Typhos pulled the final glass out of the water and set it on the back shelf to air dry. Wiping his hands on the front of his shirt, Typhos sighed and turned around. The day was finally over. Heading behind the bar and into the employee break room, Typhos went through a door near the back. Inside was a small changing room with a few hooks on the walls for clothes, a small bench to sit on, and a mirror on the far wall that stretched from floor to ceiling. Typhos quickly changed out of his bartending apron into a sloppy looking leather jacket. Pulling on his pants, Typhos glanced at himself in the mirror.
A man standing about 1.9 meters tall with long, ragged hair stared back at him with golden eyes. His skin was incredibly pale, as if he had never seen sunlight, and the jacket was a little tight, showing off his sculpted frame. The bags below his eyes would tell anyone that he had trouble sleeping, and the various rips and stains on the pants would tell them that the pants had not been washed recently. Typhos would have been a very handsome man if he gave a damn about his appearance, but he didn’t. He had stopped caring about his looks a long time ago. The neglect was not because he thought looks were pointless, but because he simply did not care about them. Actually, he did not care about a lot of things, perhaps a product of his experiences.
Shaking his head, Typhos turned and exited the changing room. He glanced uninterestedly at a fellow coworker, mumbling a hello as he walked past. Outside the break room was the main feature of Xavier’s Bar...the bar. It was by no means a luxurious place. The floor was made of old, rotting wood, and the walls of chipped, discolored stone. The only lighting in the room was a few chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Typhos walked behind the bar, his eyes sweeping over the assortment of low end liquor on the speed rail, then over the “high-end” premium liquor on its special shelf. He had seen it a thousand times before. The bar was made of old, rusting steel, perhaps to ensure it would not be broken by a drunken patron.
Typhos made his way around the end of the bar, pushing through the turnstile that blocked off the entrance. He made his way through the assortment of tables and chairs, pushing in those that were left aimlessly strewn about by drunken men or women. Finally, he reached the double doors that were positioned directly opposite the bar. Pushing them open, he stepped out onto Wilheim Street. Turning down the sidewalk, he glanced around him, taking in the sights of the city once again.
Wilheim Street was part of the slums of Tivor. Tivor was a medium sized city in the country of Likid. It was designed like most modern cities, a square split into three ascending parts from outer to middle. The outer section, the slums, was the only one without the towering skyscrapers and flying speeders for transportation. Now, this wasn’t to say the slums of Tivor were a terrible place. Compared to slums near the beginning of his life, these slums were a paradise. Each side of the street was lined with 2 to 5 story buildings made of mostly stone and wood. Most of the buildings were apartments, though some were businesses. The streets were perfectly square, each one reaching an intersection at exactly 2 kilometers long. Each block was technically called a cell, and in the slums alone there was a total of 200 cells from one end of the city to the other. The structure was very organized, which Typhos could appreciate. In the past, the streets were always twisting and passing each other in the strange ways. Typhos had found it far too troublesome to navigate these streets, so he was glad that society had finally decided to organize itself. Turning left, he entered a small store that was still lit from within.
“Ah, was wondering when ya would show up, Typhos,” a cheery, but chubby, man said from behind the store counter, “I assume ya here for the usual?”
Typhos simply nodded and pulled some bills from his jacket pocket. The world had shifted to paper currency some time ago, drifting away from the copper, silver, gold, and platinum system of his youth. He wasn’t sure he liked this development, as it made counting and tracking money more more difficult. Now there was things like 5 Vin bills, 10 Vin bills, 50 Vin bills, and 100 Vin bills. He thought this was much more difficult than 100 coppers equals 1 silver, 100 silver equals 1 gold, and so on. But, this was how the world had changed, and he had to change with it. He put two 5 Vin bills on the table was the man pulled two bottles from beneath the counter. Alcohol was strictly regulated in stores. Only the owner was allowed to select it from the shelf, and this was only after the customer had produced a legitimate ID. Anyone under 16 was unable to drink alcohol, courtesy of the new republics mandate 60 years ago.
“Hear ya go, two bottles of rum. Ya know, drinking two bottles a night isn’t healthy for ya.” He said as he slid the bottles across the table, scooping up Typhos’s money and placing it in the lockbox beneath the counter
“Yeah, thanks the advice, but I’m fine.” Typhos said flatly, grabbing the bottles and exiting the store.
He had started drinking some time ago. He prefered to drown his past in alcohol rather than face it. It was much easier to simply try to forget. Seal his power, ignore everything happening around him, shut everyone out, and drink his problems away. Of course, two bottles was not nearly enough to get him drunk, but it was the thought that counts.
Half a cell later, Typhos finally reached his apartment building. It was a dumpy, three story building made completely of old wood. Pushing the squeaky doors open, Typhos entered a long, single hallway with doors on either side. Turning directly right, he headed up the stairs to the top floor. Most apartments in the slums did not have elevators, as the buildings were too outdated to have them implemented without knocking down and rebuilding the structure completely. The steps doubled back on themselves once per floor, ensuring that the landing was always at the same spot of the next floor. The stairs creaked and groaned as he ascended, some of the boards bending under his weight. Of course, he was not overweight, clocking in at about 95 kilograms, it was just that the stairs were shitty and technically in violation of the public safety laws. Of course, no public safety inspector every checked the apartments in the slums, so the super didn’t have to worry about replacing the stairs.
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On his way up the final flight of stairs, he was forced to shift right to avoid a shoddily dressed woman who was descending. She glanced at him with cold, black eyes through raggedy black hair, snorting as she passed by him.
“Try not to punch any holes in the floor or walls tonight, Typhos.” She said.
Ignoring his neighbor, Typhos finally reached the top floor. HIs room was at the far end of the hall, his door directly across from the stairs. He had gotten himself the largest room in the apartment besides the super’s, figuring he deserved at least that. He pushed open his door, closing it behind him. He never bothered to lock, mostly because the lock was broken, but also because he didn’t care if he was robbed. If some bastard came in and got a lucky hit on him and killed him, he would welcome it gladly. Of course, he knew that was probably impossible. There was limits to what he could do with his Statistical Manipulation skill.
Kicking off his shoes and leaving them by the door, Typhos walked directly forward to the desk. His apartment consisted of four rooms. The office room, which the door opened to, the bedroom, which was through a door on the left side of the office, the kitchen, which was through a door on the right side of the office, and the bathroom, which was accessed by a door inside the bedroom. It was the perfect place for a single, lonely man to get drunk by himself. Sitting heavily in the chair behind the desk, Typhos popped the lid off one of the bottles and took a long drink, not bothering to get a glass. Shifting back, he placed his feet on top of the desk, his eyes distant, starting into nothingness.
He downed the rest of the first bottle in one breath, slamming it down on the deks. The glass shattered, cutting his hand. Blood oozed from the wound, quickly covering his hand. Cursing, Typhos got to his feet and went to the kitchen. Grabbing a dirty rag from by the sink, he wrapped it around his hand before heading back to the desk. Opening the second bottle, he repeated the process of drinking it in two goes. This time he did not slam the bottle on the desk, instead opting to toss it into the kitchen. He ignored the sound of shattering glass, his eyes once more focused on somewhere far away.
Hours later, he finally rose and went to the bedroom. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was 4 AM. He got off work at 12, as the government mandated that all bars must close at midnight in order to ensure “public safety during the night hours.” He had been sitting in the chair for over 3 hours, lost in the past. Pulling of his pants, he plopped them on the bloor beside the bed before climbing in. Not bothering to get under the sheets, Typhos closed his eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.
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Fire surrounded him, along with screams. A shadow, small and feeble, crawled away from him in fear. Typhos stepped forward, reaching out his hand. The shape let out a plaintive cry before being silenced. Slowly, Typhos turned around, facing another shadow behind him. This one was different. It had a smile, an evil smile. Suddenly, the shadow spoke.
“Well done, Typhos. Now, finish the rest of them.”
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The loud crunch of splintering wood followed by a shudder reverberated through his apartment. Typhos’s eyes snapped open, before closing again in defeat. Pulling his fist from the wall, he watched as half of the wooden wall crumbled. It seemed he had lost a bit more control this time, and his punch had done more damage than usual.
“Fuck! Dammit, Dammit, Dammit!” He shouted. He turned to look at the clock and swore again. It was only 4 30. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he headed back to the office and sat behind the desk. He knew what would come next. Loud footsteps echoed down the hall. His door flew open, and Joline, the girl from the stairs, burst into the room.
“Seriously, Typhos! Do you have to punch holes in the wall every damn night?” She asked as she looked into the bedroom. Her eyes widened at the large opening that revealed the building next door. “Well shit, I don’t think the super’s gonna let you stay after that one, even if you are fucking her.”
“You’re right, Joline. Guess I better pack my bags.”
“You don’t have any bags! Now, maybe if she kicks you out you can finally do something else. Seriously, you have that kind of strength and all you do is drink and wallow in despair. Why don’t you do something with it?”
“I did, once,” he said, his voice bitter, “nothing good comes of being a damn hero.”
“Shit, sorry. But still, you have to have at least 50 strength to do something like that. Now-” she was interrupted by another voice, this one loud and angry.
“What the hell, Typhos! Yo-you are done here! I’m done with it! I have to pay to fix this shit every other night, and I won’t do it anymore! Your good but your not worth this much. I want you gone by the weekend.” The super, a skinny woman with reddish brown hair, shouted at him, her arms motioning wildly at the damage.
Typhos sighed, defeated, “I’ll leave right away.” he said. Turning to Joline, he raised a hand slightly. “Have a good life Joline, was nice knowing you.”
He reached below the desk and pulled a small, black leather briefcase out. He smiled slightly at Joline before letting himself out. Out on the street, he stared at the stars, his eyes full of regret. No matter how long he had ran, no matter what he had tried, he could never escape his past. He had been haunted by it almost his entire life. He had thought with time he would forget, but it seemed time did not heal all scars. Even if it had been 10,000 years.