All the poor old beggar men of Alexandria loved telling stories about what life was like before the cataclysm. How their great-great-great grandparents all ate oranges and cakes and lived like kings and queens. Starry-eyed youths would sit around listening to the old farts, hanging off every word like it was the last rung on a ladder to the heavens themselves.
Even Hans sometimes thoguht that it sounded appealing. The old men gushed on and on about the plentiful food and the wonderful democracies of the old world as if they were a carriage full of gold bars and pretty women, desperately trying to muster up enough wonder in the hopeful young serfs to squeeze a copper or two out of their pockets. But he knew that no matter how wonderful the old world might have been, the slums were still be going to be here waiting to grind up and spit out the young until all they could do was sit against a filthy wall and tell lies to children.
Hans didn't even consider himself a pessimist, not by ghetto standards atleast. It was just how things were in Alexandria, and with today marking 16 years of living in this shithole he considered himself a bonafide slum expert.
The only thing that one could truly look forward to in the slums, after all, is food.
'I'm hungry as fuck' Hans' stomach growled in anticipation, and he stood up and dusted himself off having found a suitably good reason to interrupt his daily philosophy session.
The market was one of the few pleasures slumdogs like him had, perusing the colorful rugs and clothes was some of the best entertainment in the city, second only to getting chased around by shopkeepers angry at you for window shopping.
But today was Hans' 16th birthday, and he wasn't planning on just staring. In fact he had his eye on a particular prize from his favorite fish stall, and he had saved up quite a few silvers just for the occasion.
A few king salmon were neatly lined up in rows at the front of the stall, seducing many a passing stomach (including his) and they were finally going to come home with him. With a skip in his step, Hans strolled up to the stall and took his hard-earned silvers out of his raggedy jeans and slapped them on the counter. The tall, burly man running the stall looked up from the trout he was cutting to acknowledge Hans' presence and gave a curt nod, before setting down his gut knife and lumbering over to the counter.
'Dinner's going to be perfect. I've even got a lemon and some salt waiting back at the shack, this is the best birthday I've had in a long time.' His stomach bellowed impatiently.
With skill borne from years of experience, the man flipped the salmon over his shoulder into a bag and wrapped it up before handing it to Hans.
"Enjoy, kid". Hans planned to take the empty courtesy to heart in the coming hours, so he left the market with an uncharacteristic smile on his face. After a swift walk through the backroads of Alexandria, Hans finally made it to his humble home with his birthday gift in tow.
His shack didn't stand out much, simply another dwelling cobbled together with plywood and sheet metal like all the rest. Hans walked inside and admired the cleaning work he had done yesterday, all the dust build up from the plywood and sand now gave way to pristine floors and walls.
'Well, pristine might be an overstatement…'
It was still the slums after all, Hans wouldn't be surprised if a rat or two found its way in through the gaps in the roof and tried to ruin his day. Outside the home was the real treasure, a fire pit with a few metal bars on top, a makeshift grill fit for his king salmon.
With a few strikes of the flint and steel he yanked out of his jean pocket, a tiny smoldering flame began in the bottom of the pit. Hans had already set up the firewood at the bottom the day before, so the small flame grew exponentially under his eager gaze.
After ten or so minutes, he slid it off the grill and began to dig in.
'Holy shit, this is amazing'. He hadn't had fish in half a decade, and the last one had just been a rotten brook trout that the fishermen had given him out of pity. This salmon was his, and he had worked his ass off to make sure of it.
The alleyway outside his house wasn't busy this evening, but Hans was still on guard watching for any gang members strolling around. His area of the slums was controlled by a gang of Serbians that were former military, and while they weren't overtly violent towards the normal citizens, he wasn't exactly a normal citizen.
If you asked the slum rats of Alexandria, Hans was a bookie at best, scammer at worst. Locally famous for running bets on gladiator matches and chariot races as well as dice and card games, most would rather blame him for their gambling woes rather than their own foolishness. Despite often placing bets with him, the Serbs were mostly hostile with him, as they tended to bet big and lose bigger.
'Speak of the devil.' A few Serbs were now coming down the alleyway, and they looked to be dragging someone behind them. Hans stuffed the remaining half of his salmon down, making sure the Serbs couldn't take any as "restitution" for their losses on the last chariot race.
To his surprise, they didn't seem to be here to screw with him at all. The gangsters seemed entirely indifferent to him until the man that was dragging some poor sod stopped and glared at him.
"I saw you eat that fucking salmon from up the road, bastard. Because of you I don't have enough to feed my daughter". The man wasn't as tall or imposing as his other comrades, but he was definitely 40 or 50 pounds heavier than Hans. The Serbs that had already begun walking past doubled back to look.
Hans' anger flared immediately at the lie.
"Because of me? I didn't force you to gamble on the races, you chose that. I told your dumb ass not to gamble what you couldn't afford to spend, this isn't my fault at all!" Hans spat.
The man growled, and let go of the kid he was dragging allowing Hans to get a good look at him. The kid had to be about Hans' age, and had the palest skin he had ever seen. The kid even had white hair, like an albino squirrel.
'Who the fuck is that? Where is he from? Not Egypt, thats for damn sure'.
Hans didn't have much time to ponder, as the Serbian gangster began to charge him in anger.
"You're slow, even for a fat man". If Hans wasn't already so pumped up for a fight, he might realize how unbelievably stupid it was to fight this guy, but Hans wanted to show off a little.
The angry gangster ran in for a bear tackle, and Hans lazily ducked under it and grabbed the man's back leg, knocking him onto his hefty stomach and eliciting a pained grunt.
The other gangsters watched dispassionately, already used to their comrades' antics. While Han's was making sure he wouldn't get jumped by the others, the fat man recovered and yanked his legs out from under him.
Despite Hans' superior agility and fighting skills, even he couldn't lift the 200 pounds of fat Serbian that had heaped itself upon him.
He flailed angrily, but the man just sat on top of him and laughed. Hans raged at the thought of this arrogant bastard getting the best of him, and mustered all of his strength in an attempt to pull his right arm out from under his opponent.
Hans yanked his hand out with a loud grunt and swung a closed fist at the surprised face of his foe. A loud crack echoed through the alleyway, and the fat man fell backwards onto the dirt road.
Hans sat up still dazed from the fight, slowly becoming aware of how badly he fucked up. The previously indifferent gangsters were now kneeling next to their comrade and assessing his injuries. A particularly large man with jet black hair and a massive stitch running through his right eye stood up and motioned for Hans to come towards him.
"Come with us boy, otherwise you end up like him" The man pointed to the albino boy still unconscious in the middle of the road. Hans gave him a solemn nod and walked into the road.
"Carry the boy, I will carry Goran". Hans gingerly stepped over the newly-identified Goran, and hefted the lanky albino boy over his shoulder.
Hans began walking behind the rest of the gang with the tall black-haired man that he assumed was the leader. The guy didn't seem annoyed or angry, just solemn and dispassionate. Hans had seen him around Alexandria plenty, but he had never had to interact with him directly. Unlike his subordinates, the leader of the Serbs wasn't a gambling man.
"I apologize for this, sir. I was too rash-" The man silently put a finger to his lips.
"Do not apologize to me. Apologize to Goran, he will be the one dealing with you".
Hans blanched at the leaders response. The silent walk back to the gang compound felt like hours, he almost felt relieved when he layed eyes on the seedy tavern that served as the Serbians hideout.
The gang led him around to a dark basement entrance that Hans prayed wasn't a torture dungeon. After dragging the surprisingly light Albino kid down the stairs, his prayers didn't look to be panning out. The basement was mostly barren, apart from a single wooden chair, empty bottles of liquor and some alarmingly bloody crowbars.
The gang leader set Goran down against the wall and motioned for Hans to do the same. Hans gently set the teenager on the other side of the wall from Goran, and stood in the corner of the room as the gang leader appeared to be deep in thought.
The gang leader said something in Serbian to his friends, and they lifted Goran and carried him up the stairs. The leader glanced at him and then at the unconscious boy in the corner, giving them both a slight nod.
"Rest while you can, Goran will be down when he wakes." With that, he turned on his heel and walked up the stairs leaving Hans alone with the unconscious boy he had carried here.
Hans slid down the wall, face in his hands.
'I was eating salmon an hour ago' The situation had, to put it lightly, escalated quickly.
Figuring it would be more entertaining with company, he decided to poke at the strange kid on the floor.
"Wake up!" He gave the kids face a few smacks, and was rewarded with a tired groan.
After a few minutes of delirium, the albino kid sat up and slowly scanned the room with a decidedly confused look on his face.
"... Where the fuck?" He glanced back towards Hans, arching his eyebrow.
"You pissed off the wrong Serbs, I guess. This is their hideout, and probably also their torture chamber". Hans pointed at the bloody crowbar and blanched.
The albino boy looked fearful at the prospect for a moment, before another confused look took hold of his expression.
"Wait a minute… they might have locked the door out of here, but they left us with…" The boy pointed to the crowbars and then looked back to Hans for confirmation.
Hans' smirk began to grow exponentially.
"Those stupid motherfuckers!"
Hans grabbed the kid's hand and pulled him up from the ground.
"What's your name?" Hans asked.
The albino kid gave a matching smirk of his own.
"Damascus, yours?"
"Hans, glad to meet ya Damascus. Let's get to it, huh?"
And with a firm handshake, a legendary friendship is born.