Slumrat Rising

What Must Be Done

What Must Be Done

Truth didn’t respect trading violence for money. There was no future in it. Not as a gangster, armed robber, prize fighter or soldier. He had been watching carefully. Most of those jobs were done by the broke, who stayed broke, then died young. On the other hand, violence was the only thing he was really good at and his parents wanted to treat him like a slave so… fuck it, really.

He felt floaty, like he was drifting through an unreal world. His gut burned from where Dad kicked it. It was hard to really focus, his eyes kept slipping around. Truth started sorting out his targets. Ordinary folks were out. This was the slums. They had no money. Stores? They had more money. They also had armed shopkeepers, spellwards and private security. Or golems. An advanced option, at the moment. His armed robbery had to be done with a length of wood or pipe.

That left criminals. Which was its own flavor of challenge. They were all armed, for one, and with a willingness to use their spells instantly. Most of them were in gangs too. And while they certainly had more money than he did, he had long since noticed that these thugs and gangsters were living in the same damn slum he was. Most of them lived with their mom in the same kind of apartments as him. Eating the same shitty food as him. Wishing to god that the heat spell would work right this winter because the windows didn’t keep the wind out and the walls didn’t keep the heat in. Just like him.

Truth was moving without thinking. Since he couldn’t imagine running errands in this strange, floaty state, his feet carried him down the narrow steps to the path along the canal. The subway screamed and roared as it went past, the demonic worm thrashing more than usual. He shook out his crappy plastic fishing net, and set to trawling. Trash. More trash. Other trash. So on and so on, as he walked up the canal.

Truth hauled in another load of wet garbage, the reflection of the sun off the canal almost blinding him. It smelled awful. Like rot and sickness personified. The light headed feeling intensified. Was this the real world? Was all this pain, and filth, and hurt, really all that there was? Was his dream to join Starbrite just a dream to join a gang? That couldn’t be it, right?

“The path to freedom is inward. You walk it through self mastery.” He remembered sitting in his undyed wool smock as the great philosopher sat on the long stone porch and lectured. He could remember every crevice and valley of the teacher’s face. But he had never met them. He was remembering something that had never happened.

Truth shook his head and tossed the trash back in the water. It had all gotten to be too much. Clearly. He was losing it. At least this was a nice hallucination. The teacher seemed like an ok guy. Truth walked a little further and threw the net back in the water again. If he didn’t get enough scrap, he and the sibs would probably starve. It didn’t get any more real than that.

It wasn’t a very good day of trawling. Lots of trash. Lots of empty bottles and cigarette packs and individual plastic sachets that held exactly not-quite-enough shampoo or soap for one wash. Because a lot of people were too broke to buy a whole bottle of shampoo or soap, but they could scrape together just enough for a sachet or two when the itching and smell got too bad.

There were spells that could clean you perfectly, Truth knew. Talismans that would leave you refreshed, sweat free and fragrant. He had heard that they were standard in the high end gymnasiums in the rich part of the city.

Truth let himself slowly collapse on the filthy path next to the canal. He wasn’t crying, exactly. He just… couldn’t, any more. Even if he made big money today, somehow, he would have to find a place to hide it. His thief parents would steal it if he brought it home. He needed to study. How could he study in that house? The sibs needed real food, and also needed to study. But could they? What would happen next year? Could they really keep whatever money they earned away from the grasping hands of Mom and Dad? It was all too much.

He didn’t know how long he laid by the canal side. But then he got up again, and got back to trawling. Because they needed food to study. And that meant they needed money. So he got up and did it.

Thirteen wen for a day's work. They could eat… something… with that. Rice, certainly. Maybe add a cheap can of off-brand vegetable stew? It wouldn’t split far with four, but it would add some nutrients and texture. He wasn’t very sure what nutrients, but he knew you needed vegetables. And vegetable stew was the cheapest.

He did the shopping and started heading home. Truth kept his eye out for the sibs. It was about time for them to be making their way home. As the shadows got longer and the pink-orange sunset blazed like a trash fire through the fumes from the alchemical refineries. As the various monsters of the slums shook off their daytime torpor and started thinking about hunting. Thinking about getting that next fix.

Truth drifted home with the groceries and a couple of wen floating in his pocket. He would toss them to a beggar before he got home. Maybe getting that fix would be a little less horrible tonight. He passed an alley, and a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. Truth quickly moved to put the corner of the alley between him and whatever it was, dropping the groceries and getting ready to kick off in a hurry.

Nothing happened. He kept waiting. Tweakers and fiends were short on patience.

Nothing. Truth picked up the groceries and checked around the corner. Way down the alley, he saw Thierrie. He had his arm around Vigor’s shoulder and was leading him away. Towards where the hourly hotels were.

His hand fished out the can of vegetable soup and he started sprinting down the alley. Truth dropped low as he ran, each foot landing softly on the concrete, then planted firmly, then the muscles in his legs exploded as he launched himself forward. Again and again. Closing on the vermin.

Thierrie heard him coming. Turned his head and his eyes opened wide. His fingers went metallic and sharp as he shoved Vigor towards Truth. Truth took a half step to the side and let Vigor slide off his flank. Still low to the ground, he swung the soup can at Thierrie’s knee.

But Thierrie was Level 1. The knee turned just in time, making the crushing strike a glancing one. Then Theirrie’s sharp fingers dove for Truth’s neck. Fast. Too fast. Truth had to launch himself past Thierrie. Truth was out of place now. Theirrie was over his shock. He came in fast, one hand clawing for Truth’s eyes, the other stabbing towards his gut.

Truth slid back and to the side keeping just out of reach of the claws. He smashed the soup can down on the middle knuckles of the hand coming for his neck. He just wanted to knock it away, so he could land a kick on Thierrie’s gut. The metal covered knuckles made the most incredible crunching sound.

They both froze a second. Thierrie unable to comprehend how his metal hand broke, Truth unable to understand how he wasn’t gutted already. “Just how shitty was that Sharp Spell you got? Skellie fucked you good, huh?”

“Fuck you!” Thierrie whipped the other hand around, going for the gut again. Truth shifted back again, but he had run out of room in the alley. The metal fingers scraped over his belly. Long gashes in his shirt, and leaking red stripes below them.

Truth threw a knee to Theirrie’s nuts, then moved to close distance. He wasn’t Theirrie’s match in the clinch, but he couldn’t keep range. The knee missed. Thierrie wasn’t having it. He hopped back, swinging the broken hand like a flail to keep Truth at arms length. The intact hand rose like a spear, pointing at Truth’s throat. Thierrie lunged.

Truth slid his empty hand along the inside of Theirrie’s spear hand. He let the sharp edge slip past, as he wrapped his arm around Thierrie’s and locked Thierrie’s wrist under his armpit. Thierrie was stronger than Truth. Faster. Those things worked against him when Truth rotated his body, putting all of Thierrie’s strength, speed and weight right on his hyper-extended elbow. The brutal snap echoed off the walls of the alley.

Thierrie screamed in rage. His leg came sweeping up and took out Truth’s legs. Truth made a textbook break fall, and tried to roll away. Thierrie’s shitty knock off sneaker smashed his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Truth managed to get his arms up, protected his head from a stomp, but couldn't stop another kick to his gut. His stomach was already half torn by Dad. He couldn’t help it, he puked out what watery little remained in him. The soup can went flying.

“Fuck you, Truth! Fuck you! Your whole shitty family will whore for me, you hear me? You hear me?!” The kicks came endlessly, Truth tried to defend himself, but he couldn’t get up off the ground. “I will own their asses! Every fucking day, I’ll fuck ‘em. Every fucking-“

There was a deep thunk sound.

Thierrie’s eyes rolled up, and he slowly slid to his knees. Foam dribbled from his mouth. Standing behind him was Vigor, dressed in his “date” clothes, holding the soup can.