Crimson Rain (6 page)

Her multi-colored eyes were the same as his sister
’
s, how? Nobody had eyes that revealing, that piercing, that striking. Who was this demon headed his way?
Doppelganger
, he thought.

The way she walked and the air around her made him forget his pain, forget Sarah had been kidnapped. He felt the urge to ask where she had been, but he knew this wasn
’
t Sarah
. She
’
ll think I am a lunatic.

“
Excuse me, sir, but is there a clinic around here? My head hurts something awful and I could really use a doctor
’
s attention.
”

Ironic, so does mine. Who talks the way you do anymore?
h
e
was dying to say.
“
There is. Keep heading north for about six blocks, east two, and you will see between a café and an abandoned building Dr. Max Hall
’
s office. He can help.
”

“
Thank you, kind sir.
”

“
Not a problem,
”

He was burning to say something. To ask about his sister, but before he could say another word, she was gone with a stride so swift it appeared she was floating, drifting on the wind. The way his sister used to move.

He clutched his forehead and, strangely, the pain was gone. He could see straight. He heard her fine despite being dumbfounded. Perhaps the pain was over. Perhaps the bots took a break on their task. Maybe he
had become accustomed
to the pain now. Zarfa didn
’
t know, and he didn
’
t care either.

Dazed by the surreal reminder of his sister, he looked around. Despite stumbling nearly blind, he was headed the right direction of the apartment he
’
d taken a few months lease on. He needed to get home and rest, so he continued to travel down the streets of the slums.

He noticed that this area of the city was a breeding ground for delinquents. He had only been in the city for a brief period of time. Zarfa had heard many tales of Alexarien as a child, and even more when he began his journey to Alexarien for his treatments. He didn
’
t know how much of what he had heard was rumor and what was true.

So far, he had only seen the run down districts of the city, and all that he had been told was true. The streets were dirty; there were homeless, gangsters
,
and punks riddling every street corner and sidewalk. Addicts were everywhere, boosters and stimulant junkies alike passed out or shaking in every alleyway,
lying
in
wait
for someone to come by that they could rob for their credits
in order
to score their next hit.

He had to be here. He had to receive the treatments, and then he was destined back home to Ilyeion. He knew he couldn
’
t stand to live in a place such as this. He thought the crime and poverty in his city was awful when he was there, but this was inexcusable.

Since this was exactly the vision every rumor of the slums conjured before his visit, he could only imagine what the west end of town was like. He had heard of the luxury, elegance, and decadent lifestyles that were held there. He heard of the slavery—anyone could be bought or sold for a price if they didn
’
t have the money to support themselves.

Work was scarce. Zarfa was barely getting by with his job fighting in the pits. He began to ponder whether or not he would be able to fight tomorrow night and earn his keep. For now, the pain had subsided, but what if it came back?

What if he was in too much pain to surrender the fight and his enemy got the advantage and was going to win? The rules were to the death or surrender. What if he couldn
’
t? He had a lot on his mind and was beginning to feel overwhelmed.
The only thing that
h
e wanted to
do was
rest
, and
he was
getting
close
to home
.

His residence was in an alleyway up ahead. Typically, there were a few junkies huddled around a garbage can chatting about how great life had been before they were on the street and how it was everyone else
’
s fault that they had gotten here. Perhaps it was, but from Zarfa
’
s
vantage point
, it most likely was their own.

Zarfa stood at the entrance to the alleyway and saw the same people he had always seen for the last few weeks. The same junkies and the pimp who had taken a liking to this location. By this point, he was glad his pain had gone. His vision was good and he could see clearly again. One didn
’
t want any disadvantages when he or she was standing in an Alexarien slums alleyway.

He hadn
’
t been given any trouble as of yet, but who knew? This could be his lucky day. He proceeded down the alleyway as usual. Passed by the junkies reminiscing by a garbage can that still stunk of the fire that had been glowing in it last night to keep them warm.

They asked for spare credits as he walked by, typical. He told them no, as he always did. He knew they would
only
spend it on boosts or stimulants. It might bring them some happiness, but it wouldn
’
t fix their problems. Plus, he was on a mission in life. He needed money to accomplish it, and though he had saved enough for his first series of bots, he would need four more, and a week wasn
’
t sufficient time for him to save. He didn
’
t know what he would tell Max when he returned.

For now, though, he didn
’
t worry about his finances. He figured he would come up with something. Max seemed like a good man, and he had taken a creed to do no harm. He couldn
’
t
sit idle and
let Zarfa die or go deaf,
could he?

As Zarfa arrived at his apartment door, he got out his keycard and reached out his hand to swipe it. He was about to hear the buzz followed by the click when, instead, he heard a ringing in his ear.
These damn side effects
, he thought to himself. It took a second for him to realize he had been hit in the side of the head and that the bums in the alley were screaming and fleeing.

Zarfa fell sideways and his head made contact with the pavement that
had been
only seconds ago under his feet, not under his head. He felt the asphalt dig into his cheek. Who
’
d hit him? He hadn
’
t seen anyone unusual.

He jumped to his feet, spinning to face the side that the blow had come. There was already a leg coming at him for a strong kick. The opponent had no doubt launched it at him while he was on the ground. It was a good thing Zarfa
’
s reflexes were quick and fluid like a waterfall or else this kick could have caused some pain.

Zarfa jumped. The kick was aimed low and he cleared this behemoth of a man
’
s leg with his evasive maneuver. As the man began to retract his attack, Zarfa launched a counter with his own heel aimed at the man
’
s knee.

It landed; Zarfa could hear it, and feel it too. It made a snap as his counter attack broke this beastly figure
’
s tibial plateau. Despite the utter pain his enemy must have been in, he stood there in a guarded position, preparing to fight.

Zarfa stood at about six-foot
,
one inch in height; his unnamed enemy was at least a foot taller. Zarfa, however, had comparable reach with both his arms and legs. It was the reason he had been Sarah
’
s bodyguard. It was the reason he had taken a job as an entertainment fighter in this God forsaken, dank hell of a city.

“
I don
’
t want trouble and I will kill you,
”
Zarfa stated, giving the most searing expression he could muster.

“
What makes you think you can?
”

“
The fact that I just broke one of your legs. Impressive you are still standing on it, but it is broken. You are still in pain, and I am faster. Walk away.
”

“
I can
’
t, leg
’
s broken, remember?
”

This monster was huge. Not only did he tower over Zarfa, he had to have had at least a hundred pounds more muscle than he did. Zarfa was shocked that he hadn
’
t been rendered unconscious with the sneak blow the man had launched on the side of his head. How had he snuck up on him? Where had this beast been hiding?

“
Your ear
’
s bleeding, kid. That was a good counter attack. I underestimated you, but I won
’
t again,
”
he said as he hit a button on a device that was worn around his wrist.

Immediately, he disappeared. Zarfa
’
s heart began to race so fast and so hard he believed it would burst forth from his rib cage. He had seen nothing like it before.
How did he disappear
into thin air like that
? Nobody has tech like that in Ilyeion
.

Zarfa drew a breath and began to concentrate on relaxing. He needed to not be tense. He needed to flow. Like a waterfall, he needed to be fluid to come crashing down. An early martial arts master had taught that principle centuries before and it worked
equally
as well today as it had then… When you could see your enemy, that is.
He listened for movement, for breath that wasn
’
t his. He didn
’
t hear a thing. Had his enemy moved? Was he still standing there sizing him up? Why was he being attacked? At these thoughts, he heard a high frequency screech, not in his ear but in his brain.

Had the sneak attack damaged his eardrum? Was he developing a hematoma under the dura of his brain, causing him severe discomfort and eventual death if he didn
’
t get away? Was it the Psyker treatment? Why now?

The alleyway was empty. The moment this goliath had appeared to slay the proverbial David, the junkies and bums had scattered like cockroaches in the light. The pimp who had taken up station in the alleyway always offering his goods was nowhere to be seen. Zarfa was alone, not that those shady characters would have offered him much refuge anyway.

He ran toward the entrance of the alleyway as fast as he could. He didn
’
t need to be here; there was no shame running in order to fight another day. Especially since he was fighting a phantom, an apparition that sought his blood.

His footsteps clattered loud, heavy
,
and fast as he ran toward the street. He was almost there. Once he made it, he would take a sharp right and hightail it back toward Max
’
s office. They weren
’
t exactly friends, but neither was he and his employer who was much farther away, and other than those two, he didn
’
t know anyone here.

He felt security that came with the relief he had gotten away, then he felt a heavy blow to his throat. His trachea was going into spasms; he couldn
’
t breathe. His body screamed it was his end while his mind told him to relax; he wasn
’
t done yet. He was fortunate the blow hadn
’
t crushed his trachea entirely
, but it
had knocked him to the ground again.

His enemy was still here, and the ringing in his head was growing ever louder. Worse yet, he couldn
’
t scream for help, and he couldn
’
t see who was inflicting this pain any longer. He shouldn
’
t have hesitated; life should have taught him that by now, but he was stupid.

His stupidity would be his demise this day. He was sure to be dead in a matter of minutes. He should have struck fast as lightning and broke
n
the man
’
s neck the way he
’
d broken his leg. He
’
d had his chance and he passed it by, why? Because he wasn
’
t a killer? He had killed many.

Coughing and gasping for air, he stood again, recovering as quickly as he could. Look
ing
around, Zarfa thought to himself,
Look for something, movement, anything that tells you where he is.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a can of spray paint by the burned up garbage can. It wasn
’
t much, but it was all he could think of.