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madmarchhare · 10 months ago

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When the Times Change Chapter 1 and 2

This is the first and second chapter of my post-apocalyptic story, that if first began in September 2020. It may still need some corrections, but represents a story that I am incredibly proud of and is the one I intended to get published and finalized first, above all else. The whole set of chapters currently written only would encompasses less than one third the whole narrative I intend to write, but will form a full novel. I hope you all enjoy it.

Crossroads: ‘of the devil and saints’

In the year 2025, following a petty squabble between the nations of China, India, America and Russia, the world ended. Then, the New World began, and, as always when new lands are found, soon again rose the conquerors. The megalomaniacs, those consumed by avarice, the zealots, the preachers and the profiteers.

As has always been the case: from the discovery of the ‘New World’ in the age of colonialism, European nations, most prominently Spain and Portugal, leapt upon those resource-rich lands. Conquistadors plunging headfirst to the new age, consumed by lust for riches and power in frantic megalomania. And, when this age came to an end, heads turned to seek the riches of the Middle East, Asia, Africa, Oceania and the islands of the Pacific.

Whatever tragedy befalls the world, in whatever new age it is dragged, kicking and screaming into, there will always be someone who will make money off it. So now I bring my narrative to myself. Sat in a cast-iron cage upon the back of a lorry, held together by zip ties and hardened blood and pus. Bound and shackled to the seats: grimy with grease, ash and blood, striped where sweat and rain had rolled down my skin.

Some would call it comeuppance. That this is what I get for a few ‘fraudulent deals’ or ‘scamming’ people. I personally saw it as an affront to my entrepreneurialism; sadly, they were rooted in old ideas. Which I knew held no sway on this New world. But c’est la vie, there would be other opportunities. At the very least I found out that hiding my money in the soles of my shoes was a good idea, as they didn’t check them. Not that it made any difference overall as they just sold off the shoes themselves along with everything else, leaving me in rags.

While others in this situation would either sink into a reverie of dread and self-pity, or throw themselves into fervour to devise an escape, I personally saw it as an opportunity. After all I was too small of stature and too meek in strength to be useful for work. So, the natural conclusion would be that I would probably be sold as a coital slave or ‘boy-toy’. This would mean I would be in close, if slightly sticky and uncomfortable proximity, to an either powerful or wealthy individual.

This situation, if manipulated correctly could bring me to a position far better than before. After all, it is quite easy to manipulate the minds of people consumed by lust. A whisper there, a suggestion here and, if worst-comes-to-worst, a sharp object in a few… sensitive points; and they are putty in your hands. Granted there is always the possibility of being offered up as the bitch for one of their pets or a further gone Quazi… But that eventuality could be dealt with at the time.

It was at this time, however, that I was interrupted from my scheming by the sudden eruption of roaring gunfire. I knew it wasn’t the guards taking shots at far off creatures or fending off one of the bigger beasties of the wasteland, as the guards’ rifles fired much more slowly and with a crackling roar-likely due to poor maintenance. Raiders or bandits seemed unlikely as the chance of people like them having quality weapons like that around here, was slim.

I pulled against my shackles to try and peak through the rough iron bars to see the shooter. I saw essentially nothing, barely able to put my head through the bars, but was able to see a large silhouette laying heavy fire upon the brown coated guards of the lorry, barking loud shouts to someone hidden behind the lorry’s cab as the guards returned meagre fire. I slumped back and cursed the interference. Chances were now I was to be sold to some syphilis ridden, toothless raider, or be used by the massive silhouette themselves, as a plaything, and I doubted I could influence them. At least not before they ended up offing me.

The firefight came to a close with a few blood-choked death garbles then fell to silence. The interferers made their way to the back of the lorry and shot the lock off the door. One was a Quazi, a smaller man than the silhouette I had seen. He had no distinguishing features of a Quazi, no ears, tail or claws typical of them, but had faint scales like freckles on his cheeks and fore-arms that were a shade darker than his tanned skin. His hair was a similar colour to his scales, and his eyes were slightly reptilian looking.

He sighed exasperatedly and said to the larger individual, who was apparently a woman, “Why did you have to shoot the lock? We have the key!” The larger woman blushed slightly and replied, embarrassed:

“Sorry force of habit,” she apologized, embarrassedly. The woman was, well ‘normal’, I suppose would be the word. She was around six foot, possibly over, and muscly, though not homely as some would expect, with close cropped blonde hair and cauliflower ears. The man wore a SWAT vest and a belt made from what looked like snake hide, ironically, looped through jean like trousers, and carried a Veston SMG. A post-war weapon made from tubing and scrap metal. The woman however was dressed in khaki combat trousers and hiking boots, wearing a tactical vest and steel arm guards. She carried what looked like a pre-war LMG.

Straightening herself again she turned to me, “Now come on, we’re freeing you,” she said sternly. I raised an eyebrow at her and gestured to my shackles, rattling them ever so slightly, “oh right,” they unlocked my shackles and helped me down from the lorry.

“Thank you,” I responded flatly “though it was unnecessary,” this made the man give a start and whirl around at me.

“What do you mean ‘unnecessary’ you were being made a slave!” I regarded him coolly and responded.

“I had determined what area I would be used in and I believe that I could have manipulated the situation to either put myself in a position of power or one to escape from if needed,” I fixed him in and irritated gaze though making sure to not let it show heavily on my face. I loathed heroes, “so really, your interference has cost me.”

The man, now red-faced with fury, was pulled back by the large woman, “Rock, calm down, it doesn’t matter, we are fighting to get rid of slavery, not him. Look we saved this young boy from being a slave. Honestly, what monsters would do this to an innocent child?” she remarked, somewhat repulsed.

“Innocent?!” yelled out one of the guards, the other two whirling round, expecting a fight, but saw the man unarmed and hunched over, grasping at his stomach. “He is a criminal! He scammed half the cities residents and two thirds of the visitors and traders,” ending his shout with a bloody cough as he pointed at me with a blood-soaked finger.

“I didn’t scam them, my dear sir. They simply didn’t ask enough questions: it was legitimate business,” I replied in mock indignation. A plain smile affixed to my face, though the tugs of smug fought it.

“So, wait,” Rock interrupted “what did he actually do?” the woman stood to the side of him, somewhat dumbfounded by the situation.

“He,” the guard hissed agitatedly, clutching his gut stiffly as it turned to a russet colour from his blood, “sold half pressure bullets as standard bullets and radioactive water as drinking water,” he glared maliciously at me as he spoke.

“I never said it was standard pressure ammunition, my customers simply assumed. What I said was ‘cheap ammunition in bulk that performs well,” I regarded him plainly, looking through the other two who stood between us.

He again went red, a flush of fury overtaking his face. “That’s false advertising!”

“No, I said it did it’s job well, and its job was to fire and hit the target, not as well as standard bullets maybe, but for what it was it did it well. I never lied or said anything fraudulent, my friend. And if I, were you, I wouldn’t get so worked up, you’ll bleed out faster,” placing my hand to my breast with mock earnest.

“Then what about your water, got an excuse for that?!” collapsing against the side of the lorry as he spoke, the fury in his face slowly being replaced by a white pallor of exhaustion.

“An excuse would imply I did something wrong. I have a reason as to why I am in the right, I said it was ‘full of natural energy’ and that it ‘would make you glow’. It is not my fault my clients neglected to ask what type of energy or if it was a ‘healthy’ glow,” I answered in a patronizing tone, the guard descended into a silent fury, and sat hunched against the lorry grinding his teeth.

“Wait, let me get this straight,” broke in the woman, “this kid’s a criminal?” gesturing broadly to me.

“Yes,” the guard grunted out uncomfortably, which he followed with a hacking cough. She then turned to me and ran a hand through her short hair.

“Well according to them, I am a criminal. I, actually did nothing legally wrong. I was a business man, doing business,” I replied honestly, my arms outstretched but keeping my palms closed. “Oh, and I’m not a kid, I’m fifteen.”

Rock twisted round to look at me furiously before turning back to the woman. “We’ve already freed him Lil’, so we might as well, sides, like you said, no-one deserves to be a slave,” the woman sighed and agreed with him and then walked over to the now unconscious guard and laid him out on the ground with his rifle on his chest, strangely not looting the corpse. A waste in truth, one can never have enough supplies, a good bit of advice from an old friend.

“Well, thank you again for your, albeit unnecessary, freeing of me. But I am afraid this is where we part. Au-revoir,” I thanked and began walking away while giving them a backwards wave. I then felt myself being grabbed by the back of my shirt and was yanked back and held up to Lils’ gaze.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded in a low tone squinting at me angrily.

“North, I hear Atost is having a rise in their commercial markets. Drilling is doing well to-” I replied flatly but was cut short.

“Oh-no, not after what we know what you did. You’re coming with us. That way we can keep an eye on you,” she rumbled, glaring at me as she spoke. I looked at them flatly and put a palm to my face, groaning to myself.

One imprisonment to another, I suppose my earlier assessment was not too out of line. She dropped me onto the ground and gestured with her weapon for me to walk. I complied, a feeling of indignation subconsciously boiling in my stomach, though, more preferable to that of a round ripping through it.

Olrick: ‘The Empire of Black Gold’

They walked past the lorry, not even attempting to loot the cab, so I assumed they had another vehicle further on ahead. But they kept walking, and walking. After three quarters of an hour, I asked them agitatedly “Where is your car? You parked it too far away!”

Lil’ glanced at me and responded somewhat happily “We don’t have a car. Why do you ask?” I stared blanched faced at her, my eye twitching slightly as I looked at their backs.

“Then why,” straining as I spoke to appear calm, “did you not take the lorry?” she looked at me as if I had said something ridiculous and responded,

“Because it was a slave truck,” I stared at her waiting for her to continue,

“And?” I asked somewhat savagely, agitation digging at me.

She again looked at me oddly and said, “Does there need to be another reason,” I looked at her deadpan, and sighed heavily, already exhausted with this charade.

“For your information con-man, we do have a car,” called back Rock, dislike gnashing in his voice, “but it’s being fixed at a friends’ shop in Olrick. That’s where we’re going now,” he answered, rocking his head in an odd way as he spoke, like some would when lecturing a bad pet or child.

I looked ahead of him and said plainly, through gritted teeth. “While I appreciate you telling me, my name isn’t ‘con-man’,” he turned back to me and yelled,

“Oh yeah? Then what is it? Charlatan, Swindler, Crook, Loan shark?”

I regarded him coolly watching him for moment before responding. “Asriel. Asriel Lemoni. No- “

“Oh, then I’ll call you Azzy!” Lil’ burst out, cutting me off. I turned quickly to her,

“No, not ‘Azzy’, Asriel! Either call me Asriel or Mr. Lemoni, nothing else.”

“Now, ‘Azzy’, I don’t believe you are in a position to make demands. After all you are, essentially, our prisoner, so we decide what to do with you and, therefore what to call you.” Rock called back, a mocking tone loosely hidden in his words.

“Oh joy…” slouching as I groaned. One would not expect to be held prisoner by two sets of ‘vigilantes’ in one’s lifetime, much less in the same day.

We walked for three and a quarter hours. The journey was both pleasingly and infuriatingly uneventful. While there was no risk of being killed by an attack from a monster or some lunatic with a hacksaw, consequently there was not a single period where the two self-proclaimed ‘liberators’ were distracted enough to allow me to escape unnoticed. The journey was conducted with the two others continuing an endless prattle, in which they did not include me. I paid attention of course, hoping to obtain some substantial information, either to ward off their suspicion of me or to seek the aid of someone they crossed. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’ after all.

But it was little use, they talked mostly of what they should do next, either traveling to Grant or Palace, two low-level slavers, and trying to free the slaves there or going and stocking up at Memorial. A pleasant little market settlement, though not one to stay the night unless you had either some skill with a knife or a few indebted clients to act as bodyguards. As for enemies, those that they mentioned as crossing, were mostly too weak to be of any assistance, and the two that were of any real power, either wanted me in gaol, or were not the type to bargain.

We arrived by the outskirts of Olrick, the grand ‘city’, as they insisted it be called, stood backed against a high cliff whose crest was hidden by a dirty mass of black and yellow clouds of the city’s own making. The lanes winding round it led off in all directions. An irregular flow of lorries and vehicles ran along the lanes. The high tower of the oil derrick that gave the city its name stood above the entire city, towering over its formal grounds and the ramshackle slums that stood outside its walls. All were drenched in a thin layer of oil and tar. Olrick like many cities in the wastes was a walled city. Entrances being at each of the three compass points around its perimeter, excluding, of course, its back. Yet despite the image the slums presented, even those who dwelled there found reasonable wealth. Such was the way in Olrick.

We entered the city through the Western District, having to pass through the deep slums that crowded up to the city walls like dirty ivy. The town, as I said, was built around a large oil derrick, and as such was a prime centre for oil. Since the resource was vital, as few had the know-how to convert vehicles, even less build new ones, to use another fuel, it prospered, surrounded by refineries and scrappage flats that housed the vast number of workers that the city required. There had been many tribal wars over it: small settlements and warlords seeking it out as the black jewel in their crown, or the gilding of their ‘empire’. But the aggressors always lost. Even if they did win and seized the city, they couldn’t run the derrick, lacking the manpower and the intelligence, or even simply the funds. So as soon as they buckled and fled, the old leaders returned.

It was a filthy place. The instant you walked near its walls a shortness of breath caught you as if you were up a mountain. The air was always heavy with oil fumes, tarry and soot stuffed, yet perpetually dry. The ground around the settlement was coal black with the rainbow splash of oil painting every canvas and strangling every puddle. The grand cliff face behind it so thick with soot and oil that it appeared solidly made of darkness itself. It was a wonder of industrial progress and a grand example of New-World entrepreneurialism. But one could see why the settlement leaders here all lived in houses outside or shielded from it.

We walked along the Main Street for most of the way, dodging the endless crowds of workers in dirty overalls rushing betwixt the streets and electric mini-trucks and the oil half-shunters, each sinking into the background as they walked, or drove. Thankfully I had some shoes on, unfortunately they were ineffectual-the black mud and sand continually creeping over their rims. It presented a foul sensation, like walking in mud and being covered with petrol at the same time. They were fashioned, apparently, after Japanese ‘uwabaki’, a slipper they had once used in prisons-and a simple design for a place with limited textiles like Verdant. I looked about the street for a large group, hoping to slip between them and loose the other two, but before I could move away, they turned down a back street pulling me after them, dashing that plan of escape.

We weaved between the winding and crooked backstreets, ducking under, and hopping over the winding pipes and cabling that hung off the walls and crawled across the city within its streets and alleys, popping in and out of the ground like old roots. Dirty gas lamps hung on the walls all interconnected by a copper cobweb that supplied them, offering their weak light in the covered alleys, grimly showing the cast steel, sooty brick or concrete walls of houses. We exited one of the alleys, the fingering light poking through the top of it, and it opened into a half street.

It was stuffed with shops and vendors, the shoddy buildings practically elbowing each other aside to be on the street front. The roadway was filled with raggedy-clothed workers off-shift, or those hunched against walls: homeless or lame. A perfect quarry for money lenders, seeking those who are desperate but not destitute. The two of them pulled me across the street, weaving between the exhausted and dishevelled faces of the workers into a garage.

It, like all of the other shops sported a neon painted sign, made of scrap and hand forged metal. It was called “Victors Vehicles”, an instant smack of the ‘quality’ of the establishment. Still, I could respect a sense of business in anyone.

“Lil’, Rock! How the fuck are yah? Aint heard hide nor hair of you two since you dropped off yer waggon!” yelled a man clad in oily blue overalls. He spoke with a long, heavy drawl, making his words sound as if they were more fitting to a drunkard’s lips. He stood about 5’11” wearing a mouldy petrol cap atop his dirty blonde hair that poked from its plastic brim. His face was framed by a pair of box-rimmed glasses which were tied tight to his brow by stained twine, so his squarish face was only really able to be seen in silhouette, due to the layered grime that caked it.

“We’re good. We went to see about that story about Verdant trafficking slaves. We raided the lorry that they were supposedly using and that’s where we found him,” Lil’ answered, gesturing to me with her thumb as she finished. I regarded them coolly from the corner of my eye, then started to walk about the shop, letting my gaze wander about. It was a single storied building, the roof made of a mix of corrugated iron sheets and multi-coloured scraps of tarp pulled taught over the top, stuffed full of old shelves of tools and mechanical scrap. The roof sloped with a gradual gradient on each side of the building, making it seem higher than it was. Dim bulbs hung from it, a mixture of old LEDs and filament bulbs. The latter were the easiest things to make apparently and could last for a century if made right. A man in Coldern up north told me that. Unfortunately, I saw no exit during that first look.

“Unfortunately,” Rock added, “the slave, that bloke we were talking about, happened to be a convicted con-man and scam-artist. I guess that was his punishment for the suffering he caused.” He glared at me hotly, Victor following his gaze to look at me closely his expression still unidentifiable through the grime.

“I am as irritated as you are,” I responded, keeping my back to him, as I walked closer to one of the shelves and began to look through them idly, “you have in all likelihood, robbed me of a golden opportunity to get close to a member of Verdant’s elite. The sheer political and financial gain you have cost me is frankly immeasurable.”

At the end of my remark Victor turned to me again and shouted: “Now listen here, you brat, do you understand the vastness of that situation?! You, were, a slave!” I turned to him and studied his expression, faint wrinkles barely expressed his outrage- an odd thing as his fury was in all truth baseless.

“I don’t see why you are all getting so hot-collared about this. Slavery is a legitimate business practice, has been for decades, and was so for many centuries before the War,” I dismissed, their faces twisted into greater anger, a plain revulsion in their stances as I turned back to looking through the various drawers on the shelfs.

“It’s a violation of human life. What is a person’s life worth to you?!” Rock yelled, his face revealed his clear disgust, somewhat more so than the others, as I peered at him from the corner of my eye.

“Going rate at Vesta’s, bit more for Quazi’s. They have all that extra muscle and the ‘exotic’ feel,” I answered. All three of them looked about ready to bite my head off but I cut them off: “Ironically, most people end up going for less than the sum of their parts. Do you have any idea of how much a good heart can cost? I’ll give you a hint, it’s more than an arm and a leg! Hah!” chuckling at my own joke as I finished, while they stared at me in fury and disgust. I chuckled to myself for a moment before falling silent and turning before I waived them off and turned back to the shelves, hoping to find something of value. Misery guts!

Both Rock and Lil’ sighed heavily and turned back to Victor. “So did you manage to fix her?” Rock inquired, wanting to leave the subject behind. Victor turned from me and adopted a pensive expression, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so.

“I did, but, the repairs… They cost more than what you left me, so you kinda owe me right now,” he finished, pausing frequently as he spoke, somehow making him sound even less coherent, his gaze lingering in a section in the back of the shop that led to another room where the car was probably sat.

“Why didn’t you take some of the money from our pack? We said you could if what we gave you wasn’t enough,” Lil’ asked naively, Rock nodding along with her. I wondered how on earth they had managed so far.

“Well, I did- and it still weren’t enough, new parts like what your car needs cost a good deal yah-know,” a pensiveness punctuated with irritation in his voice. The pair gave a start and stared flabbergasted at the mechanic.

“How?!” Lil’ demanded. “There was over fifty-thousand Note in our pack! Along with the twenty-five thousand we gave initially!” at the mention of the fifty grand, I turned to look at them and began to slowly edge close to them, the trio too sunken in their conversation to notice me.

“I know darlin’, but that still wasn’t enough! Y’all needs ta understand: car parts are expensive anywhere, ‘cept maybe JunkTown, but your car needs high quality parts. Combined with the natural inflation of prices in this city, an’ what you paid barely covers half of the price of the repairs,” he explained, trying his best to sound apologetic, the sincerity of it though, was unlikely.

When they finally understood both Rock and Lil’ took on a crestfallen look, almost seeming to shrink, but quickly switched to an expression of anxiety and panic. “So, what can we do?” Asked Rock, his voice panicked and somewhat pleading, a sound I had not heard before. Victor looked at him somewhat nervously, uncomfortable in the situation, looking as if he was stood on a bed of nails.

“Well, you know I’m not charging yah for labour, so it’s just the cost of parts,” he began, attempting to calm down the pair “and I’m fine letting you work at the shop to pay off what you owe, help with the Watch too, always could do with some more rifles to bare, but it’s gon’ ta take a while. An I know you wanted to get moving as soon as your car got done, but this job, despite what I charge… isn’t that lucrative,” he finished, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, striping his filthy brow to reveal skin pale with stress.

“But Victor, we need to get going! You know we’ll make it somewhere and come back. Lives are at stake here!” Lil’ pleaded, a wild look rooted deep in her eyes.

“I’m sorry Lil’, truly I am, but I don’t know that. I need you to make it here, preferably quick, for both our sakes,” he answered, a sternness in his voice that had hidden itself before. Lil’ glared at him for moment then sighed heavily, slumping over, Rock stepping in closer patting her back. A smirk played on the corner of my lips, which I quickly hid. I understood the opportunity presented. I sauntered close to them.

“So, you need money, do you?” I asked sardonically, standing with my side to them, hiding my other side as I caught their attention, “Now if only you had someone who could help with that,” I continued cheek lifting my words. They stiffened slightly as I turned to one of the shelfs by the door and made as if I was looking through them.

“We don’t want your help,” Rock’s voice turning to a low growl, a foulness in his tone as if the devil had just asked him to pass the sugar. I clicked my tongue at him admonishingly.

“Whether you want it or not is irrelevant. What matters, is that you need it,” I turned back to them a smug smile hung from my lips. Rock was just about to protest when Lil’ began to straighten up and walk over to me.

“What are your demands?” she choked out. I smiled at her, attempting to look consoling.

“Very professional. Now don’t look so glum, I’m not the devil,” I replied jovially. She looked at me dead-eyed and I continued with a dull expression, “thirty percent of the profits, and I get to choose how I make it, and you take me to Verdant.” I was slightly sore at the low cut, but decided to be cautious of how far I could push them.

“Why do you want to go back there?” asked Rock, surprised.

“I had something confiscated when they arrested me, I would like to get it back. I know where they are selling it before you protest,” leaning past Lil’ to answer to him.

“Fine” Lil’ said heavily, I smiled at her and opened my mouth to speak, but she put a finger to my lips before I could. “But I have one condition of my own,” I looked at her, putting my hand behind my back, motioning for her to continue with my other one. “If you scam these people, or put their lives at risk…” she punched her fists together and cracked her knuckles, “I’ll break you in half.” She stood still for a second then bent down close to me and whispered hoarsely: “Don’t forget who’s in charge here.”

“Of course, why do you think I asked for such a small cut,” she growled at me, somehow she was more beastly than Rock. “Yes, yes I won’t, or at the very least, no more than the norm of this place,” she glared sternly at me before giving an angry huff and walking back over to Rock.

Again, bound by their vain ideals, still, money is money.

“Well, Victor, lend me a water filter, condenser, trowel and a fractional distiller along with a fruit press and I’ll get started,” I called to him brusquely as I walked over to a steel table on some wheels that stood by the garage’s main door draped with tarp.

“Why do you need all o’ that?” Victor yelled after me, then a second later adding on “And How did you know I had all o’ it?”

“Intuition my friend: now, let us begin,” I declared, rubbing my hands together.

Victor set up the tools I asked for on the table and I got to work. Setting up the fruit press and connecting that with tubes to the water filter, then that to the condenser, which led into two separate jugs, then hid the whole thing under a box. A secret is as valuable as any treasure in trade. I painted the title ‘Lemoni’s cheap oil and clean water’ on the tarp and draped it over the front of the table, which I had placed on the street outside of Victors.

“Really?” asked Rock accusatorily, “Oil? Where are you going to get that?” his gaze harsh on me. I regarded him coolly.

“Watch, my pessimistic jailer,” before Rock could again speak, I shovelled a large pile of the oil slick sand from the street and poured it onto the fruit press. I then pulled down hard on the lever for a few seconds, a dirty black fluid crawling through the tubes into the filter. After a minute both oil and water began to condense in the tubes and collect in the jars. After a second or two of the pair staring at the jars in amazement, Lil’ spoke up.

“Wait so your selling people, that, water as well? It just came from the ground!”

“All water comes from the ground at some point my dear-besides it’s been filtered and boiled, and I’ll boil it again so it will be fine,” I replied, waiving off her concerns and began to set the water on boil again, though really just when she could see it, simply once was enough to sell.

“But it’s still irradiated! Is this what you did at Verdant?” she berated, I was ever so slightly confused by her implication, who would sell purified water? Irradiated would do!

“It’s still better than what most people have to drink here, in most places really. Very few places have a water purifier, and none of them sell that cheap. At least this is clean. Most people have to drink water so thick with muck that it is practically mud,” I hoped to convince her, after all to earn a lot under her gaze was hard enough without having to come up with plan B.

“He’s not wrong Lil’,” Rock admitted, a sour expression on his face as he said it as if the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

“Yeah, most the watering holes in this town serve irradiated drinks, and half of them are made with dirty water,” Victor added, his expression a faint mimicry of Rock’s. At this she took on a crestfallen look, Rock putting his arm over her shoulder to try and cheer her up.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” she said sullenly, her expression in hanging melancholy.

“If it makes you feel any better, think of it as public service! We’re giving them something they need after all,” I added, hoping to get her content enough to leave. It is bad for business to have a heavily armed bleeding heart hanging about.

“I guess you’re right,” she finished in a conflicted tone, taking a breath and straightening up. “But,” she again said leaning in close, “don’t you forget our deal,” she drilled with a sternness in her voice, backed up by a harshly muzzled red fury in her eyes.

“I won’t. Now go; take care of those jobs Victor gave you so I can get to work,” I replied in a reassuring tone, they gave me one last fleeting look then quickly walked round into one of the backstreets that led to some ‘neighbour hood watch’ place.

I made no hesitation in starting. I stood myself on an old crate planted firmly into the ground and prepared my best showman voice. “Cheap Oil! Get your cheap oil here! Just as effective as any other oil you could procure but a fraction of the cost! And if that fantastic deal doesn’t entice you, for every four purchases you get a pint of our clean water free. Full of natural energy, and will give you a glow!” I called into the street, spieling my product boldly into the packed streets, a smile made plainly on my face. Barely a minute went past before a man came up to me.

“S’cuse me sir,” he asked, his voice raspy and popping, like his lungs were made of paper bags, suiting his paper thin face, blue with stubble and steel shavings, “how much?” I smiled broadly at the man, grabbing his hand and shaking it, keeping my palms on the outside of his hands.

“You have made a brilliant decision today my friend! Now what can I get for you today?” I asked with eagerness. The man took on a slightly surprised expression for a moment, most likely used to solely a sour grunt in response, but quickly pulled his wide mouth into a smile, pleased nonetheless.

“One quart of oil please.” He asked a bit more confident than before, straightening himself up slightly.

“Of course, sir, one quart of oil is a hundred Note. Would you like anything else?” as I placed the jar on the table the man looked at me flabbergasted, as well as a few others that had heard and stopped to turn and look at the stall, ears pricked to us. Perfect. He narrowed his eyes at me, the brownish dots plain in their disbelief, and inspected the jar of oil I had placed down.”

“Hundred Note? Are y-you sure?” he asked still uncertain. I nodded to him and he looked across the table wide eyed. He then looked heavily at the water, licking his lips, as if noticing, quite suddenly, how dry and cracked they were. “So, h-how much is the water?” he inquired shifting nervously on his feet trying poorly to remain nonchalant.

“Eighty Note,” I replied quickly, keeping a broad smile on my face. Got him. “I’ll take two quarts each,” he said holding up two black fingers on his left hand and giving a jerky nod. I handed him the jars and he handed me the money in a ratty bundle and half-ran-half-skipped off, trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement.

Customers came in droves after that, word of mouth spreading quickly, people clamouring both for water and for oil. In the brief pauses of the waves of people, I would continue spieling my product while wandering my gaze over the street.

It was a low street with most buildings only being one storey tall, and only a few being up to three. They were all made of scrap material-as there were no houses around here before to salvage. They were made of brick, concrete, wood of any timber and steel and iron of as many types. Each was spattered or caked in the grime and grit of Olrick, with rust red copper and steel pipes wrapping around the houses like multi-coloured vines, wrapped in stained bunting and tarp for decoration and repair alike: where windows were present, they rarely had glass, a costly luxury made useless by the black air, often empty vacuums or barricaded by shutters or blinds, or imprisoned in railings.

The roofs were often flat or tented, with few being pointed. Railings and platforms were on many of the rooves, children dashing across their tops, their giggles and shouts accompanied by the yells of angry tenants. Gutters led straight into the street, crooked pipes leading into concrete aqueducts, covered by gratings at crossroads. Dirty and tarry bunting was hung across the street, their bright colours muffled by the muck, along with strings of bulbs with no uniformity. Lamps were hung from walls, wires crawling up them like Ivy. Then bunching up and being hung to a power line, off which hundreds of other wires sprung from like a grand spider’s web, their faded, yet diverse colours striping both the sky and the walls.

The road itself was made of sand and dirt, packed firm in places by the flowing rivers of workers who pounded on it with their heavy steps, but still loose due to the wetness of the city. Oil, paint and other fluids had collected in puddles where the road pitted and bowled, splashed up by an unobservant walker, shortly followed by a short curse, and a grumbling limp. Jetsam and flotsam clumped about the sides of the pavement and were strewn about the roadway itself as well, the occasional loose shirted child dashing out into the street to snatch it up or to use as cover, as they dipped their fingers into loose pockets, a cacophony of yells sounding when they were caught. Street signs either hung from the thin steel wire over the street or on arched over poles stuck fast in the roadsides.

The street was always packed, though thinned out at certain times. The mini-trucks putted or whined up and down the street carrying either goods or workers respectively. The electric ones tended, as I gathered, to be for passengers and non-oil stock. They were built wider and with a taller cab and rear compartment. They were painted a, what likely used to be, cream colour with a purple stripe across its base, the back without doors or seats, simply having poles that passengers held, the four wheels kicking up the sand as they whirred quickly about, stuffed full of workers who held desperately on to the poles. The oil powered ones however were shunters, short with a long engine rather than the flat nosed electric ones. They had no top, the drivers simply in a thick coat and gloves. It had a single front wheel for turning and the two wheels that sat under the long flat bed, always stuffed with white and purple oil drums, were caterpillar tracks.

After a few hours I had earned more than enough, and now I sat in the dimming day, hoping to get the last few dregs of sales. During a moment of reverie from the ebbing flood of customers, where I was again letting my eyes trickle lazily across the streets features, I noticed a group of three men walking boldly across the street from the north end of the road. They walked diagonally across the street, people backing off as to not block them, a slight nervous pallor taking their faces, vehicles coming to a screeching or puttering stop as to let them pass. Passers-by hung pensive gazes on their backs as they strode determinedly forward.

They were members of the Assembly of course. The leaders of this city who managed to outlast all other invaders and occupiers. They wore suits of varying shades of black or grey, with long square tipped shoes. They were distinguishable from lower administrative men by their ties and broaches; each one wore a purple tie with a cream stripe down their middle, the colours of Olrick, and on their right lapel a sun shaped broach cast in a dirty nickel with a cast iron oil derrick with the initials ODA. The ‘Olrick Diplomatic Assembly’.

All three men were tall and slim, though the one who was in the middle was a bit plumper. The tallest one wore a grey top hat with a purple sash, his face grave and both eyes deep set in his head, yet almost seeming to glow despite that. The middle one was of healthier complexion with a great ginger beard and trimmed hair pomaded into a swished back form. He was a Quazi, a slight rarity considering the prejudice some in the Assembly had for them; and was likely some form of felid, though was on the low end of the spectrum like Rock, having only ears and a plump tail swishing about his ankles in a ticking motion. The shortest man, though that term was subjective, wore a black trilby stuck stiffly on his head and was bald, his face hard and thick like that of a boxer or an arena man.

They studied me harshly, inspecting me and the stall as if we were one thing. “Young sir,” The tallest one began, “how did you acquire this oil?” A snideness in his words but spoken with an old yet unwavering voice.

“Do not worry, sir,” I began, planting an amiable expression on my face “I am not here to undermine your profits. This oil is created from some waste components, and I will be taking the stall down before tomorrow.” Finishing politely, a smile on my face.

“Then if we were to check the bunker, we would find no oil missing then?” Inquired the middle one slyly as he leaned close, grinning like, ironically, a Cheshire cat, despite the morbid looks the other two were giving him.

“I thought you didn’t have a spare oil supply.” I replied in mock surprise. Making the middle one instantly realise his error, and quickly became flushed, falling under the fiery sideways stares of his fellow Assemblymen.

“After all you denied it during the Flash Freeze six years ago. Terrible tragedy that.” Turning to look them in the eyes, and keeping my voice low so that it would not carry. “Tens of thousands of deaths, the fall of Oakyard and Pitch, and the devils’ dozens of smaller settlements that sunk into the frost and stayed down. But it could not be helped, after all you were already giving out as much as you could, and anymore would outstrip supply and leave everybody dead, better to save some than lose them all.” I again looked at the men, a slight pallor coming over their faces, as they stood stiffly in the street, the impatient gazes of passers-by likely feeling like knives on their back. “But there is that conspiracy theory that you did have some more, and that you were saving it for profit after the freeze was over.” The men remained silent, most likely either in a flurry to draw up excuses or the names of ‘cleaners’ in equal measure. “But they are just that, conspiracies.” At this the men seemed to relax slightly, an ounce of colour trickling back into their cheeks.

I chuckled happily and said considerately; “Do not worry, esteemed Gentlemen of the Assembly: I have not stolen from your Bunker, nor do I intend to speak of it. I am not one of those self-righteous imbéciles who declaim need of ‘good morals’ in business, if you had supplied them all it would ruin you. It was simply good business. They had every opportunity to stockpile, but they didn’t. You are guiltless, especially considering how most of those settlements would have been wiped out by Valco, Madre, or the Empress, and Oakyard’s leaders were only good for blowing bubbles about forming a ‘New Union’ or some other half-baked plot while paying off Salvatore with timber.” They looked at me with ambivalence, their relief at my promised silence, along with their discomfort at my nonchalance over others deaths making them uncertain of whether to be happy or disturbed.

“Thank you for your discretion.” Replied the tallest man, dabbing his brow with a monogrammed handkerchief bearing the letters AC. A man with at least some wealth then. “But we still must ask for your name, as record for your business here, regulation you see, we don’t need any details before you ask, just to know that you were here.”

It was a slight bother, but a needed thing for them to protect their business so I could see some sense in it. “Of course.” I replied attempting geniality, the smallest one taking out a scruffy notebook bound in peeling leather, and a stick of charcoal wrapped in scrap tarp, as he leaned next to me as to let me see what he was writing. “Asriel Lemoni, that’s A-s-r-i-e-l, L-e-m-o-n-i, no z’s in Asriel.” I told him speaking in a slow tone as to let him better catch my words.

“Asriel Lemoni? Bit of an odd name.” The tallest man remarked, though not derisively, but as curiosity.

“It’s French.” I replied, with a snap of irritation, it was my name after all.

“Shouldn’t it be pronounced Le-mon-e, not Le-mon-ee then?” Asked the middle man curiously, catching the curious glances from the other too, as well as me. He realized he was under watch and quickly responded “My mother spoke a little bit; her family came from the old Bayou.” The other two nodded in realization then turned back to me.

“It was how my father said it.” I replied with a slight bit of irritation.

“Ah. Well, that resolves the matter of a name.” The tallest one announced, ending the topic. “Well, that is all we required, have a good day sir.” As he began to walk away, I called to him;

“I believe there is a trade fee in this town, so here, I believe this will stifle any protests you come against.” Placing a stack of ten thousand Note into the palm of the tallest one, his face twisting into a nervous smile, his probable plan of nabbing me for not paying the fee foiled. That or he felt it was a bribe and actually forgot, though the latter was unlikely. He tipped his top hat to me as he again bade farewell, the smallest one following suit with his trilby and the middle man offering a simple wave. They began their march back to the Assembly Hall, powerful and direct in their stride, though with a niggling irritation that no busses led there.

A wide smile split my face subconsciously into a toothy grin, what man would not relish in being able to blackmail and entire government. "Un grand jour de commerce, une journée d’opportunité encore plus grande."[1] I took down the stall shortly after that, the presence of the Assembly men having scared the nerve from the passers-by, probably what they had planned, nonetheless, the sun was now slumping low in the sky, half hidden by the high perimeter wall that wrapped Olrick and the collecting black-mist, locally referred to as Oli-mist, that hung in Olrick when wind blew down from the cliff, frosting the town in the dust of old quarries now breeding pits for the monsters that stalked them and the mass graves of raider massacres. Easy clean up.

I sat in a stained deck-chair, half made of plastic tarp from decades of repairs, and counted up my profits. All in all, I made roughly two-hundred and sixty-seven thousand Note from the sales, discounting the ten-thousand I gave to the Gentleman from the Assembly: my 30% share netting me eighty-thousand and one hundred Note. A grand haul considering it cost nothing to make.

The other two got back roughly two hours later, their bodies battered and grimy, shallow slashes across their arms. They had the presence of those whose work defeats them, yet they stood proud, en-doubled by their labour. An odd juxtaposition. Madness really. They reached the store front and Victor came out to meet them, a pleasant expression on his face. Lil’ gave a tired yet proud smile, yet was pulled down by the ropes of failure.

“Hi Victor, we did all those jobs you told us about and we made a decent bit of money, but I don’t think it will be enough.” She said to him a slight humiliation in her tone, slumping over slightly.

“How much did you make.” He asked initially concerned, but then remembered his place and rushed to put on a harder look.

“Forty-nine thousand and five-hundred and forty Note…” She replied embarrassedly, half hiding her face to him. Victor took on a look of amazement and irritation.

“Darlin’ I am amazed you made that much so quickly, but those jobs, if you did all of them should have got you near a hundred thousand! They fleeced ya!” A slight red flush coming to his now somewhat washed face, having dunked it in a basin of cleanish water a bit ago, though still caked with a thin lacquer of muck. He attempted to cheer her up by turning her to anger, but I doubted it would work, the woman barely had any, aside for me, probably taking any sob story they could muster. ‘My kid needs medicine’, ‘I got a bad leg’, ‘I’ll get it to you by the end of the month’ etc. Honestly.

“But they said they were on hard times, and that if I only took a bit, it would help them so much and I…” She responded firmly defending her choice fiercely, something she well had practiced. Victor groaned inwardly, placing a large palm to his face, as I inwardly thought ‘knew it’. Rock tapped her on the shoulder and said to her calmly;

“Don’t worry, we can always work tomorrow and we have Azzy here who’s probably got some loose change from his little lemonade stand.” He finished with a mocking tone, looking at me lightly, not expecting much.

I looked at him irritated, annoyed not only with the nickname but his remark. I stood up calmly with a slightly sour expression on my face, though I wasn’t quite sure what a lemonade stand was, I could tell what it meant, and walked over to the crate where I had placed the money and pulled out the slab of cream-ish notes along with some loose wads, and bundled them into Rock’s arms. His jaw dropped so far that it almost touched the money, Lil’ looked equally as flabbergasted.

“Your seventy percent share of a hundred and eighty-six thousand nine-hundred Note. I earned two hundred and sixty-seven thousand Note in total, minus the fees to trade here. I believe that should be enough for you to pay off your debt now, and with a little to spare as well,” I finished with a smug tone, a bite of sourness within it. I started walking back to the chair, when I turned back and said, “Oh, and don’t call me Azzy,” sitting down and getting myself comfortable in the chair muttering to myself, “Honnêtement, comment avez-vous réussi?”[2]. The pair stood there completely caught off-guard at my gains, truly showing the expectations they had of me.

“I just can’t believe it. How could he earn so much so quickly?” Rock asked incredulously, sitting down on an upturned crate, followed suit by the other two, Victor pulling up a bent folding chair and Lil’ a small wire stool.

“Well, oil is a precious resource even here, along with clean water,” Victor began catching the attention of the other two, “for it to be going so cheap, and for it to seem to be of decent quality, it’s a hot commodity. ‘Sides this is a busy road most of the time.” He finished looking at them calmly, pulling a trio of bottles from a little metal box that were filled with a bluish liquid. Probably rad-berry, a little berry like thing that was quite sweet, if sour sometimes, especially if you picked it too early.

He handed two of the bottles to the pair and before they could speak, he added, “and didn’ you say he was arrested for scamming people? Now, for that you either need to have a good head on yur shoulders, or have charisma pouring off you like syrup from a pancake. An’, from what I heard today, he’s got buckets of both. Got a flair fer it.” He bit the bottle cap in his mouth and pulled it off, the wheeze of carbonated drink echoing in his mouth, and spat out the plain metal cap that was bent round the bottle.

At this Lil’ snapped out, jumping from her seat. “But it was all fake! The water was boiled from the ground and the oil was picked from the same place. He scammed so many people by saying his products are things that they aren’t, then uses how he wrote it to try and dodge and displace the blame onto the people he cheated! Why do people fall for his lies!” her face going red, as she yelled, shoving her face into Victor’s.

“Because they aren’t lies,” Victor said exasperatedly, rolling his head in tired ness after Lil’ snapped back in shock. Lil’s face falling into a mortified expression as Rock stiffened slightly. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at the ceiling. “Now don’t take me wrong. He is in the wrong, yes. If not immoral then amoral at the very least.” Lil’ sinking back down to her seat as he spoke, a sour expression still firmly fixed on her face. “But he doesn’t outright lie to these people, he sells what people need and relies on people to not ask too much further into his half-truths. Most other business men do this, and it tends to be that those are the ones who prosper.”

Lil’ shifted forward and looked as if she was about to say something when Victor put up his hand to stop her. “I’m not saying this to make you like him. Man’s a rotten piece of shit, but there are worse people, and what he does helps some people. You can’t pull up everyone who only knows what they have seen, to your standards. There are better battles to be fought,” his face was drawn as he finished, uncomfortable with his own words. She looked at him, harshly and growled under her breath:

“Just because they are from somewhere else doesn’t mean they get to have worse principles. He is just as human as you or I, he isn’t some feral beast or brain-rotten raider. He has no excuse to be evil just because of who he is and what he believes.” She finished bitterly, tightly gripping the neck of her bottle, glaring at her boots. The pair said nothing, and sat drinking from their bottles, and eventually got up and walked to the back of the shop to lay in the beds apparently in the back of the shop. As I moved to follow, they turned to me and pointed to a black wool cot by the door to the workshop, plain in view, not trusting me to stay put. I turned and hopped into the rough wool, the thick smell of old petrol and bad whiskey wheezing out of it, grumbling I sunk to sleep.

The next day the pair rolled out the car from the garage and handed Victor the pay for his work, giving the man some extra, as a ‘tip’. They piled most of their packs into the car then pulled on some empty rucksacks, saying they were going for supplies. They were just about to leave when someone called to them.

I turned to look and was surprised and irritated to see the same three Assembly men from yesterday walking down the road to them. The tallest man giving a light wave as he approached, the other two walking quickly behind. “You must be ‘El Libertador’, I heard about you on Rio Grande Radio,” the tallest one said warmly, reaching his hand out to her, which she nervously shook a slight look of confusion on her face. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am a member of the Olrick Diplomatic Assembly and the leader of the Environmental Progress Party.” A note of pride in his voice as he spoke, standing up straight as he continued.

“The Environmental Progress Party?” she repeated, cocking her head to the side like a confused dog. The man was unbothered and continued.

“Yes, it is a party in the Assembly that promotes the increasing of safety measures and environmental solutions to energy and the city, and a general clean-up program to try and improve the living conditions of the citizens by reducing the pollution around the city.” His pride beamed across the room. While it was plain that Lil’ was somewhat confused, she perked up at the mention of improving the conditions for people and practically jumped on the man.

“You want to help these people?!” she asked eagerly, like an old warrior who had finally found an ally.

“Not just them, everybody! The reforms we have proposed will improve the lives of everyone in this town. Though more to those that actually need it of course,” the middle one explained looking pleased, a passionate look etched deep in his eyes. Lil’ looked giddy at the thought of it.

“In fact, ma’am,” The tallest man began again, straightening himself up and taking on a much more diplomatic look, “that is why we have come here to talk to you today…” He coughed into his hand, clearing his throat, “you see- despite the benefits these reforms will bring to the people, they face near total opposition within the Assembly,” he finished a pensive look on his face, and shifting his feet about awkwardly, keeping his gaze on the pair, not once having looked round the shop, missing me in the process.

“So, we were hoping you would pledge your support to our party,” the shortest man continued, speaking in a gravely two-tone voice, making it sound like it required great effort for him to speak. “Our cause would gain some publicity, and the people would learn about it and thus put pressure on the other parties on the Assembly… We do rely on the will of the people even if it doesn’t look like it most of the time,” he lightly joked, Lil’ took on a slightly apprehensive look, unsure of what he meant in pledging support. “Nothing massive before you get too worried, just a word or two in approval or promotion will be enough. No need to run around with an initialled Jersey,” he reassured chuckling slightly forcing his face to look friendly, but not quite succeeding, causing Lil’ to slacken slightly.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold on a darn second,” Butted in Victor, moving his hands like he was physically forcing his way into the conversation, the three Assemblymen turning to him. “I thought the Assembly was already doing environmental policies?” he questioned seriously, jabbing his gloved hand in the direction of the three men.

“They are, but what they are doing at the moment is essentially the equivalent of licking a tree and hoping for maple syrup,” I called from the cot, the three Assembly men turning to look at me surprised, the middle one’s tail bristling in panic.

“I didn’t know you were here Mr Lemoni,” the shortest one said, having to catch his tone as he calmed himself down, the middle one settling down his tail as they spoke. At this the other three turned to me, suspicious looks on their faces.

“You know them?” Rock asked, as I looked at him flatly, not bothered enough to get up from the cot yet, despite the stench and filth of it.

“I met them yesterday. They came to check on my stall and to collect trade fare. It was simply business,” I answered, but they still looked at me with gazes destitute of trust. Sensing the opportunity he was being given the tallest man broke in.

“Mr Lemoni is correct on both counts,” he attested, the other three settling down at that, though still eyeing me heavily. “While outwardly, the current leaders of the Assembly do say they are pursing more ecological practices, it’s all lip-service and pan-handling. The current majority faction, the Olrick Economic Party, is quite conservative in character-they are more concerned with the implied drop in efficiency and efficacy that would come with the change to a more environmentally sound business model, ” he explained somewhat agitatedly when describing the conservative members, showing his apparent dislike of the Assemblymen in question.

Personally, I was more on the side of the conservatives.

“That’s not right,” Lil’ rumbled, clenching her fist as she stood. Suddenly she burst out, brimming with conviction “I’ll support your party Mr…uh, I don’t know your name,” she petered out slightly embarrassed, a flush of red coming across her face.

“Oh yes how rude of me,” the tallest one said nonchalantly. “My name is Antony Carew, this gentleman here,” gesturing to the shortest of the three, “is Burke G. Potts, and finally this man is Charlie. M. Bertillion,” as he finished, he jostled slightly like he had just realised something and added, tuning to Charlie, “I just noticed that your name is French, Charlie. I feel rather foolish now,” Charlie waived him off not bothered while the others were left in the dark about the exchange. Except for myself.

“In any case, thank you ma’am for your endorsement of the party and its’ aims,” Carew resumed a wide smile adorning his face, one matched by Lil’. “Will you be offering your support too, Mr Lemoni?” he asked, turning to me. I returned his look with a flat expression, irritation bubbling in my mind at the question, knowing I would have to work hard to say ‘no’ near the mad animal that was Lil’.

“While your cause may sound admirable, I will not support it. I do not agree with the sentiments behind it,” predictably the three stooges turned to me flabbergasted as I refused, preparing to bite my head off at not agreeing with them at what they saw as right. Somethings cannot be compromised.

But Carew himself simply nodded a slight smile adorning his lips, “Very well, but I assume you will neither support the opposition then?” he added, a slight slyness in his voice. I looked at him lazily from the brim of the cot and replied.

“No, I won’t. I don’t pick sides. Especially if the one whose view I share thinks I should be treated as a second-class citizen in their city unless I pay a hefty premium. I work by business not by politics,” I kept a civil tone as I spoke, keeping to the truth, almost. Carew again nodded, a smile still on his face, still keeping a smug look of victory on it that brought with it a sort of burning sense of irritation as I looked at him.

“Well, now that the formalities have been taken care of, I bid you all good day,” he finished politely, turning as he began walking away. “Oh,” he sounded, stopping suddenly and turning his head back to Lil’, “and Miss, I neglected to ask your name?” A slightly embarrassed tone in his voice at having forgone introductions twice.

“Oh, it’s Lillian, but call me Lil’” she introduced cheerily smiling back at him. The Assemblymen walked off, waiving goodbye, and then the other two resumed loading their car, lifting boxes out from the garage, filled with ammunition, petrol, food, and medicine. A treasure trove any raider or bandit would foam at the mouth for.

I waited for about ten minutes while they loaded the car standing by Rock as he packed something and Idly asked, “So why is she called ‘El Libratador’. Did she get it in an arena?” Rock looked deeply offended at the question, though that was hardly unusual for what I saw of him.

“No, of course not!” he snapped back, lifting up a faded plastic cooler with ‘Medicine’ scrawled in black across a strip of old masking tape and moving over to the car.

“Then what from?” I pursued, a bored tone in my voice. He dropped the tub into the back of the car and then turned to me and bit back,

“Why do you even care?”

“I don’t, I am simply bored, and like to know a few details about my ‘business partners’. Plus, I don’t trust you enough to go buy some better clothes in case you drive off, so I’m waiting until you are finished to escort me,” I answered honestly, getting a sour expression in response, practically the default for his tanned face.

“What do you even need clothes for?” he asked turning back to the car, trying to dodge the question.

“Whilst some in this wretched wasteland may be content with the dress of an escaped convict, I prefer a more dignified, human, sense of dress,” he whirled around quickly his mouth wide to shout, his large teeth on full display and an infuriated expression crossed his features.

An impressive sight.

But I cut him off, “and no that wasn’t a jab at your heritage. I have nothing against Quazi’s personally and still hang you under the moniker of human, so don’t take that as a slight against you,” I snubbed boredly. He settled down slightly but still looked at me with a grimace, baring his teeth. I walked over to the deckchair and laid down in it, Rock standing off from it next to the car.

“All I really know about Lil’ comes from this time and after. I honestly have no clue who or what she was before this,” his voice almost hollowed as he spoke, his usual snide tone almost absent, catching my vague interest. “Eight years ago, around Diera down south, she came across a caravan, she didn’t know what it was at the time. Out of nowhere a bouncing-betty, you know the landshark looking things, it just, leaps right out the fucking ground at them an’ starts literally tearing apart their guards…” he took a pause and glancing down at his feet before he started again,

“So, Lil’ gets out her rifle and kills the thing, saving them. The leader of the caravan is really thankful, calls her a hero, so he leads her to the rearmost carriage, and pulls back a big cloth cover to reveal a bunch of people all in rags and manacles.” He stopped again, his mouth open hanging as he tried to say something, but couldn’t manage it the first few tries, “And he says to her: ‘these are the best of our stock, take your pick, without you we would never have survived.’…Then she pulls out her rifle and points it at them, telling them to free all the slaves, ‘else she would shoot. They didn’t. A firefight goes on for a few minuets, the rump of the guards and the head driver not being worth much in a fight, and she freed the slaves.”

He kept looking out into the road, with a hundred yards stare on his face. “One of the slaves was Venezuelan, though most of them were Latino apparently - from Nemex and Jalapa among others, and called her ‘El Libratador’ after a Venezuelan who freed Latin America from the Spanish,” he looked up at the sky, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“Imagine what that would do to a person, to have fought shoulder to shoulder with these people, however briefly, and then found they were doing such horrible things, and that you were protecting them while they were doing it,” he finished, his face pale as he looked at the sky, the bead of a tear lingering in his eye. Then it shifted to a sour look and he turned to me. “But I suppose you don’t care, do you? After all you seem to lack the comprehension of the vileness of it, for these people to have their freedom taken from them,” he accused making his disgust with me plain both in his tone and his expression.

“And what good is ‘freedom’?” I gave in response, looking plainly at him, making him take a step back. “After all it was the pursuit of ‘freedom’ that gave us this world of ruins. A Lofty principle of an old world that used these grand words and ideals to justify the rain of fire and radiation that they brought down in play of their self-satisfying goals. This world is the price of that freedom, despite how you wail that it is in absence of it,” I said quietly, looking out into the road as Rock levied his gaze on me his eyes rocking in their sockets, either from anger or fear. Who could tell?

“I had total freedom, it is you that diminished it, not anyone else here. So don’t stand there acting like you embody a tradition lost to the world,” standing up from the chair and brushing myself down slightly as Rock leered at my back. “Some things are left behind for a reason,” I let the conversation sit for a second almost feeling the heat of the quiet fury of the Quazi.

“In any case, I believe you are nearly done, so you can accompany me if you wish. Or can you state that you won’t drive off without me?” I questioned critically, somewhat hoping that he would let me go alone, though that would likely complicate matters later on in Verdant. He turned to me with a deep-set look of sour hatred, so often held on his face one would think it had frozen in that expression.

“Neither I nor Lil’ would harm these people as by leaving you uninhibited in your practices, you blonde-haired bilker,” he growled out, striding ahead of me, stamping hard on the ground like a child who was told to do a chore he didn’t want to. I smiled charmingly at him.

“Good alliteration, my lecturious lookout. Now shall we depart to the dressing district before we become so enamoured in our little chats that the sun slinks below that rotten sky above,” I replied smarmily, walking quickly past him, forcing him to have to jog to catch back up.

��Piss of you, poultice preaching prick,” he spat out grumpily having thought about his words. I chuckled at him in response, causing him to stew even more. The streets and alleyways were flooded by workers, amplified by those that streamed out from the backstreets, slamming and rushing against each other as the flows of those discharged and those commissioned surged against each other, their uniforms all unanimously caked and sodden in grease, grime and the other foulness of the refineries and factories that bulked the town of Olrick.

I led us along the thoroughfare to the main crossing on the east side, a tiny little square with a greasy clock stood in the middle ready to cry out the ensuing day, then turned inward into the city’s centre. Impossibly, the packed roads in the inner city somehow became ever more packed and compressed, the buildings pulling themselves up taller, the light fleeing higher away from the street. The grand factories sparked and crackled as the workers toiled and laboured inside, lit only by burning fumes and naked bulbs. The factory walls, like the rest of this grand settlement, were caked in kerosene and oil made of debris and other flotsam that had been dragged over, a quilted patchwork of bodged repairs and quick fixes made to prevent an even momentary lapse in production, making them look like Frankenstein structures. Despite the darkness, hanging floodlights, asleep to save power, were left wasted.

I then turned into a small alley on the left side of the lane, to the harshly supressed relief of Rock as he followed, wheezing slightly with the heavy air. We again came to a street of low-standing houses, all of them stalls set up for trade. But it was a much calmer street than the rest of the city, with an actual road, though only made from packed gravel unlike the paved streets of the true inner city. This was an area of fine trade, where the artisans of Olrick were endorsed to stay in their well made and supplied stalls, so as to supply the wealthy and any visitors. It was an attempt by the Assembly to make out the city as nicer than it was. A good tactic in concept really, but not truly effective, as you had to walk through the dirtier bits of the city to reach it.

Rock looked on astonished, glancing about as if he had walked into a mystical place. “Where are we?” he questioned in a quiet voice, almost as if a raised voice would shatter the vision before him.

“We are in the Artisans’ district. The shop we’re going to is the third down the street, come along,” his expression soured at the order and he grabbed me by the arm.

“How is it that this place is so… nice, and that bit back there so horrible?” he asked fiercely, as if he held me responsible for the sight.

I snatched my arm from his grip and answered, “A nation’s wealth always concentrates at its centre, it’s quite natural really. But here so does its power. This place has been besieged quite often so they have become quite zealous in their control of power, so they don’t like people getting too close and looking at them, when they used to come to sample the works of the artisans here,” I explained, walking forward as I spoke, with Rock following just behind. “So, this district arose. A great showing off of the splendour of the city, while also being a way to keep people away from their centre of power,” I finished as we came up to the stall. “Here we are,” I declared, gesturing to the shop, stopping Rock from leaping into his likely rant about ‘injustices’ or some other token cry they so often used, and walked into the shop, the slightly destabilised Quazi following after me.

It was modest, as were the rest of the stalls, but it was well made and well kept. The store clerk noticed us and began to walk over. He was a tallish man, very thin, with slicked back blonde hair, but he had a rather effeminate air about him. He was a Quazi, horned and taller than most, so either a deer or caribou, with tailor’s tape draped over his neck, hanging over a, rather bravely, white suit, with brown Oxfords whose bottoms were splashed grey with gravel dust.

“Hello, how are you my dear fellows, what can I get you today?” he asked with a smile, bending over slightly as he neared the edge of his stall, his large horns threatening to catch upon the roof. As he looked at me, he took on a mortified expression. “My dear sir, what are you wearing?!” he asked, aghast, referring to the prisoner rags that still adorned me.

“A dreadful set of attire that I am all too eager to replace and burn to ash,” I replied looking down at myself quickly, with a look of repulsion.

He smiled, and responded, “I couldn’t agree more sir.” He then led me over to a raised platform where he began to take my measurements, asking me what colours I wanted and what fabrics I preferred and certain fits and other details. Then he quickly set to work, leaving me with a set of three suits and some shoes and separate jackets. He then turned to Rock.

“And what will you be having sir?” the tailor asked pleasantly, causing Rock to give a start.

“O-oh, I-I’m not here for anything, it doesn’t really suit me,” Rock replied, caught off guard and stammering. Unabashed the tailor continued with a smile that made Rock quiver slightly.

“Oh, don’t say that - a man of your figure would cut a suit quite well. After all, just feel these muscles,” the tailor argued softly, coming up behind Rock and squeezing his arms, making Rock blush a deep red.

“I-I-uh-b-I…Okay,” he stammered out, obviously flustered. He then began measuring him, taking noticeably longer than he had with me, which progressively made the usually tanned man turn as red as a tomato at the tailor’s sultry glances. After about half an hour he stood there in a tawny brown corduroy double vented jacket, thin lapelled, with a cinnamon coloured, standing collared shirt with matching brown corduroy slacks, fitted into tall black boots. The tailor again regarded him with a sultry gaze.

“Yes, you are definitely my type,” he said with a pleasant smile on his face, once again prompting Rock to erupt into a deep blush.

“I’m sorry I’m not interested,” Rock replied, his voice fluttering slightly, an amusing sight, but the tailor waived him off.

“Don’t be concerned. You are good enough as eye candy,” he replied velvetly, causing Rock again to bristle.

“So, how much?” Rock breathed, tugging down on his jacket, attempting to regain his composure as he tried to take control of the conversation.

“For you, think of it as a gift,” he replied pleasantly, cocking his body at the hip, “for you,” he continued, turning to me, “fourty-two thousand Note, but since you bought so much, I’ll give you a discount. So, it comes to thirty-eight thousand,” he finished, smiling broadly. I handed him the money and nodded to him in thanks.

As we began walking out, he turned to me and asked quietly, “Oh, and may I ask who told you of me? I haven’t seen you before,” I regarded him pleasantly and responded.

“I heard about you from Ollivier up North, he was an old client of mine, spoke quite highly of you,” the tailor went slightly pale for a second, as if he had seen something foul in his periphery, but quickly regained his composure.

“Well, I’m glad he thinks of me that well,” he replied smilingly. I nodded to him and walked out of the stall, Rock having already returned to the street.

“Oh,” he called as we walked, “and if you ever need to talk, Rock, just ask for Sebastian down at one of the shopping districts. They’ll tell me,” he called out in a dulcet tone, smiling kindly.

“Thank you for the offer, I’ll keep it in mind,” Rock replied shortly, slightly abashed as we walked out of the district, straining his face as he hurried away walking slightly faster than normal. “Tell no one of this,” Rock growled harshly at me as we walked, not turning to look at me. I grinned as I regarded him flatly.

“Now why would I do that? Good information is best saved till needed,” I replied sardonically, chuckling slightly. He then hovered his hand over his holstered pistol and cocked his head to me, a dark look on his face, nearly done with me. “Fine, fine. Now allon, punctuality has not gone out of fashion since the apocalypse,” I responded, slightly put out, but rushed him forward.

We returned to Victor’s just as it turned three O’clock, the sun beginning to hang close to the western buildings. As we approached, I noticed a person hanging around the front of the shop dressed in militia-esque garb. Upon getting close to them, Rock burst out in alarm.

"What happened to you, are you alright!?”

He was referring of course to the woman’s complexion. Her skin appeared rotten, or completely fallen away in places displaying plainly the fetid red and white muscles beneath. Her hair had all fallen out, and her pupils had covered the entirety of her eyes leaving them like black stones in her head, either side of a rotted off nose, a sent of gangrene and rot hanging about her. She immediately took on an insulted but expectant expression as if was a normal occurrence.

“It’s quite rude to say that Rock,” I broke in, the tall Quazi sending me a confused look, “after all, don’t you get upset when someone shouts about your own, unique attributes, in the street.” My remark made Rock pause for half a second before the meaning dawned on him and his face morphed into a mortified expression and he leapt into making apologies, attempting to explain himself, the woman taking on a pleasantly surprised expression. As Rock continued to abase himself, I meandered back into the shop to load up my clothes and funds into the car, when Lil’ and Victor walked out. Victor took on a concerned expression at seeing the meeting, or more specifically one part of it, and Lil’ looked pleased to see Rock, though looked at me with well contained contempt in front of the woman.

“Rock, you look nice, where did you get that?” Lil’ questioned, prompting Rock to blush faintly. Rubbing the back of his neck tentatively he responded, though with a slight quaver in his voice.

“Oh… well, I was looking at the clothes and I saw this nice piece that I liked and Azzy bought it for me, though probably in an attempt to buy me off to let him go,” I flicked my head back to fix him with a glare at his excuse, but he gave me a hard look from the edge of his gaze, and I stowed it away. Not only did he use that numb-brained nickname, he’d set the precedent I’d buy ‘gifts’ for these people.

“Well, I think it looks lovely on you!” Lil’ said cheerily, flustering Rock even further. As I was at the back of the shop, Victor walked up to my side.

He then leant down to me, keeping his gaze on the trio and asked, “Sebastian?” though obviously already knowing.

“Sebastian,” I confirmed, Victor nodding and chuckling slightly. Well, some fairness after all. Then the trio turned their attention to the woman who was at the front of the store, waiting patiently for them to finish their little pleasantries.

“So, miss, what can we help you with?” Lil’ questioned pushing her curiosity to the side, displaying some tact, which I didn’t quite attribute to her. The woman nodded slightly then spoke.

“I’m looking for where they sell supplies, I know that doesn’t really narrow it down much but I just want somewhere that sells most things, and will sell them to Remnants,” her voice was crackly as she spoke, like a chain-smoker was talking through an intercom, rusty and abrasive, but with a dignity and refinement woven into it.

Lil’ took on a thoughtful expression and then cautiously asked: “Yes, but what exactly, are, Remnants,” The woman looked at her with a deadpan expression not bothering to hide her exhaustion with the conversation.

“They are what she is,” I broke in, having loaded my clothes into the car and put on one of the suits, an emperor’s yellow chequered one, and walked over to where they were all congregated. “When the bombs dropped, many were exposed to lethal doses of radiation, but due to an apparently somewhat common mutation in people’s genes, instead of sub coming to it they just mutated. Some went mad, not entirely surprisingly, and became what we call crotes, or cryptids, after monsters from the old world. But a decent amount stayed sane, keeping their memories. Course anyone who saw them only remembered the ones that stormed and slaughtered settlements. Who haunted the nightmares of many. So, they attacked, and persecuted, as people tend to do,” I explained boredly before I looked to the woman and paused to see if she wanted to speak up, she kept quiet. I sat down on one of the crates and continued, watching the confused and somewhat begrudgingly impressed faces of the other three.

“Because of that most of the stable ones fled north, till they were out of reach of anyone who saw them as a threat. They build a settlement out of the blasted-out ruins of a bombed city, hoping the fallout would stave off any hunting parties or expeditions. They called it Catacombs. Eventually, as time went on people started to brave the trip and learned about the Remnants and told people they were friendly, and slowly, trust in them grew, though really only in the North. So, they began sending out delegates or letting people explore outside the city. But most don’t come this far down south,” the three turned to the woman, looking to confirm what I said.

Honestly, at least have some sense to not be so plain about your distrust. She nodded that it was correct, though looked slightly surprised herself.

When the woman nodded in agreement with what I said they all glanced back to me. “How do you know all that?” Lil’ asked incredulously as the other two matched her expression. I regarded her flatly and responded;

“I went their once a while ago, I travelled south after that, and now,” spreading out my arms like I had finished a magic trick in mock grandeur, “I’m here.”

“What, did you scam all of them too. With some magical snake oil that would turn them human again, repair their skin and make their hair grow back,” Lil’ demanded, her face going slightly red. I looked at her then looked down at the ground as I looked for the words.

“No, I was there for a different reason,” my voice taking a hollowness without my noticing. “I believe it was Griffon who was trying that wasn’t he?” I said, diverting the conversation, looking to the woman for affirmation, to which she nodded.

“Yeah, that was him, gave up after a while, people didn’t take too kindly too it. But, what can you do," the woman agreed, shrugging slightly. Lil’ composed herself slightly, her curiosity and anger at me still etched into her copper-blue eyes, caught off-guard at the mention that her accusation had actually occurred.

“Moving on, I don’t believe we got your name miss,” Lil’ asked, at this the woman straightened up, almost as if some old training in her kicked in.

“Emilia, Regina, Carter, a pleasure,” she answered highly offering her hand with the back of it facing up to be kissed initially then seemed to think and quickly turned it to the side for a normal handshake, which Lil’ seemed to miss.

“And it is shared Miss Carter,” Lil’ responded earnestly taking her hand and shaking it vigorously, Rock nodding in agreement.

“Charmed,” I called over, the woman nodding at me in agreement. I looked at her hands and noticed a signet ring on the left one, stacked with a wedding band. I was correct to assume she was high class then. That or a very lucky scavenger. I shall remember her just in case. Victor then took her over to the side, and eventually sent her off to the northern district of the city where he remembered a shop with a sign that read ‘Remnants Welcome’ on the door. She thanked him and walked north down the alleyways of Olrick.

After that, I got in the car along with the pair, and began to drive out of the workshop, both Lil’ and Rock waving fondly goodbye to Victor as the light of the city sporadically plinked into life, bathing the dirty streets with a warped mix of colours. Making the whole city look like a giant oil slick in water. The sun was now diving below the jagged and unordered, yet somehow subdued and defeated skyline of Olrick. They drove hurriedly out of the city, going as fast as possible in the still cluttered streets. As they left through the great walls of that city, we were again bombarded by the setting sun, its silky blood-red rays muzzled through the low hanging slums that surrounded the grand oil capital of the wasteland, the rough homes beginning to light up braziers and torches as it descended.

Leaving that great ‘empire of black gold, and black hearts’ as was the expression.

[1] Un grand jour de commerce, une journée d’opportunité encore plus grande. Meaning: A great day of commerce, a day of even greater opportunity’

[2] Honnêtement, comment avez-vous réussi? Meaning: Honestly, how did you ever succeed?

#original writing #creative writing #writing #fiction #science fiction #post apocalyptic #apocalypticfiction #HMAD

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