Virtues

by Sir Alexander Wolfgang

Rating: teen
Tags: Human, Main 6, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Spike
Length: 19621

There is a stir in the criminal underworld, and lives are taken in the worst of ways, into the darkness. Never to be seen again.

In Equestria nobody is as good as they think they are. Not the queens, not the people, not the crooks. The only thing people have are their virtues, and those are in short supply. In Equestria, when you have a virtue you stick with it. You don't drop it at the curb, because if you don't have a virtue, you don't have anything.

Six young women have their virtues, and they'll trust in only them. They navigate fate. They cross each others paths, but they won't let go of the virtue, even if it means their life.

Published 2013-08-12 15:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-20 05:59:56 UTC

Honesty.

This woman had long traded her name for one that fit her line of work. They called her Applejack, as it was what she sold, mostly. Illegally, of course. It’s not like she wanted to. She was pressured into it. At first she only bootlegged for family, and close friends. Then, as time went on, she garnered the attention of a gang. Group of sad fools that called themselves Diamond Dogs. At first she held out, but when they threatened her family she buckled, and didn’t pretend to do anything else. She wouldn’t lie to herself.

There was no going to the cops. They were in anyone’s pocket, given there was enough money in it. Everyone knew that. And even if she did find some kind officer of the law, what could they do? They could try to protect her, but even if they did, they’d be murdered along Applejack and the rest of her kin. Besides that, she couldn’t let someone die for her.

Applejack sipped her coffee, just as she did every morning. She looked out of the kitchen window on the far side of the table, eyeing the rising sun, as it rose over a field lined on both sides with treelines of a forest, unchecked. Its beauty a rare sight in a world as cold, and frightening as the one she lived. Its rays shown through the icy winter snow as it fell.  Applejack thought about how the queen, a corrupt and vicious women, claimed to control it. Bullshit. She and her sister could claim everything and no one would question them. At least not openly.

She set her coffee down on the table. The only noise was that of nothing, but somehow it was the loudest noise of all that could be heard. Not long from now she’d have to wake Bloom. It was the First Mark, first day of the week. When the girl was at school, that was when Applejack and her brother would go to work. The real work. What actually made them money. She didn’t want to give her sister any ideas of some glorious life of crime. Some lie. There was nothing glorious about what she did, and she knew it. It was just a sad secret to hide from any prying eyes.

Knock, Knock, Knock. Someone knocked on the door in the living room, Applejack stood.

Knock, Knock, Knock. They seemed impatient. Why would someone visit at this hour? It was barely five A.M.

Knock, Knock- She opened the door. On the other side was a black woman in a dark purple, heavy coat, that almost seemed to meld with her hair. Next to her was short man, little more than a kid. He obviously yearned for a place to sleep. His hair was a bright green that stuck out from under his hat in a way that made it seem like some crown of surreal, malformed fire. They were both dressed for a long winter, but shivered anyway, as this winter would strike all with chills.

“Good morning,” The woman spoke up, “Ms. McIntosh?.” She addressed Applejack in manner to which seemed alien to her.

“Uh, yes, yes ma’am.” Applejack hid her quizzical look, but it still showed itself.

“I’m detective Spark,” no, why the police? “And this is my partner, Spike.” The boy gave a curt wave at his mention.

Applejack nodded. “Uhm-”

“I won’t tell you how I know, but I know how you’ve come to profit.”

Damn it. “The cider?” Applejack looked defeated, simply put.

“Yes, but I’m not interested in that. You may be in danger, I can’t in good conscience let you be put into harms way, if there’s something I can do to help prevent that.” Applejack perked up, again.

“Well, thank you, officer. But what am I in danger of?” She was not truly ignorant of it, but she had to know for sure.

“We have reason to believe your business associates are warring with another gang. A particularly violent one.”

Applejack nodded. She knew what the detective meant. “Now, who might that be?”

“I can not disclose that information, ma’am.”

“I see. Now what’re ya’ll plannin’ on doin’ about it?”

“Miss, when they hit, they’re going to hit hard. Please, you must leave. Go somewhere safe.” Until now Spark sounded cold, and mechanic. It was at this point that she developed some sort of warmth, like this was beyond her job. Something personal.

“Ms. Spark, I can’t just do that.”

“You have to do something.”

“I can’t.”

“Ms. McIntosh, if not for you, than for your family, please. You have to do something.”

“They’ll be fine, don’t you go worryin’ about them.”

“Miss, Spike or I can stay with you, if you really can’t leave.”

“Thank ya’ for the offer, but I couldn’t live with myself if one’a ya’ll got hurt. Now please, I gotta get a sleepy youngin’ up, and ready for school.”

“Fine, but at the very least, take my number,” The detective produced a small card. Applejack took it.

“Thank you kindly, miss. I’ll be alright though, I promise.”

“I certainly hope so.” With that, she and her partner left.

Applejack shut the door, crumpled the card up, and tossed it into a plastic waste bin.

The road was slick with ice, and snow. Applejack’s rusty old truck struggled to keep traction on the road, so she kept things slow. The closest school was an hours drive away during summer, and it was winter. It was early, but that didn’t keep Bloom from rambling. Applejack listened intently, despite it being worthless nonsense. This is her sister, this is her girl, and she will deprive her of no luxury she can afford.

“Most’a my classes are with my homeroom  teacher, Ms. Cheerilee, an’ she’s real nice an’ all, but most’a the class don’t like her none. I don’t know why, though. She ain’t strict at all.”

“Maybe she likes you, but she don’t the rest.” Applejack suggested.

“No, my friend Scarlett hates her guts, but Ms. Cheerilee ain’t never mean to her.”

“Some folk just need something to hate, Bloom.”

It was the kind of dribble that you could only stand if it were coming from someone you loved. That rambling you could listen to for hours, and hours, occasionally sliding bits of advice, and general input between their sentences. If it were anyone else the sound of Bloom rambling would be like a loud, ear piercing static. But when it was someone who you would die for, that noise was a finer than the most brilliantly composed work of music. It was comforting, truly. It would be almost frightening if Bloom ever did stop talking. Applejack hope that that would never happen, but she knew it would.

Applejack saw Bloom into the school. She quickly disappeared among the crowds of other children, Applejack knew Bloom was special, only to her, and her family. She had to be honest with herself. People were only as important as their friends and family perceive them to be, take that away and you have a true human. Nothing separating them from any other whelp unfortunate enough to breath. The other children meant nothing to her, honestly. But among them was little girl, no more than nine with bow on her head, that she would die for.

Dropping Bloom off was at the start of most days, and this was most days. Applejack drove back home, humming to any song she would say she liked. The sky was bleak, and grey, and made Applejack feel so small compared to it. She found little comfort in knowing that beyond it was a sun, bright and promising. Then she felt no comfort once she remembered Celestia’s claims to it. But then she thought that, perhaps it was rather pointless to connect the two. Seeing as no one honestly believed those claims. At least no one she knew.

For the next few hours it would be nothing but distilling, and fermenting drinks. Exclusively, those that were apple based. Hence her nickname.

The sun was high, and work at the farm was at a peak as well. Applejack and her brother did as much as they could in the time provided. Which was mostly picking apples from their vast orchards. A quick inspection of them, and then they were off to the barn cellar, into a still, or be brewed. They worked hard almost everyday, until the young one was to come home. Whatever apples left over were to be sold in a more legal manner.

Above ground came the sound of tires rolling across gravel, the sound of car, certainly.  Applejack heard that, and she would not leave it unchecked. She climbed the ladder, emerging from the cellar.

“Where you off to?” Her brother called.

“Chechin’ a noise.” She said, hardly paying attention. She let the door fall back, and conceal their crime. She hugged her coat tight, the snow still falling. From her position she could see through a barn window, and through it was a dark green coupe. Its two doors opened, and out from it two men came. One looked short, and frail, compared to the other one. A true hulk of a man. He was at least 6’6. They walked up the farm house, noone was home. No one was there during the day.

What ever could it be they want? Applejack opened the barn door, then walked to them, her boots making heavy crunch’s in the snow. Surely they would hear her coming. She heard them knocking on the door, but she could not see them, as the house so positioned. She was within ten feet of the corner when the smaller of the two men peeked around the corner.

“Aye, bub, I think this is who we’re lookin’ for.” He announced, as if they had been searching for an object.

.

“Well, who’re you lookin’ for?” Applejack asked.

“Don’t know her name, they call her Applejack.” The words were quick, and curt, but seemed almost polite. Almost.

“I reckon that might be me.”

“Alright then, Applejack, who are you workin’ with?” The larger of the two stepped into the snow as well, casting a shadow over his friend.

“What do you mean?”

“Who are you making the booze for?”

“Wh-what booze?” She played dumb, pathetically. She couldn’t lie, and she was stupid for thinking she could.

“You know what booze, the the booze you’re sellin’, now who’re you selling to?”

She conceded in her effort to deny, but had to ask: ”Why’do you boys need to know?”

The short man sighed, “We’re not the cops, alright? Ain’t nothing to worry about.”

“Fine,” what did it matter, anyway? “I’m sellin’ to some small time fools callin’ themselves Diamond Dogs.”

“Thank you. Now it would benefit you to know they’re going out of business soon, and you gonna need someone else to sell to, right?”

Applejack gritted her teeth. “If they’re goin’ out’a business, I guess so.”

“Well, you’re workin’ for Dragons, now, girl.” He smiled. “What do ya’ say?”

“Fuck off,” she crossed her arms.

The small mans smile faded. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do, fuck off.” She buckled once, she wasn’t doing it again.

“Be honest with yourself, they-”

“I am bein’ honest, now get the fuck off out of here!” She looked ready to kill.

“I’ll be back. You’ll come around.” And with that, he turned and left with the other. The huge man never having said a word.

Applejack shook her head, and turned back towards the barn. The nerve of that fool.

The rest of the day was as normal. Cider, and applejack was made, bottled, and put into crates for the ease of delivery. The left over apples were, too, but kept separate from the alcohol, of course. Now, all that remained for the day was to pick up Bloom.

Applejack rolled into view of the school, alongside other’s come to collect their children. And there, at the curb, she spotted dear Bloom. Alone, and looking sad. Applejack slowed the truck to a stop next to Bloom, and opened the passenger side door for her. Bloom got in, putting her backpack between her and her sister. And off they went.

Applejack spoke. “Why’re you so quiet, sugar?” The school was still in view, quickly fading from sight.

   There was no vocal response, but instead Bloom pulled from her pocket a crumpled, and beaten slip of paper. She handed it to her sister.

Applejack flattened it against the steering wheel, This couldn't be good. The paper was a note from Blooms teacher, one requiring a signature from this child’s guardian. Applejack scanned the paper for its jist, the main point of it. According to this paper Bloom had assaulted another student, one who had apparently been bullying her, and her friends. That wasn’t the bad part, if that was true, the kid had it coming. The bad part was that she had lied about it. She denied that she had bloodied the others nose. Applejack had concluded with a sigh, crumbled the paper again, then tossed it back at Bloom.

“A-Applejack, I-”

“We’ll talk when we get home.” Her eyes stayed on the road ahead.

“I-”

“I said, we’ll talk when we get home.” She was gruff, and cold, when she spoke this time.

The rest of the ride home was agonizing for Bloom. For a nine year old there was nothing worse than having to wait for a punishment. The silence was painful, and the drive never ending. The trees that bordered the road went by slower than they should have, and her Blooms life seemed over, despite logic.

Bloom looked at Applejack while she drove them home. The woman’s gaze was set on the road, and payed no attention to Bloom, whatsoever. Bloom decided to simply relish the time until they arrived home. That seemed to be the only thing she could do anyway.

She looked down into her lap, the crumpled piece of paper. She pulled it taught, smoothing it as best she could that way, resting her eyes on it, searching the neat, organized words. The small boxes with check marks showing her misdeeds seemed to be a single monstrosity. Some unseen force carried her vision lower, past the short paragraph description of the event that transpired, tying it to the signature on the bottom right hand side. Ms. Cheerilee. She looked at the womans name, signed in pretty curves, curves that seemed almost happy. Bloom suddenly understood why so many children hated Ms. Cheerilee. But she could still not join them.

“A-Applejack, I’m-”

“It ain’t that you hit the girl, it’s that you lied about it, Bloom!” Applejacks voice almost boomed.

Bloom sat on her bed, tears subtly slid down her face.

“I-I know.” The girl brushed a tear away.”

“Then why’d ya’ do it?” Applejack was unrelenting.

“B-Because I didn’t want t-” she wiped away another tear, “to get in trouble.”

“Well, that worked real good for ya’, didn’t it?”

Bloom stared at the floorboards, giving no response.

“Didn’t it?” Applejack raised her voice, demanding an answer.

“No.” Bloom muttered to, almost to herself.

“What!?” Applejack was being genuine, she couldn't hear the sad little girl.

“No!” Bloom said as loud as she could without yelling, then went back to staring at the floor.

Applejack put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Bloom, I-”

“Janey!” A deep baritone voice bellowed, their brother.

Applejack huffed, then opened Bloom’s door and leaned out, “What!?” she hollered back.

“Some fellas down here askin’ ta’ see ya!”

She huffed again, wiped her mouth, then turned to Bloom, pointing a prejudicial finger. “You ain’t off the hook, yet.” Then she stormed off downstairs, annoyed.

Bloom sat with tears making her their own. She was a sad, trembling mess.

Applejack’s heavy boots met the staircase with a heavy thud for each step. She turned at the bottom to see Her brother at the door. The visitors not yet seen. He saw her, then stepped away as she approached. She stood at the doorway, one hand on the opened door, just as her brother had. And she was not happy.

“Reconsidered yet?” It was the smug little man who stopped by earlier that day.

“I thought I told you to leave?” She looked at him with the fury of lost titans.

“Yeah, yeah, you did. But I said I’d be back, and now, here I am.”

“Okay then, leave, and don’t come back.” She tried to shut the door, but the little mans foot kept it open.

“Listen, lady, I’m saving you a lot of fucking grief by doing this. Either you work with us willingly, or we can force you to.”

Applejack let the door open again.

“That’s better, no-”

Applejacks fist slammed into his nose, knocking him onto the porch. The door slammed shut just as he hit the boards.

The man stumbled to his feet, being aided by his friend. “That fucking cunt,” he said, not forcing it out at all.

“We gonna fuck her up?” The behemoth next to him asked.

The short man looked at the door, then to his friend, “No, we ain’t doing nothing.” He wiped the blood from under his nose. “Not to her,at least.”

Applejack went back the way she came, to Blooms room. She tried to calm her nerves. Her rage was built up on that fool, and she didn’t want to throw any undue anger Blooms way. She loved Bloom. Yelling at her was enough.

The bedroom door creaked open, Bloom was lying in her bed, just so. She wasn’t asleep. She rose as the door let out its groan. Her eyes were red, tears having subsided. Applejack sat next to her, she did nothing.

“A-Applejack, I’m sorry.” She broke the silence, and looked at her sister in the eyes.

“I want to believe you, but when you lie I can’t trust you.” Applejack hugged her sister.

“I-I am, I really am.”

“I don’t doubt it, Bloom, but if you keep on lyin’ then I how am suppose to believe you?”

“S-sorry, I-.”

“Hush, now, I know you’re sorry, baby.” They stopped their hug, “now, where’s that piece’a paper?”

Bloom pulled her backpack onto the bed, and pulled from it that tattered piece of paper. From it she also pulled a pencil. She gave both of them to Applejack. The woman took both of them, stood, and walked to the wall next to the door. She smoothed the paper, and held it against the green, painted, wall. She signed her name, sloppy in comparison to the other name signed on the paper. She gave both of them back to Bloom. Bloom put both of them back into her pack, as if this was some daily ritual for the two.

Applejack gave one final hug, then said with the warmth of a mother: “I’m sorry I was so rough with you earlier, Bloom, I-I just,” she couldn’t  find the right words, at first. “Don’t lie, Bloom.” She let go, but still looked Bloom in the eye. “Don’t ever lie, Bloom.”

Applejack ruffled Bloom’s hair,  and stood, “Now, I’m gonna go fix us some supper.”

The woman stood, and she left. The girl was still sitting on her bed, genuinely regretting her misdeed. No one put her in this mood but Applejack.

The rest of the week went by as normal. On the last day of the week, The Seventh Mark, the booze was sold, and Applejack had just enough money to scrape by again. Bloom stayed out of trouble, staying quiet in school. The snow finally stopped falling, and within three days had mostly melted away, letting the color pallette darken from a blind and pure white, to a dreary grey that seemed to be the setting of an old world tale of endless death and decay. The fools who tried to force Applejack to cross sides never came back to speak to her. Perhaps she had put them in their place. Probably not.

Mac was delivering the booze in an old delivery truck the kept in the barn. Applejack was on her way to pick up Bloom from school. No one else was on the road, it was only her and a rusted old shell of a truck. It rumbled, and creaked along the way. It was a peaceful loneliness. A loneliness that was like being somewhere else entirely, somewhere made for peace. A place you could be, and never wish for harm on anyone, no matter their trespasses.

The school came into view now, along with other’s come for these young ones. But no Bloom. Applejack pulled up to the curb, and stepped out. She looked for her sister, but she didn’t not find her. She waited, leaning against the truck. The sun started lowering itself, cars pulled away, and again Applejack was alone. But this time there was no zen, just frantic pacing, before the woman got back into her truck and blazed home.

Her time felt limited, like something was etching away at it. She didn’t know what the speed limit was, and she didn’t care. She was going to be home twice as fast as she normally would. This loneliness was not peaceful, it was terrifying. Her sister, the closest thing to a daughter she would ever have, was missing, and she had no idea where she was.

She pulled into the driveway, got out, and stomped up the front steps of the house. Then froze, as if there was a sudden drop in temperature. On the door was a note pinned to it with a bloodied switchblade. On the note was a blood red palm print, the same size as Blooms hand. Under it was a location, an address. Applejack tore the page from the door, the knife fell, she ignored it.

It read: Rite Mist Liquor. Midnight.

Rite Mist Liquor was a run down store that sold what its name suggests. It went under at the same time as every other store like it did, when alcohol was banned. And they wanted to meet there.

She crumpled the paper into a ball, and squeezed it tightly in her fist, grimacing with rage. She dropped it and stepped into her house, almost not sure what to do. Almost.

She dug through the old waste bin, and at the very bottom, behind all the other useless trash was the only thing useful. A card with a number on it. She took it,and shoved it into her denim jacket.

She looked at her watch. It was Six P.M, and Mac would be home tomorrow, at the earliest. It was all on her.

It was almost midnight, now, and if the weather didn’t change it would be snowing any minute now. Applejack was in the rusty old junker, and practically freezing her ass off. She looked at her watch to confirm the time, and checked the gun in her boot. It was hardly a gun; an old snub-nosed. She put it back, and stepped out of the truck.

The meeting place was just across the way, and she walked through the bitter cold in the bitter darkness. The door was boarded shut, so she stepped through the broken window, and stepped out of sight. The air was icy, and full of tension. She walked through the store, shelves toppled on one another. Glass cracked beneath her feet, every step more timid than the last.

She heard steps that were not her own. She tried to turn around, but something cracked against her skull one time. She fell down, and scrambled for her gun, but next thing she knew, she was being kicked in the head. Darkness changed to utter darkness.

There was a bag over her head, and ice in her vains. She didn’t know where she was, just that she was outside, and judging by the crunch of the ground, and freezing air, it had been snowing for a good long while.

There was an iron fist on each of her shoulders guiding her, sure that she wouldn’t stray Something bound her hands. She would guess duct tape. Aside from her own the only set of feet she heard was that of the man holding her. She could still feel her gun in her boot, it being one of the many discomforts at the moment. Yet at the same time it was the only comfort.

They stop and the only thing Applejack can think of is Bloom. They must have taken her to the little girl, and if they hadn’t, well, they sure went to great lengths to kill people.

The man kicks the back of Applejack’s knee, and she falls onto them, her spine becoming colder than the frozen wastelands to the north. She felt his massive hand grab the top of the bag on her head. Her fear told her he was about pull her head back and drive a knife into her throat. But truth let itself be known once he yanked it off of her head.

She blinked as if shown flashes of several suns. Looking up she saw her captor, the hulking man from last week, the bastard. He was wearing her hat. He stepped out her vision and she could see it was almost morning now. She was in a clearing of a grand forest, snow falling reluctantly as if it knew bad things were to come. Beyond it, and through the falling crystals of ice she saw three silhouettes, huddled and shivering. They did not belong.

A fourth silhouette joined them, and they seemed wary of them, as if they smelled the malice of this one. Next thing they were standing, and coming in the direction that would take them to Applejack. Applejack knew not why there were three, she only came for her sister. But she did know better than to speak, just now.

As they trekked closer, they passed through the invisible wall that made them silhouettes. They were three young girls, one of them being Bloom. They were terrified, and shivering. The one on the right had streaks of mascara running down her young and innocent face, her hair not perfect as it normally is. On the left there was a girl with purple hair. She seemed pitiful, as if she accepted her fate.

Then there was Bloom. She balled her eyes out, being the only sound in a forest of unknown size. Applejack saw her, and it was clear that this little girl wanted nothing more than to rush to her sister, and be free. But the man behind her held a gun that would take her head off if she even dared.

“So, Jackie, guess you’re gonna be working for us, now, huh?” The man said.

Applejack gritted her teeth.

It was the short little bastard. Too pathetic to actually face Applejack himself. “Here’s how this is gonna work, you dig? We’re going to keep these brats until the first deal you do with th Dragons, right? Yeah.” He seemed ecstatic. It was disgusting.

Applejack stood up.She had to do something. For Bloom. But did she really care about these two? She didn’t even know them. She only came for Bloom, but for each these little girls there was somebody that cared for them. If it was one of those others here, would they try to save Bloom? “You fuck. Alright, I will.”

“Excellent. Your batch’a booze is goin’ to-”

From the forest there was pop, and the massive man next to Applejack fell into the snow. The vulgar little man looked around for it, then pointed his gun at Applejack. “You cunt! You did this, didn’t you!”

Bloom and the girl on the right were balling. “Wha- no! I-I did-”

He fired his gun at her, and she doubled over in pain, falling back onto her knees. Next he put his gun in the direction of one of the little girls, and a let another bullet rip, and it ripped right through the purple headed girls skull. As the bullet exited a mess of vile gore chased after, as she slumped to the ground not even afforded a whimper.

Next was Bloom, he was ready fire but there was another pop, and his exploded in a mess of bone, blood, and flesh. Now he kneeled, clutching his wound as blood spurt out. He teared up, and he cried like the girls next to him.

Applejack saw this, and she was filled with more hate than she had ever garnered. The binds on her wrists ripped as if they were paper. She pulled the gun from her boot, and stood as best she could, holding her stomach with her left hand. Trying not to bleed out.

She fired a single bullet, blood splattered from the mans shoulder. He let out a restrained shriek of pain. Applejack rushed to him as fast as she could and delivered a swift kick to his mouth. He fell back, and she fell on him. She raised the snub-nose high, then brought it down on his head, face, whatever she could break with it.

He tried to fight back, but she would only strike harder, and harder when he did. His face looked less like himself with each landed blow. When his head was more like a wet bag of gravel, she stopped. Then collapsed on her side.

Blood covered her lower body. Her stomach, crotch, and thighs. She could hardly move. Not even if she wanted to. She felt like she was going to puke out the blood that was still inside her. Bloom crawled over to her. She tried to hug her, tried to do something, but her hands were still bound and she could not.

“I-I-I-I’m sorry.” She cried.

“Ain’t nothin’ t-ta be sorry for.” Applejack barely got it out.

“I-I love you.” Her tears were a river. To Applejack these words were distorted. Deeper than they should. Her vision began to fade into white.

“I know.” She hugged the little girl. She looked into the sky and saw the sun peek over the trees. And that was it.

“Honest, sissy, I-I do.”

No response.

”J-Janey?”

Bloom looked into her sister’s eyes, and she saw that her sister was now beyond her. She was dead.

“N-No!” She balled, and balled. Her tears never ending.

From the forest came someone, a woman with pampered flesh, and purple hair that graced the height of fashion. She held a rifle, a scope and a silencer attached to it. She came onto the scene, and she was almost stunned. A small redheaded child cried over a corpse of some bloodied young woman. Next to them was the beaten corpse of a small man, and child. For a most brief of moments the woman wished this was the worst she had ever seen.

The live woman’s sister, the one she had come for, looked up at her, eyes telling her “Please, take me away.”

The woman broke the little ones binds, and hugged her. “Shani, are you alright? Those brutes didn’t hurt you, did they?”

The closest thing to a response that the woman got was whimper that could be mistaken as “I’m okay.” The little girl buried her face into her sister’s shoulder.

They stood, and just as they were to leave, Shani held her sister back. When the woman turned around she saw the other little girl weeping, Shani pointed at her.”What?” She asked.

“B-Bloom.”

“We can’t do anything for her, Shani.”

“Y-yes, we can.”

The woman thought for a second. Then she realized how much of a hypocrite she was being. How dare she call herself generous.

From a pocket she produced a small flip phone,a disposable one she used for her line of work. She stepped over to the weeping little girl, and put a hand on her shoulder. The girl looked up at the woman. “Come with me.” The woman said.

Bloom looked down at her sister, then to her dead friend, finally back at the woman, the sister of her only living friend. She nodded, and stood. The woman broke her binds.

But before they set off, Bloom walked to the dead behemoth. His hat was not his own. It was her sister’s. She plucked it from his head, then placed it on her sisters chest that would never move again.

And then they were off. Girls weeping, woman feeling their pain.

Pride

Crime was out of control. So many things were illegal, things people want, things the right people will get rich off of. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, prostitution, all illegal, with the only reason cited that they cause the moral degradation of the citizens. You walk down a single street in Manehatten, and you find more of it than you may have thought possible for there to behold. Robberies, rapes, murders, sin in general. It’s a den of vice, a place of reprobates, vagabonds, and grifters. Men and women destined for failure, but keep driving on in the vain hopes of finding a grandeur in a life, doing whatever they can to survive. Where morals are as cheap as the whores that walk almost every corner in town. But don’t be fooled. There is a good side, and a dark side to Manehatten. But everybody’s looking in the wrong place.

Deandra “Rainbow” Dash, a gal who found that it was easier to beat someone down, rather than listen to their shit, was being told what’s what by a guy who did a lot of talking. But she didn’t kick his teeth in. It would mean the end of her, if she made that mistake. Instead she sat across the booth from him, pretending to listen. He rambled on about her “dropping” her pride. Tried to make sure she knew not to fuck with him, or fuck him over, if she was so tempted. He etched into her mind that if she did, it’d be the last thing she does.

“Hey, hold up.” Dash raised her hand to slow him down. “All this talk about me fuckin’ you over, how ‘bout you tell me just how much money I’m getting out of this deal. Maybe I’ll be a bit more persuaded.”

“You’ll be rollin’ in it after this, believe that.” He took a sip of his illegal beverage, a fine applejack.

“I’m not sure if I believe you, though, for all I know you’ll stiff me as soon as you collect your marks. Might not even be worth the dive.”

“Fine, you’re gettin’ fifty K.”

“How much?” Deandra leaned forward in disbelief.

“You heard me, fifty thousand.”

Dash was astounded. She didn’t make that much money in a year of fighting. How ironic that taking a dive would bring her that sweet amount.

“How much are you guys even putting down?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer.” He sat back, taking a more resentful tone. “‘Sides, you’re gettin’ more than I am from this gig.”

Rainbow didn’t know what to say, which normally was not a problem. It was even welcomed, sometimes, but not now. “Who’ve, uh, who you guys paired me with?”

“It don’t matter, you’re losin’ to ‘em.”

“It does matter, I always know who I’m fighting before a match, or I don’t fight.”

“Fine,” the man pulled the brim of his fedora over his eyes, then took a  final drink of his whiskey, before standing up, adjusting his tie. “You’re fightin’ some broad from the Isle-O-Chains. Make sure she-.”

“What’s her name?”

“What?”

“Her fucking name, what is it?”

“Gilda, her name’s Gilda, alright? Some folks call her The Griffin. It’s a nickname.”

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like a comedian?” He spread his arms in a gesture of his feigned puzzlement. “You ain’t the only one with nickname.”

“I-”

“You what?”

“Nothing. Just, nothing. Go.”

The man turned, preparing to leave, before he stopped himself. “Oh, and Dash, one last thing. You’re taking the dive, or I’ll end you myself.” He turned again, and finally left.

Dash sat there, thinking. These people she was dealing with thought low of her. Thought she was stupid, easy to control. Which was wrong, unless they tempted her with money. But they did.

Deandra knew her, yes. They were old friends. Not anymore, as fate, or maybe some other force may have it. What was she to do? Lose to her? Let her think she’s better than her? She couldn’t do that, but if she didn’t she’d be dead. She’d have to skip town if she wasn’t going to fight her. If she did fight her, and win, she’d be lucky to make it out of the cage before she was killed by some thug with hopes of her taking the dive.

   Things could never be simple, could they? No, they couldn’t just pit her against some pathetic fool trying to make a name for themself. They had to put her against someone she knew, someone she couldn’t let herself lose to. Was this a coincidence? Maybe the universe wanted to test her, to see if her pride was more than just that. To find what grip it had on her. Maybe someone high up knew she’d crack if this happened, and was pushing her to shatter. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Didn’t really matter which was true, she was fucked no matter what, here.

She gulped down her half empty glass of scotch, payed her waitress, then left the speakeasy in search of some solace for the night. Somewhere quiet to way the odds. And if not that, a place of zen. Her own calm before her storm that may, or may not hit.

The air that night was bitter, and cold. The scotch did nothing to hinder it. She pulled her collar close to her neck. It did not help. She walked forward, through the snow as it fell. The noise of the city did not assault her like it did on any other night. It was quiet. So quiet that she may have found her solace. But she did not believe the street to be it, and she kept on towards her apartment. The wind tried to push her away, but she walked quickly, and the wind did not matter. Only Deandra, and her pride mattered now.

An alarm clock rang, Deandra lazily slapped it off of her night stand. She heard its glass shatter into pieces. Any other day that would matter. But not this day. She almost fell back to sleep, but she pulled herself up, groaning, just like any other person with a lousy job, in a lousy toen. Light pierced through her shoddy blinds. She stood up, finally. Then, she prepared for the day. She had had a week to prepare for this day. She did not, there was no need. She put a T-shirt, a pair of boyshorts, and a roll of boxing tape into a brown paper bag, and put that into her overcoat. She didn’t bother putting on a tie, this day. Too much of a hassle. Instead, she took this moment to brush her hair. It’s color something she adored. Rainbow, as her a nickname might suggest.

She walked a slower walk than she normally would. The air was cold, but it burned her lungs. Each step she took on the stairs leading down to the street creaked,and moaned like a some monster ready to die, but they were drowned out by the sounds of Manehatten. A home for anyone considered a lowlife.. It was noisy because it was another day. Every day in Manehatten is just the same. Noisy, and vile. How she would have loved for it to be as quiet as it was that night a week ago.

One person in crowds of others, mixing with them, becoming just another person. Not special. They become another person because that’s what they are. Just another person. Nothing separating them from the rest, and they realize they are the rest.

Rainbow was walking down the street, blending amongst crowds, then leaving them, making her way to her destination. Taking shortcuts through alleyways, and the likes. But never did she stop. She continued her trek, keeping her mind on her mark. Keeping it from wandering. She had walked this walk so many times before, that it had become like walking in a rut.

And finally, the Rainbow arrived.

In an alleyway  was door, leading to a basement to its building. The door was rusty, and creaked when she opened it, but she was used to it, and it didn’t grate her nerves like it once did. She walked down the stairs, and came upon a crowd of people around a large square cage. Inside were two people, mere silhouettes to Deandra, but still people. She skirted the crowd, and came upon another door. This one made of wood, and clearly out of place in its stained concrete wall. She opened and stepped through it. It was a locker room. It had seen Dash many times, but perhaps no more after this night.

“About fuckin’ time!” The same man from the bar last week stood up from a bench, approaching Deandra.

“What’s the rush?” Rainbow asked, taking the paper bag out of her coat.

“What’s the rush?” He mimicked. “You’re fighting next, any longer and you’d of missed it, and we’d both be dead.”

“That so?” Rainbow cooly put her coat, and shirt into a locker, then sat on a bench to untie her shoes.

“Yes, that-that’s, uh, fucking so.” He stuttered after he saw her removing her shirt.

“Hey, do you mind? I gotta get ready for the fight.” She put her shoes in her locker.

“Y-yeah, just remember, you go-”

“Down. I fuckin’ got it” Deandra stopped fiddling with her belt, looking up at the man. “Now could you kindly fuck off?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I could.” He took a final glance at Deandra’s body, then took his leave.

He stepped out, and into the crowd of those surrounding the cage. Inside was a man finishing off a woman, one blow at a time. He heard teeth rattle on the ground. He did not look. His stomach was too weak for this gore, despite his role in this life.

A woman in a white, designer coat, a fedora, and hair that was a voluptuous shade of violet approached him as he walked through the crowd. “Is she ready, darling?” The woman asked. She was not suited for this place. She was far too beautiful for this dump, aside from an eyepatch, that is. She takes the wrong step, she’ll wind up in the worse position for a woman like her.

He stopped as they met. “She’s gettin’ that way.”

“Good. I trust that she will be taking the loss?”

“You know it. And if she-”

A sharp ring pierced their ears. It declared that this round was over, and that within five minutes the next two combatants would face off. They looked at the cage and saw a janitor pulling a corpse away from the cage. A trail of blood followed it, smearing across the concrete. Fans either announced their glee, or showed the anger you show when you lose a bet.

Sooner than expected a tall, dark woman walked into the fighting area. Out of the darkness. The spectators either scorned, or praised her. Her hair was white as the snow that fell outside, and her skin as dark as all those from the islands where she was raised. She wore a denim vest, and ripped and worn khaki’s that may have been splendid one day. Nothing else.

“Who is that?” The woman in the winter coat asked.

“Gilda,” the other replied, after a slight hesitation.

And now, from the same place the corpse had been dragged off to, came Deandra. She was wearing a white T-shirt, cyan blue wraps on her fists and feet, and black boyshorts. She kept her eyes on her opponent. She was several heads taller than Deandra, but she knew that giants technique. Then again, that women knew Deandra’s. They eyed each other, like starved and ravenous dogs, ready to take down their first meal in months.

Deandra had no idea of what she was going to do, until now. Would she take the dive, or would she fight? It wasn’t until she saw her old pal that she finally decided upon the later. To hell with the money, and to hell with the rest of her life. Like it would have been worth living anyway. At least she’d die with pride. At least she’d remain loyal to something, despite how meaningless it really was.

And then a sharp ring pierced their ears, signalling the beginning of the battle.

The lady watched them charge each other. They lost everything human about them, and became animals. They were not content with simple kicks and punches. They bit, and scraped, looked for cheap shots to exploit, made each other bleed from any orifice they could. Bones were cracked, eyes were gouged.

“She seems to be putting up a bit much of a fight.” The woman wisely pointed out.

“She’ll take the dive. They always do.” The other man responded, keeping his eyes away from the fight.

The gal in the white coat pulled her fedora down. “She better. Or its both of you that will be paying.” With that she left, leaving a worried feeling the others stomach.

Finally, Gilda found a good grasp on the smaller girl. She pulled her towards the chain link wall of the cage, and slammed her face into it. But she did not stop there. She pushed her head farther down the wall, scraping her face against the fencing. People cheered, people punched Dash while her face was pressed against the cage. Rainbow struggled to resist, and ultimately failed to do so. Gilda pulled her from the wall, then grabbed her by the throat. She slammed her against the pole that connected two fences, then proceeded towards victory.

Then, Gilda stopped, and smiled at Dash. Her teeth were yellow, like the beak of an eagle. “I thought you had more fight, Dashie.”

   Dash could not reply, Gildas elbow pressed into her neck, cutting off her oxygen. Dash only spit and sputtered blood.

“You used to have more fight than a bronco.”

Dash’s feet barely touched the ground. She tried to get position her legs for a good hit.

“I guess you’ve been tamed, huh?”

Dash found that position she sought, she looked Gilda in the eye and spat blood. The tall woman was stunned, Deandra took this moment to deliver a swift knee to Gilda’s groin. Gilda dropped Dash, and backed away, in much pain. Dash fell to the ground, breathing in as much air as possible.

In the crowd there were many voices, most of them cheers, but one stood out from the rest. “You idiot, you fucking idiot! Take the goddamn dive, you idiot!” She knew who that was. And now she remembered just why she didn’t let Gilda choke her out.

Dash pounced, less like a ravenous dog, more like feral beast, knocking the brute down, onto her back. She raised one fist, then brought it down hard, then another, and another. Gilda tried to resist, but it did her no good. With every punch, every blow, Gilda’s face became less of one. Her face contorted became covered in blood, bruises, and fear.

Dash was almost satisfied. She gave one more punch, then stood. She praised herself, looking into the crowd, pleased at all of the happy faces looking back, and pleased at all of the angered ones as well.

Gilda tried to crawl away, Dash knew this. She stepped over to the woman, and put an arm around her neck. She sat on her back, and then she started applying more, and more pressure. Gilda thrashed, and pulled at her arms, but when there was quick crack of her neck she was gone.

There was blood on both girls, from both girls. The only real difference was that one was dead. Deandra stood up, air intake slowing down. She stood atop her fallen enemy, a crowd cheering on, and on. But she heard only silence, and her heart beating more and more blood out of every cut, and scrape. She tasted blood. Her own blood. This is what victory tastes like.

She walked out the way she came, people cheered for her, others cursed her. She held a particular rib. It must be broken, at least cracked. She opened the locker room door. Inside was the last person she wanted to see.

“The fuck was that?!” He asked, gritting his teeth, revolted at the amount of blood on her.

She coughed. ”Me kicking ass.”

“You stupid cunt, we’re both fucked now! I told you to leave your pride at the fucking door! To fucking forget it!”

“Yeah, well pal, I never had much to live for,” she looked at him dead in the eye, “my ///pride/// was just about the only fucking thing that kept me going, so I’ll be damned if I let anyone buy it out, and I sure as shit ain’t gonna sell it out myself!”

If looks could kill they’d both be dead.

“That’s it then?” The man’s voice rose steadily, “Your pride is more important to you than your own life? More important than other other people’s lives?”

“You don’t get it. Lemme-”

“Oh, I fucking get it, y-”

“No, you fucking don’t!” She screamed. “Everybody has got to have something in their life to pull them forward, to kill for, something worth dying for, something to stay ///loyal/// to. And for me, that was my fucking pride.”

Nobody spoke for seconds, then minutes. They just stood there, staring at each other, in  the same emotional state of anger. The tension was so thick that a knife couldn’t get through it. Just starring angry stares, like fools in some sad cinema.

The man spoke up, again, his voice quivering, ”Ya’ know what, you’re right. But I promised you I’d kill you if you fucked me over.” He reached into his jacket, “And I once met a gal that said  somethin’ like uh, honesty will make you happiest. So I try not to lie..”

Like lightning, he pulled out a revolver, but Dash was too quick, she slipped forward, grabbing the gun, struggling for her life with this man. With one hand she held the gun away from her,with the other she slammed a fist into his face, like some ancient god seeking vengeance for his subjects failure.

But a bullet still fired, and it sped right through the hand that held the gun from her head, severing a finger. The man fell to the floor, and Rainbow Dash scrambled away, squeezing her bleeding appendage, slipping into the crowd beyond the door.

In the cage a new fight was being held, these reprobates having already forgot about Dash’s skirmish with her old nemesis.

She bound up the steps that lead to the street, bleeding like a true human being. Like any of them. She emerged onto the street, snow falling heavily from the dark, and cloudy blanket of the night sky. She heard that man cry her name, cursing her, and she sped down the sidewalk, trying to keep herself from bleeding out. She grimaced, and ran the path her mind had made rut. She didn’t think, she only acted on instinct, like a beast. The snow on the ground was becoming tainted with her blood, leaving the trail of a wounded animal.

Before she knew it she was outside her own apartment, standing in her fighting clothes. She heard footsteps chasing after her, but she did nothing. She was going to die, just like so many other people in Manehatten. She wasn’t special. It would probably be an hour before anyone notices her body, anyway.

She felt cold. The snow was ankle deep, unrelenting, and she was hardly clothed. But it wasn’t that kind of cold. It was the kind of cold that said you knew you were going to die, that there was something headed your way that you couldn’t stop, no matter how hard you tried. If you even wanted to.

“There you are, you piece of shit.” Here he was, the man who hunted the beast. He approached her, aiming his pistol right at her head. His nose was broken, and bleeding. “I’m gonna blast that ugly face of yours all over the street.”

Rainbow Dash turned to face him. She was a true sight. Both of her eyes blackened, nose gushed blood, mouth covered with that serene red liquid as well. Her shirt was ripped, tattered, and stained with blood just like the rest of her. Both her blood, and Gilda’s. She still clutched her finger, trembling in the cold.

He started to pull the trigger, “Hope you didn’t have any plans for tomorrow, bit-” ///click///

No deafening blast, no hollow head, no oblivion to escape to. She was still standing, and his smug face turned into one of slight horror.

Rainbow Dash lost her frightened posture, and close the gap between them, snatching the gun away as she heard another click. What a fool this man was. Attacking her with an empty gun? She forgot about her missing finger, and raised the gun high into the air. He looked fearful, then she brought the butt of the gun down onto his temple.

He fell back on the ground, hat falling away. Dash through the gun away, then stared at him. He was groaning, barely conscious. He deserved more than this. He deserved death, but Dash had seen enough death for the night. As he tried to get up she kicked his teeth in, with her bare and cold foot. He showed that he was aware be yelping, then falling back into the snow, ruining it with the blood that ran from his wounds, just like Deandra.

Dash looked at him. How he looked, now. His teeth falling out, him bleeding like he should be. She sat on the steps to her building, not paying attention to the man three feet away. Why would she? No one else would until daybreak.. She sat there for what should have been hours. Only the odd car passed. She was alone in this world, now. Alone for her limited time left.

Finally a woman approached her. She was like a supermodel, aside from an eyepatch, and the fact that supermodels don’t walk alone in this part of Manehatten. She strode up to Dash, and opened her big beautiful lips.

“Pardon me, uh, darling, but you wouldn’t happen to be-”

“Cut it, you’re here to kill me.”

“Is your name Deandra Dash?” The woman asked, her annoyance not showing through.

“Yes.”

“Then, I suppose so.” She looked at the battered body mere feet away. “And I suppose this is Seth Bermejo?”

“I guess.”

“Well, darling,  you’ve made part of my job so much easier. I must thank you, that truly makes my life easier.”

The woman stepped over a puddle of blood, then put the heel of her boot against the temple of the mans head. He groaned. She delivered a swift kick, ending his life, skull fracturing.

She stepped back towards Dash, produceing a silenced pistol from under her white, fuzzy collared winter coat. “But that leaves only you, I’m afraid.”

“Well, hurry it up then.” Dash said, almost dismissively.

“As soon as you answer another question for me.”

“Fine, what is it?”

“Why am I tasked with killing you?”

“So you can get a fucking check,” Rainbow said sternly.

“No, darling, I mean, what is the reason someone wants you dead?”

Deandra looked deeply at the women before her. And looked deeper at the question. Deeper than she looked into most things. This woman killed people, this woman had no malice for Dash. She was an animal too, just more contained. Perhaps they could have been friends in another life. But not this one. “Pride.” Dash said it like a priest speaking to his accolades.

The woman did not aim her gun. “Perhaps we can strike a deal, you and I.”

“What kind of deal?” Dash looked up at the woman.

“One that will let you live, and let my conscience have a break.”

“Okay, go on.”

“I know that you were to be paid fifty thousand dollars, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“That is far more than what I am being paid to kill you for.”

“That so?”

“Yes, yes it is. Now, if you were to tell me who was going to hand that money to you, I would let you live.”

“Okay.” Dash hesitated a moment. Perhaps her life would not end so dramatically as she thought it would. “From what they told me, It was going to be dropped off by some weirdo girl, does anything they ask her to do.”

“A name, please.”

“Think they called her pink, I don’t know, something with pink in it.”

“Excellent, I know just who you’re talking about.” She put her weapon away, “No, as for you, I suggest you get far as away from Manehatten as possible.”  The supermodel walked away, stepping over the corpse of the man, and away from Dash.

Dash sat a moment longer,  then went inside to pack some things, wash up, and fix a bit of her wounds and what not, namely her missing finger that needed to be cauterized.

She would not die tonight, but deep down she felt like she had a little.

Generous

Remy drove her car through the morning snow, deep in thought. In the back seat were two blubbering children who had just seen their best friend die, and were in store for god knows what, probably years of therapy.

She looked at the one she wasn’t related to. The girl was rugged, clearly from around here. She hugged the driver’s sister, as tears of pains she knew assaulted them from any front harbored in their minds.

Both their outfits were dirty, and torn, just like the humans inside of them.

Remy turned her eyes back to the road, searching for someplace to slow down, and stop. She found it, just inside of the forest from which they came, and she turned to look at both of the girls who paid her no attention.

“G-Girls?” Remy said. They still wept.

“Girls?” She said again, though louder. She would have said it a third time, louder, but she knew that to be ill thought, given their states.

She put the car back into reverse, then drive, and sped home. She couldn’t ask the poor girl a thing, not while she was like this.

Remy’s home was in Manehatten. She parked her car in the garage just a single block away, and they walked the rest of the way. The two girls, whimpering now, walked side by side. They kept their heads down, and spirits lower all the way to the building, and up the stairs to her tenance.

Remy unlocked the door, and stepped inside. She had calls to make, and these two needed to bathe.

She herded them into her apartment. Everything in her home was a pristine white, or a happy purple. The girls both say on a white couch, and both were sullenly present before Remy.

Remy got onto her knees in front of Bloom, and she spoke “Poor girl, I’m so sorry, but I must know your address.”

She tried to put a voice to words, but some restrained mumble was all she could produce.

Remy nodded, then looked down. It was too soon to ask her for anything, so she would not.

She stood up, and walked towards the hallway, motioning for them to follow her. They did do, slowly. Remy walked into an unlit room, and felt for the switch. A brief flash gave it luminance. The room was revealed to be just like the rest of her house. White, and purple, with traces of other colors.

Against the far wall was a bed that was more luxurious than what Remy deserved, but not more expensive than what she could afford. The young girls walked in and looked up at Remy. Their eyes were red, with evidence of their weeping still fresh.

“This is my room. You two will be sleeping in here, alright?”

They nodded, curtly. Sheeni, Remy’s sister, walked to the bed first. Bloom followed.

Remy left them to sleep in peace, shutting off the lights. It would be a well deserved slumber for the both of them.

She proceeded down the hallway to her bathroom She needed to think, but with a mind so muddled, she really couldn’t. Perhaps a shower and rest would help her think.

What was she going to do with these children? She couldn’t abandon them, at least not while pretending to be a good samaritan like she usually did.

She turned the shower on, the faucets squeaked like mice, then let warm water cascade down.

They had home’s of their own, but Rarity only knew where one of them lived, and that one was a sister. It was a damn sad situation.

She undressed, hanging her jacket on the back of the bathroom door, and proceeding with the rest of her clothes. Shirt, pants, shoes, socks, bra. As for panties, well, who wears panties these days? She took off her eyepatch last, before glancing into the mirror for the treat of seeing her blind eye. She needed cosmetic contacts for that eye. She was to receive them in the mail, but she hadn’t yet.

She couldn’t let them stay with her, not forever at least. That would be something no one wants. For one: the police would surely find the children here. For two: what she did here was something no child needed to see. For three: she couldn’t watch them while she did what she needed to do.

She stepped into the warm water, it was so welcome from so much time in the cold. The water did its part to melt the frost away from the frosty morning. The blindingly cold winter was no time for a lady to be outside, even if a lady was just something she called herself.

She would have to wait until the search for the two was off. That would be anytime from two weeks from now, to a month. Either way she would be spending a rather large amount of time with them. She would flourish them in the most positive ways she could until that time came.

Remy washed away what little dirt and grime that was on her body away, like she was washing away the sins of a past life, when there are so many sins in her present life to account for. Sometimes she wished she could stop clinging to this life, and just fucking die, but for some reason she kept herself breathing.

Turning the water off, she stepped out of the shower, and onto the mat. She was beyond tired, and it was just now that she realized to what extent. It was the kind of tired you get after not sleeping for a day, that tired that grabs you from your bones, and holds on until you succumb.

Ready to pass out in the guest room, Remy grabbed a towel, and dried herself with it. She didn’t like being wet anymore than her cat did, wearever it was. After focusing on her hair for several minutes, she let the towel fall to the floor, and grabbed her robe. It, like everything else in her house, was white, with purple accents. Aft6er fastening the belt, she stepped out of her bathroom.

Her apartment was cold, and dreary every morning, and this morning wasn’t something special. She rushed down the hallway, into the guest room, and shut the door. With a sigh, she turned out the lights, and let her robe drop away.

The sheets on her bed called to her, to replace her robes. At this moment, they were her lover, and her lover was going to hold her close, and wrap around her every curve like it was going to swallow her. But no, it let her stay there, nestled in warmth. And that was the great pleasure her lover would give her. And it was the greatest pleasure imaginable.

Eleven A.M, there was a knock at the door. Remy opened her eyes, and debated on whether or not she should answer. She wanted to stay in bed, sleeping lazily all day. But she was a lady, and aside from that she had two missing girls in her apartment, and she must keep them from sight. As small as the chance was, she couldn’t let them open the door.

She quickly got out of bed, and reached for her robe. It was on the floor, and she snatched it up, quickly securing the belt.

She heard another knock.

“Just a moment!” She said, loud enough for those knocking to hear. She hurried to the room where the two girls were. They were sitting on the bed, rubbing their eyes, just now awakened. “Do not leave this room, understand?” Remy said, as kind as a stern voice could be.

One nodded, while the other hesitated at first.

Remy flashed them a smile, before rushing off to her answer the door She took a fleeting peek through the peephole. Outside were two faces she had never seen before.

There was tall, dark woman, and a man, or rather boy, with messy green hair, and honestly, a pretty cute face. The woman was holding a coat, and a hat in one arm. Her shirt was black, and contrasted nicely with her purple hair. The boy was tugging at his tie, apparently not used to being dressed so formally.

Remy opened the door, and greeted them ”Hello. Who might you be?”

“My name is Detective Terry Spark, and this is my partner.” Her partner gave a polite wave, and a cute smile.

“Oh, I know what this is about.” Remy gave a look of sadness, and hinted on shock. It was acting, all of it. “My sister, correct? She, she’s missing.”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say she is, ma’am. But that isn’t the only thing I’m here for, I’m afraid. May we come in?”

“Yes, of course.” Remy wiped away a fake tear, and let them inside. “Might I get you something to drink?”

“No thank you, ma’am.” Spark said.

“Uh, no thanks.” The boy said.

The two detectives sat on the white couch, and Remy took her spot across from them on loveseat, crossing her legs. “What is it you’re here about, detective?” She continued to act her part of the woeful sister.

“Well, as we combed the sight we found several sets of footprints. At first he thought that one of the kidnappers got away. But as we looked we realized how unlikely that was. Your sister and her friends, they were kidnapped by a gang who calls themselves the Dragons. They’re warring with another gang who calls themselves the Diamond Dogs. I know, you know all about the Diamond Dogs.”

For a moment Remy felt real, genuine, grief. The Diamond Dogs were horrible people, and she knew this from experience. “Yes,” she said grimly, “I know of the Diamond Dogs.”

“Well, we believe your sister may have been taken by them.”

That thought alone, of sweet precious Sheeni being dragged off by those filthy scoundrels made Remy rear up. “And just what do you need of me?” She wiped her eyes.

“Do you remember anything about where they took you? The fronts you were forced into?”

“N-No.”

“Miss, I’m so sorry, but please, if there is anywhere that you can think of, where they might be doing business, please, you need to tell me.”

“No, I’m sorry,but I don’t remember any of that. They kept my eyes covered the entire time. I tried to look once, and this happened.” She pointed to her blind eye.

“I see.” Spark nodded.

A moment carried like an hour, and it was this moment. Remy noticed Spark’s partner occasionally eyeing her. She thought he was cute, yes, and apparently that feeling carried from him, to her, as well.

.   Remy turned her eyes back to Spark, but remained aware of Spike’s. She uncrossed her legs, giving him just the faintest site of her most private of places, hiding under her robe. Remy could practically feel the heat rising from his face.

Spark stood up, and pulled something from her jacket, still in her arms. “Ma’am, if you think of anything, please give me a call.”

Remy stood as well, and took what she was being offered, a card with the woman’s number in bold print. “I surely will.”

Sparks put her coat, and hat on, and they left. Spike gave Remy one final glance before leaving.

Remy locked the door behind them.

The rest of the day was peaceful, though a forboding shadow hung over it. She needed to do something with these children, but the heat was on, and she couldn’t do anything until it cooled down a bit. People would search for at least a week, and until then, Remy must either care for these children, or think of something, fast.

The children pouted all day, and they never spoke, but they remained well behaved. They bathed, and Remy let them borrow some of her clothes. She tried to talk to them, but they apparently didn’t feel like talking. Who could blame them?

She sat at her computer while the children ate lunch. Before her was a complex network of websites inaccessible to the general public, and unregulated by the government. Thus, oodles of illegal things lingered here. It was known as the darknet, and it was something Remy’s job required her to take part in.

There was a small ping, a signal that she had a notification. She scrolled to the top of the page, and saw that it was a new message. She clicked the little red one, next to the envelope emblem. It brought up that message before her eyes. It was from a Mr. Larson.

Hello! It is unfortunate that I must contact you, but it seems it is a must, eh? They know you have the children, and I advise you to fuck off, before they take them away. Don’t try to contact me.

She was perplexed, and at the same time, worried. Someone knew she had Bloom, and Sheeni, and they aimed to take them away? How? Why?

There was a knock at the door. Remy hurried out of the computer room, and moved the children into her own room.

She walked to the door, and looked through the peephole. Again, there were two people she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t taking chances, not with what “Mr. Larson” had told her. She hurried into her room, just as there was another knock. The children sat on the bed, looking at her. From under it she produced a silenced pistol, and cocked it, then put a finger over her mouth to motion silence to the children, yet again.

She left, and hid the gun in the back of her sweatpant’s waistband. She answered the door, and smiled like a salesperson. “Hello,” she said, “how can I-”

The man, almost an ape, pushed past her, and entered her apartment. “Cut the shit, you bitch, on your knees!” He pulled a revolver from under his coat, and his partner followed, doing the same.

Remy did as they asked, as one shut the door, and locked it.

“Where’s the kids?” One demanded.

“I-I-I” Remy stuttered, but it was all an act.

“On second thought, shut the fuck up.” He looked away, “Start tearing this place ap-”

Remy grabbed his arm, and pointed it away from her, as she stood and produced her weapon, putting it to his chest. She fired three shots, and all went through the man, and into his partner. They slumped to the ground, like sacks. One fell into a glass table, shattering it into a crystal like dust.

She recoiled for a second, but dashed off to the girls. She opened her bedroom door, and saw them there. “Come on, we have to leave,” she said.

They did not hurry.

“Now, damn it.”

They came along, as fast as they could.

Remy grabbed a pair of sunglasses, slipped on some shoes, took her purse, (hiding her pistol in it) and they headed for the door. The children looked at the corpses with eyes wide, and appalled, but not shocked. They could not be shocked any more.

Remy opened the door, but a small, fragile man blocked her path, a neighbor. “What was that noise?”

He looked past Remy and saw the bodies. There was a moment of terror in his eyes, before Remy rammed her gun into his chest, and fired, pulling him into her apartment. He fell to the ground, as blood gurgled out of his mouth, as he rasped for more life, finding none.

The children squealed, and looked at him, but Remy pulled them along. “We have to go, ////now,////” she reminded them.

They left, and Remy slammed the door shut, locking it with small tingling bits of fear. They hurried down the stairs. “Where are we going?” Sheeni asked, a voiced stained with grief.

“Away.”

“Where? Don’t you live there?”

“No, now hurry.”

When they opened the door to the outside, the winter air bit them, and reminded them that they weren’t dressed for this weather. They didn’t run, but they walked as fast as you could walk for a block to get to the garage where Remy’s car was.

The tall, misguided woman, rummaged through her purse, looking for her keys. The kids shivered, and rubbed their arms, trying to stay warm. The woman glanced up at them, then back to her purse. One moment later she found her keys, and pressed a button, unlocking the car. The children piled in, and Remy a second after.

The air in the car stayed as cold as the breath of a dying man, until Remy slid the key into its slot, turned it, and let the car rumble to life. Hot air shot out of the vents, and let them experience a silent rejoice under which they grew only slightly more content.

Remy put the car into reverse, and backed up, then drove away. The dreary grays of the city moved past her, like the groan of an elder unpleased. Slowly, like a drab macabre. She was frightened that any minute now she would find her brains on the dashboard, and the children spirited away by some any-crime thug.

To bystanders there was just a white car, heading from point A to point B. No special story behind it, just a car going along in a never ending stream of other cars, and a driver with dim clairvoyance as to their destination.

They didn’t know that their was such a story here, and they never would. They just knew what they saw, and that was car, and dimly through the window the silhouette of a driver. Nothing more.

A young beautiful woman, no more than twenty five, lie snoring on her lovely green couch. Just beyond her hand, in the floor, was a romantic (though sometimes lude) novel. Her pajamas were a cute shade of yellow, that simply fit her in every way. Pink hair made itself drapes to her face, coming down just beyond her shoulders. Cuddled snugly against her neck was small, and adorably mischievous, and ironically named rabbit.

This is how Fay, Fay Shori, spends almost every night. It is a happy existence, one she wouldn’t change for the world. Quiet nights with her fuzzy ball of lagomorphan joy, and a book to fall asleep reading. Because this was simply as good as it could get, for a filthy whore.

A knock at the door startled the woman who slept; she bolted up right between the first two. Her pet scampered away, as she hustled to the door. “Hold on, please!” She softly, very softly yelled to the door.

She reached it, and with a moment’s hesitation opened it. Outside was a purple headed woman, and two familiar looking children she held close to her, passively combatting the cold. “F-Fay.” The woman said through a stiff shiver.

“Oh, Remy!” Fay said, surprised to see a friend at this time of night. “What might you be doing here?”

“W-Well, i-it’s quite a l-ong story,” Remy said, “pardon me, but might we c-come inside?”

“Of course.”

Fay showed them, a truly kind smile painted over the bottom of her face. The children sat on the couch, while the adults went into the adjacent kitchen to discuss things. The floors were polished wood, and reflected everything like water. The walls were a dark pink, that just felt warm, and uncalloused.

“I seem to have garnered a bit of trouble.” Remy said in a worried tone, as if confessing a lie.

“How is that?” Fay asked, sweetly.

“Lets’ just say that two gangsters lie dead in my apartment.”

Fay’s smile faded, “Wh-What?” Fay was caught off guard. She knew murder was not beyond Remy, but it never ceased to amaze her how people can speak of death so casually.

“Gangsters. Dead. My apartment.”

“O-Okay, well. um. How a-am I supposed to help you?”

“I need somewhere to stay,” Remy replied.

“Okay. Th-That’s alright, I suppose.”

Remy stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Fay in a friendly, lungcrushing. hug. “Thank you, so much, Fay.”

“Y-You’re welcome.”

And Remy was off to speak with the girls, now. One was softly stroking  the rabbit, while it slumber in her lap.

Did Fay really want people staying at her house? Of course not, her life was hard enough as it is, considering her profession. But she couldn’t ///not/// let them stay, could she? No, no she couldn’t. Not without compromising something uncompromisable. The only thing that made her feel human sometimes. In a cold, and morally bankrupt society she was of the few with any real kindness left.

As the next day passed, giving its slow glance at the world, Remy was stricken with paranoia. Diamond Dogs were the most ruthless, and foul, of all the criminals in Manehatten. She knew this, and so did anyone else with any knowledge of Manehatten. But it was for the children. She needed to stay generous to them, never ceasing to give to them. But how could she give to them when they didn’t want anything?

As if that weren’t bad enough, Remy felt as if she needed to prepare for something. What that was, she didn’t know. She could only worry, and watch over the two fragile children. Whenever there was a crisis of any sort in her life she got over it by preparing, and then acting, but she just didn’t know what to do. Yes, she had many other safe houses, but if they knew where that one was, how could she be certain they didn’t know of the others?

    The children sat before her, in the floor, watching cartoons on an old and dusty Television set, seldom used. They hardly spoke, and it worried Remy. They had to be torn up on the inside, screwed up by life, because life hated them, and lashed out at them. She wanted to hold them, and tell them it would be okay, but she knew it wouldn’t help, and she didn’t want to lie to them anyway.

There was a shrill, annoying, beep. Remy found the source to be her phone. She picked it up, and saw that she had a message. She opened it up, and what was before her was perfection. Perfection from a Mr. Larson.

Hello! Sad thing about that deal with those thugs, eh? Nasty bunch indeed, they are. Anyway, this problem won’t just go away. It is in both of our interests that you end it. You simply must, or you, your friends, and those two little girls will suffer. And I know, you know, what kind of suffering I mean.

The Diamond Dog responsible for this, a notorious human trafficker known as Snowflake is the reason for your latest misfortunes. I might add that he is only the start of a malicious, rotting, root, that needs to be eradicated.

I know you have the skill to do this, whether you need to navigate social protocol, or get a little nasty with someone. Well, Snowflake will be no match for you. He’ll be at pier 74 this time next week. Don’t forget it, and don’t come unprepared. He will have some goons with him, I’m sure you know.

You may still be searching for a reason to do this. Well, would fifty thousand dollars do you any good? I’m sure it would. Ask around about me. Do some snooping. I’m sure you’ll find me. Do not forget. You may need to interrogate some people. Scratch that, you will. When you hear the word “pink” you’re on the right string of people. That cool? Ciao.

P.S Snowflake is an albino, so I’m sure he’ll stick out, right? Not only that, but he’s about seven feet tall.

Remy scanned over the text a second time, then a third. This was serious. She looked at the children, still watching cartoons. She put the phone in her purse.

“Sheeni, dear,” She said, as she stood up.

Sheeni turned around and looked at her sister, “Y-yes?” It was the first thing she had said in since Remy had saved her from those monsters.

“I-I” She stuttered, “I’m going away for a while. I’ll be back, soon. Fay will take care of you until then. You can handle yourselves, right?”

“W-why do you have to go?”

It broke Remy’s heart to leave her when she was just starting to talk again. “I-I, it’s just too dangerous for me to stay here. I’m sorry, I really am. You’ll be fine, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She remained gloomy, and turned back to the bright colors scattered about the television.

Remy slipped on her shoes, and felt small arms wrap themselves around her. It was the girls. They hugged her, and she hugged them back. A tear escaped her eye, and for once she didn’t over dramatize things. She didn’t have to.

And then, she left. First she would prepare. Then she would act.

Snowflake stepped into his office, everything pristine. He took a seat in a humorously undersized office chair, and picked up the phone on his desk, slamming a meaty finger on a button, then kicking back,and relaxing while he waited for his call to be answered.

“Hello?” And old, raspy voice answered.

“The merchandise is in, what’s the plan?” Snowflake replied, his voice low, and baritone.

“Tell the drivers ‘route three’, miboy.” The raspy voice replied.

“I’ll do that. Anything else?”

“No. Let this be concluded, eh?”

“Yep.” He hung up, and lingered a moment in his office. Then, just before he was too comfortable, he left.

The drivers were huddled about, talking, and whatnot. The shadow of shipping containers concealed any detail of their bodies, and only left vague silhouettes. Beyond them were three delivery trucks, each one old, and used.

And then, just outside of each of them, groups of kidnapped, and abducted kneeled, chained together like sausage links. Amongst them four guards stood, each holding a SPAS-12 shotgun. Each one with less moral guidance than a worm.

“You three!” Snowflake said, as he stepped off the metal staircase leading up to his office.

They turned their attention to him.

“Route three.” He said, voice made of false identity, and steroids.

The three men turned to their trucks, as the captured were herded into the trucks, one by one. One driver, a man so young he could be mistaken for a high schooler, turned and looked at them. He grimaced. He felt sorry for these slaves, and he wanted to hate himself. But he thought of the money.

And it was just this one job, right? This is it, no more slave business. Just this once. Besides, he needed the money. That made it okay, right?

“What are you waiting for?” A deep voice asked.

The man turned and looked up at the monster behind him. “Uh, nothing,” he almost squeaked.

“Then get fucking to it.” He turned, and walked back to his office. He scanned over the slaves, and guards one last time before ascending the metal steps to his office.

Each step sounded so odd, and out of place in the cold, quiet night. Perhaps because he was used to the crunch of snow under his boots.

He opened the door, and stepped inside, walking straight to his desk. He searched for his car keys, and pop, pop.

Snowflake fell to his knees with a pained grunt, as they were now useless, and bleeding everywhere. From the corner of his eyes, a shadow approached. He, for once, looked up at someone, face of pure distress.

“Hello, Snowflake,” said a voice yearning for a greater culture.

“Wh-What? Who the fucking hell-” He yelled.

Remy slammed his head into the desk before him. “Keep quiet,” she hissed.

He braced himself on the desk. “I’m going to murder you.” For a moment he was still. Then, in the blink of an eye, he reached his massive hand up for Remy’s throat. She fired her pistol once, the bullet ripped through his hand, he screamed, but Remy pistol-whipped him in the mouth, and he held it instead.

“Don’t scream, or this will get a lot worse.”

He did not respond.

“I’m here on a bit of a lead, you see.” Remy spoke with every bit of pretentious nerve inside of her, “You’re people have been giving me, and mine, some trouble.”

   “I’ll fuckin’ gut you,” the words were forced through the blood flowing from his mouth.

“Yeah, interesting,” Remy sat on the desk, crossing her legs. “I’m cleaning house on you fools. You tell me how to get to the others, and I can let you live.”

“Fuck you,” he spit.

Remy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Imbeciles, fucking imbeciles.” She said under her breath. She stood from her place, “No matter,” she said, walking around the desk, and taking a seat in front of a laptop. In front of her was the E-Mail of the behemoth not three yards away.

She scanned through them, deciphering his barely coherent string of words that only just formed sentences. She found the names of two more that needed to be dealt with. A foreigner called “Zecora” and a man named Seth Bermejo. Remy wrote their names on a piece of paper, folded it, and stuffed it into her pants pocket. “Before I go,” she stood and walked next to the kneeling, pained man. “Do you know of anyone who might go by ‘Pink’ or ‘Larson’ ?”

“You gonna kill me?” He asked.

“Indeed.”

“Well, what’s it matter to me, then?” He almost sobbed. “Y-Yeah, some weird chick. She’s a drifter, just came in ’ta town, lookin’ for work with my buddy Seth. Last I heard they’re tryin’ ta’ rip off some cage fighter.”

“Excellent!” Remy exclaimed. “How can I reach him?”

“No, that’s all I’m sayin’.” He wiped his eyes, “You fucking snake.”

She put her gun to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

A dark skinned woman in a white, designer coat with fuzzy purple lining, and a black fedora, walked to her car. It was expensive, and paid with the blood of others, just like most of her possessions. She didn’t care. Why should she? She didn’t know the people she killed.

She got in, and cranked it. Just as she put it in gear she felt a piece of cold metal against her neck. “Do not look at me,” a voice commanded.

The dark skinned woman, Zecora, kept her eyes forward.

“Do you know who Seth Bermejo is?”

Zecora cooly nodded her head.

“Do you know where he lives?”

Again, she nodded.

“Drive me there.”

She did just that. “This man you seek, we were soon to meet,” she rhymed.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” Zecora looked at the woman behind her in the rear view mirror. “I assume you plan to kill me,” she added.

“What makes you say that?” Remy asked.

“You do not wear a mask, so I should not need to ask.” Her rhyming was almost annoying.

“Yes.”

“And Seth?”

“Him too.”

Zecora waited a moment, cooly navigating the streets. “Why?”

Remy glanced at her gun, “Well, what exactly do you do for a living?”

“I do many things, but for now I keep Seth in line.”  Remy expected another rhyme.

“And what does Seth do?”

“He does many things, from what I am told. But we have yet to meet, so sure, I am not.”

“Give some specifics on what you two are up to.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m holding a gun to your throat, I don’t really think you’re in a position to ask questions.”

“Fair enough. He, and some friend of his are to con a woman into slavery. I am to be sure they do not fail.”

“What happens if they do fail?”

“I would kill them.”

The woman driving pulled up next to an apartment building. “Thank you so much, Zecora,” Remy said. “Now, just how would he recognize you?”

“My coat and my hat, show him where I am at.” Another rhyme.

“You’ve never met before? He knows nothing about you?”

“Correct.”

“Give them to me.”

“What?”

“You’re coat, and hat. Now.”

Zecora took them off, and handed them over, a small sense of finality coming over her. Her time was up. She would be dead soon, but she didn’t care. Why should she?

“Before I kill you,” Remy began, “do you know of anyone who goes by ‘Pink’, or Larson maybe?”

“Yes. The person who hired me to watch over Mr. Bermejo.”

“Where did you last see her?”

“She is a bum, living in Blitz Park.”

“A bum?” Remy wasn't in the slightest surprised. Nothing surprised her anymore.

“Yes.”

“How did she pay?”

“This I do not know, and this I do not question.”

“Thank you.” Remy put the gun to Zecora’s side and pulled the trigger. Zecora struggled a moment, but she succumbed to the wound. Remy pulled her corpse onto its side to ensure it would not slump forward on the horn. She wished she could have been friends with Zecora. Maybe in another life.

She searched her body, finding some rather important documents in her purse. These papers detailed every bit of what was going on between them. This woman they were conning was street fighter. Apparently there was some demand for people like that, and she was unlucky enough to have crossed paths with demons such as these.

Among the papers was picture of Seth. He was balding, and had sunken eyes, like he had been given his share of beatings by an unmerciful world. Remy put these papers in her new coat’s pocket, and almost got out of the car before she heard the beep of a cell phone.

She pulled it out of the coat. It was Zecora’s. Zecora had received a text message from a contact labeled ‘Pie’. Remy opened the text.

Found me yet? Hope so. Lots of money waiting for you. Get rid of Seth, and it’s all yours.

After Seth is dead find me in Blitz Park. He’s not in his apartment, he’s in a shifty little club that hosts fights. It’s between the old liquor store, and a Twenty-four Seven, down an alley behind an old rusty door on Ringo Street. He will recognize Zecora’s clothes. Use that to your advantage.

I know the woman fighting. She will not take the dive. When she doesn’t, kill Seth. Like I said, it’s in our best interest. Maybe kill her too. She knows more than you’d think. Her name is Deandra Dash. Her hair looks like a rainbow, she’s kinda short, kinda tough, and she’s being paid just as much as you are for this fight.

Don’t try and screw me. I’m always watching.

P.S Check the glove compartment. Secret stash of mine. Lots all over.

P.P.S Yes, I’ve kinda been using you this whole time, but you’re still getting back at the Diamond Dogs, you know. Getting them off your sister’s back.

Somewhere inside of her Remy felt misused, but a greater side of her just wanted to kill Seth, and hope there were more like him to kill.

Remy checked the glove compartment. Inside was black eye patch. Just what she needed.

The woman stepped over a puddle of blood, then put the heel of her boot against the temple of the mans head. He groaned. She delivered a swift kick, ending his life, skull fracturing.

She stepped back to the woman sitting on the steps before her, producing a silenced pistol from under her winter coat. “But that leaves only you, I’m afraid.”

“Well, hurry it up then.” the other said, almost dismissively.

“As soon as you answer another question for me.”

“Fine, what is it?”

“Why am I tasked with killing you?”

“So you can get a fucking check,” she said so sternly.

“No, darling, I mean, what is the reason someone wants you dead?” Remy waited patiently for an answer. Something to come out of this woman’s bleeding, and busted lips. Something that might justify her death. Something more than ‘She knows too much.’ She had killed so much in her life, not just in this night alone. It had to stop somewhere. And in this way, she could call herself generous.

“Pride.” The woman looked away expecting Remy to end her right there.

The woman did not aim her gun. “Perhaps we can strike a deal, you and I.”

“What kind of deal?” Dash looked up at the woman.

“One that will let you live, and let my conscience have a break.”

“Okay, go on.”

“I know that you were to be paid fifty thousand dollars, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“That is far more than what I am being paid to kill you for.” She lied.

“That so?”

“Yes, yes it is. Now, if you were to tell me who was going to hand that money to you, I would let you live.”

“Okay.” The girl waited a moment, breathing heavily.  “From what they told me, It was going to be dropped off by some weirdo girl, does anything they ask her to do.”

“A name, please.”

“Think they called her pink, I don’t know, something with pink in it.”

“Excellent, I know just who you’re talking about.” She put her weapon away, “Now, as for you, I suggest you get far as away from Manehatten as possible.”  The supermodel walked away, stepping over the corpse of the man, and away from the woman in shambles.

The snow fell, and for once she felt like she could appreciate its presence. How it looked against the night sky as it fell. She hailed a cab, and requested she be dropped off at Fay’s house. “Xenotime street, love.”

The streets passed by like they were projected, like she was viewing a film. She was disconnected in some sense. But still far too rooted in reality. Tomorrow she would come back to Dash’s apartment in search of the money.

Finally, the driver pulled up to Fay’s house. Remy produced several bills. “Twenty marks?” She asked.

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

She passed him a single twenty-five mark, “keep the change.” She got out, and walked up to the door. On the door was a single piece of paper pinned to it, whiter than the snow. As the driver pulled away, she pulled it off. She read it, then reread it. She was in utter disbelief. How? Why? She fell to her knees, weeping.

Laughter

The long narrow halls echoed with the last shrieks, and cries of hope. People were brought to this place, tricked into coming, dragged if they had to be. No one came willingly but the people responsible for their captivity.

There was, on the top floor, an office. In this office sat a strange, old, foreign man. He spoke a throaty voice, like a creature who lurked in the depths of the deepest caverns. “I’m not so sure those pups are worth the fifty thousand.” He said, hinting at his inner greed.

Across from him sat a woman. She dressed as you might expect a homeless person to dress, or perhaps someone insane. Her bright pink hair, on the sides, was held close to her scalp in tight plaits, while on top it stayed poofy. It was all pulled together in one big ponytail, with a little sticking out from under the front of her knit cap. “Really?” She asked. “Because I’m pretty darn sure they are. I mean, sure they might not be strong, or anything, but I’m sure you’ll get a buyer on that pinkette. I mean, you saw her, she’s practically gold, when it comes to sex slaves. And those kids? Well, theres no shortage of perverts, am I right?” She gave a big toothy smile to finish her pitch.

“True, very much so.” He peered through his wire frame glasses, eying the woman up and down, like a piece of meat.

“So,” she began, “are we making the deal,or not?”

The man sighed heavily, as he reclined back into his cheap office chair, crossing his legs. He didn’t say anything for the longest of time, and the woman could only stare back at him, and his wrinkly grey skin. He was like an animal. Like a dog. Like a man unfit for humanity. “I suppose.” He finally said.

“Great,” the peppy woman stood, and offered a hand out to him.

He looked at it for a moment. He took her hand, and shook it. He continued to stare up at her with a piercing, and hollow gaze. His eyes were like bright yellow lights, with small pinprick pupils that were the opening to a deep black abyss. An abyss that swallowed all hope.  “Stop by tomorrow, and I will have your payment ready.”

“Awesome! See ya’ then!” She bounced out of the room, and to an elevator, leaving the man all alone in his office. He looked over his diamond ring, it sparkled with the slightest glimmers of light.

The woman skipped along the street, cold air hardly slowing her down.The snow had melted, but it’s remnants remained. She loved it with all her heart could love, and just a little more than that. She loved everything that much. Never would she be down, and never would she seep into a cold depression, just like every other person in this drab city of sinners.

As she strut along, people passed her by. People of all shapes and sizes. People young and poor, and people old and rich. People who smelled funny, and people who smelled like roses. Bums, whores, and saints. Blacks, whites, yellows, reds, and every other type of person.

She loved it here. The diversity of it all. So many people to see, and so many friends to make. Even if you’re going to sell them to a group of savage mongrels as soon as you can.

The buildings that reached way up into the sky, and the muck, and filth that ran deep into the slimey gutters, and sewers. She loved everything about this place, and she just wanted to see every bit of it before she had to leave again. She had been to Manehatten before, but never too long. Just long enough to enjoy the splendors of the city, and do what she does. Laugh, and have a good time.

She was a vagabond. And a vagabond will never settle down.

Within the hour she found herself back at the Folkvangr Fields park. The park was packed to the brim with almost all of the city’s homeless, in a five square mile plot of land. Being homeless in Manehatten changed you. It hardened you. Almost like it made you a warrior of sorts, that must turn your tattered collar to the cold night air in an awkward, but quiet desperation just hoping to survive to see the sunlight hoist itself above the horizon.

It either made you a warrior, or it destroyed you from the inside out. Made you insane, like there was some parasite milling about your insides, just eating away at your mind, until you become almost feral. A slave to your own freedom.

But having your own place of residence was taxing to the soul, as well. You don’t live in Manehatten unless you sacrifice a part of yourself, like a token to the gods. They were just as dead as any homeless person. Dead on the inside. A skin shell pulled over the frame of a human.

Either way, you became the dead. Not dead in a physical sense, but as dead as the living could be. People with homes could say they lived in a land of paradise compared to the scrappy people of Folkvangr. They did. But they too were dead.

Both lived meaningless existences, void of even the slightest iota of purpose. Dust in the wind. Like clockwork they filled the streets, taking up space, breathing almost toxic air, letting life sap away from them little by little.

The park itself yearned for the days when it was a place of beauty. Before its grass became so lifeless, and its trees withered, and died. Before its paths, bridges, and fountains became dull, dry, and without what used to make them something great.

And this is where the homeless lived. Somewhere that was a shadow of itself. An environment that truly reflected it’s inhabitants. Those who became cold and distant to the world, waiting to join the great black oblivion just like every other person who had taken their first and last breath.

The woman with vibrant pink hair, hidden under a ratty knit cap, settled down under a tree. That tree had once stood high, and glorious. Now its branches twisted high, bare of any leaves. They were long, erratic, black, and seemed as if they wanted to touch the sky. Or perhaps be graced with the gracious gift of life once more.

All around the park were small groups of people, going about their day. Talking, and what not. Thinking about what tomorrow will bring. Hoping it takes them away. They had realized long ago that preparing for tomorrow was pointless when you didn’t know what it held in store for you.

She opened her courier bag, then pilfered through the many papers, documents, and the occasional wrapped snack. From deep within she pulled out a small, battered laptop. It was red, with the occasional grey streak. It was a laptop you would expect a homeless person to own, if you’d expect a homeless person to own one.

She opened it, and the screen lit up immediately. She clicked here, and she clicked there. She typed the words that would bring her to a the very deepest parts of the internet. The darknet.

The darknet was a horribly macabre networking of websites that would let you find everything you can’t find on the other side of the internet. Since there is not monitoring it you can buy drugs, guns, stolen goods, porn that is in every way, sick, and depraved, hire hitmen, find people you would want to meet, and of course, purchase humans.

She found the particular site she needed. It was called: DiamondDogFlesh.com. At the top of the page was a grouping of silhouettes that looked half human half canine. Above them was the Diamond Dog logo. A dogs mouth, with the teeth colored to look like diamonds. Below these graphics was a paragraph that essentially described the purpose of this sight.

In short: Buy these people before we send them elsewhere.

The woman browsed through the website. She found what she was looking for. The newest people that were to be sold like cattle. These bastards had already uploaded pictures of the people this woman had sold them. She was astonished at how fast, and apparently proffesional these degenerates were.

Next to pictures of  other people, most of which were attractive young women, were two pictures side by side. There were pictures of two children. Both girls. One with red hair, a yellow shirt, and dirty jeans, and one with swirly pink and white hair, in an expensive, though ripped, shirt, and black skinny jeans. Under the pictures it had their names. The redhead was named Bloom.  The other one was named Sheeni. Next to their names were their prices. Thirty grand for each.

She looked deep into their eyes. They were like little pits of hopelessness. Tears lined their faces, streaking the layer of filth on their cheeks. The look on their faces were the kind of faces people make when they are certain that they will die. A cold glaze, that somehow sent the message of pure fright, and that only the most soulless of creatures could truly stare back at in an unflinching stare.

To make a purchase you must email the website. You must give the names of those you wish to buy, and set a date, and place to make the transaction. The woman made a few clicks, and all of a sudden she was typing out an email.

Hello! On your website I noticed two little beauties I must claim for the collection. I find the price to be well below a reasonable price. How about we meet on the Acionna bluffs, just north of the city. The 19th of Ylir. I’ll be waiting with your money around, oh say, midnight? Please get back to me and confirm this purchase. Oh, and as for names? Just call me Mr. Larson.

She sent the email, then tucked her laptop back into the confines of her bag. From out of it she pulled a quilt her mother had sewn for her. It was pink, and glitzy. Next she pulled out a pink plush pony, that she snuggled with every night. The pony was what the woman imagined she would look like if she were a pony. So cute and bubbly.

Both these things had been hers since she was a small child growing up on her parents farm. She almost worried about someone trying to steal these from her. But then she remembered that she had her own personal protector. Every night she had slept in the park, he had been there for her.

Sitting next to her was an old toothless man, obviously one of the many homeless here. His suit was brown, and stained with time, face hidden behind the grey bush of his beard. Atop his crown was a black knit cap, with white and green hair poking out from under it. This man had taken a liking to the pink haired woman. And what else? This man had fits of insanity where he genuinely believed himself to be an alligator. Or a lizard. She called him Gummy.

She took great comfort knowing that she could sleep through the night under his vigilant eye. And finally, using her courier bag as pillow, the woman curled up into a ball, holding her plush close, and pulling the quilt firmly around them both, she let the lovely hand of dreams caress her mind.

Gummy stared aimlessly, occasionally flicking his tongue out to taste the air.

Morning was here. A newspaper rode the wind, letting itself glide across the air until it collided with a sleeping woman’s face. She woke up, instantly. She brushed the page away, but before the wind could carry it away again she snatched it off the ground.

She read the title: Four Slain, Two Vanished

She blinked for a moment, waking herself up, then wiped away a bit of drool creeping down her face. She scooted so that her back was against the tree behind her, but letting the quilt stay over her legs. Gummy was curled into a ball to her side, gently snoozing.

She began to skim through the article. It was simply tragic. Some criminals had a scuffle, taking a child in the crossfire. Apparently the child was being held hostage, alongside two others. The other two escaped. According to the article two detectives were investigating a crime syndicate, and that is what triggered the massacre.

The woman maintained a certain level of indifference. She couldn’t do anything for any of the people murdered, so a few shed tears wouldn’t do any good. She crumpled the paper into a ball, and tossed it away, no care for where it might end up. She stood, and put away her quilt and plush.

The air was still chilly, but gradually warming as time ticked by, second by second. She hopped the low stone wall not far away, and continued her merry trip towards her destination.

People dodged her, or she they. She zipped between businessmen, and slid through crooks, running down the sidewalk, seeing a bright and cheerful world that was her playground.

Finally, she stood looking across the street. There stood a white, four story building. No one had ever questioned it. Why would they? It was tucked away near the docks, positioned so as not to be disturbed. To be on its own, and so that the people inside could conduct their business.

The woman waited for a car to roll by, then she crossed the street.

“You were right, my dear!” The old wolfish man said, grinning. Exposing unusually sharp canines.

“‘Bout what?” The woman asked, plopping down into the chair across from him.

“About those little girls,” he heaved a heavy black case onto his desk. “We’ve already arranged for them to be sold off to a new owner. I sent the confirmation email just a about an hour ago.”

“Really?” The woman took the case and sat it next to her on the floor. “Both of ‘em?”

“Yes. Both.” He relaxed into his chair.

“Well, I hope they get treated okie dokie.” She giggled to herself.

“Yes,” he waved his hand through the air as he spoke, “well it’s much better than what would have happened had they not been purchased.”

The lady cocked her head to the side, “Ya’ know, you never told me what you guys do with the folks you don’t sell.”

“I think it’s best for both of us that I keep it that way, don’t you?”

She leaned forward, into an almost pleading position, “Come oooooooooooon, we’ve done business every time I’ve stopped by in Manehatten, you can trust me!”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it-”

“Oh, you don’t like me?” She jerked back as if she were offended.

“No, it’s-”

“Do I smell bad,” she sniffed her armpit.

“No-”

She put a finger into his face “You’re seeing someone else, aren’t you?”

“Hush!” He finally yelled. “Are you insane?”

She leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs, then said simply: “No.”

“Listen, I’ll tell you.”

“Oh, you will?” She put her hands to her face, “No recon work for me, I guess.”

“Hush now, or I won’t say a word more.”

She zipped a metaphorical zipper on her lips.

“Excellent.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “We are an international group. We have stakes in many different interests, but trafficking humans is the most financially rewarding of all of them. This is not the hub to purchase people. We have many throughout the globe. Almost have of the people we come into ownership of, we ship off to mine the tunnels, and cracks in a small desolate country called Karge. My home country, as a matter of fact.”

“Ooooooooh, what do they mine? How do they get there? Are there dogs in the tunnels? What does international mean?”

“Zip it!”

“Oh, sorry,” she giggled, shyly.

“Alright, as I was saying, they mine diamonds, and precious gems. The earth below Karge is rich in them. The only real competition we have in regards to these gems is a fellow operating in a country far to the north, on the border between Equestria and Helheim, all through the Crystal Empire. An old bastard of a man. We tried to operate with him, but the malanky fool brushed us off. ”

“That is so cool,” she was in awe of some sort, “especially the references to norse mythology!”

“What?”

The vagabond reached out, and hugged the man “See ya later!” And she was gone.

He maintained puzzlement as he watched the woman shut the door, copious amounts of pep in her step. She certainly was a queer one.

He simply sat in his chair, relaxing now.

The man sat there. Just thinking. Thinking about the old man in the north. How it must be a hell what his slaves go through. All of them worked in a land of freezing ice, and where the snow was a never ending torrent, as if the sky was breaking away, and small chips fluttered down from the beyond..

But he realized he was in the exact same business, doing almost the exact same things. Somehow he still felt a bit of righteousness in his ways. He didn’t know how, but he did. Somehow, he did.

As the woman skipped down the halls, she noticed a commotion ahead. She stopped. Before her was a woman being escorted by two guards. The woman had light pink hair, and wore rags that looked old, and dingy. Like filth.

The slave made eye contact with the woman. She defied the guards, and stopped.

For a long moment the woman studied this slave’s body. It was the one she had sold yesterday, the one who looked like a model, with the grace of a butterfly.

It was Fay.

Only a day in captivity, and Fay was clearly a damaged person. Her eyes were red, and her face was streaked with mascara. On her body were more than a few cuts, and bruises, several still fresh, oozing blood. Her hair was turning grey, now. How? She was still in her twenties. But regardless, grey strands of hair were discerned from the rest of her messy pink mane, giving the sign of an all too great stress.

“W-Why?” she muttered.

Her words were useless. That instant a guard grabbed her by her hair, and flung her into the floor, spit on her, while the other shouted insults at her.

They looked up expecting to see the happy young woman, but only saw an empty hallway leading to an office, where lives were ruined.

Snow fell like ash after an apocalypse. A large, stout man sat leaned against a van, looking out over the ocean atop the Acionna bluffs. He checked his watch. Midnight. Any moment now someone would roll up, and give him sixty thousand dollars for two nuggets of precious cargo.

He heard tires rolling over earth, under the sound of waves crashing into the rocks along the coast. He took one final drag on his cigarette, then tossed it out to sea.

On the far side of the van, his partner stepped out, holding a pump action shotgun. They both walked to the back of the van as headlights approached like the eyes of a demon after their lives.

The blinding lights of the car disappeared, but only for a moment. The other vehicle was but twenty feet away from the two men.

Then, the lights came back on.

The men were stunned, for now there stood a figure in front of the lights, casting an eerie shadow.

The large man spoke. “Are you Larson?”

No response came, nor did any movement.

“You deaf?” He became slightly angry. “Who are you?” He began to come unnerved.

Still there was no response. Only a shadow dark silhouette to stare into.

“I’ll ask one more time,” The man said in a hushed, menacing, tone, “Who the fuck are you?”

From the silhouette came a childish laugh, like a young toddler was present. It sent chills down the spines of both men, freezing them where they stood.

A loud roar came from the shotgun, and the silhouette just stood, a gaping hole in it’s torso, light shining through like end of a long bleak tunnel. The laughing ended as the man pumped his gun.

He shot again, this time at the legs. The silhouette fell forward. It landed, not with a thud, but a like a piece of paper. The car’s headlights cast light onto it, denouncing it’s status as a silhouette, revealing it to be a simple cardboard cut out.

The men looked at each other. Both were dumbfounded, and a loss for words.

Again, they heard the sound of tires rolling over dirt. They looked behind them, and saw the taillights of their van vanishing into the night, leaving them alone, confused, and enraged.

The large man sat on the ground, as his friend muttered curses, and shouted in anger. And he just laughed until he could laugh no more.