The morning breeze was stiff, making the scarce trees dance. The fumes of smoke blanketed the horizon as several carts of horses ferried people, and several beasts of burden transported goods in and out of the complex.
Malnourished construction workers shuffled about the busy roads as well, some of them stopping by to get a peek of the young man that slept unconscious atop a pile of their building materials.
"What do we do with this chap?" A random construction worker told his fellow.
"I don't know, but I won't touch him!" His friend backed off after getting a look.
"Ye, you see those wounds, he might be bitten by wolves or something!" A third one came, his teeth yellow, and his muscular arms filled with tattoos.
"No, you moron, those are clearly from acid rain!" The fourth worker gazed at his own arms filled with scars from acid rain.
"What do you know? Did you study?" This one is dumb. He clearly saw the fourth worker's wounds, but did not get it at all. "Acid rain is just a lie those against the government are saying to scare us!"
"Shut your trap! You also didn't study, you gullible twat!" An older man, who wore a different uniform told them. "If that's a lie, then why would everyone use umbrellas instead of just taking the rain falling from the sky?"
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, stop fighting, ye?" An old vagrant with only a pair of front teeth remaining crept up to them like a creep. "Oh, sorry I smell like acid rain too!"
"Oh, mister Erikson!" The older man, who clearly looked like a supervisor of sorts, greeted his fellow old man. "We got food inside, if you want some!"
"Appreciate the offer, my friend, but can you help me move my long lost, prodigal son outta here?" The old street dweller's honest disposition, and trusty smile made him a popular fixture around these parts. He himself had several scars on his limbs, a massive gash tracing his jawline from the end of his right ear to his chin, where an unkempt stubble resides.
Truth be told, none of the people in this industrial complex knew where this vibrant old man came from. Not a single one of them asked, either.
Carrying a burlap sack full of what could've been garbage, or anything that was worth anything to him, he arrived at the industrial complex one desolate night. The old supervisor fondly remembered the smile the man had on his face that night, when his stomach growled, and he offered him hot stew. It became a ritual to him that every time he sees him, he offers him food.
"Long lost son?" He was surprised. He never heard a single mention of a son from this friend of his. Now that he thought about it, he really doesn't know a lot about him. "Without those wounds, this person would be pretty handsome, aye!"
"Course he is! He's my son!" Erikson laughed and scratched his head like a proud father. "Help me, will ya? Let's just put him down here on the muddy pavement."
The workers lifted him on four sides, with old Erikson shamelessly cheering them on without helping.
"Oh, I've a thought!" Erikson had a eureka moment. "Why not just drop him from chest height, afterwards all ya should scram. I'll face his wrath."
Bam!
A quick escape followed for the construction workers, as they disappeared into the construction site… leaving Erikson with his 'supposed' prodigal son… Harambe…
Harambe shot up straight like an arrow. He immediately began scanning his surroundings in case of danger. Behind him, what looked like a vagrant was grinning at him.
"Follow me." Those words had a strangely calming, metronomic tone that should not come out of a homeless person's mouth.
Harambe didn't move.
"I know who you are, so it would be your loss, and not mine."
Erikson raised his burlap sack to his shoulders, and walked off, not waiting for Harambe to follow. Harambe's eyes followed the man as he walked the street, and exchanged pleasant morning greetings with several groups of salarymen and women.
He doesn't even know where in the world he currently is, so how could he follow this creepy, old fogey saying that he knew him.
A cool, strong breeze hit his body like a speeding truck, making him shiver more than he expected. That was when he realized, his clothes were barely covering him…
That's the least of the new concerns he had. He saw his limbs festering from a number of patches of burnt and corroded skin.
His mind went to work. There were several human territories with toxic rains like this one, but if you count only places where rains can cause visible damage on human skin… that narrows it down to a single place.
The kingdom of Where.
How and why did I end up in this godforsaken hellhole of all places?
He had no time to lose. Nowhere's close, but he had to know where exactly he was in the country of Where.
"Wait up, old man!" Erikson was a few hundred meters away, but a small grin covered his face after hearing that Harambe had changed his mind. Harambe's athletic prowess leaves nothing to be desired, catching up to the old vagrant in only a few seconds, and falling in step beside him. A superhuman feat indeed, especially if taking his injuries into account.
"First of all, welcome to the walls of Somewhere." Old Erikson turned left to the next street, and nodded at the sight of the wall, which can't be seen from the street they were in. "How should I address you... Your Majesty?"
Harambe recognized, and appreciated the hushed last two words coming from him. He had no idea who this random character was, but if he'd go to such lengths to hide the identity of a person that could cause death and destruction in his wake… then Harambe could remove most of the options of who this man could possibly be in his mind.
Harambe didn't answer.
The two walked in relative silence.
However, Erikson waved and nodded at some laborers he knew from the military munitions factory. It was a factory in which only the most trusted workers of Where could work.
"Could you enter that place?" Harambe had a thought.
"But of course!" Erikson walked ahead of him and into the massive gates of the factory. Harambe, walking at the same pace as before, watched as the old tramp greeted the officers, even high fiving several of them, and entered with his aged burlap sack without much resistance. The military officers were even whistling at him rather than stopping him on his tracks. All of a sudden, Erikson turned around and bowed at the officers, before saying something he couldn't comprehend.
The officers had smiles on their faces, and waved him goodbye.
"See, I could enter and exit as I please."
The duo walked the full length of the busy avenue, with the rushing worker traffic. It was not a major thoroughfare, judging by the muddy roads, and the broken pavements. However, the avenue leads to Somewhere's main financial district, so the roads get better once you get past the city's biggest dump.
"We're close." Erikson entered the dumpsite and snaked his way into the countless small alleys with mounds of different waste products. Flies buzzed everywhere, small scavengers loitered in the trash heaps, and several groups of humans picked their way for scraps that could be sold for money.
From afar, Harambe could see that they were heading toward one of those massive mounds of reusable scrap. He wondered why those people did not just go here and sell it all.
"The home I never use." Erikson pointed at a large, wooden table. It had the ancient, ornate designs on its legs, a beautiful, reddish varnish that had clearly seen better days. It rested at the corner of the pile, along a wall that separates this section of the dump from the other. Maybe at some point in the past, noble families dined here.
Now, it was the most prized treasure of a vagabond in the dump.
"See those things under it?" Erikson pointed at some cracked ceramic plates, a goblet with a few dents, and a small haystack, enough to sleep in. "Those are my babies, I can't fit them here on this sack, so… they're there."
"Uhmmm… okay…" Harambe was tongue-tied.