The air was thickly laced with particles drifting aloft small heat vents; the wall-mounted lights encased in a smothering blanket of dust. Decayed plants retreated into their pots in a fruitless attempt to escape the blight that filled the room, their lifeless leafs grasp nearby surfaces to find an escape. Metal containers lay as they had been for months, unmolested by neither man nor nature, a testament to the lasts signs of life. The eerie tranquility was cut short by the penetrating beam of (C1)'s vest-mounted flashlight.762Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdkgaUqynDL
"What is all this shit in the air? How can there be this much dust in an empty room?" (C1) muttered as he brushed some felt-like material off his arm.
"Not dust, insulation fibers. Look." (C2) replied, gesturing towards a large vertical tear in the wall. The fiber lining of the wall flapped erratically in the vent's hot updraft, shedding small segments into the already over-laden air.
"No wonder everyone left this place. Who would pay rent for this run down shack? Fibers and shit in the air, faulty lights and the front door was rusted shut." quipped (C1)
"Back on task." (C2) reminded (C1) as he pushed aside a toppled shelf and propped it against the wall.
Their flashlights swept across the floors in methodical motions occasionally being interrupted by the lingering miasma that swirled around them with each movement. (C2)'s light burnt into a single point of the room, a pair of glowing eyes called back to its fiery gaze.
"(C1), Found it. Arm your PCD." (C2) instructed in a hushed tone, standing motionless.
(C1) stiffly reached to his belt and unclasped the PCD. He slowly raised the metallic device to shoulder height, linked eyesight to his partner and nodded.
"NOW!" (C2) exclaimed as he wrenched away a box obstructing the creature, flinging it into the corner of the room. A cloud of dust exploded into the confined space and enveloped the creature and both men. (C1) threw the device into the fray and covered his face with his forearm. The PCD discharged sending blue light seeping through the dust cloud and small electrical arcs reaching out to the walls. (C1) lowered his guard and glanced into the now settling scene. The dust slowly dissipated and began to rest on the encumbered furniture nearby. A charred, twitching mass of fur and flesh seized at the epicenter of the commotion.
"Once again you have failed to change the output on your capture device; you just sent 400,000 volts through the poor bastard." scolded (C2).
"You can't fault my aim though; hit the prick between the eyes!" (C1) boasted as he collected the PCD from the ground.
"Your kill, you’re cleaning it up." (C2) stated coldly.
(C1) glanced back at the corpse and let out a short sigh. He approached the remains to hear the audible crackling of its blackened, semi-hairless hide. The creatures rendered flesh, protruding skull and yellow, knarred teeth formed a ghoulish expression of anguish and horror. (C1) slipped his satchel off one shoulder and knelt to the ground to retrieve a disposable plastic bag. The vile stench escaping creature was an assault on both his nose and willpower, growing harsher with each inch closer. (C1) coiled his fingers around its hind leg with the intent to pull its carcass into the bag but as he did his digits sank into a membranous cavity below its skin. Viscous fluids and puss shot up his arm with (C1) instinctively recoiling and covering his face.
"Argh what the fuck! Jesus, it smells like shit!" (C1) yelled in disgust as he flailed his arm trying to flick off the mixture of substances.
"Don't mess up the area any more than it is. Just get it into the bag so we can leave." instructed (C2).
Both men looked back to see the wound leaking fluids onto the stained floor. (C1) angrily slammed his open palm into its mid-section and dug his nails into its hide. He, with a great deal of strength, dragged it along the floor and into the plastic bag. Trailing behind it was an unholy concoction of blood and bodily fluids, staining the nearby objects with the red-brown colored extract of decay. Its limbs were contorted into obscure directions and forced into the bag with the application of a few swift kicks. (C1) sealed the bag with a tie and started to drag it towards the doorway where (C2) was waiting for him.
"If you bothered to wear correct PPE like gloves you wouldn't have had such a terrible time with this one." noted (C2).
(C1) glanced up with apathetic eyed and continued past him. The transition between the stale, confined air of the building juxtaposed the breathable ambrosia of outside. The sun-soaked surroundings were painted a yellow-orange hue and the sun's warmth hit the men with an affectionate embrace. (C2) braced his shoulder against the front door and barged it back closed, with each motion causing a screech from the worn and corroded hinges. The building returned to its sealed tomb-like state of tranquility as the men loaded their haul into the truck.
Their beast of burden fared little better than that of their recent quarry. The peeling, bleached red paint of the cabin was girt by a sea of rust that continued down to its underbelly. Semi-bald tires, worn break pads and the graveyard of insects imbedded into the front grill told of its harsh life. Battle-scarred seats remained stalwart despite their evisceration leaving its yellow foam insides to litter the floor and mingle with the cigarette ash. The cracked dashboard retreated behind the thick dust that coating the windshield, helping to obscure the sun's continued attacks. (C1) opened the door to the passenger seat of the truck, a sweltering heat blasted out of the cabin and escaped into the surrounding air; Ignoring this deterrent, (C1) fell into his seat and felt the fake leather cover stick to his arms. (C2) clambered into the diver’s seat with the truck obliging itself to lean in response to his body weight as if bowing to him. The truck's engine sputtered to life with the turn of the key and began heaving along the road.
"This is why I hate a council funded job; they give us orders to go into run down places to hunt for 30ft long rats with only a pen knife!" complained (C1)
"...And only for twenty-two grand a year." Added (C2)
"Don't get me started on the pay! I can see why people only take these jobs for 2 or so years. With everything that happened I just hope this isn't going to be a long work day." sighed (C1) as he stared out the window at passing scenery and rummaged through his pocket.
"We have only one more client today. Ms. Witt, House 4-4, District 3. Said she has things eating the wires in the roof." said (C2).
"As long as its rats and not the normal things we find like a swarm of spiders or a pride of lions hiding in the rafters." joked (C1) as he lit the cigarette he had in his pursed lips.
A small trail of smoke whipped around the truck's interior as the wind blasted through the open windows. The parched terrain between districts was desolate wastelands of flat and endless deserts filled with relics of failed farmsteads. The sickeningly salty sand could be tasted in the air with each breath, a faint reminder of the despair felt by those unlucky enough to have colonized the first towns here. Small weeds sheltered along the cracks that riddled the road to flee the salty death cast upon them by nature's fickle whims. Bleached sentries stood against the oppressive heat, their fingers burnt black from their defiance against the sun. The polished metal of the 3rd District sign glittered on the horizon, beckoning people into its sanctuary.
"Man this place has gotten worse; With the insane amount of unemployment and alcohol-fueled violence I wouldn't be surprised to find squatters living in the client's walls." joked (C1), flicking his cigarette butt out of the window.
The suburban streets were devoid of life or activity as people tried to escape the 42 degree heat. Rows of duplicate houses stood parallel to each other on either side of the street, their concrete rendered walls resembled that of a row of tombstones, the suburbs aptly symbolizing the decay of the area. Small piles of trash nestled themselves in the storm water drains, the sun having melted them into an abominations of bright and contrasting colors.
Ms. Witt stood at her front door gesturing to the men as they came closer. (C2) turned into the small driveway with the truck's body rolling slightly in response. As the men disembarked they were greeted by the leathered face of the distressed home owner. The middle aged woman's appearance mirrored that of the harsh conditions of the area; her permanent scowl dug deep lines into the sides of her mouth, sun spots and uneven shades of skin acted as a sacrificial payment for her youth spent in the blazing sun.
"Thank you for coming on a day's notice, I need this matter attended to with all due haste. I've had four fuses blown this week due to something cutting through my electric cables. I suspect that it is the same plague of rats that attacked the neighbors’." Ms. Witt informed the men.
"That shouldn't be a problem ma'am we have experience in these matters. It usually turns out to be something as small as field mice." (C2) assured Ms. Witt as he overlooked (C1) unpacking some gear from the truck.
"I appreciate your confidence in these matters; I can't find the courage to enter the rafters with the lingering threat of being overrun by those creatures." Ms. Witt responded earnestly.
"Please come in, the cables are in the attic. The stairs to it are halfway along the hallway on the second floor." She added.
The men were guided past the threshold of the doorway and into the quaint dwelling. Despite the house's modern exterior the rooms and furniture emanated an aura of warmth unlike the bleak world around. Tables and chairs were crafted from teak and mahogany with impeccable precision and an archive of ornate book shelves were lined with thick, leather-bound tomes and codexes. The focus of the sitting room was dominated by the regal presence of a large globe. The light that flowed though the half-drawn shutters gleamed off the golden trim of the globe's housing emphasizing its grandeur. They continued up to the second floor and reached the attic stairs.
"I'll leave you two to take care of the job. I will be downstairs if there is anything you need to ask me about." said Ms. Witt
(C1) slipped the lid off the attic's entrance where he was met with inky blackness of the unknown. Wooden beams and cross supports formed a minefield of obstructions and dangers to any venture unlucky enough to find himself fumbling in the dark. The stagnant heat bloated the area with it's humid presence, holding dominion over its fief with its suffocating grip. Hairline cracks in the roof hemorrhaged light and the toxic, boiling air from outside into its confines. (C1) plunged his arm into the hot, turbid soup that inhabited the area, instantly being consumed by its oppressive environment. The radiance from the hallway below floated up and crept around (C1)'s waist. Small cables snaked along the length of the beams and into a small junction box just out of the reach of (C1).
"I've found the power box, looks fine." (C1) called down to (C2)
"Any signs to the cause of the fuses? There should be frayed cables or something." (C2) returned.
"There are only some small burn marks at the connection points. Other than that; some ants and a few cobwebs." (C1) stated whilst twisting back around to face down at (C2).
"Ants. Let me guess, red, big heads?"
"Uh... yeah it looks like it" (C1) replied as he shined his hand torch at the wagon train of ants that pass by him.
"Matchhead ants. Red with large heads and dumb as bricks. I'm not surprised they would jam themselves into a 240 volt power box." (C2) informed.
"Ok I'll toss some ‘Ant rid’ around it and we can call it a day."
"Sure. You finish up and I'll talk to the owner."
(C2) adjusted his belt and descended down the stairs with his weighted strides counting each step downwards. Clangs and clashes of crockery chattered out of the kitchen and into the whole bottom floor. When (C2) he rounded the corner to investigate he saw Ms. Witt leaning over a counter tenderly crafting three milk teas. Her slow and fluid motions brought the shapely kettle to a trio of pure white porcelain cups, each with a delicate fluted lip that was lined with the decadence of gold leaf. The black marble counter top and dark walnut fixtures lined the kitchen area; each adorned in scroll-shaped silver handles and polished to a high sheen. Long handled saucepans the color of old brass hung from the ceiling, dressing the room in tones of antiquity. (C2) quietly approached Ms. Witt who remained intensely focused on the tea.
"Uh, we're all done with the attic. You had some problems with a group of ants trying to set up shop in your power box. You shouldn't have any more problems for 6 to 12 months." (C2) stated while jotting down something on a notepad.
"Thank you so much for dealing with them. How much do I owe you for your services?" Ms. Witt enquired
"Not a thing. It was fifteen minutes and a five dollar ant deterrent, charging you would be a bit heavy handed." replied (C2)
"I can't let you go without paying you, I would feel like I have exploited your hard work."
"It was honestly a very simple job, but if you need us again I've written down my personal number. This should help you get priority work if you ever are in need." (C2) said as he handed over a small slip of paper.
"A true gentleman through and through. I will find a way to adequately repay you in due time." Ms. Witt stated cheerfully.
"I'll grab (C1) and we'll head off. Feel free to call us if the ants become a problem again."
Ms. Witt nodded gently in response. (C2) retraced his tracks to the bottom of the stairs where he found (C1) sitting on the lower-most step waiting for him and looking at the family pictures that hung from the hallway's walls. (C2) gave him a soft backhanded slap to the shoulder to awaken him from his day dreaming state and inform him that they were leaving. They left the house and waved back at Ms. Witt who was seeing them off from the front door. Turning around, they teleported back in the dreary existence that seemed so distant to them mere minutes ago. The overbearing sun's radiance peer down on them again and greeting them back to the 'real' world.
"Strange to see such a well-spoken woman in this neighborhood. Kind of risky to put all those expensive things on display for the rabble on the street to see." commented (C1) as he opened the passenger side door to the truck.
"She was probably living here before it changed for the worse. Few years back this place was a middle-upper class area. Green grass, friendly communities and alike. It was when that mining town just east of here turned into dustbowl." (C2) replied as he backed out of the drive way and set off for home.
"Now you've got some real mean customers rolling around town; the sort of guys that would stab you for a pair of shoes. With no real work around here they are left to hang around the welfare office and spend their time in the pub." he continued.
"Sounds like where I live" (C1) quipped, holding a fresh cigarette in his teeth and searching his pockets.
"You keep saying you live in a shithole but its more likely the people you associate with. Your second home is that pub I keep finding you in. You can't say I'm wrong when I say that the people there aren't 'A-grade'." retorted (C2) as he unwound his window to let the smoke escape the cabin.
"I'm not there for the sparkling conversation." (C1) coldly stated.
(C2) transitioned his gaze back to the road. It stretched off to the flat horizon where the heat blurred it into the near endless desert that extended in all directions around it. The terrain was of a continuous sandy yellow color which was speckled with patches of red iron-laden soils, ghost white trees and burnt out cars. District 3 drifted away into the nothingness of the distance as the pair continued on the Mobius strip of a road. What seemed to be a countless amount of time passed before they found themselves closing in on the slums of Grentin. The barren desert views were traded for writhing masses of hollow people flowing through tight alleys like a wave of sludgy water. Lean-to structures clung onto bare bones buildings made from improvised materials of corrugated metal and 'acquired' timber beams. Steam filtered through the labyrinth of streets carrying humidity and exotic smells from side kitchens. Families could be heard through their rusted, paper-thin homes, their light sources piercing through the numerous holes that riddled each wall.
"I'll drop you off here. It's too much bother to go down that maze of streets. It took me fifteen minutes to get out of there last time." (C2) said while merging to the curb.
"Yeah no worries. I'll meet you at the usual place tomorrow." (C1) replied as he disembarked.
After a quick wave to each other (C1) spun around to look into the dimly lit street. The shanties that flanked the road carried with them the immutable sounds of poverty and sickness, an environment that (C1) had come to associate with normal life. A spider's web of electrical cables laced themselves through the cacophony of buildings. The thick coating of grime that built up over years of neglect affixed them to the conduit saddles which held them to the exterior walls. Water-logged trash piles banked on either side of the muddy path glittering with droplets and shards of broken bottles. The breadcrumb trail of vomit and smashed bottles directed (C1) to the small bar he frequented after work.
A blanket of red light was draped over the unassuming hole in the wall from a large neon sign bolted to the door frame. Large red and white oriental symbols alternated on and off calling to the passersby like a siren weaving a malicious melody. (C1) opened the door slightly to be greeted by a miasma of cigarette smoke and despair. As he entered he met the glazed eyes of some of the patrons, barely holding their heads above the platoon of dead soldiers littering the table. (C1) dropped onto a seat at the counter.
Murmurs droned throughout the building and flooded back onto the alleys outside. Sudden yelling or wails erupted from the streets frequently accompanied with a tense air of uncertainty as to the causes and effects of it. The barrage of confronting and obscene noises was immediately silenced by a tumultuous sound of breaking glass. (C1) nor any other person at the bar batted an eyelash at the event, having conditioned themselves to ignore such an everyday commotion. The bar quickly returned to its symphony of muttering and hushed tones.
"What'd you want?" the barkeep asked in a deep monotone voice.
"Gruppe Longneck, two of ‘em" (C1) replied in the same tone while slapping down a few bank notes.
The barkeep turned and walked to the other side of the counter to attend to another customer. His hunched back and vacant stare were indicative of a man who fell short of his life goals, like Atlas he looked to be shouldering the regrets of his life. His arms were covered in red and black scabs that were aggravated by constantly leaning on the bar counter. The untied apron hanging from his neck swayed with each gait, emphasized by the limp that afflicted him. Underneath his loose fitting clothing swung a belt of fat that rippled as he trod around. To (C1), this man is the iconic image of the Grentin slums, a hard life with no opportunity to escape his circumstances. The empathetic lament was interrupted by the booming voice of another bar attendee.
"(C1)! You've come back to see us again." the shadowy figure roared as he pushed against (C1)'s shoulder causing some of the beer to spill on the benchtop.
"Fuck off Ryter. I didn't come here to see your face." spat (C1) before he taking another swig of beer.
"That's no way to talk to your moneylender. I was nice enough to loan you some cash when the banks wouldn't remember." Ryter reminded (C1).
"Your just another prick loan shark feeding off needy people. Your bullshit interest rates and goons strong-arming little old ladies into paying triple in return is why people think your scum. I don't blame them, I'm one of 'em." (C1) retaliated.
"You couldn't have a polite conversation for even a minute. I'll put it in a way your more accustomed to then: you give me your month's repayment by Wednesday or you be moving around like 'Wheels' over there." threatened Ryter as he gestured to a wheelchair bound patron at the back of the bar.
"If you weren't followed around by your three-hundred kilo gorilla bodyguards you'd wish you had the comfort to move independently after we sort this out man to man." stated (C1) as he glared over his shoulder at Ryter.
The two men exchanged fiery stares between each other before Ryter turned away and left the bar with his guards in tow. As he slipped into the veil of night (C1) looked down at his side where he noticed that his hands were balled into fists, shaking with the adrenaline and anger he was concealing from Ryter. All of his nerves were on a hair trigger and taught like steel cable, ready for the moment when he needed to deliver the decisive blow. (C1) glanced around at the bar patrons most of which remained in their trance-like stupor unaware of the scene that unfolded mere meters away.
Resting back down on the stool (C1) held the beer close to his mouth but the bitter taste left in his mouth had ruined his want to drink. He pushed the half drunk bottle next to its brother who's condensation pooled into a small puddle at its base and propped his head up with his hand. Lacking any alcohol or energy to halt the onset of depression that infected the building (C1) heaved his body from the chair and dragged himself to the exit. Just before he opened the door he took a final look back into the room to see the bartender peering back at him. His gaze wasn't focused, it almost seemed as if he was looking through him, maybe contemplating a better reality as a form of escapism. His hands were busying themselves by cleaning away the bottles that (C1) had left at the bar allowing him to ponder his thoughts. Rust from the door hinge dropped to the wooden floor as (C1) pulled his body into the shroud of darkness outside.
Only an hour had passed since (C1) had arrived back from work and he found himself wandering through countless unknown alleys. The night darkened further as coal-black clouds congregated above carrying pungent rain. A small precipitation swelled into a heavy downpour within seconds brining with it the sticky water that concealed itself in the foreboding clouds. Hammering down, the droplets collided with the corrugated roofs scraping away the dust and rot they had accumulated. The rivers of indescribable liquids cascaded from the awnings pouring into eroded reservoirs which split into a delta of trashy runoff. Miniature frothing dykes overflowed and sputtered up onto (C1)'s jeans, staining them a dirty grey-brow hue.
He quickly sidestepped into the cramped outcropping of a gambling den. The words 'Kinpatsu-ji Mahjong' was scrawled on the door in white paint accompanied with it's foreign character counterparts. (C1) peered into the slightly ajar doorway to notice a long hallway that stretched paradoxically into the mass of buildings. It seemed to exploit the areas left between other establishments and expand into a large singular room filled with a hoard of gamblers. (C1)'s attention snapped back when a gale of horizontal rain swept under the awning leaving a punctiform shaped stain along his shirt.
The persistent weather melted the soil into a murky quagmire. Discarded cigarettes navigated the hostile waters and carried with them small ants seeking refuse from the flooding. Pedestrians now huddled under every and all forms of shelter to evade the cold wetness. The debilitating noise of the metal roof being bombarded with water forced (C1) to make a short dash away from the crowds amassing under cover and towards his housing complex. Each step plunged into the freshly formed mud caking his boot in its heaviness.
After weaving through the masses of people he found himself at his unit. The building resembled a two-story motel in shape with five people per level and an standalone home for the land owner. Fortunately the concrete foundation of the structure allowed (C1) to scrape his footwear clean of the sludge. Unfortunately the makeshift drainage trench dug beside the concrete overflowed onto the walkway leaving a watery film to surge across ground and into his boot, soaking his socks as a final parting gesture. Disgruntled, (C1) jammed his key into the door and pushed against it only to have the stubborn door brace itself in it's frame.
"Being a smart-arse again I see." (C1) said through clenched teeth. He coiled his fingers around the handle, twisted his torso and slammed his shoulder sharply into the lock. The impetus of the blow swung the door inward bringing (C1) in tow and scattering him off into the main room. His ribs impacted against a side table near the entrance sending the framed photos atop it skidding along the floor. The pain soaked into his bones, spreading across his flank with it's paralytic grip, welding his hand to the wound. Now lying on his side (C1) turned his head back towards the entrance to see a pool of water accumulating underneath it and slowly infiltrating into the room. He propped himself up with his elbow and rolled onto his forearm, unknowingly landing in the frigid rainwater that began to creep around his prone body. Pushing himself off the ground and onto his feet (C1) frivolously attempted to kick some of the water outside using the length of his boot whilst reaching for the door. His hand extended outward to the breach slowly pushing it back towards the doorframe. The maelstrom’s intensity was decimated as the lock clicked back into place.
Clangs of flying debris hitting the roofs accompanied by the buffeting of wind against windows formed a muted white noise. The now motionless puddle entrenched itself in the stained rug by (C1)'s feet. A glimmer of light flickered off the photo frame as a lone droplet rolled off it, attracting (C1)'s eye.
With his hand still pressed against his sore he bent down and retrieved the small frame, lifting close to his face to reminisce the scene in front of him. The family of 3 leaned shoulder to shoulder staring back into his direction, all with genuine smiles stretched across their faces. The dining table at which they sat at was covered in decades of wear, indentations and cuts accumulating to form an impromptu topographical map. Plates dressed in sauces, modest serving platters and cutlery lay upon the old table cloth that barely covered half of the table, all of which bathed in the warm ambient light that flowed from a nearby shaded lamp. The trio had huddled to one side leaving the camera to take a low-angle shot from the table's surface. Despite the shot being off-center and its blurred depth of field it was an irreplaceable keepsake, a moment in time that is to be immortalized in both image and memory.
He gingerly placed it back on its perch careful to face it into the center of the room. Looking back into his sanctuary (C1)'s gaze lingered on the discarded trash piled up near the couch. Beer cans were stacked in a pyramid design beside the coffee table at which he rested his feet against. The area reeked of lethargy. He began to give into it's aura with each minute draining the consciousness from his body, unable to regain himself (C1) drifted off to sleep; Arms crossed and legs outstretched on the table.762Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbUdLQyw1Yw
