A lone figure in a brown coat sat atop a shopping center building with his eyes shut. People scrambled below, purchasing breakfast beverages and meals before the start of their day. Their faces blurred in the social clusters. Each came, went, and was replaced.
His eyes opened, and he checked his digital watch. Shaking his head, he stood up to walk to the back of the roof. No one heard him drop. Circling around the building took several seconds with a brisk pace, letting him catch sight of his objective.
One woman stood out in appearance, demeanor, and stature. She was beautiful and almost regal. Her face was dour however, as if someone insulted her personally. The surroundings did not match her whatsoever.
The woman was going to die.
He cut through the crowd, focus on the buildings behind the woman rather than her. There was no relation. A task was given, and he took it.
Her eyes looked at his.
As intended, he bumped into her, his lips inches from her ear. “The sins of the father stain his child.”
“Wha–“ She stopped along with her heart.
He kept walking. “That is the sentence given by the gods,” he whispered to himself. “So it was, so it is, and so it will be.” He shook his head as she collapsed, smacking against asphalt.
The clusters crowded around the body and called for help on behalf of someone who was already dead. A few cried, some recorded, but most gawked. None were observant or caring enough to notice her murderer leaving the scene with his hands shaking in his coat pockets.
It took a quarter-mile’s worth of distance followed by a venture into a shady alley for them to stop. “Life rots in darkness.” He nodded, certain no one was present. Lifting his knee, he kicked the wall. A pull of his foot told him he was rooted where his eyes did not. He joined his foot with its twin and began walking up. Stepping over the ledge one was supposed to be falling from rather than walking up to was akin to stepping up a single stair.
He drew a clenched hand from his pocket. In it was a medallion composing a ring of stainless steel encompassing a circle of reinforced glass. His finger held down one of the buttons on its side, and the glass lit up blue, projecting an immaterial dashboard of various icons with names beneath them. Another finger held down a button displaying a microphone “Open messages.” It shifted to display two lists. One was under conversations and the other under contacts. There was only one tab: a contact labeled with a question mark.
A tap of the contact brought up only a chatbox icon. He tapped it again, tapped the presented input box, and held down the microphone button. “It’s done.” The words appeared in the box before he gave the displayed image of a paper plane his confirmation. He tapped the power button, sending the device into sleep mode, and slid it back into his coat pocket.
Dropping back into the alley, the young man took a deep breath before walking to the exit. He undid his fly to erase possible suspicions from passerby. The first few steps he took back on the proper pathway were joined by an audible zip, making him and everyone who heard it cringe.
Several hours passed until he was in front of the door to his rundown, windowless domicile. The shouting and clamor unique to this particular section of the city was all someone needed to follow if they didn’t know the way. It was something a person couldn’t nor shouldn’t get used to.
“Home is where man lays his head.” He pursed his lips as the door opened for him.
A cat sat down behind it and meowed in greeting.
Smiling, he stepped inside. The noise of his neighborhood ceased to exist when the door shut on its own. “Hey.” He plopped down on his bed, the sole piece of furniture in the makeshift building, and groaned. “I killed someone.”
The little creature jumped on to the bed with a purr.
“You love killing things, don’t you?” He pet it from head to tail. “It’s what you were born to do… What all of us were.” His hand stopped on its head. “Most of us, actually.”
It rubbed its head against his fingers.
“Had to be someone. That’s how things work; can’t have something without nothing. Hunter and prey. Aggressor and victim. Winner and loser.”
The cat meowed.
He nodded. “Is what it is. Not like there’s anything either of us can do to change that. Been ancients know how many years we’ve been stuck on this rock. And we’re still the same.” Ignoring his pet’s pleas for attention, his eyes bore into the wooden ceiling. “Winner or loser, our feelings and relevance are the same.”
Jumping on to his chest, the cat licked his face.
“Stop!” He laughed. “It’s not that I feel bad about it.” The presence of his furry friend made it hard to feel bad about anything. “Just…” His lips thinned into a line. “Not sure what to think or if I should be thinking about it at all.”
It sat down, mittens properly somewhat beneath its chest.
“Can’t help but think, yeah. Not much else to do or hope for while I’m alive.” He took a deep breath and yawned. “I can drop dead any minute just like that sorry girl. Wonder… why she looked so pissed and went out so early.” Shrugging, he closed his eyes. “Oh well. People die, get mad, and do things every day… Not like it matters to her or anyone else anymore. Is what it is, and I can’t undo what I’ve done… I think.” A weak groan murmured in his throat. “I’m tired of…”
Following his lead, the cat closed its eyes.
The two fell asleep as one in their odd, makeshift haven.
Some time went by until an odd, rhythmic tone of artificial sounds drew them out of slumber. The young man fished the medallion from his pocket, held it out on top of him, and tapped the solely displayed answer icon.
“Excellent!” A distorted voice said. “In front of nearly a hundred people too.” Its laughs echoed through the room, droning in their ears. “Throwing in a little bonus just for that. Coming at you right now.”
He raised an eyebrow as the projected screen expanded and split to display the words ‘CREDIT TRANSFER IN PROGRESS’ on the new side. The lone zero displayed on the bottom right corner of the projection shifted through many numbers and expanded to five figures. It shifted for several more seconds until resting on fifty-five thousand and three-hundred fifty. The holographic display returned to its normal size with the call alone pictured.
“If I were you, I’d hide the credit display, if you haven’t already figured out that holo.”
Nodding, he moved to end the call.
“Before you go, tell me how it’s like.” The voice laughed. “That power of yours. I’ll throw you in a little more.”
He paused. It wasn’t as if the owner of the voice didn’t already know. There was no harm in telling someone who understood what he was. More money was on his end if he did too. “Have you ever gone swimming?”
It scoffed. “Of course I have.”
“Well, imagine being submerged in water with countless other people… Except, you can breathe. You can see, you can move just fine, and you can speak.” He looked off to the side at a nearby wall. “They can’t understand what you’re saying or how you can do all of that, but it’s like walking: something you already know how to do, but you just needed a little time for you work it out.” A hum murmured in his throat. “I guess that’s the best way to put it.”
“Interesting perspective, for once not rooted in mysticism nor ego-driven nonsense. I might have another job for you down the line. Get to know that holo: it’s state of the art hardware, and a gift from me to you.”
He ended the call and watched another credit transfer alert flash across the immaterial screen. Three-hundred and fifty more credits were deposited into the account linked to the device. “How do I actually hide what this thing shows?” He tilted his head, pressed the back button on the metal ring itself, and pulled up the long list of installed programs. “I don’t even know what half of these things are.” Shrugging, he tapped the power button. The premium device was unceremoniously slid back into his coat pocket. “Whatever.”
The cat seated on his chest meowed.
“You said it, man.” He yawned. Giving both his eyes a rub, he stared up at the ceiling. “Over fifty thousand credits. That’s what her brief life was worth… She’ll never feel the sun again, know what it’s like to be a mother, have a good meal again, or ever know what will happen with the people she actually cared about. All for almost fifty-one thousand credits… What a joke.”
His furry friend’s slit eyes looked up at his.
“I know, I know. Don’t complain about the consequences for the things you do. Just fifty thousand damn credits in my pocket for ending someone’s life before it really began. What can I do with fifty thousand credits?” He laughed. “What can’t I do with fifty thousand credits more like it.” He looked around his wooden box home. “Move out of this place, for one. For two, buy a more comfortable bed.”
It meowed again.
“You’ll get your own self-heating, temperature moderating Cat Nappers Five Million, like every other precious fur baby in the big city.” He rolled his eyes. “Get a TV, for third; this ‘holo’ stuff gives me a headache. Food, for fourth.”
The cat purred.
He laughed. “Needy, spoiled little brat.” Sliding his fingers over his head, he scratched the top of its head. “I’ll give you lots of fish, so you can get something else other than birds in your diet. Maybe I’ll start cooking my own food too and cook for you on the side. Pretty sure you prefer things raw though.” He tickled the little thing’s throat. “If I spend all the time, I can’t expect to see that fifty thousand forever. Will have to do more jobs like this one, and If I spend all the time, people are going to wonder where the money is coming from.” Taking a deep breath, he shook his head. “Just no real long-term winning in life. You go from one state to the other until you reach the end, not that most of us get to know it.”
Again, the furry creature meowed.
“You’re right: no sense worrying about the things I can’t change. Live day by day, take things as they come, and don’t look to far into the future.” His eyes closed. “If only… it were that easy.”
The cat joined him in dozing off.
When the young man woke up, he lifted the fuzzy thing off him and set him aside. “First things first.” He stood up from his bed. “Number one: an actual place. And an actual place means renting or buying, which means spending trust.” The expression on his face soured. “And spending trust means a legal identity.” He looked to a wall, as if peering through, and pet his cat. “I’ll go ask. You stay here and wait for me or go eat.”
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It meowed. There was a specific hole made in the corner of the wooden house for it to go in and out. While its favorite human exited from the front door, it scurried out the not quite back.
Cries and cacophonies of noises someone should avoid became known to him. He walked out into his side of town with his head on a swivel. The destination on his mind wasn’t that far, but it was better to be safe than to be sorry.
Half an hour of travel put him some ways away from a shady bar. Those loitering outside it either did their best to avoid acknowledging his existence or stared at his approaching out-of-his place self. Even the two bouncers posted outside the front door did their best not to look at him while he walked inside the building.
He cut past the open space, ignoring whatever and whoever else was around him, to the bar counter. Seating himself in a stool, he waited. The person manning it walked down to address him but stopped when they realized who they were approaching. He gestured for them to go away, and they complied.
“Hey!” A man several seats away from him scoffed. “I wanted a drink!” He turned to him. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
His eyes were fixated on the rack of drinks.
“I’m talking to you.”
The man he was waiting for walked out from the staff area, taking the other person’s place behind the counter.
“He–“ A burly hand on his shoulder stopped him. “Z-Zeke, I was ju–“
“Shut up and get out.”’
Immediately, he shot up and rushed out of the front door.
Ezekiel shook his head. “What do you want, kid?”
“Someone who can give me a legal identity and enough spending trust for a place.”
“That’s going to cost you.”
“I can afford it.”
“So you say.” He started walking back to the staff-only area. The young man sliding over the counter to follow made his brow twitch. “Gonna have to work to keep up a false identity. Not exactly something you can drop whenever you want to.”
“You let me worry about that.”
Ezekiel grumbled. “Just saying, kid.”
“Do you actually care what happens to me or whatever I do?”
“Not really.” He stopped in an office deep in staff-only section of the place. “Unless it effects or involves me and my interests.”
The young man’s eyes did not blink as he watched Ezekiel circle behind to sit at his desk. “So you’re advising because I’m a paying customer.”
Ezekiel raised an eyebrow at the ‘paying’ bit.
He took the medallion out of his pocket, set it on the desk, and tapped the power button.
Ezekiel’s looked at the small fortune on display and whistled for several solid seconds. “Who the hell did you kill for this?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” he admitted. “How much is it going to cost me for that contact?” His eyes bored into the aged man’s.
“Well, you don’t have to add my name to your tally.”
“I don’t keep count.”
Ezekiel winced. “Still, relax.” He opened his drawer and began scouring its contents. “Going to cost you a couple thousand: those types of people aren’t exactly your run of the mill thugs, and I have to vouch for you.”
“Making that last bit sound like a real hassle.”
He stopped and shot him a look.
“What? …What?”
“Ever met anyone else quite like you?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t take this the wrong way; you’re a massive pain in the ass, and a walking validation of every skeptic’s worst assumptions.”
He pointed at himself and blinked.
“...Yes, you. It’s probably hard for you to realize it, but you’re not normal. The way you behave, act, and view the world isn’t anything close to the average person.”
“And you are?”
“No, but I’d bet more than a couple hundred that I’m closer than you could ever be, kid. Is what it is.” He returned to searching. It took a couple of seconds for him to draw a flashcard. “Here’s the contact info.” He dug a hand into his pocket. “Hold on a second.” He took out his phone, an extremely obsolete ‘flipper’ burner, and input a number.”
The young man set his elbow on the desk and rested his cheek on an open palm as the cell rang. It caused Ezekiel to shoot him another look. He raised his brow in response.
The line droned two more times before breaking. “Hello?” A dull voice answered.
“It’s Zeke. I got a kid here who wants an identity with spending trust that he can live under.” He clucked his tongue. “Also, it’s a bit of a special case. I’m not sure how quite to put this, but he’s…” Drifting off, he stared at the calm young man sitting in front of him. “Normally challenged.”
He gave him a judging expression of his own.
“No problem,” the man on the line said, albeit warily. “Does he have money?”
Ezekiel nodded. “Yeah, a shit load of it. Feel free to try and rip him off if you want to test your poker face.” The young man frowned, so he mouthed ‘kidding.’
“Suicide is not in my interest. Tell him to meet me on the first building to the right on 518 Nasar Street from Daz Avenue in a week.” The call ended with no further words.
“He sai–“
“I heard everything.” He reached out to touch the holo-display but froze. “...How do I transfer credits from this thing to other things and sticks?”
“Have you been living under a rock?” Ezekiel shook his head as he remembered who he was talking to. “Let me take care of it for you.” A cold look from the young man made him shiver. “It’d be a walk in the park for you to kill me if I try messing with your cash.” With a nod of approval, he pulled up the programs. “You still have all this crap installed?”
“I don’t know what most of them do.”
He pulled up the application labeled ‘accounts.’ “This one has all your credits.” He pulled a flat, rectangular stick of plastic out from his desk. It took him a few seconds to find the slot hatch before inserting. “I’m taking 5k out for me. You’ll hear how much you need to pay from the man himself, but I know you can cover it.” His fingers danced along the screen until his desired pay was on one side while the leftover credits were on the other. “Lot of people would be willing to kill you over that much cash.”
“You included?”
“When I take something from another man, they don’t have a chance in hell of ever stopping me from doing it.” He tapped the ‘Transfer’ button, waited for ‘Transfer Complete’ to pop up, and unlodged his credit stick from the device. “There. That all or is there anything else you want from me?”
“Is there anything else I should?”
Ezekiel tapped a finger against his chin. “What kind of hardware do you use?” He twitched at the young man’s complete lack of response. “I mean, do you use any weapons?” A shake of his head made him cluck his tongue. “Fucking madman.”
“Reaching for tools means taking attention away from whatever is actually happening.”
“Not everyone has super powers.” He raised a hand as the lad parted his lips. “And I know they’re not super powers.” He lowered it. “Have you ever thought about using a gun?”
“Not once in my entire life.” He didn’t budge as the older man gave him a doubtful expression.
“Well, don’t come crying to me if you ever get shot and start thinking of modernizing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know something that you’re not telling me.”
Ezekiel nodded. He reached back into his desk and slowly pulled out an irregularly shaped, glowing handgun. “Just because these kind of things aren’t as flashy or as practical to you doesn’t mean they’re not effective.” He pressed down on the magazine eject and popped out a rod from the long barrel. “This is a Regecider Series One Thousand: a gauss electrically-powered, semi-automatic pistol.” He held it out. “It’s designed to pierce all kinds of reinforced material, specifically anything that can function as body armor or vehicle armor. In short, it’s an anti-material pistol.”
“Overkill much?” He took it and jumped at the electrical charge that ran through the material.
“It’s not exactly the most comfortable or the most concealable thing in the world. Whatever you do, don’t pour water over it.”
He shook his head as he got a feel of it. “That seems like a big design flaw.”
“Oh, it was: that design was discontinued. All handgun-related gauss weaponry is out of production these days. The fucking recoil on that thing is enough to make you feel it in your wrist and shoulder for hours.”
“And you’re… trying to sell me this.”
“What can I say? I’m not much of a salesman when it comes down to it; do you want this pocket anti-tank rifle or not?”
“Why do you even own something like that?”
He laughed. “I’ve made as much enemies as I have friends throughout the years I’ve been alive. And I’ve survived more than you likely ever will. Can’t be too prepared.”
“Enemies that can come at you with reinforced body armor?”
“Bound to make one any day of the week, kid.” He breathed through clenched teeth. “To be honest, I kind of bought it some time after I met you.” The unchanged expression on his face worried him. “Is it impossible for you to create some kind of armor force-field? ...Just curious.” Silence was his answer. “So are you buying it?”
“How much?”
“Three thousand five hundred, magazines and my current ammo supply for it included.”
The young man tilted his head. “A lot for something I might not use at all.”
“Should’ve seen how much these things cost way back in the day. Technically, I can charge them for more than even that because they’re not being made anymore.” He smiled at the young man’s questioning look. “I’m not because I haven’t gotten much use out of it yet, and you wouldn’t buy it if it were too ordinary or expensive. Got a more recent gauss weapon that’s waterproof, recoil-compensated, and a rifle anyway.”
“I might take that instead.”
Ezekiel scoffed. “No fucking chance in hell: it cost me nearly as much as you have now to even get in contact with a supplier.”
“Then I’ll take the gauss pistol.”
He nodded and reinserted his credstick into the holo device. With several more gestures with his fingers, one of them was up and the other was down credits and a gauss firearm. “I’d hand over the magazine and the rod I ejected right now, but I’d rather avoid the slightest possibility of getting blown apart.” A hostile look made him wince. “I’ll put it in a box with its case and the rest of the package deal. You can’t blame me for not trusting you, like how I can’t blame you for not trusting me.”
“On that, we can agree.” The young man slid the gauss pistol into his left coat pocket.
“Yet you still got mad at me.” He clucked his tongue. “Hypocrisy’s a bitch, kid. ‘Keep yourself in check or someone will cut your neck.’” Bending down, he dragged out the dusty box containing the gauss pistol’s case and ammunition. He opened it, fit the magazine in the leftover space, shoved the loose rod in, closed it, and lifted it up to hand over.
He took hold of his holo medallion and put it into his right pocket before grabbing hold of the box. Instead of walking out the door right away, he stared at his would-be associate.
“What?” Ezekiel raise an eyebrow. “Is there anything else I can get you, or do you want to go back on the deal?” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not exactly the type to undo after exchanges have been made.” He lightened up at a lack of any noticeable response. “Seriously, do you like standing there because I have other things to do. Other people to see… A business to run.”
The young man’s stare lingered. It wasn’t cold or warm. Not even an acknowledgment of the other person’s existence. He was just part of the scenery.
“I…” A wave of relief washed over him as his not-so-wanted company turned and left. He knew what it was like when someone was trying to psych him out. They lacked the young man’s abilities though, which already made him watch his words more than he ever would for anyone else. “Fucking hell.”
He went through and out the bar without saying a word, box in hands. A murmur tingled in his throat partway back to his shack. Ezekiel played him with the mention of the gauss rifle: he made him rightfully think the pistol was impractical but useful before bringing it up to stir his interest. When he denied him outright, it made the pistol seem like a decent enough conciliation buy. Except that was expensive enough on its own. It was too impressive of a finesse for him to be mad at.
As for what he saw through the bar owner and the wall, it was none of his business, something he’d agree on. He wanted to examine his gauss pistol and go home to his cat. There was always somewhere else he could go to for information.
The familiar door of his wooden box was eventually in front of him. “Home is where man lays his head,” he chanted again. A familiar furry friend with a bloody pigeon corpse in its teeth stood was behind the frame when it opened. “Oh, you little monster.”
It was the beginning of the end for his ascetic, simple life, for better and for worse.