The smell of blood lingered in the air. Dust and grime littered the desert-like terrain, clumps and heaps of lifeless bodies lay around the scene like snow slowly accumulating on the frosty ground during a feisty blizzard. Sounds of clashing metal and fearsome battle cries of the few warriors that were still standing drifted in the atmosphere.
Somewhere in the distance not far from the chaos was a lone figure dressed head to toe in now dirty and dented armor. His chest rose up and down as his feet heavily dragged forward as if shackles were bound to them. The jagged and uneven breath that was coming out of him indicated his exhaustion and fatigue.
Though he seemed like he was going to drop to the floor at any second, he kept moving forward. He refused to stop. What laid in front of him was too important and precious for him to lose. The lone soldier bit his lip and tried his hardest to ignore his sore and aching body.
Suddenly he falters.
The excruciating pain from his leg spread quickly into his spine like untamed wildfire. Burning his senses and making him shake. He glances down to the hole in his calf. A cackle drifted into his ears and a jagged voice boomed.
"I told you. Heroes always die in the end."
...
Malakhi sat up bolt right and breathed heavily. A cold sweat washed over his body like a heavy flood after a storm, drenching his shaking body and dampening the patched fabric he calls his nightwear. The usual messy and shaggy layer of jet black bangs now laid flat and plastered onto his flushed forehead. His usual pale complexion was now crimson.
His feline-like eyes moved rapidly from his eye sockets searching for any anomalies. His held breath and tense posture finally let loose after he was met with the familiar sight of the cracked walls and the monotonous plopping sound of water from the leaking roof above him. The rain last night probably bashed the weak tiles of his roof. Malakhi sighed and laid back onto the stiff wood board that served as a bed. The thin cotton sheet that barely shielded him from the cold was now strewn away on the rough concrete floor. He glanced at the world outside through the small murky windows, it was pitch black.
He has had this same repeating dream for weeks now. It had always felt so vivid and terrifying. The voice at the end always sent goosebumps down his scarred arms.
Whenever he woke up from these recurring dreams, there was always one thing that made him ponder afterward. 'What was that thing that was so important to the man in his dreams to make him carry forward so desperately even when he was in such agonizing pain?' He never seemed to find the right answer.
Malakhi tossed and turned trying to find sleep. But, just like anyone else who experiences nightmares, sleep is not easy to find. Images of the dead bodies danced around in his head whenever he tried to close his eyes. The shrilling voice at the end of his dream was like an annoying piece of audio on replay, loud and intrusive. No matter how hard Malakhi tried to shut it down, it kept rebounding back. Stronger each time.
A sigh escaped from Malakhi's cracked lips as he realized that this is, yet again, a sleepless night. The crooked clock hanging on the opposite wall slowly ticked as time crept by. Malakhi picked up his torn jeans from the floor beside him and fumbled through the pockets to fish out the small chip. He held it between his thumb and index finger as he turned it left to right then up and down, examining it.
The feeling of curiousness grew and itched in his heart. He couldn't help but wonder about what information this chip held. Hundreds and thousands of possibilities ran and filled up in his head. He had to know what it was.
Time seemed to run so rapidly when you are focused, in what seemed like a blink of an eye, the light of dawn crept up into his room. The slums started to wake as the sun slowly rose from the horizon. The birds started to tweet, roosters started to crow and the dogs started to bark. Slowly by slowly, the people began to stir as well. Homeless bums stretched from their cardboard beds and prepared for the hard work of begging that was ahead of them. Many of those with homes started to scavenge through their cabinets looking for whatever they could eat for breakfast. Whether it be stale bread or expired cans of baked beans.
Malakhi rubbed his eyes and quickly changed into the crusty sweater and jeans that he probably wore a hundred times already. He looked at the chip resting in his palm, instead of tormenting himself about the wondrous unknown this time, he stashed it into his pocket.
The familiar scent of canned tuna drifted into Malakhi's nose as he entered the 'dining room'. Which also, conveniently, acted and served as the living room, storage room, and kitchen. No toilets were inside this run-down building. If any of them had to go, there was a tiny public toilet down the street that barely flushed and was home to many rats and flies. And no, no toilet paper included.
In the dining/kitchen/living/storage room, a small woman with a small frame sat hunched on the small sofa. She spread the tuna onto pieces of week-old bread. She then proceeded to toast the 'sandwich' on a rusty pan that sat on a small burner which was perched upon the rickety table beside her.
Malakhi's heart ached when he noticed the new strands of gray on the woman's black hair. He saw her body tremble and quickly grabbed a small scarf that was discarded on a wooden chair and draped it on the woman's shoulders. He then proceeded to close the windows that let in the cold wind. He lets out a silent sigh and faces the woman's smiling face. Even through her now tired and worn-out face, Malakhi could make out how beautiful his mother would have been if she wasn't so disease-ridden.
The young man silently and rapidly used his hands and produced a series of gestures at the woman. You shouldn't be up so early in weather like this, you could catch a cold.
Theresa slowly raised her bony hands and returned another set of gestures at her son. It's not that cold. Malakhi raised his eyebrow and looked at her sternly. The woman looked at him for a second and proceeded to pull the scarf around her tighter. Are you happy now?
Satisfied by the action, Malakhi walked to the closed door opposite him and opened it. The creak from the old piece of wood made the sleeping figure stir, a young lady with a lean and bony frame emerged from the cocoon of blankets that covered her. She looked at up at Malakhi with her dark eyes and walked past him towards the food without a single word.
"Vega," Malakhi called to her sister as he walked out of her room and then towards his mother. "Use the money that I gave to you last night and go buy some food. We're running out." He took the first dish of the day from his mother's offering hand and gobbled it down. Ignoring the sour and bitter aftertaste that it left in his mouth. He then swiftly walked towards the door that lead to the streets. His outreached hand paused as he heard his sister from the back.
"You still haven't told mom where you got that money from." Vega crossed her arms and furrowed her brows. Soon afterward, A short chuckle came out of her. "Though I don't think you'll have to, she isn't a fool. She probably knows all about your excursions to the city center. You really should stop going and doing whatever you do."
Malakhi glanced at her sister, he didn't know what to say. He felt annoyed at his naive little sister. Annoyed by the fact that his sister thought people like him in these slums have a choice. She thought that he can simply drop the stealing and pawning, she did not seem to comprehend the fact that being born in these slums tore the privilege of choosing right away from his hands. She didn't understand that he had to do whatever it takes to help them survive, it didn't matter to Malakhi if he had to do that through theft. All she really does care about is partying with friends and living the 'best life'.
Another thing that irritated Malakhi right down into his bones was how hypocritic his sister was. If she really did care so much about him stealing money, she would have stopped using the money immediately. He could almost see the false superiority oozing out of her.
He then glimpsed at his mother who was packing up the remaining bread and tuna. He had always loved his mother more than anyone. But at this exact moment, he felt a bit resentful towards her. He wished that she could help carry this family. He wished that she could have a source of income, it didn't matter if it was just a few coins. That could at least lessen the weight of pressure that was put onto Malakhi's shoulders from a very young age.
Malakhi also hated the fact that his mother couldn't speak to him or listen to his voice. He knew that it was not her fault at all. But he had always wished that his mother could listen to his troubles or just say simple things like 'good morning'. He yearned and longed to hear her voice. Malakhi understands that he can just use sign language, but it wasn't enough to fulfill anything inside him at all. He knows that he sounds selfish, but who isn't?
Malakhi doesn't express any of this, of course. He never really expresses anything, really. He was so used to keeping his thoughts and opinions inside of him that he thinks if he does try to communicate anything to them he's just wasting his time and energy. It's not as if his sister would be more empathetic for a change or that his mother could hear anything.
Malakhi's lips curled up into a bittersweet smile and stepped out into the word that he knew so well. He took in a deep breath of the cold air that pierced his lungs like shards of glass then picked out the chip that seemed to be burning a hole in his pockets. Malakhi looked at it for a while then turned his sight to the small road to his left which led to the city centre. He tucked his hands into his pockets and lowered his head. He quickly walked on the path and avoided any physical contact the other Theterians passing by.
As the path slowly got wider and cleaner, the people increased significantly as well. Malakhi could hear even at a distance, the shuffling of shoes against the ground, the laughter of young children and the shouts of merchants and vendors.
Malakhi quickened his pace and passed through another meandering alleyway before he finally arrived at the place that was so full of life compared to the slums. At the city centre, there were very many different kinds of people jumbled and mixed together. The good, the bad, the rich and the poor. It was basically the huge melting pot of Thetes.
Malakhi weaved through the crowd smoothly and kept a low profile. Not that really needed to as no one even bothered to notice him. There were way more interesting things that happened around at the centre compared to a teenage boy who dressed to blend in. For example, a muscular tanned man stood by the statue of the chief of Thetes and broke large stones the size of a head with his toned and chiseled chest. That for sure attracted way more cheers and attention compared to Malakhi.
Though many interesting and entertaining things happened around Malakhi, he didn't even bother to spare a glance at the commotions. He had one goal in mind and that was the electric scroll hub. The place filled with young teenagers that were obsessed with the cyberspace.
Though the hub was very close to Malakhi's house, he has never been there in his life. He had only passed by the bright storefront from his trips. He had often heard about the games that the neighborhood boys would play in the hub, something about shooting and racing. He had always thought of these games as very immature or just stupid. 'Why would anyone spend their time in a world of virtual reality?' was what Malakhi would always think whenever he heard some of the boys brag about their new high score or some girlfriend that they apparently had on the web.
But, even though it was hard for him to admit, Malakhi, just like any teenage boy, had always been fascinated by the virtual world. He had never even touched an electrical scroll. He had seen the advertisements of the scrolls on the big boards in the city centre. It always consisted of a woman holding up a scroll and talking about all the wondrous things that the scroll and internet could do for you.
He always stood in front of the boards and watched the re-runs of the ads several times. He really did want to have a scroll in his possession. But as you might have expected, he didn't feel like it okay for him to buy a personal device when they barely even had enough to eat. Not to mention that the cost of the new versioned scrolls were way to high for his budget. It was simply impossible for him to obtain. Even the outdated versions as well.
Malakhi's hurried pace slowly came to a halt as he stood in front of his destination. The storefront's cement walls were painted with bright and eye-piercing neon colors. Various shades of greens, pinks and oranges forced themselves into Malakhi's eyes. Though he has passed from the store several times previously, he still had to squint his eyes to shield his site from the imposing colours to remain with his vision.
He walked up the small stairs leading to the door that was of course, painted with a striking shade of purple. He turned the door knob and entered the scroll hub, he instantly coughed and gagged at the gray smoke that spiraled and filled the atmosphere. The smoke seemed to squeeze and strangle at Malakhi's lungs like deadly serpents chocking its prey.
A small laughter in front of Malakhi caught his attention. A lean man with dirty black dreads and a pipe that was presumably filled with scent grass entered Malakhi's line of site. The man laid across the counter that was filled with graffiti lazily with his feet dangling above the ground. One of his arms held his head up while the other continuously sent the pipe to his mouth. Since all the windows in the dimly lit shop were closed, the smoke that came out of the man's mouth could only stay inside the room.
'He's fucking high.' Malakhi thought as he studied the man. His eyes were cloudy and glassy with specks of brown, a special sign that occurred after every smoke of scent grass. The man's mouth crooked up in a very wretched smile that revealing his yellow stained teeth.
"I see ya new here, young lad." The man said as he extended his palms to Malakhi and wiggled his crust-filled eyebrows. "Gimme one sheet of green and ya get thirty minutes."
Malakhi's eyebrows raised sky-high. It was a miracle that his mouth didn't drop to the checkered floors after hearing such sacrilegious prices. He would have immediately bolted out of these doors if it wasn't for the chip and his curiosity. Malakhi's mouth pursed into a thin straight line as he rummaged through his pockets and took out a very crumbled sheet of Theterii. He slowly handed it over to the man's waiting hands. He could hear his heart crack with pain as he watched the flamboyant man stuff his money into the cash register.
"Ma name's Dean, by the way." The man mentioned as he jumped off the counter and waved towards Malakhi. "Follow me and i'll lead you to the booth."
Malakhi composed himself after his first heartbreak and followed the man through the beaded curtains. What came after the small front room was a corridor lined with private booths on both sides. The ceiling was decorated with LED stars and florescent patters. The outside wall of the store was an eye soother compared to this.
All the booths were almost all filled. A dark curtain separated the entrance from the corridor. Doing a very amazing job at keeping the privacy of the customers. Red neon signs hung above the booths as a sign of occupation.
Dean led Malakhi to a free booth that was at the end of the corridor. He slowly slid the curtains to the side for Malakhi to enter. And to his delight, it was not decorated with extravagant patters or grandiose lighting. It was a simple booth with a black leather chair and a smooth wooden desk that was attached to the wall opposite. Dean watched Malakhi settle into the booth and then showed him how to take out the scroll before finally leaving Malakhi alone.
Malakhi pushed the button that was to the side of his chair just as Dean had instructed him to. The chair instantly leaned backwards and a ray of blue light flashed out from the desk and filled the booth. A cylindrical shape appeared within the blue light and unraveled itself. From Malakhi's experience of watching ads, he knew immediately that this was the electrical scroll.
A robotic female voice spoke out as Malakhi reached outwards to touch the screens that elevated out from the surface of the scroll, "Hello master, where would you like me to take you?"
Malakhi almost jumped from the voice. After he heard the request, he quickly took out the chip and responded in a shaking voice. "Yes, um, I would like to see what this chip holds please."
"Very well." The robotic voice said back. Malakhi's eyes widened at the sight of the scroll turning itself to the other side and revealed a small opening. The opening flashed on and off with a green light. Malakhi instantly understood and inserted the chip, the scroll immediately turned back around and one single screen met Malakhi's eyes.
Malakhi's breath sharpened and held itself in his lungs. His eyes widened in excitement. "What in the fuckery..." He muttered as he gazed at the site that unfolded in front of him.
On the screen was a gigantic metal structure. Malakhi did not understand what it was, it had a rounded shape and thin vein-like lines that ran across the surface to finally join at a jagged point. On the sides of the rounded surface was a symbol that Malakhi had seen before. It was a rose intertwined in thorns around a crown.
Malakhi was speechless, he had so many questions running around in his head. He studied the symbol and suddenly came to a realization that made his jump in his seat. It was the exact design that came from the locket that he sold to Rickey. Malakhi thought about the man that he had stolen it from. He didn't seem like a man out of the ordinary, he just looked and seemed like any other arrogant and rich man Malakhi had seen and dealt with before. What was his connection to such a machine? Malakhi sat on the seat and stared at the screen, unaware of the time passing by.
Beep Beep Beep
The sudden noise from the scroll snapped Malakhi out of his trance. "Dear master, it seems like our time has come to an end. I hope to see you next time." The same robotic voice spoke as the screens flashed back into the surface. The scroll turned around and ejected the chip onto Malakhi's lap and disappeared into the wooden desk.
The curtains opened and Dean appeared back into site. He laughed and escorted Malakhi back out into the Smoke-filled front room. Malakhi thanked him and quickly walked out of the shop and back onto the streets. His mind buzzed from all the questions. It was like a swarm of bees had entered his brain. His head hurt from what he had seen from the scroll. Malakhi held the chip in his palms and felt a wave of uneasiness wash over him. What had he gotten himself into this time?
Malakhi felt a sense of fear that he had not felt in a very long time. The mechanical structure did not seem like a kid's toy. It seemed dangerous and unpredictable. Malakhi felt like as if he looked at something that he should not have known in the first place. And that symbol that had appeared twice in Malakhi's life, what did it mean? Did he steal something that belonged to a gang? A mafia perhaps?
Just as he was occupied with his thoughts, a sudden cluster of footsteps sounded behind Malakhi. He at once spun his head backwards and what had met his sight almost made him shit his pants.
"Shit."