The Phantasm in These Walls

The pain was the first thing he noticed when he came to. His head was splitting and his chest was tight, not being helped by the freezing ground beneath his back and a small layer of snow sprinkled over his front side. The same questions ran through his mind every time he found himself here.

Why am I here?

Because I lost.

But what if I didn’t lose?

Then wouldn’t I be gone instead?

His mind ran through the possibilities yet again. He had become so accustomed to it, it was almost like his own personal daily prayer. At least, until a blunt chop was delivered to his head.

“Slater!” His name being called brought him back to the present. “If you have time to sit around and daydream, you have time to help me make dinner.” The black-haired young woman continued to scold him as he rose from his seat and gave himself a few stretches just to postpone his assistance just a bit longer.

Slater walked over to the collection of dirty pans in the metal sink as he tousled his darkened white hair. It could’ve been a brighter shade, but their conditions didn’t lend themselves to high cosmetic standards. Being stuck on the lowest layer of New Louis, the only things that got access to were the exhausted leftovers of whoever lived above. Even the sky they see every night is only made up of the small fragments not blocked out by buildings and monorails.

Searching through to find what they needed, Slater realized he hadn’t even asked what they were having, and thus had no clue what he was looking for.

“Hey, Lillian, what were we making again?” Slater asked despondently as he inspected the food residue burned to the bottom of a small metal pot.

“Either stew or potatoes, you make the guess.” She replied back. Slater heard the creaking of the pantry door behind him.

Potatoes, huh? Slater gave himself a soft punch to the cheek, after all, he should be well aware of their lack of options by now. It had just been Lillian and Slater living together for the past five years, but between a twenty-two year old girl and a seventeen year old boy, the highly competitive labor market of the lower layers didn’t have much place for them. That’s why most people in their situation would’ve moved away already, but Slater knew Lillian would never.

As he finished drying the pot for steaming and scraping the more hardy residues off with a spatula, Slater felt a shadow looming over him. Years of experience taught him that evading it was futile, as Lillian’s pale arms came down around him and placed him into a headlock, his spatula falling to his feet.

“So, can I trust my little brother to take care of the rest of dinner while I go out scouting?”

Slater gave a cheerful sigh as he hooked the spatula with his foot, tossing it in the air and catching it with one of his free arms, whacking one of Lillian’s just as he grasped it.

“You may be good at hand-to-hand, sis, but you gotta remember I can put up a fight when I get my hands on a weapon.” He gave a smirk at his supposed superiority, watching his sister disengage and pick up her helmet to leave.

“Since you’re all fired up about using that weapon of yours,” Lillian mimicked a spatula with her hand and pointed it at Slater. “Get those potatoes steamed before I get back!” She flashed a sarcastic smirk as she theatrically shut the rusted metal door, completely cutting off Slater’s flustered “Hey!”

The white haired boy adjusted his shabby brown jacket and let out a sigh, turning back towards the job before him. He navigated over to the quaint pantry in the corner of the kitchen. Looking over the unstocked shelves, Slater found a small orange bag. Lifting it without thought, he felt the weight of three potatoes shifting around inside. He emptied out the contents of the bag into the pot, added a small bit of water, and closed the lid before setting it onto an old electric burner that he always had to gamble on working.

Being free until the potatoes were done, Slater turned his attention to the singular small window in he and Lillian’s dwelling. He once again tried to savor the fragments of purple sky he could before the sun fully set, but his mood always was worsened by the realization even seeing the full sky was out of his reach, the silhouette of the city above extending in front of the sky like prison bars. Not as if he’d ever be caught complaining about it, life had been this way as far back as he could remember.

Being on the lower layers of New Louis, he had received far from a superb education, but it at least informed him of the broad strokes of his circumstances. From what he could remember, less than one hundred years ago, a large war broke out and encapsulated the whole world. The country which once existed where he was participated in the war, and while it did come out victorious, a carpet bombing of nuclear bombs down the area known as “The Mississippi River” left the country with scars which could not be healed. It wasn’t long before the lands on each side of the irradiated strip split from stress and created their own countries. That irradiated strip never returned to being habitable, adopting the name “No Man’s Land.” Likewise, the two newly split countries became the Western States and the Eastern States respectively. Tensions were high but never broke down for a good while, but four years ago both countries had been sent into a panic as a high profile VIP went missing in the Eastern States, leaving emigration more impossible than it already was.

New Louis, being a city founded by the survivors from a city which was once situated along the bombed river, was very close to No Man’s Land and was once a hub for those who wished to move to the Eastern States. To Slater, this became a constant taunt of being trapped within the recesses of the city. Lillian, on the contrary, never paid it any mind. At least, as far as Slater knew. That’s the reason the two had been stuck in the same rotting shack for the past five years, and the reason she went on her stints of “scouting” every day.

Slater couldn’t push all the blame on Lillian, though. Her way of staying rooted to the past was her scouting, his was his daydreams. He even had a sort of respect for her, she must be stuck on how she could’ve made that day go differently too, but she’s one of the only ones doing anything about it, regardless of her success.

Slater and Lillian had not always lived alone. Ever since Lillian picked up Slater off the streets when he was just three years old, she had also taken under her care a boy of the same age as him, Elio. The three of them had been supported by a military officer who lived nearby and his daughter, Cora, who they also had grown close to. However, five years ago Elio and Slater got into a fight and Elio disappeared. Shortly thereafter, Cora disappeared too trying to look for him. Ever since, Lillian and Slater were left to pick up the pieces, but all they could ever do was search for the ones they didn’t have. Slater gazed down at his rugged right hand and the scarred flesh that coated it. While Lillian kept searching for info on Elio’s whereabouts, Slater was left with doing odd jobs to make money. Most of these just ended up being fights, unfortunately.

Having his mind set on money, Slater, fully forgetting about the potatoes, grabbed a light pipe he had set by the door and twirled it into his hand. He looked at the blocked sky and noticed the lack of light coming through, with only neon signs illuminating the city now.

“Should be about time then…” He let escape his lips as a smile replaced the words. Once nighttime fell, that’s when the best gigs opened up. Beating up thugs, acting as a bodyguard, and mediating fights all saw the most business once the sun went down and the thugs came out. In other words, Slater was looking for trouble.

Pushing open the door and gently shutting it behind him so it didn’t fall off its hinges again, Slater made his way onto the street and let the cold nighttime air caress his face. Due to the cramped nature of the lower levels, the street more resembled an alleyway that was littered with various neon signs and advertisements for local businesses on the other surrounding streets. As he moved away from his humble abode, Slater squeezed out of the street and moved into a more open area. As it was late, there weren’t many people left out. Even so, a dozen or so figures were still mingling in their slightly worn ill-fitting clothes among the various shops and stalls set up along the bigger street. He had learned to personally ignore these, as his already stringent budget did not allow for spending on random stall purchases, as exemplified by the story Lillian often recounted of him being scammed into buying a broken camera at one such stall.

His reminiscing didn’t last as long as he’d like though, it was interrupted by him tuning in to hearing a group of deeper voices, likely men, getting rather agitated around the corner.

“Come on, lady! Let us see what ya got there!” One voice rang out as Slater turned the corner.

In the backstreet, three men in worn out clothing towered over who he could only assume was the lady he had mentioned, but he couldn’t tell as her face and body were completely obscured by her tan wrapped mask and cloak. Analyzing the figure, only one thought came to Slater’s mind and escaped his lips in the form of a whisper:

“I wonder how much she’ll pay…”