Keasbey Street was the long, wide boulevard where dreams and nightmares were made. The great avenue, running through downtown Zozo, was one of those in the Web that truly had a spirit to it. Broad sidewalks lined it, and they saw a traffic much like its six lanes did. People and cars ambled across it, guided by it to and from their destinations. Occasionally, bridges made of cast iron reached up over the road, and provided a way for men to cross over the wide street without dealing with the crowded crosswalks at every intersection.
The buildings on Keasbey Street were a mix of skyscrapers and lower lying buildings that only served the purpose of filling the space between them. Amidst glorious towers of commercial wealth were the smaller, less notable places of the city. Diners, restaurants, stores selling trinkets and various overpriced supplies, and Laundromats were mixed in with the skyscrapers.
This was where Kevin Dorman had grown up. He grew up in a small, filthy apartment thirteen blocks away from Keasbey Street, a good three minutes away by Zozoıs light rail. However, Keasbey Street was where he passed on the bus to school everyday. He would look out of the windows, staring at the glistening towers of steel, glass and stone, and at the lower, baser businesses at the feet of those great giants. It was where he worked his first job, inside one of those restaurants as a dishwasher. Everyone that mattered to him had some tie to the place.
This was where Kevin Dorman lived his life. On the fifth floor of the Del Mio Building, one of the tallest skyscrapers there, he was a stock broker for the Hastings Investment Company, a firm of a prestige it told itself it had. It dated back a healthy seventy-five years, though that was not particularly well-aged for a financial institution. He ate at a dinerıs called Frankıs Eatery for lunch and dinner, and he even had his laundry done at one of those Laundromats. Everyone he knew was bound to this hallowed avenue, gilded in gold and countless lives.
This was where Kevin Dorman would die.
Night was falling on Keasbey Street.
* * *
Kevin looked out of the window of his office in time to see the last few sunbeams peeking over the distant forms of the mountains, ending their golden pallor over the city of Zozo. He sighed at that, and looked over at the clock on the wall of his office. It was forty-five minutes after five PM, and the Esperian winter had the nights starting all too early for him.
He reached his hand over to the phone on his desk, and almost picked it up. He was a good forty-five minutes late in even starting the hour and a half commute to home that he had to enjoy, every single day of his working life, and his wife and his son would no doubt be frustrated when he showed up far past dinner. And yet, he did not pick the phone up.
He was a meek man. He never wanted to cause trouble for anyone. He treated people nicely in the sense that he did the bare minimum of social interaction. He would smile and engage in the meaningless, hollow chit-chat that was nothing to forming a relationship or at least proving interesting. When his wife wanted something, he gave it to her to avoid trouble. When his bosses gave him a task, no matter how infinitely meaningless and trepid it was, he did it well enough for it to be accepted but poor enough to garner him nothing. He coasted through his life, and he won the tolerance of those around him but never their respect. His wife told him he was an idiot every morning, and his coworkers laughed at him behind his back.
That was why he did not call home. On some level, he wanted to spite the ungrateful bitch of a woman he had married, and by not telling her he would be late, by not telling her he would not be home to eat the dinner she prepared, he could have a momentary comfort until he arrived and had to deal with her nagging. Then he would meekly apologize, say it would not happen again, and do it the very next day.
Instead, Kevin stared at his laptop screen. The liquid crystal display was a blank, cold black like the night sky was becoming outside. The screen was turned off. He simply stared at it, an uncaring glaze over his eyes. When his top boss, a fat little man named Robert Lovac, walked by his opened office door, the forty-six year-old man typed away at the turned off laptop to provide a facsimile of working.
However, Lovac, instead of walking by with only a curious glance at Kevin, as though he were an amusing little animal or a disfigured accident victim, as he always did, the boss stopped in the doorway and looked inside. The short, fat man sighed and glanced over the balding man. ³Hey, Kevin,² he said in a tone laden with a false friendliness. ³We need to have a talk sometime.²
A talk? Kevinıs eyebrows perked at this. This was different.
³Oh, um, yes, sir,² the man replied meekly. ³Iım free to talk at any time you like, Mister Lovac.²
The other businessman laughed, but in a way that was haughty. He did decide when Kevin was free to talk. The fat, short man nodded his head again, the rolls of his chins pushing up into himself. ³Come on, Kevin. We can talk over dinner,² he said. ³Itıs on me.²
³Yes, sir.² Kevin pretended to save the work on his laptop and moved his finger to its power button, as though he turned it off. He folded the display down, and then stood up. After a few minutes, Lovac had led him from the workplace, out the lobby of his skyscraper, and onto the sidewalk of Keasbey Street. They only walked a short distance before the shorter man stopped at a storefront, and turned around to nod at his employee. His generosity of giving Kevin a free meal was at the smallest, slimiest, and overall worst diner on Keasbey Street.
³Here we are!² Lovac said with a faked merriness. It was as though this were some sort of real treat. He opened the door after Kevin murmured his faint thanks, and followed him inside. Kevin found himself surrounded by grime-crusted floors, darkly painted walls, and a stench of the smoke of bad cigarettes. The stock broker did not frown, even if he wanted to. Lovac grabbed him by the arm and started to pull him towards one of the booths. ³You can seat yourself here.²
Kevin did not bother pulling his arm free, and sat down at the booth. Lovac sat across from them. The boss opened his mouth, and started to speak in the same fake tone of voice. ³So, howıs the wife, Kevin?²
³Fine, sir,² he replied in a drone-like manner.
³The kid?²
³Fine, sir.²
Lovac was beginning to look a little defeated. ³Everything else?²
³Fine, sir.²
It was an automated, meaningless exchange. Kevin felt vaguely grateful as a portly, beastly waitress waddled her way to the booth. She put two glasses of ice water, both with spots on them and an unhealthy tan shade to the drink inside, onto the table. Her glare at the two men said that she would brook no questioning of it. Kevin took his and drank from it. It tasted horrible. Lovacıs glass remained untouched.
³What do you want?² she said. She looked expectantly at the two men. The boss motioned at Kevin with one hand, indicating for him to order first.
³The beef and potatoes skillet,² the man said. ³And a cup of coffee.²
³The rib eye steak,² Lovac added on. ³The same for me, with cream.²
³All right.² The waitress did not sound particularly pleased to take their order. She scribbled it down on a notepad, and then tucked it inside a pocket on her apron. The woman turned her wide girth around, and then walked off without another word. Lovac continued to smile pleasantly, as though the service was ideal instead of the insulting presentation they had received.
³You hear about that blizzard that might blow in on New Yearıs Day?² the boss asked. It was a stupid statement. A low-pressure system in the mountains northwest of the city had brewed up, and it was moving steadily westward. In a couple of nights, the fury of a cold nature would be upon the city. Kevin offered a simple, bored nod as his response to Lovac. The boss continued as though he were talking to a wall. ³They say itıs going to hit below ten. Really damn cold. I bet all of my plants will die.²
Kevin had been Lovacıs house, and seen his plants. They were Hoplite Biotech-engineered, from grass blades to rose bushes, and he was fairly sure that nothing short of orbital bombardment could kill them. It was nothing native to the cold, windy, and rocky landscape of Zozo. He simply shrugged his shoulders, bored with this line of conversation.
³So, Kevin,² Lovac said, when he got no real response from his employee. His hand moved the glass of tainted ice water across the table, leaving a slimy streak of condensation on the vinyl covering of the tabletop. ³Thereıs something you should know with the Leman deal.² That was one of the biggest deals that the Hastings Investment Company had. It was being done on behalf of Leman Imports, and even Kevin knew that corporation was an investment of the Bandorini crime family in Zozo. He also knew there were some shady dealings behind it the Bandorinis were going to sell their company, right before they revealed that it was going under. Insider trading was considerably illegal in the Esper Union, but it would hurt another investor in the company, the Bandorinisı rivals: the Maughlin crime family.
³What about it?² Kevin asked. ³Hasnıt it gone through?²
³Yeah. Leman goes under in three days,² the boss replied. ³But weıve got a problem. The Maughlins found out about what weıre doing. Itıs too late to stop the deal, though. Theyıve lost their millions, and the Bandorinis are keeping any firm from selling their stock in the company.²
The stock broker frowned. That was bad if the crime family had lost their money, which was in millions of geld, then they would want revenge. ³But theyıre going to be angry, sir. What happens when they find out who did it?²
Lovacıs reply was quick and lost the false warmth and camaraderie it held before. ³Thatıs why we need someone to take the fall.²
Kevin could see where this was going. ³And thatıs me.²
³Yeah.² Lovac was hardly pulling his punches. ³Youıve got two more days left. Midnight of the New Year? The Maughlins are gonna kill you.²
Kevin stared at him. He had brought him to this shithole of a diner to tell him he had sold him out, and that while the company and his coworkers got rich, he would be put six feet under the ground. The stock broker said nothing in response to his betrayal. He just stared forward with his tired, lifeless blue eyes. There was only a slight twinge of his eyebrows that hinted at the feelings inside him. He tried to force them down, to keep his exterior up, to not let it all come boiling over.
³So, Dorman.² The short, fat man shrugged. ³What are you gonna do, now?²
Kevinıs eyes shot out of the front window of the diner. An Esperian Motor Works 37 Regal Cutlass was parked outside, next to a parking meter. It was painted in a light tan color, and was kept up marginally well with. He narrowed his eyes, and then looked back at Lovac. His tone was as it always was: quiescent, weakened, and defeated. ³I think²
Lovac watched coldly. It was as if Kevin was a dying animal on a video.
The taller stock brokerıs lips twisted into a smile. ³You know, I donıt know what Iım going to do yet, Lovac. Itıs kind of sad. Iım forty-six years old, Iım getting a bit of a gut, and Iım gonna die three nights from now. I have no idea what to do with my life.² The boss squirmed backward in his seat, moving up against it rather uncomfortably. ³But I do know two things. You wanna know what they are?²
He did not bother waiting for the shorter man to respond. ³The first is that Iım fucking fired.² He laughed in his former employerıs face, and swept his arm across the table. The two filthy glasses of water toppled, and spilled their contents over the table. The man squirmed further, glaring at Kevin now. ³And the second, Lovac? The second is that you should have given me a car in that parking garage under our building. Because thatıs where your car is, and my carıs that EMW piece of shit outside.² He waved to the vehicle dismissively, and it drew Lovacıs attention for a moment. ³Wanna know why?²
He again did not wait, cutting the other stock broker off as he tried to ask. ³Because I know where your house is, you fat son of a bitch. Iım going to drive the fuck down there, and Iım going to piss on your lawn.²
³Youıre going to what?² Lovac barked out, disbelieving.
Kevin bolted from the table, calling back to his boss as he did so. ³Iım going to piss on your lawn!²
He reached his hand over to the phone on his desk, and almost picked it up. He was a good forty-five minutes late in even starting the hour and a half commute to home that he had to enjoy, every single day of his working life, and his wife and his son would no doubt be frustrated when he showed up far past dinner. And yet, he did not pick the phone up.
He was a meek man. He never wanted to cause trouble for anyone. He treated people nicely in the sense that he did the bare minimum of social interaction. He would smile and engage in the meaningless, hollow chit-chat that was nothing to forming a relationship or at least proving interesting. When his wife wanted something, he gave it to her to avoid trouble. When his bosses gave him a task, no matter how infinitely meaningless and trepid it was, he did it well enough for it to be accepted but poor enough to garner him nothing. He coasted through his life, and he won the tolerance of those around him but never their respect. His wife told him he was an idiot every morning, and his coworkers laughed at him behind his back.
That was why he did not call home. On some level, he wanted to spite the ungrateful bitch of a woman he had married, and by not telling her he would be late, by not telling her he would not be home to eat the dinner she prepared, he could have a momentary comfort until he arrived and had to deal with her nagging. Then he would meekly apologize, say it would not happen again, and do it the very next day.
Instead, Kevin stared at his laptop screen. The liquid crystal display was a blank, cold black like the night sky was becoming outside. The screen was turned off. He simply stared at it, an uncaring glaze over his eyes. When his top boss, a fat little man named Robert Lovac, walked by his opened office door, the forty-six year-old man typed away at the turned off laptop to provide a facsimile of working.
However, Lovac, instead of walking by with only a curious glance at Kevin, as though he were an amusing little animal or a disfigured accident victim, as he always did, the boss stopped in the doorway and looked inside. The short, fat man sighed and glanced over the balding man. ³Hey, Kevin,² he said in a tone laden with a false friendliness. ³We need to have a talk sometime.²
A talk? Kevinıs eyebrows perked at this. This was different.
³Oh, um, yes, sir,² the man replied meekly. ³Iım free to talk at any time you like, Mister Lovac.²
The other businessman laughed, but in a way that was haughty. He did decide when Kevin was free to talk. The fat, short man nodded his head again, the rolls of his chins pushing up into himself. ³Come on, Kevin. We can talk over dinner,² he said. ³Itıs on me.²
³Yes, sir.² Kevin pretended to save the work on his laptop and moved his finger to its power button, as though he turned it off. He folded the display down, and then stood up. After a few minutes, Lovac had led him from the workplace, out the lobby of his skyscraper, and onto the sidewalk of Keasbey Street. They only walked a short distance before the shorter man stopped at a storefront, and turned around to nod at his employee. His generosity of giving Kevin a free meal was at the smallest, slimiest, and overall worst diner on Keasbey Street.
³Here we are!² Lovac said with a faked merriness. It was as though this were some sort of real treat. He opened the door after Kevin murmured his faint thanks, and followed him inside. Kevin found himself surrounded by grime-crusted floors, darkly painted walls, and a stench of the smoke of bad cigarettes. The stock broker did not frown, even if he wanted to. Lovac grabbed him by the arm and started to pull him towards one of the booths. ³You can seat yourself here.²
Kevin did not bother pulling his arm free, and sat down at the booth. Lovac sat across from them. The boss opened his mouth, and started to speak in the same fake tone of voice. ³So, howıs the wife, Kevin?²
³Fine, sir,² he replied in a drone-like manner.
³The kid?²
³Fine, sir.²
Lovac was beginning to look a little defeated. ³Everything else?²
³Fine, sir.²
It was an automated, meaningless exchange. Kevin felt vaguely grateful as a portly, beastly waitress waddled her way to the booth. She put two glasses of ice water, both with spots on them and an unhealthy tan shade to the drink inside, onto the table. Her glare at the two men said that she would brook no questioning of it. Kevin took his and drank from it. It tasted horrible. Lovacıs glass remained untouched.
³What do you want?² she said. She looked expectantly at the two men. The boss motioned at Kevin with one hand, indicating for him to order first.
³The beef and potatoes skillet,² the man said. ³And a cup of coffee.²
³The rib eye steak,² Lovac added on. ³The same for me, with cream.²
³All right.² The waitress did not sound particularly pleased to take their order. She scribbled it down on a notepad, and then tucked it inside a pocket on her apron. The woman turned her wide girth around, and then walked off without another word. Lovac continued to smile pleasantly, as though the service was ideal instead of the insulting presentation they had received.
³You hear about that blizzard that might blow in on New Yearıs Day?² the boss asked. It was a stupid statement. A low-pressure system in the mountains northwest of the city had brewed up, and it was moving steadily westward. In a couple of nights, the fury of a cold nature would be upon the city. Kevin offered a simple, bored nod as his response to Lovac. The boss continued as though he were talking to a wall. ³They say itıs going to hit below ten. Really damn cold. I bet all of my plants will die.²
Kevin had been Lovacıs house, and seen his plants. They were Hoplite Biotech-engineered, from grass blades to rose bushes, and he was fairly sure that nothing short of orbital bombardment could kill them. It was nothing native to the cold, windy, and rocky landscape of Zozo. He simply shrugged his shoulders, bored with this line of conversation.
³So, Kevin,² Lovac said, when he got no real response from his employee. His hand moved the glass of tainted ice water across the table, leaving a slimy streak of condensation on the vinyl covering of the tabletop. ³Thereıs something you should know with the Leman deal.² That was one of the biggest deals that the Hastings Investment Company had. It was being done on behalf of Leman Imports, and even Kevin knew that corporation was an investment of the Bandorini crime family in Zozo. He also knew there were some shady dealings behind it the Bandorinis were going to sell their company, right before they revealed that it was going under. Insider trading was considerably illegal in the Esper Union, but it would hurt another investor in the company, the Bandorinisı rivals: the Maughlin crime family.
³What about it?² Kevin asked. ³Hasnıt it gone through?²
³Yeah. Leman goes under in three days,² the boss replied. ³But weıve got a problem. The Maughlins found out about what weıre doing. Itıs too late to stop the deal, though. Theyıve lost their millions, and the Bandorinis are keeping any firm from selling their stock in the company.²
The stock broker frowned. That was bad if the crime family had lost their money, which was in millions of geld, then they would want revenge. ³But theyıre going to be angry, sir. What happens when they find out who did it?²
Lovacıs reply was quick and lost the false warmth and camaraderie it held before. ³Thatıs why we need someone to take the fall.²
Kevin could see where this was going. ³And thatıs me.²
³Yeah.² Lovac was hardly pulling his punches. ³Youıve got two more days left. Midnight of the New Year? The Maughlins are gonna kill you.²
Kevin stared at him. He had brought him to this shithole of a diner to tell him he had sold him out, and that while the company and his coworkers got rich, he would be put six feet under the ground. The stock broker said nothing in response to his betrayal. He just stared forward with his tired, lifeless blue eyes. There was only a slight twinge of his eyebrows that hinted at the feelings inside him. He tried to force them down, to keep his exterior up, to not let it all come boiling over.
³So, Dorman.² The short, fat man shrugged. ³What are you gonna do, now?²
Kevinıs eyes shot out of the front window of the diner. An Esperian Motor Works 37 Regal Cutlass was parked outside, next to a parking meter. It was painted in a light tan color, and was kept up marginally well with. He narrowed his eyes, and then looked back at Lovac. His tone was as it always was: quiescent, weakened, and defeated. ³I think²
Lovac watched coldly. It was as if Kevin was a dying animal on a video.
The taller stock brokerıs lips twisted into a smile. ³You know, I donıt know what Iım going to do yet, Lovac. Itıs kind of sad. Iım forty-six years old, Iım getting a bit of a gut, and Iım gonna die three nights from now. I have no idea what to do with my life.² The boss squirmed backward in his seat, moving up against it rather uncomfortably. ³But I do know two things. You wanna know what they are?²
He did not bother waiting for the shorter man to respond. ³The first is that Iım fucking fired.² He laughed in his former employerıs face, and swept his arm across the table. The two filthy glasses of water toppled, and spilled their contents over the table. The man squirmed further, glaring at Kevin now. ³And the second, Lovac? The second is that you should have given me a car in that parking garage under our building. Because thatıs where your car is, and my carıs that EMW piece of shit outside.² He waved to the vehicle dismissively, and it drew Lovacıs attention for a moment. ³Wanna know why?²
He again did not wait, cutting the other stock broker off as he tried to ask. ³Because I know where your house is, you fat son of a bitch. Iım going to drive the fuck down there, and Iım going to piss on your lawn.²
³Youıre going to what?² Lovac barked out, disbelieving.
Kevin bolted from the table, calling back to his boss as he did so. ³Iım going to piss on your lawn!²
* * *
Kevin knew his world was falling apart as he drove his four door sedan down the entrance ramp of Highway 33 and onto Bradley Boulevard. It was a broad avenue that led into a suburb some half an hour from Keasbey Street. Oak trees lined the road, reaching up and creating black patterns across the skies with their barren limbs. He cut a sharp right onto Oakwind Drive, leading him into a subdivision sharing the name of its central road. He did not bother minding the speed, going a good twenty miles over it. He hung a sharp left onto Maplesweet Road and slowed down, scanning each of the houses in turns.
A good drive, at ninety miles per hour on average, down the highway had given him enough time to think. Everyone that he had worked with had sold him out to the Maughlin crime family. His life was over. If he told the police, everyone at the office would go to prison and then the Bandorini crime family would have him dead for robbing them of millions. It would be revenge, but Kevin knew one thing about that sort of revenge. It was not sweet-tasting enough for him. He wanted something that would make each and every one of the executives at Hastings Investment Company to regret what they did for the rest of their lives. At the moment, however, Kevin wanted something else.
³I want a fucking parking spot,² he growled to himself. ³They never build enough goddamned parking spots. This is why Iım through with bullshit like parking spots. Iım going to free myself, and park wherever I goddamned please.² He veered his car sharply to the right, very suddenly. The wheels of the sedan rolled up over the curb of the suburbıs street two houses into it, and onto the grass.
He threw the door open, and stepped onto the lawn. The man stretched his arms, regarding the white house in front of him, before looking at his car. It was at an odd angle on the lawn, and had left two deep, muddy ruts cut across the lawn. Kevin laughed loudly. ³So, this is what freedom feels like.²
It was already biting cold outside. The winter night had a sharp, painful chill to it that was already making Kevinıs skin ache. He turned towards the rose bushes of the house, which seemed pristine and quite alive despite the temperatures being at least a few degrees below freezing. No natural plant could do that. Kevin sighed at the injustice of genetic engineering, and walked towards the plants. He unzipped his pants, and soiled the bushes with his urine.
The front door to the house was thrown open, and a middle-aged woman stormed out. She was Lovacıs wife. He looked over to see her face become an expression of pure shock and rage. She was in a bathrobe and house slippers, and her flabby, large body began to flail across the lawn at him. He hastily mad himself decent, and then backed away from her. ³Kevin!² she screamed at him. ³Kevin, you sick son of a bitch! What did you do to my lawn? What the fuck is your car doing in my yard?²
³Iım pissing on it, and I needed a parking space,² Kevin replied with a sigh. It was all very obvious to him. ³What does it look like Iım doing?²
³A parking space?² the woman snarled. ³The drivewayıs empty!²
³The drivewayıs boring!² Kevin shouted back at her.
She turned and looked at her ruined rose bushes. ³And these! These were two hundred geld each! Theyıre genetically engineered and fertilized to look this beautiful, and your piss is all over them!²
The wind was picking up, tearing through the thin fabric of his button-up dress shirt and causing his skin to chill. It only furthered his anger and his stupor. He reached down to a bush, grabbing it by the base, and then snapped violently. The woman shrieked as the plant was decapitated in a single, violent motion. Its thorns tore into the skin on his hand, but he failed to bring himself to care. ³I guess they werenıt engineered to deal with piss or me ripping them up, were they?² Kevin said with a harsh laugh. ³But you know what I think, Misses Lovac?²
She screamed wordlessly, and started to charge him.
³I think that youıre a fucking idiot! These goddamned plants arenıt real!² He swung the bush at her and knocked her onto her hindquarters. The thorns left cuts and scrapes in her skin, and she stared up at him in shock. ³Youıre just living a sweet little lie about how these fucking things are beautiful. Theyıre goddamned plants! And if theyıre so expensive, then why? Why, you fat whore?²
³Why, what?² the woman howled back at him.
³Why arenıt they fucking inside the house?² he snarled. He hurled the rose bush through one of the windows. It collapsed inward in a spray of broken glass and tore down the curtains framed around it. A scream came from the inside of the house as the plant landed, soaked in urine and now quite broken, in the middle of their living room. ³The storm will fucking kill them, you stupid bitch!²
The woman stood up and ran to the shattered window, looking inside to find that her living room had been messily decorated with ripped apart rose petals, shorn off leaves, pieces of branches and thorns, and a good amount of Kevinıs urine. She screamed again, while the man turned around. A 41 WR silver Kuat Valkyrie, a two-seater sports car of the finest make, was driving down the street and honking its horn.
Kevin sighed. Lovac had arrived.
He stepped inside the driverıs side of his car, having left the door open. The man slammed it shut and started his engine again. He threw the gear into reverse and then pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The 37 WR EMW flew backward, off the lawn and the curb, and slammed into the side of the Valkyrie. Its tires squealed as it was thrown over the street.
Lovac rolled his window down and started screaming. Kevin did the same, throwing his head out of the opened window. ³Oops!² he shouted. ³Sorry about that! I didnıt see you there!²
³Dorman!² Lovac shouted. ³Iıll call the fucking police!²
³So I can mention the bit about insider trading and having me killed, you fat fuck?² Kevin shouted back. ³Thanks! Great idea!²
Lovac growled. Kevin threw the transmission into drive, and hit the gas again. The car took over down the street, reaching thirty miles per hour in a few seconds. The spurned stock broker laughed and reached for the dial to his radio. He needed some good music right about now.
A good drive, at ninety miles per hour on average, down the highway had given him enough time to think. Everyone that he had worked with had sold him out to the Maughlin crime family. His life was over. If he told the police, everyone at the office would go to prison and then the Bandorini crime family would have him dead for robbing them of millions. It would be revenge, but Kevin knew one thing about that sort of revenge. It was not sweet-tasting enough for him. He wanted something that would make each and every one of the executives at Hastings Investment Company to regret what they did for the rest of their lives. At the moment, however, Kevin wanted something else.
³I want a fucking parking spot,² he growled to himself. ³They never build enough goddamned parking spots. This is why Iım through with bullshit like parking spots. Iım going to free myself, and park wherever I goddamned please.² He veered his car sharply to the right, very suddenly. The wheels of the sedan rolled up over the curb of the suburbıs street two houses into it, and onto the grass.
He threw the door open, and stepped onto the lawn. The man stretched his arms, regarding the white house in front of him, before looking at his car. It was at an odd angle on the lawn, and had left two deep, muddy ruts cut across the lawn. Kevin laughed loudly. ³So, this is what freedom feels like.²
It was already biting cold outside. The winter night had a sharp, painful chill to it that was already making Kevinıs skin ache. He turned towards the rose bushes of the house, which seemed pristine and quite alive despite the temperatures being at least a few degrees below freezing. No natural plant could do that. Kevin sighed at the injustice of genetic engineering, and walked towards the plants. He unzipped his pants, and soiled the bushes with his urine.
The front door to the house was thrown open, and a middle-aged woman stormed out. She was Lovacıs wife. He looked over to see her face become an expression of pure shock and rage. She was in a bathrobe and house slippers, and her flabby, large body began to flail across the lawn at him. He hastily mad himself decent, and then backed away from her. ³Kevin!² she screamed at him. ³Kevin, you sick son of a bitch! What did you do to my lawn? What the fuck is your car doing in my yard?²
³Iım pissing on it, and I needed a parking space,² Kevin replied with a sigh. It was all very obvious to him. ³What does it look like Iım doing?²
³A parking space?² the woman snarled. ³The drivewayıs empty!²
³The drivewayıs boring!² Kevin shouted back at her.
She turned and looked at her ruined rose bushes. ³And these! These were two hundred geld each! Theyıre genetically engineered and fertilized to look this beautiful, and your piss is all over them!²
The wind was picking up, tearing through the thin fabric of his button-up dress shirt and causing his skin to chill. It only furthered his anger and his stupor. He reached down to a bush, grabbing it by the base, and then snapped violently. The woman shrieked as the plant was decapitated in a single, violent motion. Its thorns tore into the skin on his hand, but he failed to bring himself to care. ³I guess they werenıt engineered to deal with piss or me ripping them up, were they?² Kevin said with a harsh laugh. ³But you know what I think, Misses Lovac?²
She screamed wordlessly, and started to charge him.
³I think that youıre a fucking idiot! These goddamned plants arenıt real!² He swung the bush at her and knocked her onto her hindquarters. The thorns left cuts and scrapes in her skin, and she stared up at him in shock. ³Youıre just living a sweet little lie about how these fucking things are beautiful. Theyıre goddamned plants! And if theyıre so expensive, then why? Why, you fat whore?²
³Why, what?² the woman howled back at him.
³Why arenıt they fucking inside the house?² he snarled. He hurled the rose bush through one of the windows. It collapsed inward in a spray of broken glass and tore down the curtains framed around it. A scream came from the inside of the house as the plant landed, soaked in urine and now quite broken, in the middle of their living room. ³The storm will fucking kill them, you stupid bitch!²
The woman stood up and ran to the shattered window, looking inside to find that her living room had been messily decorated with ripped apart rose petals, shorn off leaves, pieces of branches and thorns, and a good amount of Kevinıs urine. She screamed again, while the man turned around. A 41 WR silver Kuat Valkyrie, a two-seater sports car of the finest make, was driving down the street and honking its horn.
Kevin sighed. Lovac had arrived.
He stepped inside the driverıs side of his car, having left the door open. The man slammed it shut and started his engine again. He threw the gear into reverse and then pressed his foot down hard on the gas pedal. The 37 WR EMW flew backward, off the lawn and the curb, and slammed into the side of the Valkyrie. Its tires squealed as it was thrown over the street.
Lovac rolled his window down and started screaming. Kevin did the same, throwing his head out of the opened window. ³Oops!² he shouted. ³Sorry about that! I didnıt see you there!²
³Dorman!² Lovac shouted. ³Iıll call the fucking police!²
³So I can mention the bit about insider trading and having me killed, you fat fuck?² Kevin shouted back. ³Thanks! Great idea!²
Lovac growled. Kevin threw the transmission into drive, and hit the gas again. The car took over down the street, reaching thirty miles per hour in a few seconds. The spurned stock broker laughed and reached for the dial to his radio. He needed some good music right about now.
* * *
In one, long drive down Highway 33 Southbound, everything had come together for Kevin Dorman. He had the crime against him laid out in his mind, and its perpetrators were already convicted and sentenced. Those sentences simply required an execution. The plan of that execution was now ready for him to put into action. In a matter of two hours in which he had neglected to even consider calling home he had figured the entirety of his plan out.
The skyline of Zozo was before him, and he knew those great steel and glass towers were on Keasbey Street. That awesome boulevard, where so much power and such a lack of it were gathered into one place, was where he was heading now. It was all so very right to him. His eyes watched as each green sign mounted on framework over the road, with white letters illuminated brilliantly by his headlights, passed over him. He would go to Keasbey Street, and get ready for a New Yearıs no one would forget.
His cell phone was whipped out quickly. He may not have been on the lower rung of his trade, but a stock broker still made a good share of money. The bank he had it invested in was Rausendorf Interdimensional Bank, and its headquarters in Esper were situated in North Hosluftgrad. The business day was just starting half way across the planet. He dialed the number to their headquarters, to the banker he had worked with for years.
³Kevin, Kevin, Kevin,² the voice of Greg Baker came over the other end of the line. ³Glad to see youıre calling. Whatıs up, buddy?²
³Greg, I donıt have time for bullshit.²
The man on the other end was surprised. ³Whatıs up, Kev?²
³The fanıs at full blast and the shit is already flying,² Kevin said. His voice was jumpy, even excited. ³Iım cutting Nora off. Cut her out of the account.²
The banker interjected quickly. Any of the suaveness that had been in his voice before was now long gone, replaced by a rather frantic and panicked sounding man. Kevin was not entirely sure why. ³Kev, it doesnıt work like that. Did you divorce³
³I donıt give a fuck,² the former stock broker shot right back in. ³I have cancer of the giving a fuck right now. If the rules donıt play that way, then donıt play by the rules. Change my account numbers, cancel all of my credit cards, and send her a bank statement with fuck you, harpyı printed up on it. Because the rules have just left the goddamned building, Greg, and youıre gonna follow them if you donıt break them.²
³All right, all right,² the banker consented. ³Itıs done. They have to be you to access the account in any way. Your checks wonıt be accepted anywhere, the credit cards are cancelled, and no one can touch your money but you.²
³And the bank statement?²
Greg laughed, but it faded off as he awkwardly realized that Kevin was being entirely serious. ³No can do, buddy. What else?²
³Set aside fifty thousand,² Kevin commanded. ³New account. Under my sonıs and my name. Get me the best interest rate youıve gotten.²
³Itıs done,² Greg replied. His furious typing could be heard through the phone.
³I want the rest of it in two briefcases sitting at your Zozo branch at eight in the morning tomorrow. It is not to leave, under any circumstances, until I pick it up. I will be waiting for them when they open the doors,² the driving man stated. He spotted the sign for Keasbey Street, and swung his car onto the entrance ramp. ³You have one last task to take care of, Greg. Wire some money to the Imperial Suites on Keasbey Street, and get me their best fucking suite.²
³All right, Kev.² The banker let out a sigh of relief. ³Itıs done.²
³See you at my funeral,² Kevin replied. The banker started to protest, but he flipped the lid of cell phone shut and cut the man off. He tossed the phone into the passenger side of his car, and brought the vehicle onto Keasbey Street. After the offices had shut down, the usual traffic of people was gone. Only a few offices were lit up on the towering skyscrapers, and a few forgotten dregs and down-on-their-luck people were ambling over the sidewalks. He spotted one of the few lit up buildings ahead, with a gilded entrance way and waiting bellhops.
He parked the car in front of it, and slung the driverıs door open. As he walked around the back end of his vehicle, he saw that he had smashed it up fairly well. Both of the tail lights and brake lights were busted out. A valet was walking towards him. Kevin nodded to him, and tossed him the keys and a few coins of geld. ³Take care of her.²
³You got it, sir.² The young man stepped into his car.
A bellhop then followed suit, as his car was started and drove down the street. The parking garageıs entrance was behind the building. The red-uniformed man glanced once at Kevin. ³You have any bags, sir?²
³No, kid,² Kevin replied. He shoved a generous tip into the boyıs hand. ³Just the biggest suite in the fucking hotel.²
The skyline of Zozo was before him, and he knew those great steel and glass towers were on Keasbey Street. That awesome boulevard, where so much power and such a lack of it were gathered into one place, was where he was heading now. It was all so very right to him. His eyes watched as each green sign mounted on framework over the road, with white letters illuminated brilliantly by his headlights, passed over him. He would go to Keasbey Street, and get ready for a New Yearıs no one would forget.
His cell phone was whipped out quickly. He may not have been on the lower rung of his trade, but a stock broker still made a good share of money. The bank he had it invested in was Rausendorf Interdimensional Bank, and its headquarters in Esper were situated in North Hosluftgrad. The business day was just starting half way across the planet. He dialed the number to their headquarters, to the banker he had worked with for years.
³Kevin, Kevin, Kevin,² the voice of Greg Baker came over the other end of the line. ³Glad to see youıre calling. Whatıs up, buddy?²
³Greg, I donıt have time for bullshit.²
The man on the other end was surprised. ³Whatıs up, Kev?²
³The fanıs at full blast and the shit is already flying,² Kevin said. His voice was jumpy, even excited. ³Iım cutting Nora off. Cut her out of the account.²
The banker interjected quickly. Any of the suaveness that had been in his voice before was now long gone, replaced by a rather frantic and panicked sounding man. Kevin was not entirely sure why. ³Kev, it doesnıt work like that. Did you divorce³
³I donıt give a fuck,² the former stock broker shot right back in. ³I have cancer of the giving a fuck right now. If the rules donıt play that way, then donıt play by the rules. Change my account numbers, cancel all of my credit cards, and send her a bank statement with fuck you, harpyı printed up on it. Because the rules have just left the goddamned building, Greg, and youıre gonna follow them if you donıt break them.²
³All right, all right,² the banker consented. ³Itıs done. They have to be you to access the account in any way. Your checks wonıt be accepted anywhere, the credit cards are cancelled, and no one can touch your money but you.²
³And the bank statement?²
Greg laughed, but it faded off as he awkwardly realized that Kevin was being entirely serious. ³No can do, buddy. What else?²
³Set aside fifty thousand,² Kevin commanded. ³New account. Under my sonıs and my name. Get me the best interest rate youıve gotten.²
³Itıs done,² Greg replied. His furious typing could be heard through the phone.
³I want the rest of it in two briefcases sitting at your Zozo branch at eight in the morning tomorrow. It is not to leave, under any circumstances, until I pick it up. I will be waiting for them when they open the doors,² the driving man stated. He spotted the sign for Keasbey Street, and swung his car onto the entrance ramp. ³You have one last task to take care of, Greg. Wire some money to the Imperial Suites on Keasbey Street, and get me their best fucking suite.²
³All right, Kev.² The banker let out a sigh of relief. ³Itıs done.²
³See you at my funeral,² Kevin replied. The banker started to protest, but he flipped the lid of cell phone shut and cut the man off. He tossed the phone into the passenger side of his car, and brought the vehicle onto Keasbey Street. After the offices had shut down, the usual traffic of people was gone. Only a few offices were lit up on the towering skyscrapers, and a few forgotten dregs and down-on-their-luck people were ambling over the sidewalks. He spotted one of the few lit up buildings ahead, with a gilded entrance way and waiting bellhops.
He parked the car in front of it, and slung the driverıs door open. As he walked around the back end of his vehicle, he saw that he had smashed it up fairly well. Both of the tail lights and brake lights were busted out. A valet was walking towards him. Kevin nodded to him, and tossed him the keys and a few coins of geld. ³Take care of her.²
³You got it, sir.² The young man stepped into his car.
A bellhop then followed suit, as his car was started and drove down the street. The parking garageıs entrance was behind the building. The red-uniformed man glanced once at Kevin. ³You have any bags, sir?²
³No, kid,² Kevin replied. He shoved a generous tip into the boyıs hand. ³Just the biggest suite in the fucking hotel.²
* * *
Kevin had spent his first day of unemployment undergoing the preparations of his plan. A few drinks and a nightıs sleep had given him some lucidity when he woke up, but he found his resolve remained unchanged. He went through with the preparations, and had two briefcases filled with thousands of geld sitting inside his hotel room. He had also gotten a new haircut and a new suit. That had led him, twenty-four hours after he found out he was going to die, to sit in the finest restaurant on Keasbey Street.
It was a high-rise establishment, situated on the top floor of the Mayharbor Building. The five-star restaurant occupied an entire floor and rotated, once per hour, to give a full view of the city. Kevin sat at one of the two-person mahogany tables near one of the windows, and currently had a view of Zozo International Spaceport. The runway lights illuminated great strips of land, and he could see a large passenger plane preparing to land in the clear skies above.
He had a glass of water on the table, but it was nothing like the filth he had been served in the diner the day before. He took a drink from it, and glanced away from the window. An older man, with a full but well-trimmed beard, was walking towards his table under the escort of one of the waiters. He was underdressed, wearing only a button-up shirt, khaki slacks, and a tie put on as if it were an uncertain afterthought.
Kevin grinned at the man. ³Dad.²
The waiter pulled the other chair at the table out and nodded once to the former stock broker, before excusing himself. The older man sat down and looked at Kevin with a rather bewildered look. ³Hello, Kevin² his voice trailed off. He paused. ³Whatıs going on? Nora called me and said you didnıt come home last night.²
³Itıs over,² the son stated. ³I just havenıt gotten around to telling her yet.²
The older man blinked in surprise. ³You might want to do that, sometime.²
He had never liked Kevinıs wife. There had been a time when this had bothered the man, but now he understood why. What was there to like about an obsessive, overbearing harpy without an ounce of love, decency, or tenderness in her? That was what made the younger man laugh. ³If I have time for it,² he replied noncommittally. ³Anyways. Iıve ordered you some filet mignon and the best Tasnican beer in the house.²
³That has to be around fifty geld!² the other man said with a shocked look. ³You canıt just spend that kind of money?²
Kevin shrugged. ³Itıs on me. Eat it or itıll get cold.²
His father stared at him, but nodded his head slowly. Kevin knew he was unnerving him, but there was a thing that he had to tell the other man. A mistake had been made many years ago, and the time had come to address it. That time was running out, and for the first time since he had been told, it was striking the former stock broker just how little time he had left.
The bearded man finally spoke. ³Whatıs going on, Kevin?²
³Do you remember how, when I was eighteen,² Kevin began, pausing to take a sip of his water, ³you told me that I needed to get the hell away from Keasbey Street?²
³Yeah.² The father tried to put on a warm smile. ³I guess I was wrong. Look what youıve become³
³Iıd rather not,² Kevin shot in quickly, and just a little harshly. ³You were right, to the end, Dad. I remember exactly what you said, back then. Every word of it.² He remembered standing on the driveway to his home, with the rusty old automobile he owned then having his worldly possessions packed in tightly. His father had been stronger and taller then, and before he left for college to seek a degree in business, he had told him one last thing. Kevin said the same words aloud in that high-class restaurant, as Keasbey Streetıs buildings began to rotate into their view. ³ıEveryone here is a beggar or a hooker. Donıt come back here, or you will be, too,ı is what you said. And you were right. I was a beggar until two days ago.²
³Son³
³You know itıs the truth,² Kevin insisted.
³But you rose above it!² the father nearly shouted back at his son. ³You sat on a tower, not down there with the rest of us in the family! You rose above it!²
³Rising above it isnıt escaping it,² the former stock broker said. ³It just means I get a harder fall when it all comes tumbling down.²
³Youıve always seen only your failures, and never looked at your successes.² The older man sighed and shook his head. He had a defeated look to his eyes nonetheless. Kevin knew part of the man knew his son was right. He continued just the same. He had always been loath to let him throw the towel in. ³Whateverıs happened, whatever it is, you can overcome it.²
³Maybe in the next life, my triumphs will come before my sins.² Kevin moved his hand to gesture out the window. They had an oblique view of Keasbey Street, with its majestic towers hiding the squalor both of them knew lay below. The lights of passing cars filled the street as the last of the rush hour traffic left it, and started to move back to homes that could not be far enough away. ³But that world will never let me have such grace. Iıll just say this. A dealıs gone bad, and Iım the one everyoneıs throwing out as the sacrificial lamb.²
His fatherıs eyes widened. ³Youıre marked.²
³Yeah, by the Maughlins,² Kevin replied. ³Iıve got two more nights, and then Iım a goner. And you know what this has all made me realize?²
The old man placed his face in his hands, and refused to indulge him by asking him what. Kevin sighed and continued after an awkward pause. ³Itıs made me realize that I never did choose how I lived. Iıve let them push me around and make my mind up for me. Iıve let everyone do that,² the man said. He laughed bitterly. ³I used to have some fire in me when I was a kid. When I was tough. When I was strong. But not anymore. So now, Iım going to reserve the right to choose how I die.²
³Thereıs nothing you can do, is there?² the elder man asked. His voice was choked with anger.
³Not a thing. But Iım going to give you something to do.² Kevin reached into his suit coat and pulled out a bundle of geld, though it was wrapped up in one of the hand towels of the hotel. He slid it across the table. ³This street is killing you, Dad. Just like it killed Mom, and just like itıs killing my brother and my sister. I want you to get out. Thatıs enough money to let you do it.²
His father started to protest, but Kevin waved it aside with one hand. He then took it, and nodded his head. After a moment, he then spoke again, though it was hesitant and his tone had filled with a defeated sadness. ³How are you going to die, then, son?²
³When those Maughlin bastards come for me, Iıll be sitting at my desk. Iım going to have a gun in one hand, a warm drink in the other, and Iıll be wearing a bulletproof vest.²
It was a high-rise establishment, situated on the top floor of the Mayharbor Building. The five-star restaurant occupied an entire floor and rotated, once per hour, to give a full view of the city. Kevin sat at one of the two-person mahogany tables near one of the windows, and currently had a view of Zozo International Spaceport. The runway lights illuminated great strips of land, and he could see a large passenger plane preparing to land in the clear skies above.
He had a glass of water on the table, but it was nothing like the filth he had been served in the diner the day before. He took a drink from it, and glanced away from the window. An older man, with a full but well-trimmed beard, was walking towards his table under the escort of one of the waiters. He was underdressed, wearing only a button-up shirt, khaki slacks, and a tie put on as if it were an uncertain afterthought.
Kevin grinned at the man. ³Dad.²
The waiter pulled the other chair at the table out and nodded once to the former stock broker, before excusing himself. The older man sat down and looked at Kevin with a rather bewildered look. ³Hello, Kevin² his voice trailed off. He paused. ³Whatıs going on? Nora called me and said you didnıt come home last night.²
³Itıs over,² the son stated. ³I just havenıt gotten around to telling her yet.²
The older man blinked in surprise. ³You might want to do that, sometime.²
He had never liked Kevinıs wife. There had been a time when this had bothered the man, but now he understood why. What was there to like about an obsessive, overbearing harpy without an ounce of love, decency, or tenderness in her? That was what made the younger man laugh. ³If I have time for it,² he replied noncommittally. ³Anyways. Iıve ordered you some filet mignon and the best Tasnican beer in the house.²
³That has to be around fifty geld!² the other man said with a shocked look. ³You canıt just spend that kind of money?²
Kevin shrugged. ³Itıs on me. Eat it or itıll get cold.²
His father stared at him, but nodded his head slowly. Kevin knew he was unnerving him, but there was a thing that he had to tell the other man. A mistake had been made many years ago, and the time had come to address it. That time was running out, and for the first time since he had been told, it was striking the former stock broker just how little time he had left.
The bearded man finally spoke. ³Whatıs going on, Kevin?²
³Do you remember how, when I was eighteen,² Kevin began, pausing to take a sip of his water, ³you told me that I needed to get the hell away from Keasbey Street?²
³Yeah.² The father tried to put on a warm smile. ³I guess I was wrong. Look what youıve become³
³Iıd rather not,² Kevin shot in quickly, and just a little harshly. ³You were right, to the end, Dad. I remember exactly what you said, back then. Every word of it.² He remembered standing on the driveway to his home, with the rusty old automobile he owned then having his worldly possessions packed in tightly. His father had been stronger and taller then, and before he left for college to seek a degree in business, he had told him one last thing. Kevin said the same words aloud in that high-class restaurant, as Keasbey Streetıs buildings began to rotate into their view. ³ıEveryone here is a beggar or a hooker. Donıt come back here, or you will be, too,ı is what you said. And you were right. I was a beggar until two days ago.²
³Son³
³You know itıs the truth,² Kevin insisted.
³But you rose above it!² the father nearly shouted back at his son. ³You sat on a tower, not down there with the rest of us in the family! You rose above it!²
³Rising above it isnıt escaping it,² the former stock broker said. ³It just means I get a harder fall when it all comes tumbling down.²
³Youıve always seen only your failures, and never looked at your successes.² The older man sighed and shook his head. He had a defeated look to his eyes nonetheless. Kevin knew part of the man knew his son was right. He continued just the same. He had always been loath to let him throw the towel in. ³Whateverıs happened, whatever it is, you can overcome it.²
³Maybe in the next life, my triumphs will come before my sins.² Kevin moved his hand to gesture out the window. They had an oblique view of Keasbey Street, with its majestic towers hiding the squalor both of them knew lay below. The lights of passing cars filled the street as the last of the rush hour traffic left it, and started to move back to homes that could not be far enough away. ³But that world will never let me have such grace. Iıll just say this. A dealıs gone bad, and Iım the one everyoneıs throwing out as the sacrificial lamb.²
His fatherıs eyes widened. ³Youıre marked.²
³Yeah, by the Maughlins,² Kevin replied. ³Iıve got two more nights, and then Iım a goner. And you know what this has all made me realize?²
The old man placed his face in his hands, and refused to indulge him by asking him what. Kevin sighed and continued after an awkward pause. ³Itıs made me realize that I never did choose how I lived. Iıve let them push me around and make my mind up for me. Iıve let everyone do that,² the man said. He laughed bitterly. ³I used to have some fire in me when I was a kid. When I was tough. When I was strong. But not anymore. So now, Iım going to reserve the right to choose how I die.²
³Thereıs nothing you can do, is there?² the elder man asked. His voice was choked with anger.
³Not a thing. But Iım going to give you something to do.² Kevin reached into his suit coat and pulled out a bundle of geld, though it was wrapped up in one of the hand towels of the hotel. He slid it across the table. ³This street is killing you, Dad. Just like it killed Mom, and just like itıs killing my brother and my sister. I want you to get out. Thatıs enough money to let you do it.²
His father started to protest, but Kevin waved it aside with one hand. He then took it, and nodded his head. After a moment, he then spoke again, though it was hesitant and his tone had filled with a defeated sadness. ³How are you going to die, then, son?²
³When those Maughlin bastards come for me, Iıll be sitting at my desk. Iım going to have a gun in one hand, a warm drink in the other, and Iıll be wearing a bulletproof vest.²
* * *
Kevin left the restaurant a good ten minutes after his father had. It was already approaching ten after eight by the time he had walked onto Keasbey Street, and it was clear that the great blizzard was preparing to begin. The sky directly overhead still had that fresh, crisp, and clear look of a winter night. The stars shined brightly, brilliant pinpoints on the canvas of the night that called out to the lonely street below. It was in the distance that the brewing storm was visible.
The great peaks of Zozo concealed the northern horizon, whether they were the natural ones of the Galahad Mountains or the manmade ones of Keasbey Streetıs financial district. Behind them, however, a brewing storm front was visible. The darkness of night tried to conceal it, but it would not be so. Flashes of lightning illuminated the curves of the large clouds with not only brilliant explosions of lightning, but also with majestic thunderclaps that could be heard even from the great distance of Keasbey Street. That street would be in the middle of an unforgiving, vicious tempest in two daysı time.
Nothing would stop it, Kevin knew. It happened once every couple of decades or so, when something so terrible would blow in and shatter the realities of this world. The snow and ice would rain down, and freeze the city in place. It was in that small handful of hours, though, when the snow was coming down and the ground freezing over, that the chaos began and the rules of society ended.
The last time was when Kevin had been in his twenties. During that time, the poor and the forgotten rose up. Even the skyscrapers had been sacked, then. Men and women took to the streets and became as animals, taking whatever they wished from any place they happened across. Those were times that every social scientist, every politician, every man of the cloth, and every rich man tried to put aside.
They were men that showed themselves to perhaps lack that civilization historians prided themselves on for developing, and that sociologists prided themselves on maintaining. Government was powerless to stop a force of sentience turned feral, and its best police and soldiers could not stop the mobs and the looters.
Kevin walked from the front of the building the restaurant had been in, feeling the sharp and icy wind that was now coming off the mountains and whipping through the streets of Zozo with a high-pitched whine. That was the storm that no weather man would dare report on.
The violence would begin a new year for Keasbey Street. Kevin knew he had seen how that storm would pass. It would be in blood, as the forces that enforced stability with their own brand of organized chaos, would force the rising surge of anger and something baser back down. That was the beautiful irony of the whole thing, Kevin thought as he walked down the lonely sidewalk. It would not be destroyed, nor it would it be cured. It could not be. It would simply be forced to smolder, until the next time that it could flare up.
When it was gone, a few days would go by while solemn commentary was offered to explain it and sad tears would be shed to regret what had passed. But Kevin knew that was false. The loss of something like that would ultimately be forgotten. In the end, what would make it important and give it significance would be in the violence and the insanity of that moment. Nothing would successfully explain why it happened, because mankind could not deal with the truth of it. This was something that Kevin knew. To do so would unravel society.
He looked back above him. The lights of the stars began to be obscured by the first slivers of clouds from the coming storm. He had much to do before it came, still, but he was closer to being ready.
He had less and less time.
The great peaks of Zozo concealed the northern horizon, whether they were the natural ones of the Galahad Mountains or the manmade ones of Keasbey Streetıs financial district. Behind them, however, a brewing storm front was visible. The darkness of night tried to conceal it, but it would not be so. Flashes of lightning illuminated the curves of the large clouds with not only brilliant explosions of lightning, but also with majestic thunderclaps that could be heard even from the great distance of Keasbey Street. That street would be in the middle of an unforgiving, vicious tempest in two daysı time.
Nothing would stop it, Kevin knew. It happened once every couple of decades or so, when something so terrible would blow in and shatter the realities of this world. The snow and ice would rain down, and freeze the city in place. It was in that small handful of hours, though, when the snow was coming down and the ground freezing over, that the chaos began and the rules of society ended.
The last time was when Kevin had been in his twenties. During that time, the poor and the forgotten rose up. Even the skyscrapers had been sacked, then. Men and women took to the streets and became as animals, taking whatever they wished from any place they happened across. Those were times that every social scientist, every politician, every man of the cloth, and every rich man tried to put aside.
They were men that showed themselves to perhaps lack that civilization historians prided themselves on for developing, and that sociologists prided themselves on maintaining. Government was powerless to stop a force of sentience turned feral, and its best police and soldiers could not stop the mobs and the looters.
Kevin walked from the front of the building the restaurant had been in, feeling the sharp and icy wind that was now coming off the mountains and whipping through the streets of Zozo with a high-pitched whine. That was the storm that no weather man would dare report on.
The violence would begin a new year for Keasbey Street. Kevin knew he had seen how that storm would pass. It would be in blood, as the forces that enforced stability with their own brand of organized chaos, would force the rising surge of anger and something baser back down. That was the beautiful irony of the whole thing, Kevin thought as he walked down the lonely sidewalk. It would not be destroyed, nor it would it be cured. It could not be. It would simply be forced to smolder, until the next time that it could flare up.
When it was gone, a few days would go by while solemn commentary was offered to explain it and sad tears would be shed to regret what had passed. But Kevin knew that was false. The loss of something like that would ultimately be forgotten. In the end, what would make it important and give it significance would be in the violence and the insanity of that moment. Nothing would successfully explain why it happened, because mankind could not deal with the truth of it. This was something that Kevin knew. To do so would unravel society.
He looked back above him. The lights of the stars began to be obscured by the first slivers of clouds from the coming storm. He had much to do before it came, still, but he was closer to being ready.
He had less and less time.
* * *
The nearest gun store to Keasbey Street was two blocks away from his hotel. It would be closing at ten oıclock, and only fifteen minutes remained when Kevin walked inside of it. It was typical of the operations ran by legalized weapons dealers of the Esper Union: a small, single room with a number of displays, and then the weaponry lined in glass cases behind the counter. A tired-looking clerk was standing behind the counter, wearing a dirtied sleeveless shirt and filth-encrusted blue jeans.
A cigarette hung from his lips, and filled the store with his stench.
Walking into such a store with the suit he had worn earlier that evening, Kevin drew a surprised stare from the clerk. He also carried one of his briefcases with him, which he had stopped by the hotel to pick up. The former stock broker nodded once and glanced around the store. These had been the places his father had warned him about, and part of his mind was sickened by entering such an establishment. He ignored it, but it did keep him from politely examining the merchandise to walk immediately to the counter.
The clerk studied him for a moment. His tone of voice was put-off, even impolite. ³What can I do for you?²
³I need a gun,² Kevin said. ³The best one you have.²
³You a citizen of the Union?² the clerk asked in a lazy drawl. Being an adult citizen was all that an Esperian needed to buy a firearm. A number of them were former government issue weapons, though the military-grade weaponry was by and large reserved for extensive background checks and whatnot. Kevin pulled his national identification card from his wallet, and demonstrated it to the clerk.
³Going hunting?² the dirty young man asked.
Kevin nodded. ³Yeah. You might say that.²
The clerk drew a drag on his cigarette, and blew a puff of smoke outward. It came uncomfortably close to Kevinıs face, and the man winced and blanched a bit. A slight, cruelly amused smirk came to the other manıs unshaven face. He refrained from laughing, however, and spoke on. ³Whatıre you hunting?²
³A few assholes,² the former stock broker replied. ³You got anything for that?²
The clerk frowned a bit. ³You know, I see blokes like you showing up in here all the time,² the man said. He took another drag on his cigarette, closing his eyes as he blew another cloud of putrid smoke all too close to Kevinıs face. ³You think youıre tough shit, getting down and dirty with us punks on the street, because some motherfucker did you wrong and you wanna put a bullet in his brain. Well, guess what, asshole? Just because you buy a gun doesnıt mean youıre like me.²
³Iım plenty like you,² Kevin snorted. ³Weıre all the same. Itıs just that until a day or two ago, I had it in my head that the shit I was swimming in was made of gold.²
³Had some kind of epiphany, huh?² the other man inquired. He was studying Kevin with a lazy, disapproving glance.
³Had an epiphany shoved on me, yeah,² the former stock broker replied.
³All right, then, cowboy.² The clerk chuckled sharply, as though he were amused by something that he had said. Kevin could not grasp quite what was so funny, but the former businessman laughed along with him anyways. The dirtied man placed his hands flat on the counter and puffed on his cigarette. He was sizing Kevin up. ³Throw down. Letıs see what you can put on the table.²
Kevin took the briefcase in his hand placed it on the glass counter. The clerk blinked a few times, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, and then widened them as the briefcase was opened. Inside was row after row of Tasnican-minted geld pieces, silver-colored paper slips with the face of Celiose Cole imprinted upon them. He whistled lowly. ³The whole farm,² Kevin said. ³Fifty thousand.²
³Well, shit on me,² the clerk said in a low, quiet voice. He spoke a little louder. ³I think Iıve got a good deal for you, then.²
³Throw in a bulletproof vest, too,² Kevin stated.
³Done. Let me see, now.² The clerk took a set of keys from underneath the cash register, and turned around. A set of sealed off metal drawers was behind him, and he placed the key inside one of their locks and turned it. ³This shit is illegal, but you know what? Most things involving fifty thousand geld are.² He opened it and drew out a lockbox, freshly covered in a chrome finish. A pair of keys on a ring was next to it, and he took a key and placed it into the lockbox.
He turned the keys, and the lock tumbled. The clerk opened the box up, and inside was a rather large handgun in a chrome finish much like the box. The words ³Eagle Research² were printed along the side. Sixteen large, .44 caliber bullets were situated inside the velvet interior of the box, each in their own slot.
³Holy shit,² Kevin said in awe. ³A Desert Wyvern.²
³Damn right,² the clerk replied. ³Howıs it look?²
Kevin grabbed the pistol in one hand, and lifted it up. He tested it, moving it around as though he were handling a particularly fragile piece of fine china, and then spun it once over his finger. The weight and power of the weapon was all too apparent, just by holding it. The former stock broker nodded once. ³I think this thing is going to do nicely,² Kevin said. ³Very nicely. We have ourselves a deal.²
A cigarette hung from his lips, and filled the store with his stench.
Walking into such a store with the suit he had worn earlier that evening, Kevin drew a surprised stare from the clerk. He also carried one of his briefcases with him, which he had stopped by the hotel to pick up. The former stock broker nodded once and glanced around the store. These had been the places his father had warned him about, and part of his mind was sickened by entering such an establishment. He ignored it, but it did keep him from politely examining the merchandise to walk immediately to the counter.
The clerk studied him for a moment. His tone of voice was put-off, even impolite. ³What can I do for you?²
³I need a gun,² Kevin said. ³The best one you have.²
³You a citizen of the Union?² the clerk asked in a lazy drawl. Being an adult citizen was all that an Esperian needed to buy a firearm. A number of them were former government issue weapons, though the military-grade weaponry was by and large reserved for extensive background checks and whatnot. Kevin pulled his national identification card from his wallet, and demonstrated it to the clerk.
³Going hunting?² the dirty young man asked.
Kevin nodded. ³Yeah. You might say that.²
The clerk drew a drag on his cigarette, and blew a puff of smoke outward. It came uncomfortably close to Kevinıs face, and the man winced and blanched a bit. A slight, cruelly amused smirk came to the other manıs unshaven face. He refrained from laughing, however, and spoke on. ³Whatıre you hunting?²
³A few assholes,² the former stock broker replied. ³You got anything for that?²
The clerk frowned a bit. ³You know, I see blokes like you showing up in here all the time,² the man said. He took another drag on his cigarette, closing his eyes as he blew another cloud of putrid smoke all too close to Kevinıs face. ³You think youıre tough shit, getting down and dirty with us punks on the street, because some motherfucker did you wrong and you wanna put a bullet in his brain. Well, guess what, asshole? Just because you buy a gun doesnıt mean youıre like me.²
³Iım plenty like you,² Kevin snorted. ³Weıre all the same. Itıs just that until a day or two ago, I had it in my head that the shit I was swimming in was made of gold.²
³Had some kind of epiphany, huh?² the other man inquired. He was studying Kevin with a lazy, disapproving glance.
³Had an epiphany shoved on me, yeah,² the former stock broker replied.
³All right, then, cowboy.² The clerk chuckled sharply, as though he were amused by something that he had said. Kevin could not grasp quite what was so funny, but the former businessman laughed along with him anyways. The dirtied man placed his hands flat on the counter and puffed on his cigarette. He was sizing Kevin up. ³Throw down. Letıs see what you can put on the table.²
Kevin took the briefcase in his hand placed it on the glass counter. The clerk blinked a few times, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, and then widened them as the briefcase was opened. Inside was row after row of Tasnican-minted geld pieces, silver-colored paper slips with the face of Celiose Cole imprinted upon them. He whistled lowly. ³The whole farm,² Kevin said. ³Fifty thousand.²
³Well, shit on me,² the clerk said in a low, quiet voice. He spoke a little louder. ³I think Iıve got a good deal for you, then.²
³Throw in a bulletproof vest, too,² Kevin stated.
³Done. Let me see, now.² The clerk took a set of keys from underneath the cash register, and turned around. A set of sealed off metal drawers was behind him, and he placed the key inside one of their locks and turned it. ³This shit is illegal, but you know what? Most things involving fifty thousand geld are.² He opened it and drew out a lockbox, freshly covered in a chrome finish. A pair of keys on a ring was next to it, and he took a key and placed it into the lockbox.
He turned the keys, and the lock tumbled. The clerk opened the box up, and inside was a rather large handgun in a chrome finish much like the box. The words ³Eagle Research² were printed along the side. Sixteen large, .44 caliber bullets were situated inside the velvet interior of the box, each in their own slot.
³Holy shit,² Kevin said in awe. ³A Desert Wyvern.²
³Damn right,² the clerk replied. ³Howıs it look?²
Kevin grabbed the pistol in one hand, and lifted it up. He tested it, moving it around as though he were handling a particularly fragile piece of fine china, and then spun it once over his finger. The weight and power of the weapon was all too apparent, just by holding it. The former stock broker nodded once. ³I think this thing is going to do nicely,² Kevin said. ³Very nicely. We have ourselves a deal.²
* * *
Kevin could not quite say what it was that drew him to a lonely night club on the corner of Keasbey Street and another of less magnitude and even less importance. It had been there as long as he knew, and yet, he had never been in it. It was named by a small neon sign that dubbed it as The Calligraphy Club.ı Its lettering was vaguely in the style of Xsian characters, but the inside held nothing of its theme thick smoke, pumping music and a dim, purple motif were all that marked it.
It was karaoke night, but somehow, there was a persistent feeling that the dancers inside did not particularly care. Mediocre voices rose above music that was only more than average by a hair. He stood in the entrance and watched the spectacle for a moment, with people mulling about in a half-inspired attempt at living their lives to their fullest. It was depressing, somehow.
The former stock broker took a few steps further inside. The reason he had come here was that, in his forty-six years of life, it was the only building on Keasbey Street he had not somehow been inside. That had given it a sort of subtle mysticism, as though a lonely nightclub would somehow break from the rules of Keasbey Streetıs realities. He found nothing of the sort. This sort of dull lifelessness, of going through the motions, was all a part of Keasbey Street.
That aspect of it was why he stayed. He was looking at a microcosm of that street.
He walked towards the bar. A man in his thirties was standing behind it and wiping glasses off with a rag. There were no patrons sitting at the bar, but a few men looking it over expectantly, as though they did not know whether or not they wanted a drink. Kevin took a seat at a barstool, and the bartender glanced towards him.
³You look kind of old, compared to everyone else in here,² the bartender said. He placed a freshly cleaned glass down on the bar. ³Whatıll it be?²
³Whiskey on the rocks,² the former stock broker said. He looked around the room for a moment. Most of those in there were in their twenties or perhaps thirties. Another time, when he was younger, he might have enjoyed such a place. The man slightly grinned at the bartender. ³Yeah, I guess I am. But Iım in the mood to do a little reliving of the past. Or maybe what the past might have been.²
³Sounds a bit defeatist,² the bartender stated. ³Life giving you trouble.²
Kevin grinned knowingly. ³Always.²
³I hear you, brother, I hear you.² The tender threw a few ice cubes inside the glass, and then took a dark bottle with a tan label on it. He poured it into the glass, filling it about three-fourths of the way, and then smoothly slid it across the bar. Kevin caught it with his hand and took a good gulp of the drink. It burnt the whole way down, like any good whiskey should.
³Yeah,² Kevin grunted with the weight of the whiskey still on him. ³Itıs been one of those weeks. When you wake up, realize everything is shit, and that you hate half of the people you know. Ever had one of those?²
The bartender blinked. ³Canıt say that I have.²
³Huh,² the other man murmured. ³I guess itıs because it tends to end with you getting killed. Iım scheduled to go tomorrow.²
³You know, you seem awfully happy for a guy thatıs about to die,² the bartender mused. Kevin laughed a bit, and then took another drink from his whiskey. It had the same powerfully sour taste as before. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, and the bartender continued speaking. ³But not like youıve given up or just thrown in the towel. Whatıs the deal?²
Kevin mused that question over. He looked over his shoulder, at the lifelessness of the people behind him. He then looked back to the bartender. ³So, while youıre sitting here giving assholes like me a drink, do you ever look back at them?² Kevin asked. He waved his hand at the heartless dancing and reverie. ³Because theyıre not doing anything. Theyıre just pretending to have fun, like theyıre pretending to be alive. Thereıs something about this street, this whole city, that just eats people alive. And this is what we have left. People who canıt fucking dance.²
³Yeah,² the bartender replied. His voice sounded grim. ³Whatıs that have to do with you?²
³Iım getting out of it, and Iım going to show everyone just what the fuck theyıre doing,² Kevin responded. He finished the last of his whiskey off, and slid the glass back to the bartender. The man looked down at it, uncertain of whether he was finished with the drink or whether he wanted another. The former stock broker offered no hint of it, instead continuing to speak. ³Iım gonna fail. Theyıre never going to realize this. But maybe theyıll get a hint.²
³Sounds insane.² The bartender slightly smiled.
³Thereıs a fine line between insanity and a bad idea,² Kevin replied. ³But I think itıs going to matter to someone. Maybe somebodyıs going to look at my corpse and think, I donıt want to be this fucker.ı If they do, thatıs what counts.
³Well, good luck to you.²
The song began to wind down, and the singer, a young woman who looked too tired to be inspired, stepped from the stage after thanking an unresponsive audience. The couples and groups began to split up and mull aimlessly over the cramped, all too small dance floor. Kevin sighed. This was no way for a club to be going about things. The bartender glanced towards him. ³Hey, buddy. Maybe you can liven this place up. You ever do any singing?²
Kevin stood up. ³I pick up quick.²
³Go for it, buddy,² the bartender answered.
The former stock broker moved around the edges of the crowd like a man possessed. He took the stage like a storm, throwing a hand on it and hurtling his feet onto the wooden planks of the stage. One of the disc jockeys blinked at him as he stood to his full height and adjusted his suit. Kevin approached the two men at a booth, laden with stereo equipment. ³You two know that song, Sweetness Follows?ı² Kevin asked. It was an older one. ³Iıll give that a shot.²
³Yeah, sure, man,² one of the DJs said. He pressed a button, and nodded to Kevin. A microphone was handed over. ³Watch the screen there. Itıll have the lyrics.² The former stock broker did not bother to point out that he knew the lyrics of the song by heart. ³Youıre on in fifteen seconds.²
Kevin took the mike, and turned around. He took a few steps to an audience unaware of his existence. The opening chords to the song were rather somber, which grabbed their attention quickly. The loud, pulsing beats or the elegant, soft melodies of the songs usually listened to in the club had become an ignored element, any energy they had lost on the people. The song he had requested had a somber, but demanding presence, and it drew the audience together. Kevin began to sing, in a slow and somewhat talented voice, but it was clear enough for each word to be heard and felt.
³Readying to bury your father and your mother,
³What did you think when you lost another?
³I used to wonder, why did you bother,
³Distanced from one, blind to another?²
³Listen here my sister and my brother,
³What would you care if you lost the other?
³I always wonder why did we bother,
³Distanced from one, deaf to the other.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.²
The songıs slow tone was not reminiscent of the modern pop songs, but paid homage to an older Esperian tradition. Perhaps it was some of that spirit of their ancestors being brought to life, Kevin could not help but think, as couples reformed on the dance floor and began to dance. It was lifeless as it had been, at first, but the words of the song and the simple, but strong melody managed to bring some life into them bit by bit. The movement was slow, but it rose in strength with each step.
³Itıs these little things, they can pull you under.
³Live your life filled with joy and wonder.
³I always knew this altogether thunder
³Was lost in our little lives.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.²
The dancing crowd, while deprived of the false speed they had before, moved with more and more certainty. Perhaps their dance was slower, less extravagant than before, but it held a greater energy to it. It ran deeper, and it stood more confident than it did before. Kevin was convinced that it was not his lackluster singing talent, which was no more or less remarkable than the ones before him, but instead the song.
³Itıs these little things, they can pull you under.
³Live your life with joy and thunder.
³Yeah, yeah, we were altogether
³Lost in our little lives.
³Oh, oh, ah.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.²
The song wound down with a long, low whistling. The entranced crowd took a moment, even after it ended, to break apart. As Kevin lowered the microphone, he found himself treated to one of the few spectacles in this world: that of a roomful of people moved by something that ran deeper than words, and deeper than the reality around them. The sight of the room was the same, filled with its smoke, but the people in no longer had a dull lethargy to them. They were, however briefly, awakened to something more. It was enough to take the manıs breath away.
He knew, then, that he was ready to die.
It was karaoke night, but somehow, there was a persistent feeling that the dancers inside did not particularly care. Mediocre voices rose above music that was only more than average by a hair. He stood in the entrance and watched the spectacle for a moment, with people mulling about in a half-inspired attempt at living their lives to their fullest. It was depressing, somehow.
The former stock broker took a few steps further inside. The reason he had come here was that, in his forty-six years of life, it was the only building on Keasbey Street he had not somehow been inside. That had given it a sort of subtle mysticism, as though a lonely nightclub would somehow break from the rules of Keasbey Streetıs realities. He found nothing of the sort. This sort of dull lifelessness, of going through the motions, was all a part of Keasbey Street.
That aspect of it was why he stayed. He was looking at a microcosm of that street.
He walked towards the bar. A man in his thirties was standing behind it and wiping glasses off with a rag. There were no patrons sitting at the bar, but a few men looking it over expectantly, as though they did not know whether or not they wanted a drink. Kevin took a seat at a barstool, and the bartender glanced towards him.
³You look kind of old, compared to everyone else in here,² the bartender said. He placed a freshly cleaned glass down on the bar. ³Whatıll it be?²
³Whiskey on the rocks,² the former stock broker said. He looked around the room for a moment. Most of those in there were in their twenties or perhaps thirties. Another time, when he was younger, he might have enjoyed such a place. The man slightly grinned at the bartender. ³Yeah, I guess I am. But Iım in the mood to do a little reliving of the past. Or maybe what the past might have been.²
³Sounds a bit defeatist,² the bartender stated. ³Life giving you trouble.²
Kevin grinned knowingly. ³Always.²
³I hear you, brother, I hear you.² The tender threw a few ice cubes inside the glass, and then took a dark bottle with a tan label on it. He poured it into the glass, filling it about three-fourths of the way, and then smoothly slid it across the bar. Kevin caught it with his hand and took a good gulp of the drink. It burnt the whole way down, like any good whiskey should.
³Yeah,² Kevin grunted with the weight of the whiskey still on him. ³Itıs been one of those weeks. When you wake up, realize everything is shit, and that you hate half of the people you know. Ever had one of those?²
The bartender blinked. ³Canıt say that I have.²
³Huh,² the other man murmured. ³I guess itıs because it tends to end with you getting killed. Iım scheduled to go tomorrow.²
³You know, you seem awfully happy for a guy thatıs about to die,² the bartender mused. Kevin laughed a bit, and then took another drink from his whiskey. It had the same powerfully sour taste as before. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, and the bartender continued speaking. ³But not like youıve given up or just thrown in the towel. Whatıs the deal?²
Kevin mused that question over. He looked over his shoulder, at the lifelessness of the people behind him. He then looked back to the bartender. ³So, while youıre sitting here giving assholes like me a drink, do you ever look back at them?² Kevin asked. He waved his hand at the heartless dancing and reverie. ³Because theyıre not doing anything. Theyıre just pretending to have fun, like theyıre pretending to be alive. Thereıs something about this street, this whole city, that just eats people alive. And this is what we have left. People who canıt fucking dance.²
³Yeah,² the bartender replied. His voice sounded grim. ³Whatıs that have to do with you?²
³Iım getting out of it, and Iım going to show everyone just what the fuck theyıre doing,² Kevin responded. He finished the last of his whiskey off, and slid the glass back to the bartender. The man looked down at it, uncertain of whether he was finished with the drink or whether he wanted another. The former stock broker offered no hint of it, instead continuing to speak. ³Iım gonna fail. Theyıre never going to realize this. But maybe theyıll get a hint.²
³Sounds insane.² The bartender slightly smiled.
³Thereıs a fine line between insanity and a bad idea,² Kevin replied. ³But I think itıs going to matter to someone. Maybe somebodyıs going to look at my corpse and think, I donıt want to be this fucker.ı If they do, thatıs what counts.
³Well, good luck to you.²
The song began to wind down, and the singer, a young woman who looked too tired to be inspired, stepped from the stage after thanking an unresponsive audience. The couples and groups began to split up and mull aimlessly over the cramped, all too small dance floor. Kevin sighed. This was no way for a club to be going about things. The bartender glanced towards him. ³Hey, buddy. Maybe you can liven this place up. You ever do any singing?²
Kevin stood up. ³I pick up quick.²
³Go for it, buddy,² the bartender answered.
The former stock broker moved around the edges of the crowd like a man possessed. He took the stage like a storm, throwing a hand on it and hurtling his feet onto the wooden planks of the stage. One of the disc jockeys blinked at him as he stood to his full height and adjusted his suit. Kevin approached the two men at a booth, laden with stereo equipment. ³You two know that song, Sweetness Follows?ı² Kevin asked. It was an older one. ³Iıll give that a shot.²
³Yeah, sure, man,² one of the DJs said. He pressed a button, and nodded to Kevin. A microphone was handed over. ³Watch the screen there. Itıll have the lyrics.² The former stock broker did not bother to point out that he knew the lyrics of the song by heart. ³Youıre on in fifteen seconds.²
Kevin took the mike, and turned around. He took a few steps to an audience unaware of his existence. The opening chords to the song were rather somber, which grabbed their attention quickly. The loud, pulsing beats or the elegant, soft melodies of the songs usually listened to in the club had become an ignored element, any energy they had lost on the people. The song he had requested had a somber, but demanding presence, and it drew the audience together. Kevin began to sing, in a slow and somewhat talented voice, but it was clear enough for each word to be heard and felt.
³Readying to bury your father and your mother,
³What did you think when you lost another?
³I used to wonder, why did you bother,
³Distanced from one, blind to another?²
³Listen here my sister and my brother,
³What would you care if you lost the other?
³I always wonder why did we bother,
³Distanced from one, deaf to the other.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.²
The songıs slow tone was not reminiscent of the modern pop songs, but paid homage to an older Esperian tradition. Perhaps it was some of that spirit of their ancestors being brought to life, Kevin could not help but think, as couples reformed on the dance floor and began to dance. It was lifeless as it had been, at first, but the words of the song and the simple, but strong melody managed to bring some life into them bit by bit. The movement was slow, but it rose in strength with each step.
³Itıs these little things, they can pull you under.
³Live your life filled with joy and wonder.
³I always knew this altogether thunder
³Was lost in our little lives.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.²
The dancing crowd, while deprived of the false speed they had before, moved with more and more certainty. Perhaps their dance was slower, less extravagant than before, but it held a greater energy to it. It ran deeper, and it stood more confident than it did before. Kevin was convinced that it was not his lackluster singing talent, which was no more or less remarkable than the ones before him, but instead the song.
³Itıs these little things, they can pull you under.
³Live your life with joy and thunder.
³Yeah, yeah, we were altogether
³Lost in our little lives.
³Oh, oh, ah.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.
³Oh, oh, but sweetness follows.²
The song wound down with a long, low whistling. The entranced crowd took a moment, even after it ended, to break apart. As Kevin lowered the microphone, he found himself treated to one of the few spectacles in this world: that of a roomful of people moved by something that ran deeper than words, and deeper than the reality around them. The sight of the room was the same, filled with its smoke, but the people in no longer had a dull lethargy to them. They were, however briefly, awakened to something more. It was enough to take the manıs breath away.
He knew, then, that he was ready to die.
* * *
It was the last day of Kevin Dormanıs life, and the first of the New Year.
The late evening sky was covered by light grey clouds that were threatening to grow even heavier, as he stood on the metal platform of one of Zozoıs light rail stations. It was a few blocks from Keasbey Street, and provided a view of the clustered low-lying buildings that formed the boroughs nestled around the great towers of Keasbey Street. Those glimmering giants of steel were still quite visible in the distance, but Kevin had his back turned to them for the moment.
There was a feeling of dread, for the first time since that fateful night in the diner, in the pit of his stomach. Something was rising up, and he knew that the end was approaching. He had completed his preparations, save for one thing, and that was the thing he had no control over. Since his epiphany, he had found that the idea of losing control was something he hated to its core, but here, his fate was in the hands of another. It was a cold, windy day. The first few flakes of snow were already falling.
He was waiting for someone, and if he did not come soon, then he would not. Everyone in the city knew that violence was prepared to erupt.
The whistle of a light rail train approaching came. Kevin turned his head to the left, and he could see one approaching. Its headlights were slightly illuminating the platform as the sky above darkened. Kevinıs breath caught. If he did not arrive with this car, then Kevin would have to assume his message never arrived or that it was being ignored. He would have to go back to the beginning, after this.
With a mechanical hiss and a whine, the car rested before him. His eyes fell upon the sliding, dust-covered doors of the rail car as they slid open. People began to file out, and his eyes scanned them. He suddenly felt very old, waiting in the cold wind like this, and knowing that the end to his life was growing closer and closer. He felt as he could only imagine as his father did, watching people go past, and knowing that he would be beyond them in a matter of time.
The poor bastard.
And then he spotted Brian Dorman, his own son of sixteen, step from one of the cars. The boy was in a heavy coat and carried himself proudly, though his cheeks were ruddy with the cold and his ears and hair covered by a hat pulled down around him. Kevin waved a hand into the air, and the boy looked over to him. He blinked a few times, and then walked towards him.
³Dad.² His tone was not particularly forgiving. ³Whereıve you been? Momıs been³
³Thereıs no time to talk about your mother,² the father replied. He sighed and shook his head. The light rail train that had brought him there was already whisking away. ³Brian, thereıs not any time at all.²
³What the hell are you talking about?² the teenager asked. He crossed his arms over his chest.
³I got sold out by that son of a bitch, Lovac,² Kevin replied. He paid his son a quick, stern glance. It was not to scold him, but to let him know of the gravity of the situation. It was all too effective. The accusatory look on his sonıs face faded into a softer, if a little angered all the same, expression. ³Heıs got the Maughlins on me. I donıt have much time. Five minutes, at most, and I want you out of here before the rioting starts up.²
³Wait, what are you talking about?² The boy now sounded worried, and for a moment, Kevin regretted what was happening. But he knew there was nothing to be done, and resolved himself even if he protested with all of his heart. ³Dad, what the hell are you talking about?²
³There just isnıt time,² Kevin replied hurriedly. He needed to move away from this subject, to cut off the natural response before it could happen. ³I want to tell you something, Brian. A piece of advice.²
Brian hesitated, before nodding. ³All right.²
³Kid, this place is hell,² Kevin said. His voice was resolute, heartfelt, and perhaps even more than it had the night before when he sang inside the club. He looked forward with a steady gaze that he forced on himself. ³I mean that in the literal sense. Youıre still young. Get out of Keasbey Street. Get out of Zozo. Before this place eats you alive, because it will. Promise me that. Promise me youıll get the hell out of here.²
His son was staring at him, as another whistle announced the arrival of a second light rail. Kevin scowled at it. The boy was going to have to go on that one, to get out of the city before the riots began. Snowflakes were falling faster, and the wind was whipping, even tearing at the people on the platform now. Brian slowly nodded his head. ³All right, Dad. I will.²
The train slowed to a stop, and Kevin pushed the boy back towards it. ³Good. Now, get a move on, before this city goes to shit.² He put on a ghost of his usual grin. ³And tell your mother² He hesitated for a moment. ³Tell her I said that Iım sorry.²
Brian Dorman stared at his father, and never had a chance to say goodbye as he pushed him all the way onto the train. He managed a wave as the doors to the train slid shut with a hiss. Kevin watched with tired eyes as the train flew off, moving down the tracks and towards the north. It rounded a corner, and then disappeared. It was only then that Kevin turned, and began walking for the stairway that would lead down to the streets below. He had one, last place to go to.
³My, my, my,² he said to himself. His tone was not resigned. ³How the time does fly, when you know youıre going to die by the end of the night.²
The late evening sky was covered by light grey clouds that were threatening to grow even heavier, as he stood on the metal platform of one of Zozoıs light rail stations. It was a few blocks from Keasbey Street, and provided a view of the clustered low-lying buildings that formed the boroughs nestled around the great towers of Keasbey Street. Those glimmering giants of steel were still quite visible in the distance, but Kevin had his back turned to them for the moment.
There was a feeling of dread, for the first time since that fateful night in the diner, in the pit of his stomach. Something was rising up, and he knew that the end was approaching. He had completed his preparations, save for one thing, and that was the thing he had no control over. Since his epiphany, he had found that the idea of losing control was something he hated to its core, but here, his fate was in the hands of another. It was a cold, windy day. The first few flakes of snow were already falling.
He was waiting for someone, and if he did not come soon, then he would not. Everyone in the city knew that violence was prepared to erupt.
The whistle of a light rail train approaching came. Kevin turned his head to the left, and he could see one approaching. Its headlights were slightly illuminating the platform as the sky above darkened. Kevinıs breath caught. If he did not arrive with this car, then Kevin would have to assume his message never arrived or that it was being ignored. He would have to go back to the beginning, after this.
With a mechanical hiss and a whine, the car rested before him. His eyes fell upon the sliding, dust-covered doors of the rail car as they slid open. People began to file out, and his eyes scanned them. He suddenly felt very old, waiting in the cold wind like this, and knowing that the end to his life was growing closer and closer. He felt as he could only imagine as his father did, watching people go past, and knowing that he would be beyond them in a matter of time.
The poor bastard.
And then he spotted Brian Dorman, his own son of sixteen, step from one of the cars. The boy was in a heavy coat and carried himself proudly, though his cheeks were ruddy with the cold and his ears and hair covered by a hat pulled down around him. Kevin waved a hand into the air, and the boy looked over to him. He blinked a few times, and then walked towards him.
³Dad.² His tone was not particularly forgiving. ³Whereıve you been? Momıs been³
³Thereıs no time to talk about your mother,² the father replied. He sighed and shook his head. The light rail train that had brought him there was already whisking away. ³Brian, thereıs not any time at all.²
³What the hell are you talking about?² the teenager asked. He crossed his arms over his chest.
³I got sold out by that son of a bitch, Lovac,² Kevin replied. He paid his son a quick, stern glance. It was not to scold him, but to let him know of the gravity of the situation. It was all too effective. The accusatory look on his sonıs face faded into a softer, if a little angered all the same, expression. ³Heıs got the Maughlins on me. I donıt have much time. Five minutes, at most, and I want you out of here before the rioting starts up.²
³Wait, what are you talking about?² The boy now sounded worried, and for a moment, Kevin regretted what was happening. But he knew there was nothing to be done, and resolved himself even if he protested with all of his heart. ³Dad, what the hell are you talking about?²
³There just isnıt time,² Kevin replied hurriedly. He needed to move away from this subject, to cut off the natural response before it could happen. ³I want to tell you something, Brian. A piece of advice.²
Brian hesitated, before nodding. ³All right.²
³Kid, this place is hell,² Kevin said. His voice was resolute, heartfelt, and perhaps even more than it had the night before when he sang inside the club. He looked forward with a steady gaze that he forced on himself. ³I mean that in the literal sense. Youıre still young. Get out of Keasbey Street. Get out of Zozo. Before this place eats you alive, because it will. Promise me that. Promise me youıll get the hell out of here.²
His son was staring at him, as another whistle announced the arrival of a second light rail. Kevin scowled at it. The boy was going to have to go on that one, to get out of the city before the riots began. Snowflakes were falling faster, and the wind was whipping, even tearing at the people on the platform now. Brian slowly nodded his head. ³All right, Dad. I will.²
The train slowed to a stop, and Kevin pushed the boy back towards it. ³Good. Now, get a move on, before this city goes to shit.² He put on a ghost of his usual grin. ³And tell your mother² He hesitated for a moment. ³Tell her I said that Iım sorry.²
Brian Dorman stared at his father, and never had a chance to say goodbye as he pushed him all the way onto the train. He managed a wave as the doors to the train slid shut with a hiss. Kevin watched with tired eyes as the train flew off, moving down the tracks and towards the north. It rounded a corner, and then disappeared. It was only then that Kevin turned, and began walking for the stairway that would lead down to the streets below. He had one, last place to go to.
³My, my, my,² he said to himself. His tone was not resigned. ³How the time does fly, when you know youıre going to die by the end of the night.²
* * *
Kevin rounded a corner, and began to walk down the length of Keasbey Street. In the walk from the light rail station, night had began to fall over the city of Zozo. A full blizzard was raging, now, as wind tore through the streets and between the skyscrapers. It whined and howled furiously, and it blew in torrents of snow and sleet. Ice was forming over the sidewalk, and snow was falling in flurries around him. Soon, this place would be frozen, but it was making up for it.
The people had taken to the streets. Power had been knocked out an hour ago, leaving only the bare necessities of the city to run still. No lights were visible on the towering skyscrapers, and the storefronts were devoid of any lights to say if they dared to stay open. That did not stop the people of Zozo from going to those stores. He watched as a few of them shattered a window to an electronics store, and then began to haul out televisions, computers, and stereo equipment.
The Calligraphy Club was being invaded, and Kevin could swear he saw some of the patrons from before entering it. The glass doors to it were shattered and torn off their frames, left unceremoniously in the street. There was no sign of the police to stop the event, save for a police car that had been taken care of already: it was tipped over on its side, crushed against the street and with the snow gathering on it already.
Kevin walked past it, and continued down the street.
He could see the entrance to the hotel the restaurant he and his father had dined in, across the street from him. It was kicked in and people were rushing into it. A few valuables from it were already being rushed away to waiting cars by looters. A couple of those cars, however, had been set ablaze. Amidst tearing winds and roaring snow flurries, the fires made an odd paradox, but the raging storm was not to be stopped.
It would only be natureıs fury that would stop the riots. He could hear screams and shouts from not far away. Massive hordes of people were going to converge, homeless, poor, and luckier people coming together for sheer violence in the hours preceding the storm.
A fire hydrant some distance away had been torn down. Why, Kevin could not guess, but it was gushing out a geyser of water. As the droplets hit the concrete, they froze on the ground and created a sheet of ice over the sidewalks and the street.
The Imperial Suites, where Kevin had stayed before, were under a veritable assault. The hotel had a throng of people around it, and the stock broker walked past a group of them that had shoved the bellhop he had seen before on the ground. His face was a barely recognizable, bloodied pulp as he was kicked and beaten. His red uniform was tattered and wet with the snow and ice raining from the thundering skies overhead. The former stock broker refused to intervene, even as he screamed for help.
He glanced towards the entrance to the hotel. It was torn apart, and a car had been driven through the glass panes along it. People were rushing inward, and flames could be seen towering upward inside of it. Fire was engulfing the plush lobby of the suites. Kevin winced, once, but continued down the street.
It was all as he predicted. As he approached the entrance to the Del Mio Building, he saw that the doorway had been ripped apart. The first looters had already been inside, and there was no sign of the usual security teams. Perhaps they had joined them. Kevin glanced once at the diner next to it. It was being torn down, the staff that remained inside shoved out into the street or joining the looters in ripping it apart.
Kevin walked inside of the Del Mio Building. The lobby was torn apart, with snow and ice being blown in and whisking around. Potted plants were overturned, and the computers at the receptionistıs desk were torn away and disregarded. The former stock broker passed the abandoned station, and entered the stairway. The lights of the building were off, and he knew it had power. He began climbing set after set of stairs, until he reached the sixth floor.
A few beads of sweat were dripping down his face as he walked inside an abandoned hallway. The bulletproof vest he wore underneath his shirt made things feel all too hot once he was out of the effects of the winter storm outside. He could still hear it tearing through the city, both as the screams and sirens of the riots and the howling winds and ice rain of the great blizzard. He could see that no looters had come this far.
Kevin found the door to his office open. There was no one present in the offices around his. The usual staff had long since left. He would leave them something for when they returned to work. The man stepped inside, and walked to his desk. His laptop was left where it was, its top closed down. The man kicked his feet up on the desk, and then opened a drawer on his desk. He left a whiskey bottle inside, and took it out. He took the bottle top off, and took a swig of the stuff.
It burned with its sourness, as it had the night before.
The former stock broker reached into the heavy coat he wore, and drew out his Desert Wyvern. It was loaded and prepared, now, and he pointed it experimentally to the door of the office. The man simply then waited, sitting as desk, as the sounds of the violence outside ensued. Night fell completely, but he could see the shadows generated by burning property reflecting even from his window. Sirens wailed and screams echoed throughout the streets, even as the blizzard intensified. He heard the ice pelt his window, but did not turn to pay it heed.
After an hour and a half, five men walked up to his office. Kevin smiled at them, broadly and confidently. His Desert Wyvern fell upon them.
³Happy News Years,² he said in a pleasant tone. ³Kevin Dorman.²
³Rob Maughlin,² replied the lead man. He glanced nervously at the barrel of the Desert Wyvern, but did his best to sound intimidating. ³You sure as hell made it hard for us to find you, Kevin. What the fuck gives?²
³I wanted to give the bastards working here a little holiday treat,² the former stock broker replied. ³My rotting corpse, a nice police investigation, and then a good, hearty prison sentence for conspiracy for murder, as well as ripping you fine gentlemen off. How do you like my Desert Wyvern?²
³Sounds like youıre a sick fuck.² Maughlin drew out a long pistol himself, and Kevin raised an eyebrow. His men started to do the same when Kevin pulled the trigger, and the manıs chest transformed into a bloody mess as the magnum round tore into it. His back exploded in a spray of blood and bone, and the gangster collapsed to the ground in a twitching fit of looming death.
³Guess so,² Kevin replied. A gunshot rang out from a surprised gangster, but it hit the stock brokerıs chest and his bulletproof vest. It kept it from penetrating his flesh, but the roundıs force still knocked the wind out of him. He fired again, and a second gangsterıs kneecap was torn away. The lower part of his leg flew away unceremoniously, and he collapsed to the ground with a scream.
The other men were better prepared. They had sub-machineguns, the Stanton kinds that Kevin knew the Esper United Soldiery used. Their rounds opened fire, and some of them found their way to his bulletproof vest. However, one grazed his cheek and sliced it open. He fired his pistol again, and struck another of their number. It ripped open the upper left of his head, shattering away the skull in a moment and sending him reeling backward with a considerable chunk ripped out of his head.
The rest of the rounds flew, and their force finally reeled Kevin over backward in his chair. One sliced open the side of his neck, and his eyesight was washed in red with his own blood as he fell backward. He stared up at the ceiling, as the life bled from him. His gun slipped from his hand.
The two gangsters walked towards him, and looked down at him. ³Stupid fucker,² one said. He could make his words out, but it was as though he were somewhere else. The man sounded distant, as though he were far away. ³Did he really think he stood a chance?²
The other gangster was an older man, and perhaps a little wiser. ³I donıt think so, Charlie. I think he just didnıt care.²
Kevin just grinned up at the two of them. ³No,² he hacked out. He could feel blood dribbling down his chin. ³I just cared a little too much for everyone else.²
The people had taken to the streets. Power had been knocked out an hour ago, leaving only the bare necessities of the city to run still. No lights were visible on the towering skyscrapers, and the storefronts were devoid of any lights to say if they dared to stay open. That did not stop the people of Zozo from going to those stores. He watched as a few of them shattered a window to an electronics store, and then began to haul out televisions, computers, and stereo equipment.
The Calligraphy Club was being invaded, and Kevin could swear he saw some of the patrons from before entering it. The glass doors to it were shattered and torn off their frames, left unceremoniously in the street. There was no sign of the police to stop the event, save for a police car that had been taken care of already: it was tipped over on its side, crushed against the street and with the snow gathering on it already.
Kevin walked past it, and continued down the street.
He could see the entrance to the hotel the restaurant he and his father had dined in, across the street from him. It was kicked in and people were rushing into it. A few valuables from it were already being rushed away to waiting cars by looters. A couple of those cars, however, had been set ablaze. Amidst tearing winds and roaring snow flurries, the fires made an odd paradox, but the raging storm was not to be stopped.
It would only be natureıs fury that would stop the riots. He could hear screams and shouts from not far away. Massive hordes of people were going to converge, homeless, poor, and luckier people coming together for sheer violence in the hours preceding the storm.
A fire hydrant some distance away had been torn down. Why, Kevin could not guess, but it was gushing out a geyser of water. As the droplets hit the concrete, they froze on the ground and created a sheet of ice over the sidewalks and the street.
The Imperial Suites, where Kevin had stayed before, were under a veritable assault. The hotel had a throng of people around it, and the stock broker walked past a group of them that had shoved the bellhop he had seen before on the ground. His face was a barely recognizable, bloodied pulp as he was kicked and beaten. His red uniform was tattered and wet with the snow and ice raining from the thundering skies overhead. The former stock broker refused to intervene, even as he screamed for help.
He glanced towards the entrance to the hotel. It was torn apart, and a car had been driven through the glass panes along it. People were rushing inward, and flames could be seen towering upward inside of it. Fire was engulfing the plush lobby of the suites. Kevin winced, once, but continued down the street.
It was all as he predicted. As he approached the entrance to the Del Mio Building, he saw that the doorway had been ripped apart. The first looters had already been inside, and there was no sign of the usual security teams. Perhaps they had joined them. Kevin glanced once at the diner next to it. It was being torn down, the staff that remained inside shoved out into the street or joining the looters in ripping it apart.
Kevin walked inside of the Del Mio Building. The lobby was torn apart, with snow and ice being blown in and whisking around. Potted plants were overturned, and the computers at the receptionistıs desk were torn away and disregarded. The former stock broker passed the abandoned station, and entered the stairway. The lights of the building were off, and he knew it had power. He began climbing set after set of stairs, until he reached the sixth floor.
A few beads of sweat were dripping down his face as he walked inside an abandoned hallway. The bulletproof vest he wore underneath his shirt made things feel all too hot once he was out of the effects of the winter storm outside. He could still hear it tearing through the city, both as the screams and sirens of the riots and the howling winds and ice rain of the great blizzard. He could see that no looters had come this far.
Kevin found the door to his office open. There was no one present in the offices around his. The usual staff had long since left. He would leave them something for when they returned to work. The man stepped inside, and walked to his desk. His laptop was left where it was, its top closed down. The man kicked his feet up on the desk, and then opened a drawer on his desk. He left a whiskey bottle inside, and took it out. He took the bottle top off, and took a swig of the stuff.
It burned with its sourness, as it had the night before.
The former stock broker reached into the heavy coat he wore, and drew out his Desert Wyvern. It was loaded and prepared, now, and he pointed it experimentally to the door of the office. The man simply then waited, sitting as desk, as the sounds of the violence outside ensued. Night fell completely, but he could see the shadows generated by burning property reflecting even from his window. Sirens wailed and screams echoed throughout the streets, even as the blizzard intensified. He heard the ice pelt his window, but did not turn to pay it heed.
After an hour and a half, five men walked up to his office. Kevin smiled at them, broadly and confidently. His Desert Wyvern fell upon them.
³Happy News Years,² he said in a pleasant tone. ³Kevin Dorman.²
³Rob Maughlin,² replied the lead man. He glanced nervously at the barrel of the Desert Wyvern, but did his best to sound intimidating. ³You sure as hell made it hard for us to find you, Kevin. What the fuck gives?²
³I wanted to give the bastards working here a little holiday treat,² the former stock broker replied. ³My rotting corpse, a nice police investigation, and then a good, hearty prison sentence for conspiracy for murder, as well as ripping you fine gentlemen off. How do you like my Desert Wyvern?²
³Sounds like youıre a sick fuck.² Maughlin drew out a long pistol himself, and Kevin raised an eyebrow. His men started to do the same when Kevin pulled the trigger, and the manıs chest transformed into a bloody mess as the magnum round tore into it. His back exploded in a spray of blood and bone, and the gangster collapsed to the ground in a twitching fit of looming death.
³Guess so,² Kevin replied. A gunshot rang out from a surprised gangster, but it hit the stock brokerıs chest and his bulletproof vest. It kept it from penetrating his flesh, but the roundıs force still knocked the wind out of him. He fired again, and a second gangsterıs kneecap was torn away. The lower part of his leg flew away unceremoniously, and he collapsed to the ground with a scream.
The other men were better prepared. They had sub-machineguns, the Stanton kinds that Kevin knew the Esper United Soldiery used. Their rounds opened fire, and some of them found their way to his bulletproof vest. However, one grazed his cheek and sliced it open. He fired his pistol again, and struck another of their number. It ripped open the upper left of his head, shattering away the skull in a moment and sending him reeling backward with a considerable chunk ripped out of his head.
The rest of the rounds flew, and their force finally reeled Kevin over backward in his chair. One sliced open the side of his neck, and his eyesight was washed in red with his own blood as he fell backward. He stared up at the ceiling, as the life bled from him. His gun slipped from his hand.
The two gangsters walked towards him, and looked down at him. ³Stupid fucker,² one said. He could make his words out, but it was as though he were somewhere else. The man sounded distant, as though he were far away. ³Did he really think he stood a chance?²
The other gangster was an older man, and perhaps a little wiser. ³I donıt think so, Charlie. I think he just didnıt care.²
Kevin just grinned up at the two of them. ³No,² he hacked out. He could feel blood dribbling down his chin. ³I just cared a little too much for everyone else.²