Alex wakes up with her face pressed against concrete and a splitting headache throbbing to the tune of her heart. She musters just enough energy for a groan to vocalize her dissatisfaction. It sounds too much like a whine for her sensibilities.
“Ey, Rickie!” yells a voice that is much too loud, shooting a bolt of pain through her skull.
“Give me a second boss” says a voice that she almost doesn't hear “WHAT!” ouch
”Street rats breathing!”
“The fuck you mean she’s breathing?”
“Exactly what I said, even let out a little whine” fuck you.
She hears some grumbling before the distinct sound of boots hitting concrete makes its way towards her, he-Rickie-stops next to her and nudges her head with his boot, distressingly close to the source of her agony.
She lets out another dignified groan in response.
“Well I’ll be damned” he says “hey boss, scratch the cleaning, the munchkin breathes. Yes, we checked-I don’t know, i’m not a doctor-look, she wasn’t breathing, now she is, what's the issue? Well maybe we’ve witnessed an act of God or some shit, important part is we don’t need to hide anything anymore ‘cause there’s no body. Yeah, we’ll get going, I’ll see you soon”
There’s a pause before he nudges her again, in the same fucking spot.
“Hey chink, you good to get home on your own?”
She groaned
“Gonna need more than that chink”
“Fuck…you” she manages, she hears some clothes shuffle in what might be a shrug.
“Good enough for me” he says “lets go ‘Turo, before any Scars get curious”
“You sure Rickie?” says the other voice “she’s pretty fucked up”
“If she can curse she can walk” bit of twisted logic in that, but it seems enough to settle the matter as two pairs of boots echoe away from her. Leaving Alex alone in what she’s pretty sure is an alley.
Lovely.
-
It takes a while (she doesn’t know how long since they stole her phone along with everything else besides the clothes on her back) before someone approaches her, in that time she’s moved from kissing the pavement to a kind of slump against one of the alley walls. She turns her head to the sound and sighs in relief when she sees the pendant wrapped around his neck, and the absolute monsters of red on black chrome that’s replaced his arms. She doesn’t say anything, and neither does he, until he stops in front of her.
“Need a hand kid?” says the very caucasian man in fluent Japanese, then again, she’s half-arab, half-caucasian herself, so who’s she to judge?
“It’d be appreciated” she replies “I live with Clarice, down by the Crossing”
“A bit far, you're lucky I got nothing better to do” he offers her a hand, which she gingerly accepts feeling the cold metal before, in a disorienting instant, she’s placed on the man's shoulders in a fireman's carry. The movement almost makes her puke.
“Couldn’t have been gentler?” she rasps, having your ribs dug into by a pair of broad shoulders is not conducive to conversation.
“I could just leave you here” he replies, which gets a few grumbles from Alex but no further complaints as he walks through the alley and into the throng of civilization. They get a few odd looks, but no one’s stupid enough to get in the way.
“So, mind telling me what happened?” he says over the noise of the crowd “That doesn’t look like it came from a casual slip”
“I got jumped by some gangers” The jostling is doing nothing good for her head right now, but she can take it, she’s strong like that.
“Get their colors?” he asks, getting right to the point, probably doesn’t make for a good conversationalist. She’s kind of grateful for that, she’s not in the mood for a chat.
“Weren’t wearing any, did get their names though, a Rickie and a ‘Turo”
He snorts at that “tells me a whole lot of nothing, how’d you know they’re gangers if they weren’t sporting their colors?”
He ends up bumping into someone too busy with something on their phone to notice the obvious Scar walking through, the pedestrian turns to face him, but whatever complaint he has dies in his throat at the glare directed his way. Wisely, he scurries back into the crowd.
“They were calling for a cleaner, thought I was dead, guess I disappointed”
He walks in silence after that tidbit, navigating through the mess of a crowd in the direction of the crossing, a few minutes pass in the ambiance of footsteps and gossip. Cars honk at each other on the streets beside us, speaking in a kind of language that only a seasoned driver might understand.
“How old were they?” he finally asks
“Around my age” she can feel the tension leave the man's shoulders, and the sigh of relief that follows.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Just a childs fight then. Cowardly of them to target one of ours without showing their own affiliation, but that can only be expected of children”
-
“We’re here” he says with a jab to her ribs before setting her down. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, she’s very dizzy, but eventually she manages to stand straight without the assistance of the kindly Scar to her side. “Think you can manage the next few steps on your own?”
She gives him a nod, and to emphasise the point she takes a step forward, it isn’t exactly graceful, and takes an embarrassing amount of effort to stop from falling, but she manages.
“Well alright then” he pauses for a moment, staring at the entrance to Lost Hope before continuing “The names Adam Knoll. doubt we’ll meet again, but you owe me a drink in case we do”
“Alex” she says back, which he dignifies with a nod, before turning around and merging back with the mass of life making up the lower streets. She watches him cut through the crowd with a bemused expression, they simply part for him like he’s a leper, she guesses that’s why the trip here was as smooth as it was. Maybe someday they’ll do that for her, unlikely, but a girl can dream.
She struggles up the steps to Lost Hope. It's a quaint building, only ten stories, compared to the mega buildings that’s nothing. Still, its home, and the red of its bricks covered by juvenile attempts at graffiti is a comfort to her weary little heart. She’s had a day, and she can hardly wait for the embrace of her mattress.
But first, Clarice.
After no time at all (about two minutes) she’s pushing on the doors to Lost Hope, swinging them open she’s greeted by a large foyer of wood flooring and a few tastefully placed couches. A few children sitting and playing their games around a table turn to look at her with sharp eyes as she enters, but as recognition dawns on them, they return to their game without a greeting. Alex can hear the AC struggling as it tries to combat the summer heat, and the wood groans as she makes her way to Clarice’s office.
It’s not far, just a few steps to the left from the entrance, she can even see the woman meticulously typing on her computer through a window next to the door. A door that she’s currently standing in front of, gathering her wits.
Breathe in, breathe out.
C’mon Alex she thinks just rip off the band-aid.
With that as her mantra, she turned the doorknob and pushed it open, the first thing that greets her is the smell of cigarettes, the second being a pair of eyes that dig into her soul.
Clarice is a short asian woman of soft features, her face possessing some level of pudge, rounded and plump, her hair bunched up into a ponytail, a dark black with blue at its edges. Her expression is neutral as she regards Alex, hands stopping their crusade at the neverending paperwork.
Her eye’s are not natural, they glow a deep red, with three pupils slowly rotating at the center. She raises a thin eyebrow at Alex.
Ah, right.
Alex brings up her hand to the back of her head, wincing as she touches the wound, and presents Clarice with her now generously blooded hand.
“Sit” she says, tilting her chin to one of the chairs in front of her desk. Alex, of course, obliges. Clarice grabs a first aid kit and walks over to stand behind her.
“What happened?”
“Got jumped”
“Which gang?”
“I don’t know”
Alex lets out a hiss of pain as a generous amount of rubbing alcohol meets the wound.
“They caught you by surprise”
“Yes”
“How?”
“They were waiting behind some dumpsters in an alley”
Tears welled up in her eyes as Clarice cleans the wound with far too much force.
“How many?”
“Two”
Nothing. Alex almost sighed with relief.
“This wound is bad, did you get back on your own?”
Alex hesitated then, she was hoping she wouldn’t ask this.
“Yes” she said
“You’re lying”
“...A Scar named Adam Knoll carried me back”
There was silence for a long while as Clarice considered her.
“This will need stitches” she declared flatly.
This time, Alex did cry.
-
Her head feels like the gates of a city, one in which a battering-ram is constantly crashing into trying to break it down. What a surprise, that Clarice’s ministrations made her wound feel significantly worse. Oh well, at least it won’t get infected.
Probably.
She’s passed by a few of her fellows on the way to her floor, most ignoring the gauze and wrappings on her head. Which is fair, she wouldn’t give much of a shit either, and honestly she prefers indifference over the occasional glances of pity. She meets those with a glare whenever she notices them, who are they to feel bad for her? If she had to deal with Clarice, it meant she fucked up, and she doesn’t need or want any compassion for the consequences of her mistakes.
She reaches her floor and hopes beyond hope that Sasha had gone to sleep. As she is greeted with a mop of pink hair, she knows then, that there is no God. “She lives!” says the girl “Aki, you owe me moneyyyy” her proclamation is met with more than a few curses from the rooms where Alex presumes people are trying to sleep, she would sympathise, if she wasn’t caught in the crosshairs of the commotion.
“How much did you win?” Alex asks as she takes a seat across from her.
“One-hundred credits!” she says proudly.
“Damn girl, I’d find your faith in me touching if I weren’t in so much pain right now”
“That sounds like a you problem” grumbles a voice she almost doesn’t recognize, before she turns to look at Aki leaning on his door frame.
“Since when were you a baritone?” she asks
“I don’t know what that means”
“Old world instrument” Sasha provides “She’s calling your voice deep ya chink, and to answer the question, since yesterday”
Aki smirks at that “what? You like it?”
She gives him a flat look that communicates just how she feels about that question.
“Fine, fine. Killjoy. Already cost me a hundred creds, can’t even play along for the sake of my pride?”
“That sounds like a you problem” she echoes, to which he replies with a snort.
“Stop flirting you two, now spill, I’m dying to hear what happened”
“If only” Aki stage-whispers before taking a seat next to her.
“This can’t wait till morning?”
“Nope!” “No”
She groans before regaling once again her frankly embarrassing encounter earlier today. As she tells the story Sasha looks like a dam about to burst, even Aki lets a few chuckles slip. Once she’s done, the dam breaks, and Aki, the audacious bastard, gives her a shit-eating grin.
“Thanks guys” she says “really feeling the love right now”
“You-” Sasha wheezes “you were lugged around by a Scar like a sack of potatoes! A Scar!”
That statement seems to tip her further into hysterics.
“Oh, Clarice must have been delighted by that detail” Aki adds
“Fuck you Aki, that words too big for you”
“Hey, just cause you’re an idiot doesn’t mean I have to be”
Sasha looks like she wants to intercede, but her current predicament of hysterical laughter proves a significant challenge. Alex says a prayer for the poor bystanders trying to rest.
“How’d they even catch you by surprise anyway? checking all the hiding spots is like, alley crossing 101” Aki asks
Alex mumbles something incomprehensible.
“What?” he asks with a hand to his ear.
“I was jamming to some Recktor” she says a little louder.
That statement grants her a moment of stunned silence, before even Aki breaks out into a fit of laughter.