Authors: Set Sytes
I live in
the thinnest of all possible worlds, he said to them. I feel starved of life, real life, exhilaration and any sense of enthusiasm . . . all enthusiasm shot, all hope ground up like coffee beans to inject in our veins, pumping us up for the next debilitation, the next slow burn. Life is easy in hurdles – the daemons chittered, yes, yes it was – we can live in challenges and in crisis we thrive, but the slow burn of each passing day . . . the constant non-event . . . the lack of drive that festers in us like excrement . . . swollen pus sacks that beat and balloon in us all, juiced up with false optimisms and then drained and shrivelled like prunes from the sucking greed of each day and night ever demanding, taking your attention and dreams and joy, drinking the energy from you with broken whistling vampire teeth, making you weak with nausea, weak from weakness . . . all anticipation gone, a barrel run dry, disappointment over and over with what there is to offer ourselves . . . grey skies all round . . . the sun winking out like a mirage, beckoning you to ever more cloud.
A
ll strength gone, sopped down the plughole, trickled down to a vast underground basin that twirls and glints with the moonlight that shafts into the darkness through positioned mirrors . . . a fake light, reflected too many times and now choke-thin and wastrel, photosynthesising the ocean of stolen strength. All that reservoir of desire is robbed by the calculations of the world, its debilitating mathematics, and now it churns and shines oddly like something freakish and unwanted here in this underground barrel. It is full to the brim, and yet the festering waters cannot rise higher. Instead the basin deepens, rocks cave away, impenetrable rubble fizzled and steamed to nothing . . . the cavern broadens and goes further, ever deeper, a whole layer of earth that is a devotion to what cannot be the domain of humanity, lest they become too powerful for it, or lest they challenge those the reservoir does not take from: the gifted and the strong, the ever-motivated, the purposeful, the directed, the optimistic, the realists and the positively deluded, the beautiful and the secure and the happily stupid and everybody who thinks everything will be alright because it will.
Mr White
groaned in exhaustion, energy spent merely on his own thoughts. Somehow the physical requirement to leave the chair seemed less than the psychological toll that might be enacted from his own continuing debasement of life. He rose to his feet and shook his head.
There is no better way, he said out loud. And that’s why we continue.
STREET
The three of them walked in the day in the late afternoon. Eyeing passers-by
like hunting dogs. Separating the sheep from the goats. The wolves from the cattle.
You
’re going to Hell, you know, said a huge black man sitting on a bench, fixing them with a cold stare.
I wonder i
f they could show me anything I’ve not already seen, muttered Johnny darkly. He looked like a black spot in the sun, his own shadow. A deity like him did not belong under the malevolent glare of the sun and everybody could see it. Around him the light rippled and fell away.
I didn’t hear that, said the man.
Ay cabron, said Red. Go fuck yourself.
The man
stared them down but they ignored him and moved on.
Mr White looked to the side and saw bald rats scurrying through the trash. Their pink skin was blotched with sores and bulging with tumours, caused by feasting on refuse contaminated with toxic spills and genetically fucked foodstuffs.
Red stopped outside
a sex shop, wanting to go in, despite having passed so many in his time in Rule. Johnny pushed him on. On an adjoining street Johnny entered a gun shop and left empty handed, all three evicted when Red started playing around with the guns. Red then wandered into a tattoo parlour and eyed the artwork with interest.
What are you after? said Mr White.
Big tits devil girl in flames, I was thinkin.
Maybe you sho
uld wait till you get back home, said Johnny quietly. When it’ll be worth it.
I guess. Red seemed a little glum.
They left and saw a couple of men get mugged, by a trio of girls with shivs and switchblades.
Should we help? said Mr White.
Not if you value your life.
The day dragged on and they walked without purpose and they saw a throng of cops beating and kicking an old man on the road.
I t
hought it was District Five! he was crying. I’m sorry! I thought it was Five!
A cop gave him a ringi
ng blow with its black stick. You fivers are disgusting, it droned. You’re all the same. Don’t you have any morals? Don’t you know the truth?
You hear that Johnny, said Red.
Johnny curled his lip. There’s no truth here.
RULE
Johnny had separated from Mr White and Red without explanation. Merely telling them to be ready at the appointed time. Hours later when darkness had fallen rich and velvet they saw him once more.
They stood looking at each other in the lobby of the hotel. Each of them was looking their best, as though they had fit themselves for some occasion. Johnny Black was like the night, with a black shirt and a leather jacket, and jeans like coal. His head was for once hatless, and his hair was
that of a raven. His eyes were clear and bright and his boots were tightly laced and polished black. A long, fresh scar ran down the side of his face and nobody knew where it came from.
Kidd Red wore a
tattered and sleeveless dark grey work shirt, with half the buttons undone to expose his chest, on which hung several medallions and pendants, the chains, beads and cords all jostling up against each other at different lengths. His arms were decorated in further accessories, bracelets and a tied bandana around his wrist, and his hands sported rings on every finger. His cowboy boots looked cleaner than they had ever before and his jeans were thin and tight and a rich blue. He wore silver earrings with black and red feathers hanging down from them and his face was fresh and clean except for deep black eyeliner and his beach blond hair was perfect. He grinned at them like a pirate and went to run his hands through his hair and then stopped, not wanting to mess up all the time he had spent on it.
Mr White was in his best suit, his hair combed and his shoes polished and his face shaved baby smooth.
They looked at each other looking their best and none of them understood why he or the others had dressed up. It seemed a coincidence, but Johnny narrowed his eyes and for a second Mr White felt anxious. This passed as soon as Red yelped out.
Fuckin hell look at the rai
n! It’s fuckin slashin it down! Red stared out of the lobby into a downpour. They could hear the thunder of the rain on the stone ground from inside.
Come on,
said Johnny, moving towards the outside.
My hair, man!
It ain’t going to lighten up anytime soon. Come on.
Red grumbled
but left with them. Within seconds they were soaked, their hair dripping down their faces. They continued on.
There was something in tha
t night that they all observed. Their best clothes, all of which was arranged unspoken and without prior consideration, even to themselves. The pounding of the rain on the ground and the rumble of thunder above them. Flashes of lightning could occasionally be seen through the clouds. Mr White shivered and even Red looked unnaturally serious, his eyes furrowed and his smoke drifting like ghosts. Black strode on ahead, hard, crunching the wet ground under his bootheels.
The atmosphere was portentous, and they could all feel it. They felt each of them their own omen,
and they felt it in each other, and together they shared a connection the like of which they didn’t understand and had never felt before.
For a while nobody smoke
d. And then Red started to complain, about the rain and his hair and the walk and his clothes getting ruined. The complaints turned random and abstract, about anything he could think of and then nothing, incoherent and senseless.
Eventually Johnny span on his heel and they came to a dead stop in the storm.
Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Johnny spoke harsh and cold and yet without emotion.
Fuck you,
retorted Red, and spat on the ground, which was instantly washed clean. Everybody’s hair was plastered to their faces and rain dripped off their noses and ears and chins. The air was heavy and they all felt heavy, as if gravity was pulling them down to Hell. The sky hung over them, tightening.
Johnny looked hard at Red
and shook his head slowly. You couldn’t have always been like this.
Been like what.
Like this.
I’m the same boy as I was. The same fuckin boy man. You hear me? I ain’t never changed! I ain’t never changed.
That’s a lie, said Johnny.
It ain’t. It ain’t.
Mr White saw their faces, nought but plastic sheets with the rain running down like cotton threads and he saw that the rain was wrong, all wrong, and their faces were wrong, the sky was wrong and the world was wrong and their souls were wrong.
Red puffed on his cigarette and kicked a stone away from him. I ain’t never been somethin new. Ain’t never been somethin other than what I was.
A user and a pervert and a complete and utter fuckup.
Go
fuck
yourself.
Don’t try me Kidd, said Johnny calmly.
Tomorrow I could be wearing your skin for a coat.
Giiiive
me a fuckin breaaak, Red drawled, sing-song. But his eyes were narrowing and Johnny noticed.
I can do it Kidd. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve torn up guys before
and you’re no different. You never did find out what it feels to be hurt, to die. I think everybody needs to feel it, to understand it. Perhaps it might teach you a little respect.
Fuck off Johnny! Red snarled. I’ll respect your mother.
Johnny closed his eyes and turned around
slightly, as if Red was not worthy of his attention. You’re pathetic, Kidd. A man-boy living life by the trip of his boot.
I'm sick of this! Red blurted out.
Pathetic? As if you’re not?! You ever listen to yourself? Red turned to Mr White, his hand cocked like a gun and pointing at Johnny. It's all bullshit, every fuckin thing he says!
Johnny Black lazily turned his head and laid
a cool eye on Kidd Red as the rain beat down hard on their faces and the thunder rolled and cracked like the shot of a gun.
You think you're some big
shot intellectual, some fuckin god of a philosopher, but you're not! Red shouted angrily, his arms waving wildly. Have you ever fuckin listened to yourself? None of what you say makes a goddamn piece of sense, just random sentences you've tossed into a junk pot to see what sounds good! You got no philosophy or great wisdom, you're just a guy, just some deluded fuck who is fucked in the head and pretentious about it as shit! You think with some husk of a voice and a black cowboy hat and a don't-fuck-with-me gaze you're impenetrable, but you ain’t! Back home I bet you're nothin, bet you're some two-bit hillbilly fuck with a heart as soft as shit. You spend every day lyin about on a stained couch drinkin light fuckin beer and stuffin your fat face with potato chips, surrounded by piles of fuckin books you pretend to understand, scratchin your fuckin balls through your hick pants and pattin some pampered pussy. I got you fuckin
figured
, Mr big man actin the fuckin psychopath.
There was some explosion in the world, and Mr White clamped his hands to his ears. Everything about seemed unsettled and confused, even the air seemed different – distorted and smelling of hot smoke and hot blood – and everyone but Johnny Black struggled to make sense of it.
Kidd Red looked down and found himself with a hole in his chest. He dipped his finger in tentatively, and it came out stringy and wet. Red looked up, his face contorted more in puzzlement than horror, and his eyes met the single sight of a gun held like a shadow in Johnny Black's hand.
You . . . fuck.
Red managed his last words before he fell face down into a puddle of mud, his face smirched in what looked like shit.
Mr White made a noise that was some kind of half point between the whine of a pup and the strangled cry of an infant. It came out from his throat in stuttering stop-starts, and timed itself in measure as if it were to some invisible beat.
Calm yourself now, Johnny Black said, holstering the gun nobody thought he had behind the folds of his jacket. It ain’t that bad.
You – you killed him!
That looks about the measure of things, yes.
Why!
We need to get out of here. People will have heard. Johnny reached out to Mr White, who flinched and shuddered as his arm was gripped and dragged along.
Mr White stumbled often and kept looking back and kept making
strange, inarticulate noises. We can't just leave him there! he cried.
If we come ba
ck later the body will be gone.
Then we need to bury him now!
Johnny Black made a sound that was a bit like a laugh. You're kidding?
Mr White stared at him, his eyes aghast and scared.
Johnny sighed as he continued to rush them both along, dragging Mr White behind him like a child in tow. You're too far down the goddamn rabbit hole. You need to dig yourself out.
You killed him!
We've established that. It ain’t as big a problem as you are making out.
What!
Johnny Black sighed again. Get a grip White.
Mr White was calming, or at least gaining some control over himself. He could find his voice better no
w, and stop repeating himself. Why did you kill him?
I saw no reason not to.
Johnny steered them down another alleyway and slowed down, loosening his grip on Mr White's arm, but carefully, as if this was a test.
You hated him, didn't you?
Hate is an unreasonable emotion. It shows a lack of control over an unstable temperament.
Stop it! You hated him!
If I had hated him, why would I have stayed around him for so long? I don't make company lightly.
So you killed hi
m just because he insulted you?
That would be a rather poor display of self-control, do you not think? I killed him because there was no reason he needed to be alive.
It was a nothing, a non-event.
Bullshit!
Mr White shouted, and was taken aback momentarily by himself. Every event needs a cause! I know you killed others, I thought I could forget it or ignore it or something, but I never thought you'd kill one of your friends!
Johnny smiled widely, and th
e smile even reached his eyes. Is that what we are, friends? he said, and then added, like it was an afterthought, How quaint.
Oh, stop it, please!
Mr White ran his hands through his hair, his face creased up with all manner of emotion, not least exasperation. Johnny had let go completely of his arm, and yet he followed anyway, as though some kind of animal dumb in obedience, or as though he was bound to this murderer in spirit and body. The image of Kidd Red's death kept replaying itself over in his mind: the sense of a profound disturbance and disarray in the world, the hole in Red's chest, the abject confusion, the sudden, whispering clarity, the red fingers, the smoking gun. The calm. Johnny Black's expression. Nothing. Calm.
Closer and closer he leant to Johnny's side, as if this man of untouchable power offered protection and safety from this evil world, as though the man beckoned him in to a warm, comforting embrace that would never come. He walked along with a murderer, and for a long while neither of them spoke.
They were nearly at the border to the next district when Mr White stopped suddenly and held up his hands.
He sat down in the middle of the street.
I’m not going any further.
Yes you are, said Johnny.
No. I’m going back.
Johnny dug his fingers in to his eyes. Mr White, he said. Mr White. What’s your first name? What’s your first name
Mr White
?
I’m going back! I’m going to get Red’s body. We just left him there, for fuck’s sake!
Johnny shook his head. The body will be gone.
Why will it be gone? We can get to it before them . . .
No! Johnny grabbed Mr White by his neck. It’ll be gone! Disappeared! There’ll be nothing!
What?!
Fuck. Fuck fuck
fuck
, said Johnny, letting go and turning around and walking a few steps away. This is crazy. It’s fucking, just,
argh
. What’s happened to you? You ain’t who you say you are. Nobody is!
What’s
happening
?
Listen
friend! Remember! Remember the Game! Johnny said urgently, and the sky roared overhead, a thunderous clanging and wailing siren. Red flashes of Hell in the clouds. The nearest people stared at them; further away on the street, others kept on with their business, their attentions unaltered.
The what?
Shut up, you know this. Think. For fuck’s sake
think.
What are we doing here?
We’re here to -
No. Where did you come from? Do you remember that?
From . . . somewhere else.
Mr White put his hands to his temple and tried to think. He felt like he was down a well, closed in and unable to see but a prick of light at the top. The distance seemed abstract, something impossible to grasp, like an infinite staircase.
It’s a game!
Rule! You’re playing it! Johnny Black shouted, and this time the sky wailed purple, and the siren and clashing felt all about them, as if they were held in a concave of noise and calamity.
Two of the people close to them moved forward purposefully, their faces hard and brows furrowed.
Get the fuck away from us before I rip your entrails out.
They hesitated.
You can still feel pain, don’t forget that, Black growled, standing up to face them. And that won’t be the end of it. I’ll hunt you down. The real you. Does that mean anything to you cunts? You’ll be breathing through a tube when I’m done with you, and half the bed will be empty and red because your legs will be sawn off. Look at me, do you think I won’t? Really? Come closer. I’ll find you. I’ll find you and I’ll tear you into strips of meat for my cat.
Within a minute even the shadows couldn’t find their forms.
Johnny knelt down and leant into Mr White. You know what will happen if I say it again.
Wh
at will happen? Say what again?
Johnny scrunched up his eyes and gritted his teeth. So be it. You
’re playing a game. He shook his head. You fucking cretin.
Johnny’s body shivered, and then his whole form quivered like it was static on some untuned television. And then it winked out from the world, and there wasn’t a trace left, not even the smell.
Mr White’s eyes boggled and he yelled out into the silence.
The next several hours were spent scared and confused, full of anxiety and madness. He grabbed cops by their shoulders and was thrown off and hit. He wept. He asked everyone for help, sounding like a drunken loon. Everyone turned away from him or punched him apart from their person.
The next day bruises had sprung up all over his skin. He spent
the day groaning and trying to understand what was going on.
At night, he curled up in the corner of his room with his head in his hands. Eventually, he looked up and stared at the wall. He watched the plaster peel itself away from a locust family buried in the cracks. A fat m
other insect wriggled out and a jumble of maggots dropped to the carpet. Even the plagues were plagued.
Fuck it, he said at last. He got up and got out and wandered the streets like a vagabond with nothing to lose.
And after that, just like that, the Game was over.
WASTELAND
Johnny Black sighed and put his feet up on the couch. It’s up to him now, he said to himself. Damn idiot. But he spoke this softly and with an almost air of sadness.
Johnny picked up the manual off the table and read thro
ugh it for the umpteenth time. He knows what words to say. Least he should do. Two simple goddamn words. Will anyone help him? He exhaled slowly through pursed lips. No, no they won’t. Bastard better not be Stuck.
Everyone playing
the Game of Rule, or any of the countless others, hooked themselves up before they started, connected themselves to a drip and a bag and the like to keep their body running through all that time spent in virtual reality. It was all packaged together if you bought (or stole) a good enough system. He’d got his on the black market. Your body really didn’t need much at all once its mind was occupied somewhere else. Just enough real nutrients and liquid to keep you alive, and your mind would be tricked into satisfaction from virtual food.