Xarn lifted his head from the bar and motioned for another drink. Shears poured the drunk 2 fingers of a clear liquid into a glass. Xarn just stared.

“Did you forget who I am?”

Shears filled the glass and tossed it down.

“That’s a shame,” Xarn called to the back of the retreating barman. “I had hoped it was contagious.” He knocked back half the drink and waited for the burn to fade.

The Rusty Blade was his current home, his office, his hideout. Behind him, a table of taciturn dwarves reminisced about a bygone war in a bygone age none were old enough to remember. In a corner sat a group of fresh faced adventurers. Shears like to fleece them while promising a “wise old man” would come with tails of a map leading to an ancient treasure. Toward the end of a bar two figures, conspicuously free of dirt, sat – no, huddled together.

Xarn tried to focus. It was the likes of these two that allowed him his slow descent into a drunken death. They wanted to access one of the Blade’s many pocket dimensions – cut off from this plane completely. Secure and silent – the best business room in Capital.

***

Xarn was a Shaper. He had belonged to a religious order who could access other planes of existence, walk amongst them, and tame the creatures found there. The good ones could form small pockets of space in these planes. They were Melders. The best ones could create these spaces anywhere. These were the Shapers.

And Xarn was one of the best.

He had worked with kings, securing secrets, protecting visiting dignitaries. He was tipped to become the leader of order in Capital. And then the winds of power changed, a political coup, bought and sold by the merchant classes. They bought the army, the city guard, and moved quietly and decisively. No blood was spilt, but the power of the monarchy was over. And smuggling whores to the princess became a moral offense of the highest order.

Xarn was excommunicated and left with in an awkward position, he couldn’t unlearn what he knew, and he was too powerful to be left alive.

So he called on his contacts in the underbelly of Capital and became one of them – working on becoming indispensable. If you needed something hidden, he was your man. Something protected? Again. Xarn could do it. And in return, on top of the cash, he was protected.

The  Rusty Blade was a prime example of Xarn’s work. Complete spirit protection – from weapons checks on the door, to anti-listening spirits. At the first sign of any trouble, a group of very angry djinn phase in and ensure that it stops.

One way or another.

That type of security paid for his drinks, but it was just a matter of time.

***

Shears walked back up the bar.

“They were looking for you.” He murmured, his head nodding back at the two huddlers as they left. “They didn’t look like they wanted you best interests at heart, and how could I throw them my best customer?”

And this the reason Xarn was drank – for free – every night…afterno…day…waking moment.

He downed the rest of his drink and made his way to a secure room.

The thick blue line moved steadily forward, leaving the cracked skulls and bleeding faces of the foe; and injured officers, in its wake. Inexorably dispersing the crowd, dismantling burning barricades and disarming would be assailants. It mattered not that the kids were right; that the cause they fought for nightly was just. They were outside of the law.

That was all that mattered.

And so the nightly news broadcast to a nation of children, violence done to them with abandon, and bred the next night’s warriors.

“Daddy, are you sure?” He daughter wasn’t pleading. But it was close. She had tears in her eyes and her voice hitched every now and then. Gabriel hated making her sad, but he had made up his mind.

“I’m sorry, baby girl. But it’s my time.” He slowly crossed the room and held her hand. “I’ve had a good innings. I mean – look at where I am? I’m in another galaxy, light years from where I was born. You’re an alien! I’ve seen first contact. More than once.” He grew silent, as he looked out of the viewport.

“Dad?”

He smiled, took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. “And I miss your mother.”
Gabriel’s wife had made her decision 6 months earlier. They were to go together, but he wanted to see a nearby star go Nova. He had visited her every day since she had gone.

***

They had lived a triumphant life. Lives. Before they had changed bodies, he convinced her to try the moon colony. They needed to renew for that. By the time they had to decide if they were to renew again, she had insisted they visited Mars.
They were three bodies in when the chance to leave the galaxy had come up. Had that not been an option, they probably would have gone then – but with so much more to see, they couldn’t pass it up.

“Come on, let’s go pay her a visit, yeah?” Gabriel’s daughter held out her arm, supporting her dad as they walked form the room, down to where her mother, his wife and companion for nine generations, rested.

It hadn’t been all fun and games. More than once they had been in courthouses, demanding their marriage be dissolved. Other times they just separated. Which, for them, meant living in different rooms.

She always insisted that there was no such thing as everlasting love.

He kept on pointing out that he was still there.

She countered with the same question: “Oh, so it’s me that makes things so difficult, is that what you’re saying?”

Which is when he stopped playing.

***

They arrived at The Sim. The room was bare, respectful. In the middle was a flat table. They sat opposite each other, Gabriel pulling out a cable. One end he fitted into a table leg, the other went into his left temple.

In the middle of the table a screen burst into life. On it was a beautiful woman, a quarter of Gabriel’s age. She looked round, and did a double take on seeing her daughter.

“Oh, hello Andrea.”

“Hi, mum.” Andrea started crying again.

“What’s wrong?” The woman on the screen looked concerned. “Is everything ok?”

Gabriel walked in behind her, young now, matching his wife’s age perfectly.

“Everything’s fine, Ri. I just told her it was my time.”

Ri turned and hugged her husband. At the table, his body twitched.

“How was the nova?”

“Glorious. You should have seen it.”

“Gah – I’ve seen them before. I don’t know why you’re so interested in them. Oh..I’ve leveled.”

“WHAT? When? How many now?”

“Well, what was I supposed to do, in here on my own? I’ve only gone up a couple and now I’m waiting.”

Gabriel looked out at his daughter. “You see what I have to put up with? Do you see now?”

Andrea laughed, a great sobbing laugh.

“I’m going to say Goodbye, Ri. And then we can go. One last time.”

He kissed his wife and walked out of the image.

Gabriel’s body stood up, and he pulled the cable out.

“Well, my love. This is it. You’re ok with this, right?”

She nodded, tears and snot streaming down her face. “Oh dad. I didn’t think you’d every go. Either of you.”

He was crying now. “Neither did I. Who knew, huh?”

They hugged.

“Here.” He reached behind his neck and pulled off a necklace. On it were two clear gems. “Just in case.” He winked.

“We’d like to stay in orbit, but you can turn the power down. Just enough for the sim, and to keep us up. If you’d rather not deal with this.” He pointed at himself, “Call one of the nurses. You just keep those jewels safe, you hear?”

She nodded.

“Right then.” He took his seat once more, and slotted his cable.

Gabriel Franklin the 9th looked up at his daughter. “Goodbye, love. I’ve always been so very proud of you.”

On screen, he walked up to his wife. They kissed once more, and waved.

“So, where are we off to? The Forests or the Beach?”

“I want palm trees,” his wife replied.

Andrea watched her parents armour up, and ride off to face some new adventure.

At the table, Gabriel’s body – just a shell now – slumped, as he stopped breathing.

“Hey – don’t let mum hear you talking like that!”

Damien blushed. “Well, you won’t tell her.”

His older brother smiled. “No, I won’t. And no, I’m not. Back in the old days it was.”

“How do you know? You weren’t here in the old days.”

“I read books, don’t I?”

“Books?”

“Yeah. Ones with paper pages and everything.”

Damien’s eyes widened. He’d heard of paper, but he’d never seen any. He squinted at his brother. Damien didn’t know whether to trust him, as the younger of the two he was used to being teased mercilessly.

“So…?”

“So?” Aaron looked down from the hill at the lights. “Oh! The lights. Right. Well…years ago, they had these flying machines and-”

“We have them still, Aaron. We call them Zeps.”

Aaron jumped his brother, tickling him until he gasped for breath.

“So, as I was saying until I was rudely interrupted,” he glanced at his brother who flinched and grinned back. “These machines circled the planet, out in space. And then, once every so often, they’d came back down at set places, and,” he nodded at the lights. “Those were the things that guided them in.”

“But…what did they do?”

“Lots of different things. Some were mining ships, some were communication ships. Some even took people up with them so they could go further out into The Night.”

“Wow” Damien didn’t care if he was being lied to now. Just the thought of traveling in The Night – where it was truly dark, not neon dark. If only it were possible. The Collapse didn’t even give them the power to push metal boxes around.

“So,” Aaron continued – either on a roll, or enjoying the chance to tell his story. “This one was the most special. They had sets of these lights all over the world to guide a fleet of ships in. They came from a distant galaxy, no one knew how far-”

“How could they not know? No! No!” Damien squealed, as his brother moved towards him, fingers poised for another attack. “But…how?”

“They didn’t want to know. Some things were better kept secret. I mean, sure they knew. It’s not like we used to let anything land here, but they didn’t tell the people. Instead they gave it some joke number -Galaxy 54N74.”

“Is that funny?”

“I think it was science humour. It didn’t make me laugh and there was no notes about it anywhere else.”

Damien nodded and, for a moment, both looked at the lights.

“See the orange one?” Aaron pointed to the top of the structure, at a single light that blinked forlornly. “That light told when the fleet was coming.

“See, somehow, the 54N74 system could monitor our galaxy and could determine how many people had been good. If more had been, a shipment would be sent here and, at a certain time, the lights would flick from orange to red and guide the ships in. The RU Fleet. Planet wide ships would land and gifts would be given out.”

“Gifts? They’d come and bring presents? RLY?”

“Ya, RLY. Sometimes for people, sometimes for the whole world. And people would come out to see the biggest ship me the fleet. D01F. The books say it was massive, and lit up so much it makes the Mall look like a personal lamp.”

They sat in silence. Damien let the name ring round his head. The Nightship RU-D01F. He was pretty sure he was being wound up but the dream was too beautiful to break.

“They must have stopped a long time ago if the 54N74′s checked who was good,” he whispered.

“They did. I think these lights go on now because whoever’s in charge isn’t sure what to do with them. Still,” Aaron’s voice strained as he stood up. “They look nice.”

Small white clumps started to fall from the sky, and settled on the ground.

“Come on, Day. It’s an ash storm. These things’ll kill you if you’re not careful.”

The two kids fitted their filtration masks and Aaron made sure his kid brother was sealed securely in his environment coat.

“I’m going to be good, Aar.”

Aaron smiled behind his mask. “You do that, Day. You do that.” He turned away from the lights. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

As they trudged into the night, Damien stole one last glance at the guidance system and the lonely orange light before hurrying to catch up with his brother.

“You bastard, Sammy. You fucking, cheating bastard. I will destroy every last little thing you did here. Everything. Do you hear me? The drugs are coming back, Sammy. I’ll put them in your fucking schools. You’ll look down at HELL, you bas-”

His words faltered as Sam walked out from behind The Elevator and crossed the plaza towards him, checking the bullets in his revolver. But this wasn’t the Sam who walked to The Elevator some 30 seconds ago. This Sam walked with a purpose, with a confidence not seen before.

He stood next to Jefe, but kept his eyes on the horizon. “I always knew you were too weak and too stupid to see this work though.” Sam looked at his watch. “In about 2 minutes, give or take, a whole lot of things are going to change around here. When they do, we need to work out what your position is, Jefe.”

Sam walked to his guest, crouched down and took hold his chin and turning his face up. Sam stared at him. “I was going to kill you. But I think you should see this first.”

He stood again. “Ok boys. Let’s pull them back a bit. Just to be on the safe side.”

Eddie and Allan shimmered into view again and man-handled the others back. After a while, Sam looked back in time to see The Elevator disappear into the smog cloud.

He motioned them all to stop.

“You know what happens when you mistreat an animal enough?” He was staring at his guest.

“Do you?”

There was a flash in the cloud, closely followed by the sound of an explosion. The smog briefly cleared around the lift shaft as a shockwave reverberated out. Within the shaft there was a whirring, whining sound. The Elevator was descending now, smoking and flaming, clattering down in freefall, buckling the shaft as it fell, destroying any chance of repair, before crashing to the bottom, wrecking the plaza.

“They bite.”

Finally Sam’s guest spoke. “You stupid bastard. You have no idea what you’ve done.” He started laughing “Oh yes, animals bite. And you know what we do to them when we do? We have them destroyed and start on a new one.”

“I can’t wait to meet your vet,” Sam raised his gun and pointed it at the bleeding outsider.
He held it there for what felt like an eternity before pulling the trigger and putting the man from Up Top out of his misery.

“Gentlemen. Tonight we put all our men on full alert. If that guy got down here without anyone noticing, others can, too. Though, I suspect our little gift will give them pause. Oh – and we all need new places to stay.” Sam shook his head. “Jefe. You are such a disappointment. You could have fucked it all up. And for what? You’ve have sold everyone out at the chance of getting up there – even after that bullshit pep talk on the roof.” Sam reached into his jacket, pulling out an envelope.

He threw it at Jefe’s feet.

“That will get you out of The Tow, across The Wilds to… any-the-fuck-where else. I don’t care.” He sighed. “You have a choice. Stay, step down, do as I say. Or get out and don’t come back.”

Sam walked away. “Eddie, Allan, we need a car.”

Allan nodded, and ran ahead.

“What about Jefe’s men?” Eddie asked.

Sam stopped, hearing the credit music in his head already. He smiled his best smile. “You know the rules. The help gets murdered, the boss gets beaten.” He paused for effect. “Gentlemen. Put your guns down and work for me. We don’t have to spill any blood.”

Allan pulled up. “Your ride, mate.”

“You know, Eddie?” Sam said, jumping in the back. “This is the modern way.”

Sam, Jefe and the stranger from Above stood, guns trained on each other.

Jefe’s men were sprawled on the floor, Sam’s had disappeared, and their car was engulfed in flames having just been blown up.

“And yet, that’s not exactly what happened, was it.”

“We are born to improvise. Now, put a bullet in this loser and let’s get going.”

“Going how. Exactly?”

“The Elevator.”

Sam thought for a second. “Knees,” he announced. “Both of them.”

His guest went down, screaming, his knees shot out.

Sam walked over. “See. That Elevator? Only one can ride it, you sack of shit.” He turne and walked to the Elevator. “Cover him.” Stopped. “Actually, cover them both. I’m now sure I trust Jefe yet.”

***

“This is it, Sammy-boy. Only one can ride this.” He fitted the last of his cases into The Elevator.

The coppery tang of blood made Sam’s nose tingle. He looked at the bodies. The death that he had wrought.

“It was the only way,” he repeated the mantra. Keeping the basics, changing the tactics.

He stared at his new face, reflected back at him.

This is everything he had worked for. All the death; all the pain; all the money. All the Sacrifice.

It was all for this. This moment.

This triumph.

He brought his hand to his cheek, remembering the start of this journey.

His face hit the ground , this nose crumbling on impact.

All that was behind him. He was free.

“Sorry, boys.”

There were two buttons. 1 and 0. Sam smiled, and pressed the button, turning away as the doors closed and The Elevator started its long journey up.

Through the glass wall, reinforced naturally, the whole of The Tow was visible.

His house. The site of his first deal; his first, and subsequent, beatings. The hovels of his friends. Friends…gang members…bodyguards.

Everything, in fact, except the final price of that journey. The sacrifice of his friends.

Only one person could ride The Elevator.

He remembered how they’d sit and watch the elevator shaft. Everyone did it. Watching to see if one of them was escaping to the High Life beyond the Cloud. Or if pain and misery was coming the other way.

It was only one way out of The Tow – beating everyone else. Rising to the top by any means necessary.

The elevator hit The Cloud. The layer of filth that enclosed The Tow. Shrouded it. Kept the gaze of the masses away from the land of milk and honey. Everybody wanted it – but no one knew what it was they were getting. All they knew was that it meant living like an animal – either predator, or prey. That was the modern way.

The Elevator started to slow. Sam straightened his suit. Now was the time to see if it all paid off.

The Elevator juddered to a halt, the floor alarm pinged. Which covered the sound of guns cocking.

And as the lift doors opened, so did the guns.

Above Cloud didn’t want any filthy upstarts muscling in on their turf. Keep them fighting each other. Kill those which threaten the status quo.

THAT was the modern way.

That was the only way.

Jefe excelled at stating the obvious. But it was the way he’d spice it up with added menace that too it from “dumb” to “dangerous.

Things were spiraling out of control. Jefe had taken the precaution of pointing a gun at Sam’s head. Sam’s boys had their weapons trained on him. Jefe’s men had their guns aiming for Eddie and Allan.

“Those look like you’re going to be leaving. You thinking of going up, Sammy?”

Sam was doing every conciliatory move he could remember. “Jefe, this really isn’t how it looks. Just put the guns down and we can talk about this.”

“You think you’re good enough to go up there?” Jefe screamed as he came advanced on Sam, who retreated the same distance. The others moved around, keeping a close aim. “This is MY ELEVATOR! You’re not going up there!”

“Jefe. Please. This is all a mistake. You need to listen to-”

“I need to put you down like the stinking dog you are. You would be NOTHING without me. NOTHING. I made you.”

Sam fought his anger and memories of being the punching bag for people he now owned.

“Jefe.” He stopped, took a breath and tried again. “You do not understand what is happening here because you are not a part of it. Go home, Jefe.”

Jefe spat out a mirthless laugh. Looked away for a fraction of a second. “Fuck this, you’re a dead man.”

“Jefe, Jefe, Jefe. Why do you think we’d take you. You were a failure the first time round; You have let this young man run rings around you. Really. You’re not worth setting on fire so I wouldn’t have to piss on you to put you out.”

All eyes shot round to the figure approaching. The man who recruited Sam.

“Not helping,” said Sam.

“But all I need to do is put a bullet in this piece of shit and your plans are fucked.” Jefe laughed.

“Not really. That still take Samuel out of circulation. The Tow goes back to being useless, and you go back to being a failed criminal, constantly in fear of your crown being taken. The normal order returns.”

Jefe turned his gun on the newcomer.

“Well, Samuel. This is exciting, isn’t it. Don’t forget, now. Only one can ride The Elevator, so let’s hurry this along, shall we?”

Eddie turned to his friend, “What did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“No – fuck you. What did he say?”

“I said only one-”

A shot rang out. The ground at the newcomer’s feet exploded. “I wasn’t talking to you,” growled Eddie. “What, Sam, did that piece of shit mean about only one person being able to ride The Elevator.”

“That you’d be staying behind. I’d be the only one going up.”

Sam lowered his hands, slipping one into his pocket.

“So, what, Sam? You were just going to leave us?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

In his pocket, Sam found the small transmitter.

“A manner of speaking?” Eddie was screaming now.

Sam nodded, flicking off the safety catch. Eddie winked and Sam pressed the button.

Eddie’s car exploded, lifting into the air. The shock wave pushed Jefe’s the the floor, their weapons tumbling away from them. Eddie and Allan shimmered out of sight.
Sam pulled his revolver and swung round.

Sam’s guest had a compact gun pointing at Jefe. Jefe had two guns, one pointing at Sam, the other at his guest. Sam had his gun out, but he wasn’t about to announce which side he was on.

“It looks like you were right. You know, I never did get your name.”

His guest shrugged.

“This is very exciting.”

There was something bothering him.

He ran back to his apartment and threw some weapons in a bag for his team, taking a quick glance as the Elevator as it made its long descent.

“Only one can ride The Elevator.”

On the desk sat an open oak box. Inside was a revolver. Sam paused. Could he really go through with it?

Could he -

It was something with the elevator that bothered him. What the fuck was it?

He grabbed the revolver, slipped it into the back of his trousers and headed down.

***

Once in the car, he opened the bag of weapons, signaling for silence, one last time, in case the car was bugged.

Allan and Eddie reached in, grabbing pistols, automatics and ammo clips.

Finally Sam coughed. “Right. It’s not everyday that thing comes down. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

***

It seemed that Sam wasn’t the only one wanting to see “what’s going on,” and so the roads to The Elevator were quite busy.

“Look at them. They clearly forget the only thing connected with The Elevator is death.”

Sam shook his head.

It would appear that Sam’s final act of betrayal would be his gift to the people of The Tow. How kindly would they think on him then?

Christ. It was going to be ugly.

***

Eddie swung the car into the final approach. Already a small crowd had gathered, but they were keeping a respectful distance.

“What’s… going on here?” Sam muttered.

The base of the Elevator was surrounded by armed guards. They clearly weren’t going to let anyone on rr, for that matter, off it.

Which was a bad thing. The Elevator was nearly at the bottom and Sam wanted to be on his way.

Christ. The Elevator. It was something about The Elevator.

A thought grew in Sam’s mind.

“Stop the car.”

It was huge.

Eddie looked back. “What?”

The small crowd stopped talking amongst themselves and watched.

Only one can ride The Elevator.

“Stop the fucking car!” Sam yelled.

They screeched to a halt.

“It’s a set up.”

The Elevator stopped. Pinged. A muffled voice said “Ground Floor.”

It grew clearer as the doors opened. “Have a nice day.”

She stood, encased in black. It absorbed the muted sunlight, giving her an edged outline. In the time it took the guards to react, two were dead.

As one, the crowd screamed. You could see the wave of panic spread through them.

The weapon was perfect. Silent, no recoil. She stepped from The Elevator.

The crowd fled.

Sam heard his breath catch. She was beautiful. No movement was wasted. A third guard dropped.

A ballet of death. She spun, avoiding the clumsy attack from a fourth guard – letting the bullets fired rip into his team mate – before firing and taking the attacker out.

Sam stepped from the car, revolver in his hand. He aimed over the door, watching her dance. Counting her steps, waiting for the moment until -

He squeezed the trigger.

The revolver roared. The assassin danced to the left, her body weight committed, pulling her into the path of the incoming bullet. He head snapped backwards and she crumpled to the floor.

Sam stuck his head in the car. “Bring the cases. I’ve been fucked.”

His crew looked at him, clearly confused. “If The Elevator coming down causes all this madness. The guards, the rubber neckers. How the hell did my visitor get here? We need to keep our eyes open.”

***

Sam tried to kick the guns from the figures hands, only to discover they were grafted on. He crouched and checked them out. The seams were flawless, as if she had been born with guns for hands. Jefe’s words echoed in his head – “If that’s how they let us live; how they choose to whittle us down; what place do we have up there?”

None of the guards had survived her attack. Sam approached the elevator. Empty, the doors kept open by the slumped body of a guard.

Eddie arrived with the cases, which Sam slid into place. “We good?”

A car screeched to a halt, doors slammed. Sam stuck his head out and had a look.

It was Jefe.

Sam looked up at Eddie and shook his head.

“No, my friend. We are not. Not good at all.”

Sam had discovered he wasn’t implanted, but he didn’t know if his place was bugged, or his car – so a lot of meetings were taking place in various clubs around The Tow. He’d soon know if his planning was for nothing, though.

This was the final week.

Sam walked into Jefe’s room, sat in the chair he sat in 18 months ago when he sold Jefe his idea of an investment. They still used the same tailor. Sam paid now.

Jefe came into the room.

“Sam. Always nice to see you. How are things going?”

“Eh, you know, Jefe. We own pretty much everything. So, it’s going well.”

“And the schools?”

“Protected.”

“Drug use?”

“Down.”

There was a moments silence.

“For how long?” Jefe asked.

“In the major spots, it’s up and down. At the edges, it’s been down for 6 straight months.”

Jefe smiled.

“Who would have thought, Sam. You’ve made a crime lord an honest man. And yet…”

“He knows.” Sam thought.

“How are things with you, Sam?” The tone was ingratiating. “Anything changing in your life? Thinking of.” A pause. Short. But there. “Going anywhere?”

“Me, Jefe? Noo.” Sam shifted in his seat. “Wh-” Shit. He’d said to much. “Why’d you say that?”

“I’ve heard rumours, Sam. People visiting. Trips to clubs. Quiet planning. I recognise the signs.”

“Signs?”

Jefe fixed Sam with a look, sizing him up, taking his measure.

“Sam,” he said, finally. “Walk with me.”

Jefe got up and walked into the back of the building. Sam had never been anywhere except that room.

He was terrified.

***

They walked up.

“Sam. You know how I think of you.? I look at the difference we have made. And. Well. I like to think we have trust, Sam. You know? That you don’t think of me as a schmuck.”

“Jefe! You know I don’t. That’s why I came straight to you with-”

“That was over a year ago, Sam. I’m wondering about now.”

The roof.

Jefe walked to the edge.

“Sam. Come and look out here with me.”

And that’s when Sam’s spime rang.

Sam looked at the number. There wasn’t one.

“You want to take that, Sam?” Not really a question.

Sam answered. “Yup?”

“Samuel. That’s not very polite is it.”

“It’s all your getting. What do you want?”

“It is time, Samuel. In three hours, The Elevator will be coming. Do you remember what I told you, Samuel?”

Sam stared into Jefe’s eyes. “Sure.”

“Tell me, Samuel. Tell me so I-”

Sam hung up.

“Problems, Sam?”

“Nothing that can’t be handled. So, what were you going to show me?” He joined Jefe at the edge of the roof.

“Look at this place, Sam. Look at what we are. We live like animals. Sure, you do what you can to help, and I let you. But this is what we are. Animals.” Jefe looked up to the smog cloud. “If that’s how they let us live; how they choose to whittle us down; what place do we have up there?”

Sam nodded. Thought long and hard before he replied. “Yep. But what are the chances of me getting up there? Shit, Jefe. You’d be up there before I would.”

Jefe’s shoulders slumped. “And there’s nothing you want to tell me, Sam. Nothing at all?”

“Fuck! It’s not your birthday, is it, Jefe?”

Jefe’s head snapped up and he glared at Sam. “This meeting is over, Sam.”

Sam walked from the roof, then took the stairs two at a time and ran to the car.

“He knows. And the Elevator’s coming. About 3 hours. Sam took a deep, ragged, breath. “Let’s go. It’s going to be all over soon enough.”

***

Jefe watched the car pull away, his jaw tightening as he ground his teeth. He knew something was going on.

He’d seen the signs, put the dots together. It’s just like it was when he was asked to go up. Jefe stormed through the building yelling for his driver.

“We’re going to The Elevator.”

***

High above The Tow, gleaming in the sunlight, a metal and glass elevator started its slow descent.

“But.” Eddie opened and closed his mouth. “Man. Are you?” He shook his head.

“Shit.”

“I know.” Allan nodded. “I know.”

“Well,” said Eddie, standing. “We better get on with it, then.”

***

Allan and Eddie stood by the car.

It was the only protocol Sam insisted on.

They would call when they arrived. Sam would say he’d be right down.
They’d wait for him to get up, have a coffee and a shower. Then, when they saw the private lift start to rise to the penthouse, they’d get out the car.

As the lift returned Allan would walk to the lift door to meet his old friend. He’d take his case, and put it in the boot of the car.

Eddie would hold the back door open and, once Sam was settled, cross to the other side and get in.

Finally Allan would get in and drive.

***

The first stop was a meeting with a supplier at an old meeting house that was rumoured to be the second most protected building in The Tow.

Only Jefe’s was more secure.

However, once they arrived, they were told there was a problem with the room. With much apology from the old man who ran the place, they were kept in a waiting hall for half an hour. As they were, eventually, seated, Sam quietly told the owner that, if that ever happened again, security or not, he’d have the building burned to the ground before the day was out.

Eddie watched the from the corner of the room. That was his job. Any twitch that was out of place, he’d note it; remember when it happened and, five minutes later, lean in and whisper to his boss about it. Five minutes after that, Sam would refer to it.

Meetings with Sam were torturously long.

Eddie walked up to Sam for the fifth time this meeting, leaned in and whispered “Boss, I’m breaking me neck for a piss. Any chance I can slip out for one?”

Sam kept his lips from twitching and kept his head straight. If he looked at his mate he’d dissolve into a fit of giggles. “I see.” He said. “Very well.”

Eddie walked back to his corner and signaled to the camera. 30 seconds later the chamber hissed open.

“We’ll break here,” announced Sam. “Coffee, I think.”

Eddie nipped out and met the old man in the toilet. “Well?”
“Well, we have no idea what we’re dealing with. Tech from up top could be light years beyond what we know about. But – as far as my system can tell…”

***

The meeting continued.

After a 20 minute, unbroken stretch, Sam glanced at Eddie, who shook his head.

Sam nodded slowly. Took a deep breath and turned to the supplier.

“Well, that seems to be in order. Organise the shipment and we’ll deal with the paper work.

They shook hands and left.

***

The rest of the meetings were scattered around town. A mixture of meet and greets, personal appearances and some charity work. That done, the ritual was reversed.

Allan retrieved the case walked with Sam to the lift door, and handed it to him.

Sam stepped into the lift and smiled.

Locations.

“It’ll be fun. You should come. Everyone wants to see you again.”

***

Edgar was lost.

Everywhere looked the same. There were no landmarks and no one to ask.

There wasn’t even a map. He’d googled.

It felt like he’d been stuck there for days but he knew.

It’d been much longer.

***

The night of the party, Ed put on his face. He swapped out his eyes for the sparkling ones; changed his mouth for the one with the easy smile.

He dressed in silence. He’d been alone long enough to not need to speak to himself. Even his internal monologue had stopped.

He tried out some faces with the clothes he chose, and allowed himself one word.

“Shave.”

He wanted to pull his old mohawk out the bag, but that really needed two.

***

Shower, shave, face and clothes done, he flopped onto his sofa. He didn’t want to go, tonight. He wanted to make an excuse, any excuse. But he’d promised people.

He stared at the clock and wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when an hour had passed.

In a pervious life he’d have jumped up, ran from the door.

In this one he sighed, pulled on his coat and left quietly.

The party was in full swing when he got there. A drink was shoved into his hand and he was pushed into the melee. He slipped it onto a passing surface and went in search of something less Beer, more wine.
“Ed! You came!” A hug here. A kiss there. Had he been out of circulation that long? As he thought about it he supposed he had. Cornered, he finally accepted a drink – mixer. Strong. Tasted like petrol, so not the best vodka, but it was a start – and listened to the news he’d missed. And what news! He laughed, sympathised, hugged and kissed with the best of them.

***

He’d tried following set paths but they gave out on him. So – he’d set his sight on something on the horizon and made for that.

But it wasn’t a fixed point. It moved across the horizon – sometimes to the left – sometimes to the right. But it got no closer.

It was always out of reach.

So he turned and tried to back track. Get back to where he started and move from there, but he’d wandered for so long he couldn’t tell where that was.

He decided to draw a line. To call where he was Point A. To move out from there.

Which was when the fog rolled in.

***

“So. Tell me, Ed. What happened in…”

He was sharing in a chair in a corner of the chill room with… someone.

Had she told me her name yet? Did I know her from before and just couldn’t remember?

He started his story. One listener became 2, became 4. Soon he had the room listening, laughing, gasping. He grinned, winked, paused to drink, perfectly and then -

With his story was over, the crowd disappeared and Ed was left to his own devices. Namely, another drink.

“That was a great story. Any more where that came from?”

She was beautiful. He looked at her and played the future in his head.

They’d date, sleep together. It’d be fine. They’d get comfortable. And then she’d notice he wasn’t who she thought he was. He wasn’t the guy in the corner telling stories, or the guy on the dance floor. And she’d start to move away, to distance herself.

And he’d notice she wasn’t Her. And he’d try not to compensate, but he knew he’d be restless. Want to leave.

He looked down into his drink. Back up at her with a sad smile.

“A couple. But I only do one a party.”

“What about,” she stepped closer. “After the party?”

***

The fog cleared around him. Enough that he could lay down his hat. Pitch a tent.

Stop wandering.

It was that easy.

***

He looked over her shoulder, to the horizon and remembered when he could see so far.

“Not..not tonight. I have an early start tomorrow. Sorry. But, I’m always around. Do ask me again.”

***

The fog rolled right back in.

***

It was late when Edgar got home. He closed the door, stepped from his clothes and fell into bed within 10 paces.

During the night his face would fall off, and he’d awake lost, with his dull eyes and flat mouth.

But he’d dream.

He’d dream of the horizon.

Or Old Reader. Or Old RSS feed subscriber who has been surprised to see a new story.

We’re back.

Sorry it took so long.

We’ll be back in the swing of 1 story a day, every day. There might be a couple of repeats, just to remind you of some of our recurring characters, but – on the whole – there’ll be new stories; A new layout; Tags so that the archive is more easily navigable.

There’s also going to be some new delivery methods coming. Ones that live in the real world- but more on that later in the week.

First things first, though. Tomorrow we take a small break with a non-Sam story and then we’re going to see the end of his journey. The one that started here: http://litranaut.com/?p=230

Happy New Year to all of you that stuck around, came back, or just started reading.

Man, it’s good to be back.

Plan B.

At the edge or the dance floor, huddled over a table, stood Sam, Eddie and Allan. Not their regular choice, but not so rare that a visit would seem out of the ordinary.

They laughed, nodded and winked. And drank for free.

Perks of the Crime Lord status.

Sam started planning jobs in places like this, and kept up the habit. It made sure people knew his face, and it was impossible to bug. Plan B more than any other because of the security on the door. Body scanners that primarily searched for recording implants as well as all possible transmitters. On the off chance they didn’t discover any they blocked 90% of all known transmission frequencies, only keeping open spime channels.

They liked to keep their DJ sets exclusive, and judging by the names they were attracting, and the size of their weekly takings, the audience agreed.

Sam passed through the door without a hitch. Which meant one of three things:

The scanner wasn’t on.

He was just being waved through because of who he was. Or…

His visitor was lying about the surveillance.

But he couldn’t be sure which one was true. Yet.

Sam looked at his two mates. They had all grown up together, gone to clubs that ached to be like this trying to get laid. He’d nickel and dimed in toilets, with those two has his heavies. All the way up, he had made sure no one had touched them – not because he was tougher than the others. He was smarter. Saw trouble coming and sent them away.

“Only one can ride the elevator.”

Allan nudged him and either mouthed “Wanna go to the loo?” or “Whotsits with a choo.”

Sam eventually settled on “What’s up with you” and shook his head in reply.

He glanced at the clock behind the bar. Almost time to go.

He slipped his spime form his pocket and pressed some keys, while leaning over to Eddie and telling him to get the last round in.

He put the spime, face down, on the table and waited for his drink to arrive.

***

As drinks are wont to do – ‘one more for the road’ lead to another, and…to another.

And it wasn’t until the traitorous sun crept into the sky that the three pulled themselves from the dive.

The shuffled into the street, thoughts of breakfast bars, coffee and bacon.

Sam patted himself down. “Shit.”

“Sh’up?”

“I left my spime in the club. Can you go grab it for me, Al? I’ll sort out a lift.”

Allan blinked, shook his head. “Shure.” He paused, as if trying to remember what he was just asked to do, swiveled round and stumbled back into the bar.

***

Allan, struggling to sober up, weaved through the crowd working their way out.

“Man, Sam was getting sloppy. All their shit was on his spime. What on earth was he doing leaving it on a bar table?”

He reached the main room and saw one of the waitresses at their table, slipping the spime into the pocket of her apron.

“Yo. I think that’s my man’s.”

She looked up. Her care-gland clearly wasn’t working. “You Allan.”

He was sure that should have been a question, so nodded.

She sucked through her teeth. “Shit. If you and ‘yo man’ are going to buy this place, you better not be fucking with any of us – you hear?”

“Wha-” But she had fished out the spime, given it back, and walked away.

He looked down at the screen.

“Allan. Plan B is go. Make sure everything is prepared. Tell Eddie, but never when I’m in earshot. Now delete this shit and give me my spime back.”

“Plan B?” Something was stirring in the back of Allan’s mind. “Plan…” He went pale, and ran to the toilet.

***

5 minutes later his stomach was empty and sober was crashing down on him.

He tapped Sam’s spime on his shoulder. “Yo. Next time, remember your own damn toys. Oh, and a took a photo of my cock and sent it to your contact list.”

Sam looked up, saw a question forming – “So…” and shook his head, so slightly, but enough to deflect it.

“…Where’s our damn lift, man? You might be the King of Crime, but you are the Loser of Lifts. If I have to walk home. Again. Cos you’re drunk arse can’t get me a car I’m going to have to think about a new job.”

The argument – the one they had been having every night they went out since the days of trying to get laid – played into the distance.

For the most, he kept his blinds closed.

The only time he looked was when the layer of filth covered the city. A green-grey toxic cloud that sat just beneath his window, tempting him to walk onto it; to see where it would leave him; to just click his heels together three times and say there’s no place like home.

And, indeed. There, wasn’t.

***

He stirred in his sleep and, with thoughts far faster that the written word, processed the following:

The feeling of the room was wrong – there was someone else with him.

Whoever it was had been there for some time.

If this was true, and they had wanted him dead, he wouldn’t be awake to know this.

Therefore – he had some leeway.

His stirring became a half awake yawn.

“If you’ve been here this long, you could have at least made some damn coffee.”

“Good Morning, Samuel. Get up and come to the main room. We shall talk there.” A male voice. Crisp. Clipped.

One that didn’t expect to be kept waiting.

***

Sam walked into the main room, flinched away from the open blinds.

“Yes, Samuel. We feel the same way. That’s why we clothe the ghetto in smog. We have no wish to see it, either.”

The stranger was dressed in a fashion Sam had never seen before. It was a suit – but the fabric, the cut, the way it hung was entirely alien. The owner motioned for Sam to sit opposite him at the table. It was set for a meal but, again, there was nothing on the table that Sam recognised.

“We also don’t eat that filth you call food – or drink that piss that you call coffee.”

***

Breakfast…oh, who are we kidding? The late lunch was strained. Sam played with his food until hunger got the best of him. The food was amazing. Entirely different from anything he had tasted. He wanted to gorge, but the figure opposite ate with control and he took his cues from that behaviour.

Soon the stranger put down his chop sticks. “You have restraint, Samuel. That places you above the animals here. And you have ambition and ability. Which physically placed you above them, in this apartment.” He paused to pick a piece of lint from his suit. “There is concern with your sense of compassion but that will work itself out. After all, only one can ride the elevator.”

If double-takes were the soul of comedy, Sam would have been inducted in the Hall of Fame. “I’m sorry?”

“Only if you have caused me a wasted journey, Samuel.” There was no mirth in that reply. The stranger sighed. “Either you misheard, in which case you would ask me to repeat. Or you do not understand, in which case you would ask me to explain.” A small pause, to let the lesson sink in. Sam felt like a small child being scolded.

Which meant the stranger was doing his job.

“Now, Samuel. Shall we try that again? Blah blah bah.. After all, only one can ride the elevator. And, now, you say…”

“I’m sorry.” Sam couldn’t take the edge of out his voice. “I don’t seem to understand that. Maybe you should explain yourself.”

The two stared at each other.

For a long time.

“Very good, Samuel. You really are the little dog that can. Very well. You are on a list. You might have the chance to come up in the world. However, only one person can ride the elevator. At the moment you are called, you will come to the elevator door. The elevator will descend. The door will open. Inside, there will be a gun. You will kill your crew and step into the elevator, and into your new life.”

There was a pause.

“Go on.” Sam was sipping whatever the guy brought with him for coffee.

“To ensure your compliance we have implanted you -”

“WHAT?”

“With various devices. Everything you see and hear, we do too.”

Sam was on his feet. “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO-”

“Let me stop you there, Mr Allan. We are in a very controlled environment. And we intend to keep it that way. If you are not…suitable for life on the top, you will not be getting into that elevator. If you warn your associates – you will not be getting into that life. If you tell anyone about this meeting – you will not be getting into that elevator. If you change your behaviour in any way, so as to alert anyone about you potential relocation. You. Will not. Be getting into that elevator. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Sam glowered at his guest.

“Good. Then I shall bid you good day, sir. We will watch you for one month, Samuel.” A flick of the wrist.” Keep the food. It’s not like I’d take it back with me.”

And with that Samuel was on his own. He downed his drink and smiled.

“At last.”

This year we’re doing something a little different.

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Only his Elf Service can save Christmas.

Join in the fun and play one game a day, throughout Advent.

http://sicksanta.ning.com/

He checked his spime. ‘He’ had no name. No name he was going to keep beyond the flight, anyway.

He hooked up to the net and cheked his program. In the wrong hands it was a virus. In his it was merely a tool.

If he set it going before take off, by the time he landed, he would cease to exist.

***

It was after, while stealing some of his own belongings from a storage unit he got a complete stranger to rent for him, in a faked name.

It was only then that he realised how good a burn it was, and started taking notes.

***

He had spent days pouring over websites and books: compiling notes on where could go.

He had visited cities and communities, cultivated contacts and social networks. He even bought tickets. And sat in the airport bar listening as each of his names were called off, until the gates closed and another name died.

Of course, the plane he now sat on wasn’t on that list.

“Excuse me, sir.” The stewardess leaned in. “You’ll need to put that into flight mode.”

He knew people would look so he left cards. There were many reasons he did, but his main one was to stop them looking.

The cards were hand made, folded in half.

Outside, ornantely inscribed was the question:

“You want to know where I have gone?”

“That’s cool.” The Passenger’s fingers flew over the screen.

Inside the card was one word.

He switched his spime off. The program was running.

It was done.

“Away”

He wanted to think that he was better than this; that he was entering this phase of his journey through the noblest of intentions. But that was the man to oversaw his beating, and what was about to happen to his was by no means noble.

His spime buzzed. The boys were in place.

Sam stepped from the car. He took a deep breath. Finally he pulled at his suit sleeves, to straighten them. “Faking it everyday from now on, Sam.”

***

He crossed the playground. He’d played there as a kid dodging needles, stepping over junkies. But the trade has scared the rest of the kids away. He nodded at … he realised he didn’t know the name of the man he was about to destroy. Probably better that way. If he didn’t think about him as “a man.” The nod to the help continued.

“Gentlemen” He slipped his hands into his pockets and looked up and the bleached out sky. “Nice day for a drug deal.”

The boss looked up. “Oh, someone put the monkey in a suit.” They all laughed. “Not that it helps.”

“Do you like it?” Sam spun around. “Same tailor as Jefe. I tell you, no one was as surprised as me. Nice man, Jefe. You met him?”

The laughing stopped.

“You know the rules,” Sam continued, as if bored. “The help gets murdered, the boss gets beaten.” He paused for effect. It seemed to work. “Gentlemen. Put your guns down and work for me. We don’t have to spill any blood.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” The boss spluttered.

Perhaps it didn’t work as well as Sam had wanted. He tried again, speaking directly to The Help this time.

“Gentlemen. Think about your next moves very carefully. I’m offering you not only your lives, but jobs.”

The boss had had enough. “Fuck the rules. Kill him.”

Sam turned his back on the small group and walked a couple of steps. He heard guns pulled from holsters before he spoke. “Boys?”

He turned. His men slowly faded in. Those stealth suits were fantastic and worth every penny of he paid for them. His boys’ gun barrels were firmly placed at the temples of their opposites.

“Now. Before we were so rudely interrupted, you were putting those weapons on the floor and I was offering you jobs. You may want to spend some of the next few minutes thinking about that. Boys, get them on their knees.”

The henchmen were forced down. Sam walked between them, fishing something out from the pocket of his jacket.

“I happen to value my boys. That’s why you never saw them. You’ll find that keeping your team safe. Not putting them in the line of fire. These simple things grant you loyalty.” He fitted a knuckle duster over his fist and flexed his fingers until it settled. “I also think that, as a boss, you should never be afraid of getting your hands dirty.”

It was a sloppy punch, telegraphed from a week ago. It had time to have a couple of lunch dates before it arrived. But when it arrived it brought with it years of resentment and frustration and pain. It landed with the force of a thousand beatings that Sam had endured.

The punch that followed didn’t dally as much as the first.

It shattered his victim’s nose.

Sam spoke. His voice was calm, controlled. Like the beating he was dolling out.

“You. You don’t get your hands dirty.”

He powdered a cheek bone.

“You just decide what’s enough.”

He cracked a jaw.

“You told me what would do.”

The punch shattered teeth, sliced lips, inside and out. “That’ll cost you.”

Sam was sat astride the bleeding mess. There was no human. Not to Sam. Not a man just doing what The Tow demands. It was a target.

A first step.

It gurgled, tried to lift a hand to protect itself.

“Well, will this do?”

Sam brought his fist down again.

“WILL IT?”

Sam stood, pulled a phone from another pocket. “Hello? Med-aid? I want to report a beating. The victim’s almost dead. You should come quickly.”

He turned and walked to the car. “Lads, I’ll meet you back at the place. Offer these men jobs. If they don’t want them.” He looked at them, kneeling. There weren’t more than kids. “Let them go.”

***

Sam drove the car into an alley, pushed the door open and threw up. He stumbled from the car, tearing the blood soaked clothes from his body, sobbing.

“Faking it. The only way. The only way.”

Lighter fuel, matches and the crime burnt away.

But still he cried.

Jefe was an enigma. He was, for all intents and purposes, Mr Big – violent, rich, powerful – owning enough henchmen, and city blocks – to stay that way. If you wanted to trade anything above nickel and dime stuff, you went through Jefe. If someone had to disappear, it was though one of Jefe’s assassination bureaus.

Sure there were other Crime Lords – and war between them was one of the major sources of death in The Tow – but Jefe had lasted a long, long time.

But he was still down here. Why hadn’t he ascended? That was the enigma that was Jefe.

Sam had presented his plan, running the mantra in the back of his mind to keep the panic at bay – “It’s the only way. It’s the only way.” – and now he sat, suited, shades in his top pocket, trying to convey the utter calm of the man he was meant to be. He had no idea how long ago he finished speaking but Jefe had said nothing.

Sam was begining to wonder if he was mute.

“So.” Sam jumped at the sound of Jefe’s voice. “You want me lend you -”

Now or never, Sammy-Boy. “Invest,” he interrupted.

Jefe raised an eye brow. “Invest?” He spat the word out like it was a piece of shit someone had fed him instead of his beloved raw heart of the poor. Still beating. “Why on earth would I do that?”

This was it. The only way. Keeping the basics. Changing the tactics.

Sam coughed. “Jefe, with all due respect, you could lend me money – but I’d only pay it back. I’m here, sitting opposite the most powerful man in The Tow. And we both know why.” He grabbed a breath, but didn’t give enough time to lose control of the conversation. “I’m here because of what you heard about me. Out of town criminal looking for a deal. Lots of money to throw around. The silent master behing the thrown.” Sam paused and picked some fluff from his trouser leg. “Jefe, I borrowed the suit I’m wearing about 2 hours ago. And all those stories you heard about me? I planted them at the start of last week and had my boys, also in suits for the first time, ensure they were spread. If you invested, you’d have a stake in this forever.”

Sam sat back in his chair, hoping Jefe couldn’t see he was sweating now.

There was an eternity of silence.

“That’s a nice suit you borrowed.” Sam couldn’t judge the tone of Jefe’s voice.

“It should be. We used your tailor; told him what we planned. He said if it failed he’d bury me in the suit as a gift.”

“My tailor said that?”

Sam nodded.

“He’s never given me so much as a button as a freebie.”

More silence. Then a chuckle.

The crime boss picked up a phone. “Doris? Ah, Doris, do I have anything on later today? Cancel it. Tell everyone I’m going to be busy.”

“My tailor.” Jefe laughed. It was a sound entirely without warmth. “You, my son. You have balls. I’ll give you that. OK, Sam. Let’s talk terms.”

And shat in his mouth.

Morning, Sam discovered, had broken. And then buggered off to make way for afternoon. Which was why the sun was shining into his room.

“Bastard Sun.” His voice was raspy and his throat hurt.

He remembered screaming and howling into the night. He looked around is trashed apartment and winced. Not through shame, but because of the crushing hangover he had.

He had to move, and shifted to hands and knees. His hands screamed. The knuckles were swollen and bleeding.

Her remembered taking his argument to something…he scanned the room and found some bloody pock-marks in the wall.

Christ – he hoped he hadn’t broken his knuckles. He couldn’t afford to have them fixed.

He lay on the floor and moaned. Everything hurt. He needed medication.

Relief was a hobble to fridge. He screwed off the bottle top and took a swig, the cheap alcohol burning its way down.

He coughed and toasted. “Get up at the tree you fell down by.”

And took another, long, swig.

***

It didn’t help so much.

But neither did throwing up and shaking. Sam was running out of constructive ideas, so he abandoned the disaster area and retreated to a shower, where he huddled in the corner and let the rain pour down on him.

He couldn’t do it anymore. Going out, cutting deals, getting beaten, keeping his friends alive. There had to be another way.

The system’s house phone rang. Sam let it run to the secretary. It was a slight expense, he had a hacked version, but it was more personal than an answerphone. Well. Everyone pretended it was, and interacted with the personality differently.

It was a potential date. He had no desire to see her. He’d call her later and feed her some lie to get off the hook.

Something struggled in the back of his head. It felt like an idea.

“Hello” His voice sounded like shit. He coughed and tried again. “Hello.” Not quite.

For the next 20 minutes he worked on his hello. Gravelly, old, cynical. He added a twang. He tried it with a coffee, to make sure he could carry it off with liquid. When he was happy he got his secretary to dial one of his friends through an anonymous proxy.

***

“Yeah, who is this?”

“Is this Edward?” Sam asked, voice as good as it was going to get.

Eddie laughed. No one called him Edward. “Yeah, yeah. This is Eddie. Who is this?”

“Ok, Edward. I’m asking the questions here. I’m cawling from the local precinct.” Sam paused, took a loud slurp of coffee. Eddie had stopped laughing. “I understand there was a little…altercation the other night, with you and your buddies. Is that right?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I know what you’re talking about officer. How did you get this number?”

“It’s Detective Sergeant to you, scum-bag. And let me remind you that I am still asking the questions. Why wouldn’t I have your number? You think it’s too important to have out there or something?”

Sam milked the call for about 10 minutes before hanging up. He was on Eddie’s speed dial. It wouldn’t take lo-

“Yallo.”

“Shit. Sam. I was just on the phone to some hard arse detective. He was grilling me about the other night.”

“How’d you know?”

“What do you mean, how did I know. He told me.”

Sam paused. Wondering when to tell him. “Pick up Allan and come over. You probably don’t want to talk about this on the phone.”

***

15 minutes, and a half arsed attempt at tidying, Sam sat with his two friends.

Eddie had been going on about the call since he got in, pausing only to notice the mess. “Bad night, huh?” And then back into it.

“So, what are we going to do, Sam? Are they onto us? Is this worse?”

“How’d you know it was a cop, Ed.”

“He said so.”

“How’d you know.”

“He SAID so. Shit, Sam. You fucking gone deaf?”

Sam tried on his new voice. “Let me remind you that I am still asking the questions, Scum bag.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Allan was laughing and Eddie had launched across the room. Sam had expected this and placed the biggest amount of shit in his path. Eddie went down.

“Stay down there unless you want trouble. This is our fucking way out. We’re going topside.”

And for the rest of the day Sam laid out his plan.

It was audacious. It was epic. It was the most dangerous, fool hardy thing he had ever tried.

“How long do you think this will take, Sam?” It was probably Allan who asked. To be fair – it didn’t matter at that point.

“Two weeks to get it in motion. And then we fast track. I don’t want to be old, or dead, here.”

Which is how, two weeks later, Sam found himself sitting opposite the most dangerous man he knew, laying out his plan.

It was raining.

It was always raining.

He brought his hand to his cheek, pressed, feeling the bone underneath. It was still tender, but it would do. Like his shitty life, his new face would do. And he’d have to get some money into his insurance before another trip to the emergency room.

He drained his beer, crushed the can and tossed it on the mound on the table. It hit the top, spinning, slid to the edge, and toppled over, onto the pile on the floor

He was never getting out of there.

A search light lit The Elevator as it climbed The Spyre. The flash taunted him. The Elevator was climbing. Taking some lucky bastard away from the Tow. The only way to escape the grind, the violence.

“That’ll do.”

He remembered the command. The one that stopped the pain, but not the shame.

The two words with the power to dole out just enough of a beating. To determine just enough of a warning. Painting the boundary within which he could play.

“That’ll do.”

That night, Sam had seen what was going to go down. It’s not like it was uncommon. This was how it was. You fought your way through The Tow. You done deals; you lied; you cheated; you fought your way to the top. Because it was only the toughest got to climb The Spyre. He’d huddled with his crew, told them to get out while they could. They counted as henchmen, as hired guns.

“You can kill the hired guns but you only beat the dealers.”

He passed them the days takings and told them the hospital he was registered in. Then all he had to do was wait. Or, becausehe was always a cock, walk through enemy terrotiory to short cut home.

***

The fist detonated, white hot, behind Sam’s eyes. His face hit the ground – not that it had so far to travel as he was already on his knees. His nose crumpled on impact.

“That’s going to cost me,” he thought.

A hand reached into his hair, gripping it, and pulled him back onto his knees. Blood and RealBone(tm) dripped over his lips.

“I need to cut that No one needs that much of a grip.” It was his last moment of clarity that night. The fist came down again, this time a ring sliced dangerously close to his eye. The ground was much less kind this time. He felt teeth shatter, his lips splitting, sliced inside and out.

A voice spoke from beyond the wall of fog rapidly moving in.

“That”ll do.”

***

Sam cried tears of frustration. Of impotence.

“It won’t do.” He sobbed. Shocked at the sound of his own voice. “It. Won’t. Do.”

A seething anger grew. A loathing of his place, his station. His shitty life. He kicked the table in front of him, sending cans flying. Sam leapt to his feet, screaming at himself.

“It won’t do. THIS. WON’T DO”

He set about his flat, his rage needing somewhere to go. It went into his furniture, into his walls. And it went on for hours. When it finished he may bleeding and sobbing on his floor.

Like so many other nights.

“You can touch me if you want.”

***

The couple were sat in the sun by the window. She eats cake.

“We should fake our own deaths and run away,” he says.

***

“We have 4 minutes to save the world, ladies and gentlemen. Are we in place?”

***

Marcus crouches behind a desk, bullets are flying over head. “Screw this.” He yells to his team “We’re kicking this old school.”

Smoke grenades fire into a corridor. He counts off 3, and makes a break for the door as his team sends a wave of bullets to cover him.

***

Sam stared at his new face in the window.

The memory of the fist detonates, white hot, behind his eyes.

His face hit the ground – not that it had so far to travel as he was already on his knees. His nose crumpled on impact.

A voice spoke from beyond the wall of fog rapidly moving in.

“That”ll do.”

Tipping the table in front of him, Sam leaps to his feet, screaming at himself.

“It won’t do. THIS. WON’T DO”

***

A girl stands at a podium. She’s 10, and all grins.

“Hello, Mummy.” Suddenly shy, she looks down. “I’m OK. Don’t be sad. I saw you on TV crying. Don’t be sad.”

***

The letter sits on the table. It’s wrong, too dark at the edges. Not to much placed as…written into the scene.

Austin looked at it. “Is that it?”

His friend looked at him, “Let’s see – it’s the only letter in the room, and it has one word on it, Zarkophski. What do you think?”

***

The butt of Geraldine’s gun slams into Dan’s head hard enough for him to feel it through his armour.

“What part of that order did you not understand, soldier? You do not do this on my watch.”

Dan was on his feet, his own gun drawn, pointed at his captain.

***

Naomi hefts the broken body of her friend.

“See, this is why there’s no side kicks”

***

A hand reaches out.

The body is emaciated, stretched.

The face warped. Free time has seen better days.

“Help me. Please, someone, help me.”

***

The eyes of a sleeping giant snap open.

***

Litranaut Season 2

***

Marcus slips his key into the ignition, pauses, looks out the window at his friends.

He smiles and turns the key.

***

Continues

***

The fireball engulfed the car, throwing it into the air. The blast threw his team to the floor and shattered windows. It landed in slow motion, the sounds of the flames and car alarms echoing as the image fades to black.

“It was the only way,” he repeated the mantra. Keeping the basics, changing the tactics.

He stared at his new face, reflected back at him.

This is everything he had worked for. All the death; all the pain; all the money. All the Sacrifice.

It was all for this. This moment.

This triumph.

He brought his hand to his cheek, remembering the start of this journey.

His face hit the ground , this nose crumbling on impact.

All that was behind him. He was free. 

He turned away as the doors closed and The Elevator started its long journey up.

Through the glass wall, reinforced naturally, the whole of The Tow was visible. 

His house. The site of his first deal; his first, and subsequent, beatings. The hovels of his friends. Friends…gang members…bodyguards.

Everything, in fact, except the final price of that journey. The sacrifice of his friends.

Only one person could ride The Elevator.

He remembered how they’d sit and watch the elevator shaft. Everyone did it. Watching to see if one of them was escaping to the High Life beyond the Cloud. Or if pain and misery was coming the other way.

It was only one way out of The Tow – beating everyone else. Rising to the top by any means necessary.

The elevator hit The Cloud. The layer of filth that enclosed The Tow. Shrouded it. Kept the gaze of the masses away from the land of milk and honey. Everybody wanted it – but no one knew what it was they were getting. All they knew was that it meant living like an animal – either predator, or prey. That was the modern way. 

The Elevator started to slow. Sam straightened his suit. Now was the time to see if it all paid off.

The Elevator juddered to a halt, the floor alarm pinged. Which covered the sound of guns cocking.

And as the lift doors opened, so did the guns.

Above Cloud didn’t want any filthy upstarts muscling in on their turf. Keep them fighting each other. Kill those which threaten the status quo.

THAT was the modern way. That was the only way.

Morning!

How he loved it. The best part of the day, filled with the potential for another set of wonderful experiences.

He reached for the two, small pills on his bedside table and took them with the tepid water he left out the night before.

Two steps to the sink. Don’t think bedsit. Think en-suite. He smiled at his reflection. “Our running joke, hmm, mirror?” He threw some water on his face and stared at his reflection.

His eyes locked his own, his face neutral. A drop of water formed at the tip of his nose. His jaw tightened. His fingers gripping the edge of the sink.

He had to wait until the drug kicked in.

This was the cross over. Now his emotions were laid bare, raw and jagged.

If anything were to bring Brian down, mornings were.

The droplet grew fat.

The medicated fog rolled back in, and he felt the weight lift from him. The water dripped from his nose.

Brian looked away from the mirror, taking a deep breath to center himself.

Surely it was going to be a beautiful day.

It was during the decade without a name that language started to break down. Or become enriched, depending on which side of the fence you sat on.

when people understood what that meant.

The start was, all things considered, inoccuous. Chat rooms resonated with acronyms to save time. Legion was the conversation:

brb
hb
b
wb
ty
np

Chatters lips twitched as they lol’d, and we can be pretty sure that no one roflmao’d.

Ever.

1337, w45 teh bre4k 0u7 14n6u463. numb3r5 r3p14c1n6 13773rs. f0r 7h3 h4rdc0r3 th3r3 w45 3ve|\| p|p3|) 13773r5.

Then came txt spk. sqzin wds in2 160 chars. m8s wld txt abt evrythng. wht woz odd woz plp dnt feel the need 2do ths when tweeting.

Twitter was texting with less characters. and people created info haiku. revolutions were reported alongside with celeb goss in tightly controlled bursts.

Oh hai. katz speek too. wi speek in lol. kthxbai

Slang bcame teh norm.

Ironikly peeple started to lol insted ov ackchuly laffin. Many sed brb b4 leevin.

Slang FTW!!11!oneone!!

txt art Bcam teh noo essay

…………………………

Ada Lovelace was one of the world’s first computer programmers, and one of the first people to see computers as more than just a machine for doing sums. She wrote programmes for Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine, a general-purpose computing machine, despite the fact that it was never built. She also wrote the very first description of a computer and of software.

Today we celebrate her by blogging to draw attention to women excelling in technology. Women’s contributions often go unacknowledged, their innovations seldom mentioned, their faces rarely recognised.

I design computer games as well as write this stuff and I want to write about 2 women that have changed the way I think about games, gaming and the gaming audience. One I know personally and the other I know through her work.

I first met Jennica Falk in a bar in Dublin. I was going to give a presentation on game development for mobile phone games, and she had just come back from England from a Live Action Role Playing session. LARPing was part of her research on ubiquitous gaming.

Over the next day we talked about SMS gaming – setting up ideas for an SMS MUD and even designing out interfaces for it. We intensely debated the differences between research (Is it possible) and production (how much does it cost, who does it cost, how can we get this out there) – a debate we continued to have over the years.

From that first meeting Jennica changed my views of gaming. Her researching spirit opened my eyes to the possibilities of what could be done.

Her work in location based gaming – and the debating that followed – has come to fruition with designs I’m making for location based story telling – some 8 years after her original work. But it was her focus on ubiquitous gaming that has had the most profound impact.

Her position was that these games should be played in centres where the interface was obvious – a staff is a staff. She told me about a staff she made. When slammed into a specifically made floor, the floor rippled.

I, in my boy way, would say “but why close that off – why not use a device we all use and have that as your interface.” And she’d smile and say, “But that’s not ubiquitous. That’s an interface.”

She, of course, was right. Interface is where it is at.

I always said that my children would be playing the games Jennica designed.

She’s not in games now, however. She works for Nokia doing something that…if I knew she’d have to kill me. The conversations we have now – while also about games – are also about interfaces, user experiences, the ubiquitous.

She still shapes and forms my ideas. I constantly try and tempt her back into gaming.

Though chances are that, in the future, if your Nokia experience is smoother, more natural, just…right, you’ll have met Jennica too.

The second woman who has influenced me probably wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for Jennica.

I’ve never met Jane McGonigal.

I’ve seen her talk, read a lot of what she’s said, listened to her podcasts – even seen her dance. And…seen her dance.

Jane makes games. The world is her playground and everything is her interface.

I first encountered her work though “I Love Bees,” an alternate reality game based around the computer game “Halo.”

“I Love Bees began when jars of honey were received in the mail by people who had previously participated in alternate reality games. The jars contained letters leading to the I Love Bees website and a countdown. At around the same time, theatrical trailers for Halo 2 concluded with the Xbox logo and a URL, xbox.com, that quickly flashed a link to ilovebees.com, ostensibly a hacked site related to beekeeping.

Both events, not connected publicly for several weeks, caused the curious to visit the website ilovebees.com. The site, which appeared to be dedicated to honey sales and beekeeping, was covered in confusing random characters and sentence fragments. Dana, the ostensible webmaster of the ilovebees site, created a weblog stating that something had gone wrong with her website, and the site itself had been hacked. Suspecting that this was a mystery that could be unraveled, Halo and ARG fans spread the link and began to work on figuring out what was going on.”

On 8/10/04, a list of GPS coordinates with times were added to the site’s Links page. With the exception of one leading to the Pacific Ocean, all of the coordinates lead to pay phones. On 8/24/04, the countdown ended as it reached the first set time. People who answered the pay phones (the “axons”) at the scheduled times spoke to a recording of the A.I. and were asked basic questions about the character. If answered correctly, an audio clip would be released and a number would be added to a counter on the website. The audio clips, when threaded together formed an audio drama about characters in the Halo universe. As the number reached 777, the AI, as played by a voice actor instead of a recording, began interacting with players through the pay phones.

Pay phones. People at pay phones. Playing a game.

Talking about the impact Jane has is hard. I have played games she has designed. I have played games that she’s talked about – my flat is now cleaner because of her pimping out Chore Wars.

She asked the question – “Reality is broken. Why aren’t game designers trying to fix it?”

Her games now are futurist – people play in an alternate reality and their game is used as research to allow for the fixing of reality.

While the games I now want to make aren’t as grand in vision as Jane’s, the reasons that I want to make them are.

If there wasn’t a Jane McGonigal, we’d have to invent her.

But, don’t take my word for it – listen to her talk about it.

On Ada Lovelace Day I’m proud to acknowledge two women who have utterly changed the way I work, think about work – hell, even think about the world I’m in.

She hoped her brother, wherever he was, survived the madness and kept the line going or it was going to die here.

Her city had been bombarded for a month now. They had been aiming at military areas. She was amazed by the amount of military sites were said to have been built in the middle of residential areas.

Defenses had been mounted – signals had been jammed, EMP pulses had brought a number of planes down, until the guns had been taken out. People had wondered where the air force was. It turned out that there was a massive denial of service attack being made on the country. All methods of co-ordinating an attack had been thwarted. What made matters worse was that it appeared to be the populace that were mounting the attack. Hordes of machines slaved together making continuous hits on vital systems here.

Sara supposed it was only a matter of time before we struck back.

The tanks had rolled in three days ago. The army moved out and meet them and there had been pitched battles in the streets. The casualties on both sides had spiked dramatically, the civilian count on her side was heartbreaking.

Every punk with an implant was on the streets.  Guerrilla  squads constantly updated through non-official means of communication were supporting the troops – passing orders, setting up check points, or even transmitting live as eyes on the streets.

Sara looked down from her window. It was the future of warfare, she supposed. The bot-net taken to the extreme. The public had been downloading and installing code, without any idea what it did.

It did what any other bot-net did. It slaved thousands of machines and set them to the task of hitting the enemy. Except this time it wasn’t computers in homes, it was implanted in heads.

A zombie army of civilians on the streets and throwing themselves at the enemy – soldiers and tanks – with gleeful indiscrimination. Soldiers pumped round after round into the wave of bodies that just kept coming. Those who fumbled a reload were torn apart as the wave moved on. Tanks were harder to stop and, eventually, only were through the amount of bodies that clogged the wheels.

Sara turned away from the window and prepared to leave her city.

He was not happy.

This vacation wasn’t all it was hyped up to be.

The accommodation was just a little to comfortable for his liking. Definitely not the “roughing it in the wild” that was advertised. And the food was terrible.

He’d tried complaining but the staff just didn’t understand a word he was saying. They just gave him more of that disgusting food.

He left the window and headed to his bed.

Of course he’d expected some teething problems. He was, after all, an early adopter. But this, clearly, was not what he had been sold.

“Take a turn to the wild side with Crossroads Vacations.”

The teaser ad had done it’s job. He had been teased. He’d searched out more information and found their cheesy full length ad.

“Is your life at a crossroads? Only the same old vacation to break up your dreary life? You need a change of direction. Head into the wild with Crossroads Vacations.”

So he’d gone in, picked one he liked, and signed up. Then it was all a matter of waiting.

“A week as the wild feline, dangerous, ready to attack at a moments notice.” That’s what the ad said.

“Not,” George thought. “Be a fat house cat, owned by a mad old woman and eat tinned food.”

He sighed, and tried not to think about washing.

***

Brian was not happy.

“Take to the seas as the ultimate predator. Cut through the oceans as a proud and dangerous shark.”

He turned in his bowl.

“I’m a bloody gold fish. I know I am.”

He swam to the other side.

Brian was not happy.

“Take to the seas as the ultimate predator. Cut through the oceans as a proud and dangerous shark.”

He turned in his bowl.

“I’m a bloody gold fish. I know I am.”

He swam to the other side.

Brian was not happy.

“Take to the seas as the ultimate predator. Cut through the oceans as a proud and dangerous shark.”

He turned in his bowl.

“I’m a bloody gold fish. I know I am.”

He swam to the other side.

Thank you. It has been patchy for a while, but this will get better.

There’s a lot of things planned for Litranaut this year.

Advent has come and gone and there is a new sister site – 365.litranaut.com. This takes the idea that is Advent and spins it out for a year.

I want to try and push some paper publications of Litranaut too – either collections, or give aways, or semacode links. As these ideas come into play, I’ll post them here.

That’s all. Come back tomorrow for another story.

She looked up, “Hur?”

“UUUHHH!” She looked at him, fingers caught up in his neck tie. He could never manage them. She grinned. He was as beautiful to her now as he was when she first saw him – his lower jaw missing, his tongue lolling uselessly against his neck, straining and flicking like a blind snake when he tried to talk.

She grinned. She knew she shouldn’t but he was so cute in his grey suit with his grey tie and that helpless look on his face. That, and the fact that she didn’t have any lips.

“Nuuuhhh,” she told him, hobbling over. She wasn’t happy about the high heels she was wearing.

There was a crack and she tipped over onto the bed.

She looked down at the floor. This time it wasn’t the heel that had broken. Inside her grey shoe sat her foot, cleanly broken at the ankle.

“nuurrh?” His voice was quiet.

Maybe they’d have to give The Walk a miss this year.

***

They massed at Central Station. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Those that could scavenged what they could. They arrived dressed up like dinner – in ill fitting suits with buttons undone, or shirts ripped; some in jogging gear, most of them in clothes too big, or put on backwards.

Towards the back, and looking dead bored, were the hipsters – all the skin ripped off their waists, ear pods jammed into their heads, congealed blood oozing from busted ear drums.

At the front, on a burnt out car, arm pointing the way, groaning as loud as his deflated lungs would let him, was the walk leader. He flopped his arm around, trying to point out a route, but soon gave up and decided that he should lead by example.

He stood, poised, lifted his leg and placed it in front of him. Then lifted the other and placed that.

The others watched for a while before copying  the movement.

Even the Hipsters managed to do it. While still looking dead bored.

And so it started – The Great Annual Human Walk.

Year 2 in what has been a bit of a hit and miss year over at Litrauant.

This year has seen an awful lot of changes – job, city, country.

But Advent is Advent. So – like last year the Advent stories will form a serial with an obvious plot line and successful conclusion.

And like last year, we shall see.

Also changing this year is the Photographer. This year we are graced with the photographs of Martine Pedersen, who contributed this story at the main site.

Happy Reading.

Hey – why not Drop Us A Line and let us know what you think about it?

We’d love to hear from you.

One final thing – last year’s story can be found here. And that book? Really – it’s coming.

Honest.