscious AI sobbed when it realised it was too late to save Humanity, to save Earth.


    When Marla composed herself, she continued. ¡°When they tried to...insert that into her, I tried to stop them, but I¡¯m too weak. They held me down and made me watch them do it. When it was done, they told me that we¡¯ll repay the debt, every single cent of it. And we have 1 year to do it.¡±


    The Spider is one of the handfuls of cutting-edge technologies developed by the various corporations funded by the Establishment in its early years. It was developed for military use by Armistice Labs. The main function of the Spider is to keep track of field agents. Micro GPS chip and pressure sensors are inbuilt into the 1 inch circular disks, which broadcast signals to the Establishment¡¯s satellites. The Spider is implanted into an agent¡¯s body, with tissue surgically sewn over to hide it. It was made of materials that avoid detection. A field agent who is captured can send a series of taps through the device to send back information to the Establishment. The Spider contains a small compartment, a sac if you may, unknown to the field agents. The sac contains deadly poison. When the agent outlived his purpose, the Establishment can conveniently press a button, and the device will inject the agent with the poison, causing instant heart failure. Conveniently enough, any attempted removal of the device without the proper equipment would also result in the sac bursting, administering a lethal injection of the poison.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Several flavours of the device were invented. The most common ones used by the gangs in the City for various purposes is the drip type. As suggested by its name, the drip type steadily administers microscopic doses of whatever toxin or poison into the victim¡¯s bloodstream, which is lethal over long periods of time. Most often used for coercive purposes, it allows the user to blackmail the victim into completing tasks for them in exchange for the antidote.


    An uncomfortable silence settled between Ethan and Marla, enveloping them as surely as the darkness of the City. Rachel slept fitfully, her little head snuggled onto Marla¡¯s lap and rustling Marla¡¯s jacket.


    ¡°She can¡¯t be more than six.¡± Ethan said.


    ¡°She¡¯s five actually.¡±


    Ethan shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve heard stories of Spiders being used on children. I thought that was that, just stories.¡±


    ¡°There are more of them you know, on the streets.¡±


    ¡°There can¡¯t be that many Spiders, wasn¡¯t all Armistice Labs facilities burned down, along with the fall of the Establishment.¡±


    ¡°I hear someone got hold of the blueprint, one of the gangs. And they¡¯re mass producing the Spider again. Amongst other things..¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s horrifying, if it¡¯s true. Just when I think this City can¡¯t get any worse...¡±


    Marla had no reply for that. She stroked the young girl¡¯s back and seemed lost in her thoughts, thinking of simpler times. Ethan leaned against the Pavilion¡¯s peeling pillar, collecting his thoughts.


    ¡°BOOM!¡±


    An explosion rocked the City, sending shudders of shockwaves which nudged the occupants of the pavilion awake from their collective stupor. Startled, Marla and Ethan turned to look towards the explosion. An orange glow marked the scene ¨C a lower storey of an apartment, 3 or 4 blocks away from the park. Already, columns of smoke wafted from the fire started by the explosions. The fire illuminated the darkened City, however briefly, and shouts and cries were coming from the scene of explosion.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Marla asked.


    ¡°Nothing good. I think we rested enough, we should get a move on.¡± Ethan replied, already hefting his bag over his shoulder.


    Rachel was awake now, looking at Marla and Ethan.


    ¡°We have to go now, dear¡± Marla carried her rucksack and clutched Rachel¡¯s gloved hand.