I found a small dilapidated hotel in Kabuki near the border of Little China. It looked to have originally been 3 stories tall, but the top level had completely collapsed along with about half of the second. The concrete was covered in bad graffiti and pockmarked with holes. Some appeared to be bullet holes, but others seemed to have come from explosions or random vandalism. Garbage surrounded the building, most of it used inhalers and needles. Even from an alley across the road, I could smell the place. It reeked of raw sewage, unwashed bodies, and an acrid chemical tang. The scents almost burned as I breathed them in. It all mixed into a familiar stench. I had smelt it before — the lingering malaise left after years when a building was abandoned to saturate in the fumes from a cornucopia of cheap synthetic drugs — of a place left to soak in the dead hopes of the dying, unwashed masses.
It was near dusk and the smog-filled sky filtered orange beams down onto the building, casting the front facade in shadow. I carefully finished reloading the magazine and reinserted it into the Ticon. No one would care about anyone who chose to live in this place. Not even the people who lived there cared. The building would likely finish collapsing within the next 5 to 10 years if nobody did anything. And no one would. It would just become another ruin among many. All those who lived there knew that the roof could collapse on them any day. But, these people knew that they would likely die long before that ever happened.
I inspected my gun. From the shots I’d taken with the Ticon, I’d noticed that it wasn’t nearly as loud as I would’ve expected. I could only guess it was because of the lowered power of the shots from the mismatched battery. It wasn’t silent or anything, but it was certainly quiet. That could be useful for what came next.
If I had the option, I would’ve watched the place for a week or more to check out the number of people who lived there, their habits, and anything else I could learn from just watching from the outside. Unfortunately, I didn’t have that sort of time. With every step I took my ankle felt worse and worse. Even if I couldn’t feel the pain, I could tell something was wrong. I needed a place to sleep, rest, and hide. I couldn’t keep walking around looking and I couldn’t wait out here in the open.
I took another careful hit of Dorph as I’d felt it wearing off. The growing pain receded into the background, easily ignorable. So did my growing concerns about what I was about to do. All my options were shit and I would do whatever I had to to survive.
Focused, I stepped out of the alley and limped my way over to the building. I circled around the side of it searching for a way in other than the front door. There was an open first-floor window, but it was too high and I couldn’t even see inside. At the back of the building, I found a door with the words, “Employees Only” on it, faded to near illegibility and partially covered in graffiti. The door handle and lock jamb were entirely missing, leaving a ragged hole and a partially open, free-swinging door.
Peeking in through the hole, I saw a dimly lit room empty of people. Fluorescent light leaked in from an empty doorway off to the right. The floor was covered in rubble and metal scraps. A metal table in the corner was on its side, ventilated with bullet holes. Seeing that the room was empty, I opened the door.
The rusty hinges gave a sudden loud shriek as it opened. I paused and waited. It was quiet. No sign of movement coming my way. I squeezed my way through the crack I’d made, pushing my backpack through first, trying hard not to touch the door. Once through, I carefully picked my way through the debris over to the empty doorway. Bent and rusted hinges stuck out aimlessly along one side of the doorframe, bereft of the door they once held.
Peeking out, I found myself at the end of a dark hallway intermittently lit by fluorescent lights. Across from me, through an open door, I saw a room filled with bloody, ripped-up mattresses, rotting food, and a bunch of other trash. Buzzing swarms of flies filled the air and leaked out into the damp, musty air of the hall. The still, heavy air held the pervasive scents hostage, left with no breeze to set them free. Looking down the hall, I found a sea of rooms with open, broken, or missing doors. Occasional damp spots discolored the concrete floor — likely from last night’s rain leaking through the collapsing structure. Among the closely packed rooms, only a few doors remained intact and closed.
Several doors down, lying between two pools of light, I saw a pile of rags just barely recognizable as human. If it wasn’t for the hand peeking out and the slight movements as they snored, it would’ve been impossible to tell. I’d clear the rooms between us first before I dealt with them.
Slowly, I made my way over to the next room down on the left. It was missing its door entirely, just like the room I had left. Across from it, stood an intact door, partially open. I would check the room without a door first just in case anyone inside might glance out into the hall.
Just barely sticking my head around the edge of the empty door frame, I scanned the room. Other than the bathroom, the entire place was visible from where I stood, and even for that not-yet-visible room, I could still see its door. The place was tiny, with just enough room for a bed and a desk. Not that even those remained. The only thing in the room was a bare soiled mattress with a nude woman curled up on it, left wearing only a single pink stiletto shoe with a broken heel. Stepping inside, I could quickly see that the woman wasn’t breathing. Now that I was closer, I could smell it too. The scent of death had been covered by all the other noxious odors filling the place.
I checked the bathroom and gagged. It was smeared with shit and piss. Without running water, they’d just filled the toilet. Then, once it was full, did the same to the shower. Flies swarmed the place. If all the bathrooms were like this, then I now knew where the raw sewage smell was coming from. Disregarding its hellish contents, the bathroom was empty of people. I closed the door and left the room with relief. Unfortunately, I knew that this wouldn’t be the last bit of death and filth I’d see today. Thankfully, the Dorph made it all a bit easier to deal with.
The room across from it was empty beyond used needles and inhalers. It was the same for the next couple of rooms, other than the odd piece of broken furniture or ripped-up mattress. Soon, I was able to make out something coming from somewhere farther down. Just two rooms up the hall from the sleeping man, I could hear music and rhythmic slapping leaking from a closed door.
The light above me flickered and buzzed as I stepped closer to the occupied room. From just outside, I could hear upbeat pop music accompanied by the repeated sounds of flesh hitting flesh and a man grunting. I checked the door handle. Unlocked. Probably broken.
Aware of the squeaky hinges common in this place, I carefully inched it open. It made a little noise but was easily covered by the other sounds in the room. Inside, a rail-thin man, wearing a white tank top so stained it looked like yellow-brown camo, kneeled on a dirty mattress with his pants around his ankles. From behind, I could see his boney shoulders pressed up against thin jaundiced skin, looking like they wanted to escape their disgusting fleshy cage.
The woman beneath him was limp and silent. Strapped to her head, she wore a shitty braindance rig, its flickering lights played ceaselessly against the deep circles under her eyes. The hoodie she wore had likely once been a nice baby blue, but now, it was nothing more than a ripped and dirty rag. The frayed cargo pants that lay discarded near the bathroom I could only guess were her’s. She was a Reality Junkie, probably high on synthetic hallucinogens, dead to the world, and busy living a different, better life in a virtual one.
Through the crack in the door, I fired a burst into the back of the man’s chest. The bullets tore through him and lodged in the opposite wall. He spasmed and fell onto his side gasping and gurgling. I spotted a pistol on the floor, but it was on the opposite side of the mattress from where he fell. He wouldn’t be able to reach it. There was no need to waste more bullets. He would die soon and he wouldn’t be able to make much noise. You can’t yell if you can’t breathe.
I checked the person sleeping a couple of doors down. He hadn’t stirred, still peacefully snoring.
Looking back into the room, the dying man’s red bloodshot eyes stared at me in a mix of shock, pain, and fear. It took a while for him to fall unconscious. Even through the Dorph, I knew that had been fucked up, but I just didn’t really care that much. Letting him die slowly had been a choice made out of callus calculation, not deliberate cruelty. Also, considering what he’d been doing when I found him, he didn’t engender much sympathy.
Stepping over the sabot pieces left on the floor by my shots, I entered the room and closed the door behind me. Walking up to the girl, I put the muzzle right next to her head and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled the trigger. The quiet snaps as it fired rang loud in my ears. Even muffled by the happy pop music they felt deafening. For some reason, that one felt different. A couple of silent tears rolled down my face. I checked the bathroom. Nobody inside.
Maybe I don’t have to keep going. Maybe I can just take this room and be done with this… No… No. Once I fix up a room, someone will take it from me. Once I have something worth stealing, someone will steal it… No… I can’t hide here with other people around. I’m too weak.
This building is already pretty much invisible because of how shit it is and once I clear it out, I can board it up and set up noise traps to know if anyone gets in… And maybe something better if I can get enough eddies. But I can’t do that until I get this place empty.
Fuck, I wish I could just scare the rest away. No, I’ve only gotten this far because I’ve surprised every person I’ve killed. I need to stick to the plan. Just keep going and don’t think about it. Focus.
I pulled out the magazine from my gun. 12 rounds left. 4 more bursts. I hadn’t bought a second magazine. That was stupid. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. With care, I pulled the box of ammo from my backpack and reloaded the magazine. I reinserted the mag and put the ammo back in my pack. Finally, I picked up the Nue from the floor and checked the mag. 6 rounds left. It looked in good condition, but considering where I found it, I didn’t fully trust it to fire. I put it in my pack anyway. Moving slowly, I exited the room and closed the door behind me.
The person in the hallway still hadn’t moved. As quietly as I could, I cleared the last couple of rooms between us. Finally, I limped close to the immobile figure. I didn’t want to miss my shot. The bullets bouncing full speed off the concrete floor might be louder than the gunshots. Just a few feet from the person I stopped, lined up a shot, and fired a burst into them. The quiet snaps of the bullets firing echoed slightly down the hall. With a jerk, the man woke up and started to take in a choking breath. I fired another burst. And another. He stopped moving.
I paused again to see if anyone had noticed the noise. Nothing. 9 rounds left. Half my magazine, gone in an instant. If I were shooting a normal Ticon, I doubted I’d have needed to use more than a single burst. I debated reloading the mag again.
Fuck. I really should’ve gotten a couple extra mags.
I retreated back into an empty room and repeated the process of loading the mag. Before continuing, I went and grabbed some large pieces of cardboard I’d seen discarded in one of the prior rooms. I carefully arranged the pieces on top of the dead man in the hall. If you didn’t get too close, it’d be hard to tell it wasn’t just another pile of trash.
Once done, I continued working my way down the hall. Empty room. Another empty room. Another. And another. The fifth, however, wasn’t quite as empty. In the shower, I found another corpse, long dead and rotting as it lay in the filth surrounding it. I kept moving.
Nothing, nothing, nothing. Something. 3 men were laid out across the room, unconscious. One had foam bubbling from his mouth. All of them had needle tracks along their arms.
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None of them woke up.
I reloaded the mag again and continued making my way down. I found another body a couple of doors down. Stabbed to death it looked like. Old blood soaked the mattress.
I had nearly reached the end of the hall when I heard raised voices coming from an open door two rooms down. Carefully, I moved into the room next to it on the same side of the hall and pressed my ear against the separating wall. They were pretty thin here.
“Come on man, just give me the Glitter.”
“No. Not fucking happening.”
“Come on man, what the fuck?”
“It's always just a bit more. Just a bit more.”
“Bro, I just need enough to deal with the shakes. I’m quitting. I swear.”
“That's what you always say!”
“I really mean it this time!”
“Sure you fucking do! The only reason I’m in this shithole is because you’re like a fucking brother to me. So come on, let's get out of here. I’ll take you over to Aunty Cho’s place. You can get cleaned up again and I’ll help you through the withdrawals just like last time. I’ve got some shit that will help you sleep through most of it.”
“Come on man, this again? I, uh… I just… Just give me some glitter and a couple days to get some things together first and I’ll go.”
Silence.
“No… You either come now or I’m leaving and I’m not coming back. I’m done coming out to shitholes like this to get you. If you don’t come with me now, then this will be the last time I do something like this for you.”
A choked-out sob.
“Fine… Fine… Okay. I’ll go. Just… Just…”
Another sob.
“Just one last hit. Please.”
A sigh.
“Fine. Here.”
The sound of an inhaler being used. A giggle. A louder sigh.
“Alright, come on.”
I could hear the two men walk out of the room and, thankfully, down the hall towards the front of the building, not the back. Carefully, I peeked out at them. The guy being guided down the hall looked similar to many other homeless addicts — thin, shaky, stained clothes, the usual. He did, however, have some familiar tattoos on his arms. Tiger Claw tattoos. And, if I had harbored any doubts, the man herding him forward dispelled them. He had a Tiger Claw insignia on his jacket and a katana at his waist. The typical look.
Thankfully, they didn’t notice the dead man halfway down the hall behind them.
Ten minutes of waiting later, I was confident they’d left the building.
I guess at least one person here had someone who still cared about them. And a fucking Tiger Claw that cares? They treat our lives like they’re fucking nothing! The last guy from the Rats who joined them died within a week. Sent out to deliver drugs or something. Every other fucking week they’ve either kidnapped someone for an XBD or gotten some idiot to “join” them, only to die within weeks on some job. I don’t know anyone under 16 who’s joined them and lived. At least, not anyone who isn’t already a member’s brother or something.
Whatever, I just hope there isn’t anyone else here who’s going to have people looking for them. That Tiger Claw was basically done with his choom anyways. And I’ve already come this far. Just gotta hope I guess. If someone does come looking, then hopefully I’ll have at least fully healed by then. Whatever, I’ll deal with it if it happens.
I continued working my way down the hall. There was no one in any of the last few rooms. At the end of the hall, I found the stairs to the second floor around the corner. As I carefully made my way up, I was relieved to know that this was almost done. The second floor should be much faster to clear since so much of it had collapsed.
Hopefully, I won’t have to kill too many more today.
Rubble littered the edges of the stairway, swept to the sides by those who used it. Concrete and whitewall dust mixed with indefinable fluids to create a dark sludge that clung to my shoes. The noise as I walked reminded me of the sticky crackle of soda-drenched soles on linoleum, mixed occasionally with the sucking squelch of mud.
At the top, I found a hallway identical to the one downstairs other than the semi-frequent holes in the roof and the rubble scattered throughout. Halfway down, the hallway ended abruptly at a barrier of crumbling concrete and rusting metal rebar. Unfortunately, I could clearly hear a radio playing and people loudly talking. It was coming from an open door just a couple of rooms down. As I cleared the couple rooms between us I listened to the two people talking.
“... you think of it? Good right?”
“Ehh… I don’t really go for that kinda shit.”
“The FUCK choom?! You said you liked XBDs! This is some preem shit scophead. Not easy to get!”
“Chill man! I do like XBDs. I just don’t get off on kids.”
“What’re you trying to say cunt?! That I’m fucked up?! That I’m a piece of shit?! That I’m CRA…”
“NO MAN! No. Just fucking chill. I ain’t saying nothing… Take another hit.”
“Fucking whatever. Fucking pussy.”
“...”
“Ahhh… that's the shit.”
I had finished clearing the last room before the open door. Before I left the room, I pulled off my backpack.
No way past without them catching me. I guess it's time to use those grenades.
I pulled out the two grenades from my pack and pulled my pack back onto my shoulders. Carefully, I cradled them in one arm and carried my gun with the other. I limped back into the hall and balanced my gun against the wall next to the open door. With deliberate care, I primed both of the grenades. One quick breath. I tossed them around the corner and into the room without looking — one after the other. The EMP went first.
A moment of yelling and scrambling filled the air before they exploded. The crackle snap of the EMP was closely followed by a deafening explosion. Pieces of shrapnel whizzed out the door and stuck into the wall on the other side of the hall.
Doing my best to shrug off the ringing in my ears, I grabbed my gun and moved around the corner. There were three guys in the room, not two. By the back corner, laying halfway on top of a bedroll, a guy with a braindance rig on and a big hole in his neck was sprawled out, unmoving. Collapsed behind a ratty couch, a man with some sparking, knock-off mantis arms twitched against the floor. On the other side of the room opposite the couch, next to the bathroom, a man with a shredded leg and a cut on the cheek sat against the wall.
His shocked glassy eyes were looking right at me. His arm moved. BANG!
The shot whistled right past my head and I felt a tearing pain from my ear. I stumbled to the side and my ankle collapsed, sending me to the floor. As I fell, he shot three more times. None of them hit me. Frantically, I pointed my gun in his general direction and just started firing. Within moments I had run out of ammo.
No more shots came my way. He wasn’t moving. To the side, I could hear the twitching man start to settle. Quickly, I tossed the Ticon to the side and hastily pulled out the Nue pistol I’d grabbed earlier from my pack. On my hands and knees, I scrambled my way around the side of the couch to get a shot.
The guy was jerkily trying to sit up. Still on my knees, I aimed carefully despite my rush. I only had 6 shots. The first shot entered his chest but nearly threw the gun from my hands. It bucked so badly that the top of the gun smacked into my face. My scabbed-over wound flared in sudden agony as it tore back open. I cried out and fell on my back.
Thankfully, that one shot seemed to be enough. Blood and viscera had been sprayed across the floor and up the wall.
Suddenly, from down the hall, I heard a man yell out in a slurred voice, “Wha the fuck wassat?!”
Hurriedly, I looked around, trying to come up with a plan.
Cover? Nothing other than the couch. Hiding? The bathroom is the only spot and that will get checked for sure. Run away? Not a chance. The only exits are the closed window and the door. I’m on the second floor and I’m not even sure the window will open.
I could hear unsteady steps slowly getting closer. More ominously, at one point, I heard the heavy ku-chunk of a big round being chambered.
Okay, the door isn’t an option. What else?
My thoughts racing, I suddenly remembered what the guys in here were talking about and a rough plan came together.
Blood and tears running down my face, I quickly grabbed my bag and stumbled over to the bedroll. I pulled the braindance rig from the dead man’s head and tossed it onto the couch. After dropping the gun and my pack onto the bedroll, I roughly shoved my pants down around my ankles. Dropping to the floor, I pulled myself, my gun, and my backpack into the corner. I crunched myself into a ball with my knees to my chest and my back to the wall. My pack, I pulled tight against my shins. I hid the gun between it and my bunched-up pants with the grip pointed up for easier access. Lastly, I gripped the bag tightly, pushed my face into my knees, and started quietly sobbing. It took no more than 10 to 15 seconds to finish and it was just barely in time.
Not looking up, I heard the man lumber into the doorway.
Sounding a bit more sober he asked in a bewildered tone, “What the fuck?”
A moment's pause — the room was silent except for my quiet sobs.
“Hey kid, what the fuck happened in here?”
I just pulled the bag to me tighter and cried a little louder.
“KID!”
I jumped slightly and started mumbling into my knees.
“I can’t fucking hear you!”
He took a step forward.
Speaking louder and looking up slightly, just enough for him to see the tears and blood, I said haltingly, “They, they… were arguing. Arguing over who…” I let out a choked sob. “Over who would get the next t… turn.” I moved my hands behind the pack and went back to sobbing while keeping a careful eye on the guy through my lashes.
I hope that's enough. I’m not that good at acting.
The man dropped the barrel of his gun, a Carnage shotgun, and scratched at the scalp under his greasy hair. He wore nothing other than ripped underwear and worn hiking boots. All over his body weeping open lesions and infected wounds riddled his skin. I didn’t know exactly what had caused his condition, but many of the synthetic drugs out there could do absolutely horrific things to you.
“Huh, well I guess it was bound to happen at some point. Fucking Carver…”
A pause.
“Alright kid, get the fuck out of here.”
Without waiting, he turned to the corpse of the man behind the couch and crouched down to rummage through his pockets. He put the shotgun down on the floor beside him.
He mumbled to himself, “He’s gotta have something stashed away.”
He wasn’t looking at me anymore. I pulled the gun out and carefully aimed. More ready for the recoil this time, I fired. I hit him in the side, blasting off a fist-sized piece of flesh and spinning him around as he fell over. The gun still almost fell out of my hands, but at least it didn’t hit me in the face this time.
He screamed as he fell. Once on the ground, he clutched at his side and continued screaming. I shot again. That one got him in the upper chest. That stopped the screaming and soon the halting, wheezing gasps stopped too.
Tiredly, I pulled my pants back up and limped over to the Ticon I’d left on the floor, dragging my backpack along behind me. I’d learned how to act like that the same day I learned why the Tiger Claws were taking kids. The day I ran across that braindance was a very bad day.
Fucking XBDs.
Slowly, I put the Nue back in my pack and reloaded the Ticon. I still had some rooms to check. The world felt far away as the ringing in my ears continued. Feeling like I was walking through mud, I checked the remaining rooms. There was nothing. Just another corpse in one of the rooms.
I dragged myself back to a room on the second floor that had a functional door and a mattress that didn’t stink too much. Since the lock on the door was broken, I dragged a metal chair I found with me. Once inside and having finished wedging the chair under the handle, I collapsed onto the bed. I felt exhausted, numb, and vaguely sick. The Dorph was wearing off again, and the pain was creeping back in.
Despite everything, I fell asleep within moments.