Nothing Seems Possible
Part I
The time... Well, no one really cares much about time anymore these days, do they? Moon up, moon down. That's how everyone does it anymore. Who keeps track of such an inconsequential bit of information like time, anyways? But back to my point...
To those of us who do, the time is somewhere after the resignation of the major corporations and the industrialist war. People dying so big business could have their way with the world, and rake in all that useless paper they used to call currency. Dollars, pesos, euros, and rubles. Nickels, dimes, marks, and all that other junk that the human race used to squabble for so they could have some sort of fake happiness. All gone now. I'm sure whoever reads this will toss it aside as they do all books, but hell! Why not tell my story... No, OUR story.
This is life in the slums of New Hope, the capital of this rat hole we call a world. That's right. No capital of a nation. Capital of the world, because not much is left of this anarchical mess. A young man flicks away his cigarette, disgusted by the addictive death stick. Of course, in this day and age, flicking away a cigg was like tossing some alcohol in the drain. People died that way. He picked it back up, and set it aside, sure some desperate nicotine addict would find it this way. He checked his phone, which really only functioned as a watch and a calendar. It let him know when the psychos woke up and took over the street. The moment the sun went down, around 9 pm, they would make their ways out of their run down apartments, looking for a throat to slit so they could get some more beer or vodka. The man sighed.
"Well, Malakai, old buddy, seems you have about ten minutes to get out of here before the dogs are loosed," he said to himself. He started walking down the street, running his finger along the muzzle of his .347 magnum that he had snatched from the corpse of a less fortunate. It had five rounds in it when he found it. It now had three. Two people he'd killed so far. Of course, not many tried to attack him anyways. He stood at nearly 6' 1" and had a thin, but toned build. Life in this apocalyptic city made him that way. He closed his eyes, the green eyes shimmering, but empty. He had gained himself something of a reputation sense he had killed the last two, and because people already knew his history. He shook his head. Not the time to think about that... he thought, as he looked left and right, his shoulder length red hair moving with him.
For those of you who don't realize, I only agreed to this because Arcturus told me he'd get me some more ammo for my gun. It's hard to find that stuff, it all being wasted in the war. So I'll be telling the story from here until Jaime decides she wants a turn.
Anyways, as Arcturus said, I was walking down the road, apparently, in a very cool fashion, after having met up with him to talk about visiting Jaime sometime. She was in a more dangerous part of New Hope, and we didn't have much of a way to get to her without me wasting some more shells and scum. I told him I'd find a way to take care of it, And so I left his apartment to seek out someone who might have more firepower, or a greater weapon than the baby I have at my side.
But enough about me for a moment. I guess I should describe my friends for the not-real you who will be reading this. (Honestly Arcturus, who is going to read this crap, anyways? Like we need character development...)
First, there is Arcturus. I met him down at the subway on fifth and Landfall Avenue. He was dinking around on his laptop. I saw it and I saw an archaeologist. No one had a laptop! I thought I might take it from him, but then he spotted me. He looked at me like I was something he had never seen before, but then, with my hair, you didn't always have time to be in fear. All the other meth heads and crack smokers didn't have any more color to their hair, or their eyes. I don't know if he mentioned earlier, but I have amazing eyes. Beautiful, stunning, powerful... Oh, right, Arcturus... He's about 5'5" and probably weighs less than I do, which is to be obvious rating in the lack of food, his pitiful frame, etcetera etcetera. He has glasses, which for those of you who don't know are these wire framed pieces of glass that enhance poor vision. Only thing is, I've seen him do pretty well without them, which leads me to believe he tampered with them to be an add-on to his on twenty-twenty vision. He can always spot things before Jaime or I can. I guess I can ask him about it when I get done here.
Enough about him, now. Let's talk about my plays-hard-to-get Jaime. She pretends she doesn't like me, but I know she wants me. She hangs out with us, ever since Arcturus and I came across her surrounded by a couple of tweakers. They looked spiked up on something, and they were staring her down like a pack of rabid wolves. If you were wondering who I killed with those two rounds that Arcturus mentioned earlier, that's where they went. Once I shot two of them, the rest ran away, tails between their legs. She came up and hugged me. Well, you know me, I can't turn it down, so I returned the hug back. However, a tactical error on my part allowed her to feel my true feelings during the hug, and she gave me a smack to the cheek. Damn that girl can hit! Ah yeah... She has long red hair, a little taller than Arc by about two inches, and very skinny, but with how little food is around, it's to be expected. I kinda wish her rack were bigger, but hey, she's got the face to make up for any flaw she has. Gentle complexion, soft blue eyes, and man, when she smiles, she'll make any guy ... well, let's just say, she'll make any guy have a little accident. I love her clothes, too. She has this high cut shirt, revealing most of her stomach, but she wears a bra, so you can't see anything if it goes higher.
I guess I'll get on with my part of the story, seeing as Arc's glaring at me for some reason. I hope Jaime comes by soon. I'm kinda hoping she writes a similar review about her stud.
I decided if I wanted to find something strong, or some more for what I had, I should head to Brock's place. He was one of the tweakers, but he wasn't a freak. Plus, he had connections with people. He could get what he wanted, and, if you were his friend, what you wanted to. He was always collecting things, measuring their value in kilos, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't trust the guy with my life, but I can always trust that he'll have what I need. And I don't need to worry about him reading this... 'cause he can't read as it is! Great stuff.
I came up to his house, and to my surprise, found the place ransacked. Well, more ransacked than usual. I noticed the fifth floor boards were blown out. That's when the hair on my neck started to stick up. All those windows blown out the same way could only mean one thing. Soldiers. 'Peacekeepers' as they dub themselves. They took care of tweakers in certain sections of the city, and usually only did it for the laughs. Every once in a while, though, they would get a mission from their HQ on crime syndicates and centers. Murders, weapons trades, etc. I pulled out my weapon, looking at the front door, which had been kicked off its hinges. I knew that Brock kept that sort of shit for me in his apartment. They may have learned of it, and I was ready for anything. I hit up against the door frame, and looked in. I couldn't hear anything. Maybe the raid had been conducted and was over now. I had to be sure though.
Moving slowly, I made my way in, trying to put in as much of the S.W.A.T maneuvers as possible. I'd watched them perform raids before, so I knew how they did things. I checked each door before I passed them, but I still couldn't hear anything. Never saw a thing. I got to the stairs and started climbing, wishing the elevators still worked.
It was when I got to the fourth floor that I heard boots on wood, moving towards the opposite end of the hall I was on. I stopped and listened.
More footsteps, then nothing.
I know now why I didn't hear anything before. They weren't shouting orders, or yelling as though in a fire fight. These guys were being tactical. That's when I felt the chill in my spine. This was a mission, not a raid.
I heard a guy yell, 'Three!' and then a loud explosion. It barely shook the floor, but I already knew what it was. It was a door bomb, specially made for concussing 'Tangos' on the other side of a door, without killing anyone, possibly only injuring the guys right in front of it. I heard shouts from the room above me, and I heard one of them say, "Drop the weapon! Drop it now!" Silence. Then another command to drop the weapon. I heard another voice, but I couldn't make out the words. It sounded like Brock. I was hoping against hope that he would do as they said, but that hope was dashed with the sound of gunfire. A moment later, there was a loud thump. Whoever had gotten shot had been dropped. I heard slow movement, which could only mean that the soldiers won. Normally, I would have hauled ass out of there. But I felt a pull of curiosity, and walked forward, towards the stairs, making sure to look around the corner as I got to the middle section of the stairs.
I heard voices now. Different from before. It didn't sound like a military guy, but it didn't sound like a tweaker either. I went up to the top of the stairs, and saw a body in the doorway. It wore black gear and a helmet. My heart skipped a beat as I made my way forward, then stopped short of the room.
"Brock?" I said, flinching as I heard the room jump at my voice, then added, "It's me, Malakai... You alright in there, man?"
I heard some muttered stuff, couldn't make it out, then heard him ask our security question.
"Why don't I ever go to 34th anymore?"
I knew this one.
"Because the stuff on 37th is better."
"Alright, guys, it's him," I heard him say, then he stuck his head around the corner. His eyes were sunken deeper than usual, but other than being a little shaken, he smiled his almost toothless smile, and waved me in, patting me on the back. His skeletal structure was still shaky, but he was optimistic none the less. It was after he offered me a seat that I noticed that he had gotten company before I or the soldiers had arrived.
The first one nodded slowly to me, while another standing beside him holstered an Uzi. I jumped a little as another entered the room, picking up the weaponry from the dead soldiers. He examined them, then glanced at his companions with a satisfied look and nod. The first one smiled widely, and offered his hand to me. I shook it.
"I am sorry if we spooked you," he said, his accent very thick, "But we had business with our friend here. You see, as I'm sure you've noticed, and as I've noticed about you, we aren't looking for a fix with Brock," he stepped back, and took the weapon from his comrade, looking it up and down, "Ah yes, an AK-47. Older technology, but still very effective. And it is apparent these bastards stole it from my home country of Mother Russia. You wouldn't know anything about that," he added, and he was right. I had never heard of a country called Mother Russia. Maybe he was talking about one of those countries way off across the ocean. I live on the east coast of what used to be the United States of America before shit hit the fan.
"As I was saying, We are here for something a bit different than drugs," he went on, nodding towards the boxes and crates in the corner, filled with miscellaneous assortments of pistol, machine gun, and rifle ammo, as well as antiques like the colt .45, and more modern ones, like the SG-238. I want that one so bad.
"I am part of a movement looking to get rid of these fascist pigs, and capitalist bastards, and if you wish to do any sort of uprising and bring new order, you need guns, and lots of them. Forget about diplomats. Diplomacy only offers temporary peace, as I'm sure you're aware. We learned from a little birdie in the drug circles about one who also deals in weaponry and ammunition. Apparently the same birdie gave the info to the authorities, who in turn took it upon themselves to seize the WMD's, more than likely for their own use." He walked across the room, and leaned over the crate, handing the AK back to his partner, while the other man stood quietly, his thick mustache hiding any expression as well as his sunglasses. Sifting through the weapons, including the SG-238, he pulled out a fine looking pistol. He smiled and took it over to Brock, whose grin stretched wider at the prospect of a deal.
"How many kilos for the Desert Eagle?"
Brock rubbed his chin, thinking, his eyes darting about as they always did when he was sizing things up in his head. Counting out on his fingers, he finally came to a decision, and stood up straight, his ribs showing pressed against his flesh.
"Three kilos. Because you have such a good eye for quality, I'll let you have four clips of ammo with it, and an extra clip for quick reloading." That's Brock alright. Makes a hard deal sound like a bargain. Probably how he got so much business.
The man smiled, and he reached into his coat, pulling out a snub-nosed pistol, and aiming it at Brock's forehead.
"How about I give you one kilo, and an intact face, sir?"
My heart raced as I saw the man pull the gun on Brock, but I wasn't about to take a bullet for him. I waited quietly, hoping this didn't get messy.
Luckily, Brock isn't stupid. He wiped his forehead, and nodded, smiling a little himself.
"You are indeed a tough negotiator, Mr. Nikolai. But a successful one at that. One kilo it is, for the whole deal."
"You are very wise," Mr. Nikolai said, "It was a pleasure doing business with you." He jerked his head towards the door, and the others went out, carrying the dropped weapons of the soldiers, and nodded to me, smiling that way that he seemed to do for everything, as if he just got off to being a big shot.
"It was a pleasure to meet you, Malakai. I hope you have a good day, I'm sure we'll see each other in the future."
He left.
Once Brock was sure they had left, he looked out the window to watch them walk down the street. They must have been out of sight, cause he came back, and let out a long breath, sitting on a crate. He looked at the kilo he had been given, and shook his head, looking at me.
"I'll use half of this shit! I can't trade this in my circle! Too small! Damn it. That guy looked too nice to be nice guy..." He slit the bag open with a pocket knife, and put a little of the white powder on the end of it. He sniffed it, and his head twitched, then he took a little more and put it to his other nostril, and sniffed with that one, too. After he had blinked a few times, then set the bag aside, he looked at me.
"So what can I do for you, Malakai, my man? Looking for anything new?"
I grinned, and shook my head.
"You know I can't afford that SG you got in there. And I don't got anything to trade for it that would be worth it for you..." I leaned forward, and put my .347 in his lap, looking hopeful. He picked up the weapon, and gave it a good look over. He held it out in front of him, and undid the latch for the revolver, and pulling out a round, examining it.
"This is a pretty good gun. Old, but good. World War two I think." He sifted through his crates, including the one he was sitting on. He checked through his supplies for a while, before turning back to me, his face downturned.
"I'm sorry, bud, but I don't have any ammo that would fit this. If you can feel safe with one less round, I can take it to my ring, and see if anyone has anything like it. I'm meeting them tomorrow, Moon Up."
I thought about the two guys I had shot two months ago. If I encountered anything like that again, I'd be out of ammo, but I guess if it meant I'd have more later, then it wouldn't be too bad.
"Alright, Brock, you got a deal. Find me some more stuff for this, and I'll see what I can scrounge up for you to pay back for it."
Brock waved his hand, a look of disinterest on his face.
"Don't worry about it, Mally. I'll get you your stuff. I know it's a dangerous world out there. If this is all you have, then I'll provide your fix free of charge... For the first time anyways. If I can't find anything, I'll see if I can't trade you for a different pistol with more ammo."
I grinned widely, and patted him on the shoulder, doing it lightly, in case I might break his frail body.
"You're a good guy, man, I don't care what it says about you on 34th."
We both laughed, and he waved me off, taking some more cocaine on his knife and snorting it. I decided after that to just come back here to Arcturus' and sleep off the day's excitement, and wait for Jaime to come by. Maybe she'd be all for some fun later. I could always hope.
Anyways, I'm done talking about my day for now. I'll let Arcturus have his turn later. He seems antsy to talk to me about something now...