Attempt 2: Vices & Virtues

I see, in a dung-bleak town, the utter evils of man. Thievery, murder and all. Kids stealing food from the homeless and adults kicking kids to pieces. Bread is sold for a small loan and water is a rarity hard to come by. The remedy? Crime.

In a hard-boiled town like this, only a small handful can survive. Thievery and murder are daily. People’d kill just for a single coin, to spend it not even on a crumb of food. As always, the rich have it easy. They shove people below them aside and make them grovel at their knees for the slightest chance of a decent meal—not that they get actually get that. No, the ‘people’ here aren’t treated as humans; they’re treated like dogs. Actually, when I think about it even dogs get better treatment. Dogs get the luxury of food to look up to every day; not us.

Whilst it may not be so rare for a stupid, old, rich person to come by and jeer at the common folk; they’ll only get booted in the face afterwards. Whatever follows—well, to say the least, they’re lucky if they come out with a stab wound or two and live to tell the tale.

***

Looking to my left, I watch people break into glass-barred shops of liquor and guns and the lot. People beating others over the head for a drop of some whiskey, beer or something similar in kind. And speaking of shops and the like, there’s always the bar. It’s always noisy there. Never a time someone isn’t pelting an argument—or a chair—at one-another. Can’t wait to leave this place a riddance.

I walk into the bar, slamming the doors open, to be treated to the clambering of chatter coming to me inwards, like the opening bar’s doors.

Waltzing over to the ash-grey bar table, I scan around at my surroundings. A bald man with scars and burns stares me down, most certainly at my rather expensive, beige jacket. On my right finds a crowd of people playing different card games all at one dusty, wooden table. I slide over to my chosen seat in front of the bartender.

“Gimme a pint of beer, would you?”

The bartender, cleaning a pint glass, turns a slight to look at me and fills the glass with beer. He turns a bit more towards me and brings the drink over, stopping part-way to stare me deep in the eyes; the bartender’s own eyes a dim teal, with them sparkling not one bit. A scar weighs itself just above one of those eyes of his, on the left. His mucky, orange-and-yellow-checker shirt shows an abundance of stains from food, drink and plenty of blood. Must’ve been in their fair share of fights I’d say. They look back to the foamy drink and spits in it. They mix it in with their fingers and passes it over. I take a sip.

Someone sitting at a stool to my left scoots over to me, gazing at my drink. I peer over at the dun-coloured water in front of them, turning away at the disgusting look seething from them. Look at them, practically drooling over me. I spot a suspicious lump in their stitched-together coat—if you can even call it that. I pretend as if I hadn’t noticed them and chug my pint.

Finishing it off, I slam it onto the bar table and reach into my jacket pocket. I pull out a knife. The bartender spots it and reaches towards my right hand to disarm me. Another slam to the table. The clatter of the bar muffles the wails of the bartender, as I pick up my knife, get off my stool and head towards the exit. But, to my annoyance, I’m stopped before I get too far from the table; the person who was sitting left to me notices the deep red oozing from the bartender’s left hand.

“Ya think you’re getting away without paying, pretty boy?” They pull out a knife of their own from the lump in their coat, as they lunge at me–unbalanced in stupid anger. I reach for a holster attached to my belt and pull out a gun. I don’t even need to say what happens next, do I?

A little after, I walk out the bar without having spent a single coin. Lucky I didn’t run into anyone actually skilled or I’d have had a problem. Someone like Tall Tim, or something, would’ve given me a run for my money.

The sickening, sweet smell of smoke rings my nose out, as the city is set on fire. My men finally arrived it seems. They really do just follow any order, don’t they? Here they are rummaging through homes and shops and the lot, looking for any small, little thing to sell. Jewellery isn’t exactly something we’d come across in this town. Been here for a long time and still haven’t spotted any rings or necklaces from anyone—other than the occasional rich person at least. A bit of a shame, considering how much something like that’d fetch on the market. Nothing I can do about that, I suppose. But some stores may have the odd high-end clothes, food or drink perhaps. If we see any, might as well take as much as we can carry.

One of my men run up to me, dressed in a bunch of clothes they must’ve stolen from some store or something. A rather nice, leather coat and a black-and-grey, striped scarf is wrapped around them, hugging tightly at their flesh.

“Hey boss, found quite the haul at this old, run-down shop. Come see.” They say, with their greyish-green eyes sparkling for the first time in years.

“Sure thing Tommy, if it’s any good I’ll treat you to something nice,” I respond in my usual rasp of a voice. “Gimme that scarf you’ve got there first though, the fires ain’t warming me up enough.”

Pulling at the scarf, I wrap it around my neck and follow Tommy down the street; fire split like Moses did the red sea. Some of my other men leap onto some faulty streetlamps and smack them with rocks. They timber over like trees and cause uproar to the flames of the pavement.

“That oughta do it, right boss?”

“Right it should, Tommy.” I say, grinning in the fiery winds, my head looking up to the grand future that awaits us.

***

Making some turns and venturing through a couple narrow alleyways and the lot, we make our way to a rather dainty looking shop, boarded in torn apart, wooden bars. Its windows are smashed, and its brick walls graffitied in whatever rude words you could think of.

I climb through the window and land on the shop’s tiled floor. Weeds are sprouted from underneath them, with some just straight up broken off; exposing the concrete floor underneath. A rusty shopping cart is tucked into another of its kind over to the left. I tug at it to find it jammed in. I tug at it harder and force it out, to then begin to look some more around the shop.

The store shelves are filled with a bunch of different foods. Most likely all of them are out of date, but we take what we manage and throw them into the cart.

A little further past the short isles of food we spot a rack of clothes. Shop seems to sell all sorts—or when it was in business at least. No doubt it’s been out of shape for a long, long time. But it’s not to say people haven’t been here recently—not just my men either. I see some blood in the far-right corner of the room. I walk over to it and dip my fingers in, rubbing it between them. Most definitely fresh.

It leads up to a set of red-stained tiles. I grab my knife from my jacket and slide the blade under one of them and pull it off the floor. It comes off without a fight and uncovers a set of makeshift ladders, leading into darkness, underneath.

I glance down to search for a bottom for nothing to be in sight. Looking over to a little bit of rubble to my side, I pick up a small stone and drop it down, waiting for it to hit the bottom. A good second later I hear it clack.

“You go down first and see if it’s safe.” I tell Tommy. He climbs down without word and tosses the rock up, signalling me to come down.

Climbing down, I’m met with pure darkness. Can barely see a thing. I just about see the rough outline of Tommy in front of me.

Whispering, I ask him, “You got a lighter?” to which I hear one being lit. In front of me I see Tommy holding a grey one, probably brought it out from that coat of his.

Appears that we find ourselves in a grey room—all concrete surrounding us. All but a wooden door in the centre of the wall opposite us—practically screaming for us to open it.

Tommy approaches the door crouched down, gently opening it as it makes a quiet creak. Our shadows cloak the walls, as Tommy’s lighter bleeds its brightness into the next room. A room of stone bricks. Cracked in moss and tangled in vines and twigs and other greeneries. To our left and right are a bunch more wooden doors; we appear to be in a corridor, so it seems; a rather tight one too.

I hear some faint sound behind the doors. Focusing my ears, I find the sounds of crying apparent. I don’t know what sickness lies behind these doors, but we seem to have found something worth exploring. I open the first door on my left.

Tears. Screams. Wails of fear. I find a chair in the centre of a messy room stained in crimson skies. Sat in the chair is a chained-up woman, blindfolded and thin as a toothpick. Disgusting.

Walking over to the woman, I take off their blindfold to see their sliced, grey eyes. Their face is as dry as a desert; it begs for water. They scream once more. They call me for help.

“Help me,” They cry. “Save me.” They cry.

I pull out my gun.

There’s your freedom. Hope your happy.

I walk out the room having given them their ‘help’ and went into the next room to find yet another person tied up in chains. They seem terrified. Heard what happened next door most likely.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” I whisper it into their ears before putting out the fire like the last one.

I walk out and enter each door, on the left and right walls. Every door seems to have a person behind it. I’m really acting the Reaper today, aren’t I? Can’t have them telling on whoever’s kept them here, I suppose.

Anyway, I see that in the corridor there’s one more door. It’s right at the end, at the very back. I open it without care. Tommy enters first, readying a gun in his empty hand just in case.

Breathing. I hear it. I pull Tommy back quickly, his clothes rustling. Listening, I wait for any movements.

Footsteps. Light footsteps. They tiptoe over, clothes making noise. Breathing. Heavy breathing. Seems like we made them rather frightened. I signal Tommy to ready himself.

Someone’s spiky, brown hair peeks out around a corner. Just a second more. Come on, come on just a bit more. Their face’s exposed, I make the signal. I hide behind the door. The bang of a gun is made loud and clear. Hearing the person drop to the floor I get my gun in position, ready to advance with Tommy.

The corpse finds itself present on the floor. Tommy hit them right in between the eyes, so it appears. He’s gotten better. Perhaps I’ll treat him to something extra special tonight.

***

Turning around a corner, I find a room with a table, chair, desk and a treasure chest looking thing placed in front of a bed. There’s a map pinned to the wall, above the desk, with a bunch of points marked with thumbtacks. A place called Armsterdale is circled in blue pen. I hear the chest being opened from behind me. I quickly turn around just to see Tommy. He jumps up and down in excitement and hollers me over.

Oh wow. Pretty expensive looking clothes and jewellery’s inside. Surely this isn’t all from that one guy from earlier. With a haul like this it’s probably from another group like ours. Well, taking down the map and carrying as much clothes and jewellery as our hands can manage, we make our way back out from the shop, bringing out the shopping cart filled with all the stuff we could find. But that map—wherever this Armsterdale is, it’s likely important. We’ll have to see what comes of this. For now, I guess I’ll see this town goodbye. We get on our motorcycles and head on to our main base, our bike’s flags waving in the flame-caught winds. The night sky remains ours. The Grimy Vices reign supreme once more.