Oasis - Xander

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The digital clock on the wall glowed a sharp blue. The automated ticking sounds kept in time with my heart. The time stared right back at me. As if taunting me.

You're going to work here until you die. Just like everyone else.

You're born in The District. You work in The District. You die in The District. That's the motto for us. Born with the misfortune of living in the most desolate district of Atlantis. Originally called Poseidon, it was where the original colonizers gathered and lived. Back when the humans were just starting to settle on this dying planet.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I looked back at the clock, drumming my grease stained, slender fingers. Only a minute had passed since I last stared at it. They say a watched pot never boils, but at least I could turn the heat up to make it boil faster. Outside the glass door I watched groups of people walk by. None of them would be interested in coming in. Why would they? Most of them could barely afford dinner tonight. I don't know what they would want with us here anyway.

Tick. Tick. Ti--

I look up at the clock. The screen was dark and I could feel the room getting warmer. The comforting hum of the repair shop replaced with muffled murmurs of the people outside and the silence within. From the back I heard a loud "shit" and some clanking metal. I sat up from the front desk and went back to check on Miguel. He was sitting on a stool near his bench and was rubbing his wrist. His face and mechanic uniform covered in grease.

"You OK?" I asked, reaching for his hand.

He swatted my hand away with his free one and grumbled. "Xander, you're free to go. I'll see you next week."

"Next week! I need to get paid now. You owe me--"

"I know what I owe you, kid, just leave." His forehead was getting sweatier as the heat rose within the shop.

"And what if you need help later in the day? You can't just go retro in a repair shop and expect it all to be fine. You need help, Miguel."

Since the power outages in The District were becoming increasingly more dangerous, people have been known to "go retro"; using dated technology like gas lamps, cell phones, and old generators to power their stores and homes. I knew Miguel had one of those battery generators, but it would always give out at the last minute. He almost smashed his skull in when he was working on a hover car.

"Xander," Miguel sighed, "I mean it. Go check on your mother. She needs you more than I do."

The heat was oppressive. I could barely breathe, but I could see the pleading look in his heavy eyes. He had dark circles from working long nights. His beard and hair had grayed. His lines on his forehead and around his pleading smile making him look almost ancient. I hated seeing him this desperate, but he was right. I had to go anyway.

I wiped my brow and nodded. As I gathered my things I stared at the clock once more. It was a dark glass screen that won't be ticking for stars knows how long. Outside the suns beat down on the dirt and grime laden streets. It was bright out but there was a sense of darkness lingering within. The buildings, storefront lights, and windows were dark. Some of the owners walked out into the street to put up their "closed because of power" signs.

Because of power. The power that the planet creates and is our source of life for all of Atlantis. No, not all of it. Supplying the source of life for the farming districts, Neptune, and Triton. No one gives a fuck about us.

I stumbled back as someone bumped into me on the street. I looked to see who did it and caught sight of red hair moving through the crowd away from me. I began walking, putting my hands in my pockets. I stopped again when I felt a scrap of paper in my left pocket.

Don't forget. 3:00.

Don't forget. I won't. Today is my turn after all.

The building loomed over the street with oppressive authority. The side had a mural of bloody knuckles wrapped in dirty bandages. It was commissioned by an Anti not too long ago. Antis hated the current government for being a monarchy of the affluent and the powerful. Imbalances of powers and corruption mostly.

I walked up the steps behind the building out of sight of anyone around me. My head down and covered in a dark red hood. I knock on the door three times. My knocks were metal and hollow. It was a large, copper door that had no handle. Just above my head was a slot that was covered. It didn't open.

I tried the knock again and it slid open so fast I stumbled back. Striking gold doe eyes hidden behind red hair stared directly at me from the gap. They looked at me as if reading me for the first time.

The slot closed, followed by a series of clicks. The door slowly opened and I could see the expansive darkness. But I knew there was more to it. I could hear the chanting and cheering. The drunken cries of the audience and the breaking of a glass bottle. It was the sound of the Underground.

The person behind the door cleared their throat. It was a soft sound, "Come on, you're gonna get caught if I keep this door open for your lazy ass."

I looked at the door. It was too large to see whoever was holding it. I walked into the encompassing darkness, the light behind me dimmed as I heard the final slam of the door that connected me to Atlantis.

Down here there is no Atlantis, no District, no rules or laws. Just the ring, the chants. I reached out my palm and brushed against a flat surface. A shock of electricity pricked my fingertips. I clenched my jaw as to not make any noise. There was a beep and the doors slid open revealing the crowd and two girls throwing punches back and forth on an elevated ring. People gathered around shouting at the girls in the rings, throwing bottles and rotten food. One of the girls had multiple bruises on her cheeks and arms. The other girl, a cyborg, had electrical wires hanging from her left leg. She hoped around the stage trying to grapple her opponent.

The spectacle was nothing new. I maneuvered my way to the back near the bar. Behind it was a trap door. I lifted it up and went into the basement.

Beneath the bar I could feel the stomps and voices from above shaking the ceiling. Dust fell from the pipes. The room was solid concrete, on the walls was graffiti in all different languages and symbols. There was a row of lockers broken and bent out of shape.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

On the wall was a retro clock. It’s hands slowly ticked away. I wonder what was powering it...

I opened the one on the end closest to the wall. My locker had everything I needed for when it was my turn in the ring. It had a pair of shorts and old wife beaters for me to wear.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I sniffed the first one I grabbed. It smelled like must and mildew. Cleaner than what I could ever wear here. I put it on. It was tight some places but it didn’t matter. I wrapped my hand in cloth and clenched my fist. The wrappings felt tight.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Above me it sounded like a packed stadium. Feet thumping and muffled shouts and cheers. Now and again there are people booing, but everyone’s already too inebriated to care.

I sat on the bench head in my heads. My foot bouncing rapidly. It was almost time. The sweat on the back of my neck cling to my hair and seeped into my wife beater. I would look ragged and beaten before I even step foot in the ring.

Tick.

But that’s how you get the most bets.

Tick.

I already built somewhat of a reputation in the Underground as a fighter. A solid one where I’ve only lost once in the five years I fought. The opponent has been retired for awhile but I know she’ll come back.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

She always comes back.

I heard the latch door from above creak and a sweet voice not made for this world shouting back. The same voice from the one who opened the door.

”Xander! You’re up!”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I took a deep breath and stood. I did a few stretches to clear my mind of everything except that ring, and my opponent. Win those bets, and meet at the tram by three.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I ascended the ladder.

ns 15.158.61.48da2

Xander

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