Seth's Journal #57

“Who are we meeting?” Karas askes breathlessly.

He follows behind me like a lost puppy as I slap the plastic streamers out of my way, walking impatiently. “An old friend of mine is the connection. Name’s Jesse. Apparently, he’s a roadie for some shitty HEmo band now.”

“What the fuck is HEmo?” Karas asks, derision dripping off his words.

I pause for a moment to get my bearings. Slaughterhouses all look the same, and if you’ve been in as many as I have (don’t ask), you mix them up and get lost. My ears strain to hear where the music is coming from.

“You know Emo?” Karas rolls his eyes and nods. “HEmo is basically shitty Emo that features the assholes on stage cutting themselves for blood play. They tend to have their shows in venues with very bloody associations, like this place. They say there’s some spiritualistic shit involved, but so does every fetishist with the lust for a bigger, better hard-on. Just a bunch of kids that don’t know how good they’ve got it, bitching cause they don’t feel the way they think they should.”

 I shake my head in disgust, trying to reel back the anger. I’m just jealous and I know it. I’ve had enough pain of my own without having to seek it out. I envy their luxury of picking and choosing which suffering to embrace. I make my best guess at where the show is and resume walking. Karas follows behind like the well-paid helper-monkey he is.

“All in all, I like HEmo better.”

“Why’s that?” Karas asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Their singers tend to die a lot younger.”

The noise gets louder, and I feel the rumble in my feet of self-marginalized teenagers stomping the floor.  Hopefully, we’ll come in the back way. I’m not too sure how Jesse is going to receive me. It’s been a while and, well, I have a habit of burning bridges.

After a few more minutes, the noise gets markedly louder. We turn another corner and the lit hallway gives way to a dark corridor, at the end of which is the crowd, hungry for blood. We step into the crowd, and I reel from the almost palpable stench. Sweaty, shirtless kids are slamming into each other, their ridiculous pretense of bloodlust ostensibly coming to a head. I scan the room, find the exits, and head for the one most likely to lead backstage. I enjoy the opportunity to shove these idiots out of my way as I clear a path for myself and Karas.

Another hallway and we’re backstage. I see a few people milling around and then, cigarette hanging from his wry grin, there’s Jesse. We head over towards him, and I force my version of a genial smile. His eyes meet mine and fear explodes behind them. He jumps out of his chair and runs for the nearest door.

Damn it.

I start my pursuit with a lot of unanswered questions, but after a few moments I stop caring. I’m just pissed at everyone for hating me, justified or not. I’m sick of it, and sick of them. All I want from Jesse is some info, and he’s running like a scared rabbit. What does he think I’m going to do to him? As far as I know, he’s never seen me kill a friend.

He’s human, and it’s been a decade or so. He’s slower than I am. Sadly he knows the layout better. He keeps taking turns, and is able to outpace me slightly. I hear Karas’s shoes slapping the concrete behind me.

“Don’t shoot him!” I yell behind me.

Look at all my mercy.

We reach a long stretch of hallway that I’ve been to before and I think I’ve got him. Then he takes a hallway to the left that I didn’t see. I’m done with this shit.

My fury forms its own wordless prayer, all red eyes and gnashing teeth. Ethereal black tendrils begin floating from my skin and my running speed doubles. I barrel forward, past the hall he took, and take the next left. As I reach the end of the hallway, I turn the corner fast and swing low, crackling black mist wreathing my fist. I have judged well. His own momentum and my supernatural punch to his groin cause him to fold in half, mid-air. I redirect the force of my fist to bring him to the cement floor, a hammer and anvil on his (now forever changed) genitalia. He screams raggedly. I stand up and draw my pistol.

Karas catches up with us. “Dude, why does it seem like all your friends hate you?” He chuckles a bit, out of breath.

“Stick around long enough, I guess you’ll find out.” I return my attention to Jesse.

“You know I can make the pain stop,” I say in my most rational voice. “I need to ask you a few questions, though. First of all, why the hell did you run? I know I do a lot of drugs, but last I remembered, we parted on okay terms.”

Jesse’s eyes widen with shock. “I thought you were after me because of that Case bastard,” he says through clenched teeth. He coughs, then gags, clearly holding back vomit.

“What ‘Case bastard?’” I’m genuinely at a loss.

“Guy came around, just fishing. Huurrrr… He… he didn’t know shit, but you fucked him over somehow. Waving around a lot of cash…” he coughs. “I think you broke my pelvis, you son of a bitch.”

“Well, the longer we wait to fix it, the lower the chance of total success.” I sit down and lean against the wall. Making sure Karas has him covered, I grab my cigarettes and light one. “So you, what, gave him ten year old information?”

“I told him where and when you go clubbing… Figured that hadn’t changed, since you were part owner.” I meet Karas’s surprised gaze with one that broaches no questions.

“Well, all’s well that ends well. Never met the bastard. Now, to what I really came here for. I hear you’re in the business of selling black market authorizations for military cyberware. I need to know who you sold a few items to. And I know, I know, buyer confidentiality and all that. I figured you’d see your way to overlook that for a friend, or,” I pause, “failing that, an extremely dangerous sociopath.” I smile. He does not.