Two men dragged a corpse into an alley. Not a word was said throughout the process. Blood seeped into a trail while a metallic scent rose in their wake.
After having moved the body far enough into obscurity, they laid it against the wall as Aaron began to scavenge through the bloody carcass.
He pulled out a pierced coin and looked at it incredulously.
"You messed with the Spheks?"
Mark nodded. There were many implications behind killing the man. Most of them would end with his death. That being said, he would have died if he didn't do anything in the first place.
The world truly is rotting.
It was a shame that there was a survivor among his three assailants. Now he was probably on some sort of list for the most vicious gang in the city.
One of the few things he wanted to avoid being on.
Thinking back, it was all because of those two miscreants that had blocked his way a few days ago. Mark was really starting to regret beating them up. But what else would he have done aside from letting them rob or even stab him?
He sighed.
The only thing he could blame was luck.
"You should join our gang."
Mark looked at his friend. Aaron was still looting the corpse, not putting much thought behind his request. Yet this time it was more appealing than ever before. The Hounds was the largest gang in the city, and the best place to seek protection in his current predicament.
It was a shame that the only way he could protect himself from defilement was to delve into it himself.
"I'll think about it."
Mark was willing, but wasn't ready just yet. He still had a job and was not about to risk it by soaking his hands in crime.
The offer to join the Hounds was sweet like syrup.The problem is that Mark was basically as insignificant and powerless as a fly. If he were to enter the underbelly, there was no guarantee that he would come out. No, a hasty death was the most likely result.
At this moment, he saw Aaron pull out what seemed to be a wallet… then another one. A few more came out after. The gangster opened up one of them, whistling in astonishment as he beheld the fat stacks inside. Mark burned in envy as he watched the scene unfold.
An idea seemed to have formed in Aaron's mind as he checked through the wallets.
He picked one of them up and waved it in the air.
"I'll give you some if you join."
Mark smacked his lips.
"Tempting, but I'd probably have to give some of it away to the boss."
That was just an excuse. He simply didn't want to join. Perhaps he still had a sense of morals in his twisted mind. Though he still felt a twinge of regret saying that when he saw Aaron pocket all of the money. In total, it would probably be able to have sustained him for a month.
The money also instilled a bit of dread. Even though Mark had a feeling when he was caught by the callous man in the alley. Seeing all of those wallets reaffirmed his suspicion.
The man was in a terrifyingly high position of the Spheks. Being the main suspect of his death will probably lead to being hunted for the next few days.
Aaron stood up and slowly walked to Mark.
"You did well to survive that. But don't expect to get so lucky next time."
Mark nodded, his eyes focused on the gangster's bloody hands. The man seemed to pay it no mind, as if already used to such a thing. The sight was oddly comforting, but still repulsive and gruesome.
Aaron reached into his coat and took something out, the darkness of the night obscuring it from sight. He then pressed it into Mark's chest.
"You'll need this."
A feeling of cold metal emanated from the object. Mark clutched it in his hands. It was the gun of the callous wretch.
After having given the firearm away, Aaron turned and started walking out of the alley.
"I can't help you much after this. It would risk a war with the Spheks. And trust me, that's the last thing the boss wants. Either way, you'll probably get jumped outside of our territory. So treat that as your life."
"Thanks."
Mark focused on the killing machine in his hands. He never owned a gun before, let alone carried one around. In hindsight it sounds stupid to not be armed in a territory riddled with gangs.
He checked the cartridge and found that only one bullet remained.
'He can't be serious.'
There's no way Aaron would have forgotten to give him proper ammunition…
Mark looked around, but the man seemed to have already returned to patrolling his route.
He sighed, beginning to exit the alley.
Then suddenly stopped as he turned back around.
Throughout the looting, Mark never saw any cartridge get taken out. Maybe there was some left.
Approaching the bloodied carcass, he grimaced before reaching in the clothes and searching through them.
The callous man had worn a coat- probably to hide his items. It was an unsuspecting cover when considering the nearly chilling weather that riddled the city at night.
Blood had seeped through and spread throughout the garments. The now lukewarm liquid coated Mark's hands, making him want to pull them out. But he searched nevertheless, and eventually found what he was looking for.
The man had four cartridges in total. Mark stuffed them all into his pockets. And not wanting to linger any longer, he immediately retreated from the murky passageway and made his way home.
'Where do they get all this stuff from anyway?'
One thing that always baffled Mark was how the gangs were armed in the first place.
They couldn't be getting their stuff from the factories… right?
The thought chilled him to the bone.
He entered his unwelcoming house and quietly walked through the suffocating darkness.
His mother was sleeping on the couch, and to some relief seemed to have no bottles beside her. Though maybe she did something worse.
That night, he had some more scenes burned into his mind when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
Getting gripped on the shoulder, and turning around only to see a gun pointed at his head.
Being held in an alley with his life held in the hands of some unfeeling lunatic.
Running from certain death through the night, fearing that desperation would not be enough to withstand the relentless hunter.
He shuddered, wanting to jump out of his bed.
But Mark restrained himself, and stayed firmly in place. Yet knowing that sleep would evade him in such a state, he thought of ways to pacify himself.
Eventually he simply grabbed the gun he had put to the side and held it to his chest. The feeling of cold metal cooled placated his burning heart.
With his life pressed close to him, he closed his eyes and drifted away.
He dreamt of the two boys that had tried to mug him a few days ago.
Desperation burned in their eyes as they approached Mark with utter resolve. The knives they carried were blunt and dirtied, provably not even sharp enough to pierce deeply into his skin.
As Mark was about to rush forward and beat them, he stopped himself as an icy feeling washed over him.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun, aiming it at one of their heads. They both froze as fear crawled through their faces. The two wretches then bitterly retreated, knowing that provoking Mark further would lead to their deaths.
Seeing this, he moved forward and continued on his way to the city.
After some time, he looked to the side- into a dark alley.
There he saw the two miscreants once more.
One was on the floor, full of bloodied holes- unmoving, dead.
The other was crouching beside the carcass, frantically shaking the body as if doing so would bring it back to life. It seemed like he was going to be stuck there for a while.
Mark looked away and continued heading to the city.
And woke up to see resplendent sunlight fill his room.
He got dressed, putting on a windbreaker to hide the gun and the ammunition he would carry. Then he went downstairs to the kitchen.
While making coffee, he saw his mother rise.
Mark watched the sight with indifference while finishing the disgusting black cup. Noticing his mother's brittle stature, he realized that there was still no food in the house.
With the lack of movement coming from her, she seemed to be sober.
With that conclusion, he walked to the door and put on his shoes. His mother remained unmoving, as if stuck in a trance.
She had stopped doing much of anything a while ago.
Helpless to her fate, Mark simply left the house.
The only thing he could do was keep his head up and walk.