Interim 6: The Slaughter in the Slums

 Interim 6: The Slaughter in the Slums

Content warnings: graphic gore & violence inflicted on a child.

    During the day, residents of The Republic fled from building to building in cars, cowering from the sunlight, the one remnant of the old world that they couldn't quite defeat. The megacity's skyscrapers each stood like hundreds of towers of Babylon, yet even they didn't completely repel Apollo's fiery charge. Like ants under a magnifying glass, all they could hope to do was find shelter before god's judgement wiped them out. If there was any civilization that had ever truly stood in affront to the heavens, it was the three megacities that now reigned as the only remaining society on the surface of the earth. Citizens of The Republic knew this and reveled in it. God was dead, or if he wasn't, he had atleast been bested by his own creation. Humans were no longer the stewards of the earth, they were the masters of it and flaunted that. 

    So it was, that when the sun finally set on The Republic, its citizens flooded the streets, bringing the whole city to life with the sounds of heathenous delight. Music played on most streets, advertising goods, services or simply as entertainment for the masses to amuse themselves with. The dark of night was cast out by a pulsing, shimmering neon world, filled to the brim with colourful, barely human caricatures that the new gods felt best represented their forms. Even the heavens themselves could be overwritten. Two citizens of The Republic looking up at the night sky could see any number of separate unique sights staring back down at them. A beautiful night sky as though there was no air or light pollution, the entire galaxy visible from the ground below; that was the simplest view. Why stop there when you could fill the sky with multiple moons of different colours, dye the horizon in a synthwave sunset, or even have one or many of the gods looking down at you in pride or disgust. Each citizen of The Republic had more control over their own world than any man, no matter how powerful, could ever have hoped to achieve before the fall, yet they had to become citizens first. 

    As children, parents were the gods of their world, controlling their duotars and deciding when and what level they were able to interact with the duoverse in. One such child without any parents waited silently on the corner of a street, back lent gently against the wall as he waited for the ride he'd ordered on the way downstairs from his apartment. He was small for his age, looking only 13 despite almost turning 16. The child was a special case in The Republic. While other children his age would have to use their parents accounts to spend credits, he had his own bank account, duotar and was almost finished with conscription several years early. It wasn't that The Republic had blessed an orphan with the tools to thrive by himself, but rather due to the curse he was born with, that he found himself in a position that any other child would be thrilled to be in.

    This child wasn't happy, however. While the rest of The Republic took to the streets for their unholy communion, smiles plastered on their faces and an appetite for sin waiting to be satiated, this child glared down at the ground, his own appetite famished for something more biblical. 

    The child wore an oversized TB suit he had inherited just a few weeks ago. The bulbous and slick suit squeaked any time he moved, drawing attention to the outdated, impoverished equipment that his duotar couldn't conceal. He had his hands stuck into his pockets to hide a huge tear that had began midway down the forearm and exposed his red right hand for the world to see. 

    A car pulled over by the boy, and as the window rolled down the man in the passenger seat grimaced, asking with a clearly frustrated voice, "Fulgur Canis?"

    The top of the TB suit nodded once silently and the driver groaned. "Just get in already. You're going back to the slums, right?" The child said nothing, red right hand catching the light from nearby neon signs as he opened the rear door and slid into the back seat.

    The interior of the car was stylized like a karaoke booth, with the options for passengers to select songs and sing along while they passed the time between their destinations, but all the lights of the duoverse shut off as the driver put the car into gear and began speeding away from the center of the city. Fulgur had no doubt that if he wasn't wearing the TB suit, his driver would be offering him drinks, introducing him to the karaoke system, and making conversation to entertain his passenger and secure a decent tip and rating. As he was clearly an impoverished denizen of the slums returning home from a visit to the city proper, the driver instead grumbled to himself about how unfair it was he always managed to get the worst jobs.

    Fulgur slid over to the driver's side of the backseat, sick of all the glares and angered grunts he was getting from the driver in the rear view mirror. He didn't want to be in the TB suit any more than the driver wanted him in his car, but neither of them were going to get what they wanted.

    "You taken clients to the slums before?" Fulgur asked, his voice shaking slightly.

    "What?" The man, tapped two fingers to his temple putting the car into automatic routing mode before his IIs showed him his passenger, and Fulgur saw the man's face appear on a screen that would have usually displayed karaoke videos in front of him. The man was huge, with bulging muscles, dark red skin, and black horns sprouting from his forehead. His hair was short and purple, and his eyes were golden, pupils obsidian vertical slits like a snake. His look was an obvious attempt to intimidate his current client, with him having looked much more attractive and human until Fulgur had gotten into the car in a TB suit.

    The child cleared his throat, steadying the mixture of emotions that were causing him to shake gently in the back of the car. "I asked if you've taken clients to the slums before? Can't happen often, you guys charge a fortune for the trip."

    The driver rolled his eyes, kissing his teeth as the screen disappeared. He began driving manually again, obviously wanting any excuse to not look at his passenger. "Only ever one. Hoped I'd never see one of you again."

    Fulgur's hand pulled out of his pocket, gripping the thigh of the suit so tight it began to tear another hole. "You remember what the last client looked like?" There was more shaking in his voice which the man seemed to enjoy, mistaking it for fear.

    "How the fuck should I know? You bugs all look the same in those suits."

    A red right hand smashed through the back of the driver's seat and curled around his neck. The man's Throa2 creaked loudly under the pressure as his flesh squeezed painfully tight. The car shook and broke hard, both child and man plowing forward as it came to a halt, but that small teenage sized fist stayed steady on the back of the man's neck even has he tried to pull free.

    "Shit! Fuck! Fuck! What the fuck man!?" The driver screamed as he twisted and clawed at the hand which held him in place.

    "Did I tell you to stop driving?" The child asked, tightening his grip slightly. This made the man scream again, this time incomprehensibly until Fulgur loosened slightly. "Keep driving, and as you do I want you to tell me exactly what happened to the last 'bug' that got in your car."

    "Fuck, fine! Look, I don't know what the fuck you really are but I'm just a driver. I didn't do nothing to nobody!"

    "It's what you didn't do that I'm after. The last 'bug,'" the word came out with spit. "Did you take him to his destination?"

    "Yes! Shit." The man had started driving again, now more slowly and careful than before. "He wanted to go to the slums, so I took him to the slums. Dropped him off at Sycamore Square. I never saw him after that." The hand on the back of the driver's neck tightened involuntarily and he screamed again, car swerving slightly. "Stop, fuck! That's the truth! I didn't do anything to him! I already told the legion that!"

    "And did you tell the legion that Sycamore Square wasn't the man's destination?" The child asked, red right hand twitching slightly, fighting not to tighten any harder while they were driving.

    "What do you mean!? He wanted the slums so I took him to the slums!"

    "I paid for you to take him to his destination in the slums. Not just drop him out at Sycamore! His destination was much further!" Fulgur was shouting now, left hand crushing the car seat beside him as he fought to keep his right steady.

    "Shit, maybe? I don't know! I don't go south of the square. It gets rough out there!" 

    The car swerved and started to slow down so Fulgur squeezed just a little tigher, lowering his voice as he continued. "Drive properly. Let me make this very clear. If I exert just a bit more force your Throa2 will shatter and it will stop purifying the air. That won't matter to you however since I'll keep squeezing until I crush your spine and you become paralyzed... or would you prefer me to put you out of your misery at that point and just squeeze until shards of your spine and Throa2 lodge themselves in your airway?"

    "Please, I don't want to die! Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it, just don't hurt me. I have a family!" The man began choking on tears and snot as he tried to steady his driving like the child in the back of his car commanded.

    "Exactly where you dropped the man off. Take me there."

    "O... okay." An update appeared in Fulgur's vision telling him his destination had been changed and adjusting the price and estimated arrival time. 

You'll arrive at your destination in 22 minutes.

    "And on the way I'm going to tell you a little story." The child's voice had become strained with a mixture of emotions. The icy indifference had let in a little raspiness as he fought to control them. It was a voice that he would carry for the rest of his adult life.

    "Once there was a boy who was born in the slums of The Republic. He was born with a condition that affected his nerves, causing him to walk funny and need crutches to get around. His parents abandoned him when he was young since they didn't think a cripple would be very useful to them. Luckily, he was found by a kind Samaritan who took him to an orphanage to raise him. The priests and nuns who ran the orphanage thought that the boy's crutches sounded like hooves as he limped around and thus named him Ovid and told him every night he was God's little lamb." The man in Fulgur's grip shook violently, recognizing the name of the man he had previously had in his car.

    "Ovid grew into a man, not without his own share of trouble. He couldn't complete conscription due to his condition so he never became a citizen, and he couldn't work any manual labour jobs which made up most of the opportunities in the slums, but thankfully Ovid was smart, especially when it came to electronics and computers. He didn't have toys as a child, so he would instead take apart and put together anything he could find, often learning how they were built and sometimes even repairing them in the process. Out of the goodness of his heart, he started reparing cynets for those who couldn't afford routine maintenance and managed to turn that into a career. Not just cynets, but IIs, TB suits, Throa2s..." Fulgur moved his thumb up and down the man's throa2 leaving a trail of blood on it that belonged to neither of the men in the car.

    "Ovid could have earned a decent living even in the slums for all the work he did, but he always let the customers pay whatever they could afford, simply wanting to help out where he could. He was raised Catholic after all, and like the rest of those Apoloshits, believed that God would provide what he needed. So he stayed in the slums, living in filth and excrement while serving the community and making his little corner of the world a little more bearable. Long story short, he met a girl, fell in love, had a child of his own, and discovered their particular pairing of genes made their son's life even more fucked up than his own. Desperately, he searched for a way to fix his son. He was always so good at fixing things. There had to be something he could do to put his own child back together. Surely his precious God wouldn't allow such unbelievable suffering on an innocent child, especially not his child when he had done so much good for the world."

Arriving at your destination in 16 minutes.

    "But alas, Ovid found no way to fix his son. It wasn't a problem that a mechanic could fix after all. He needed a doctor and no doctor in the slums could even figure out what was wrong with his boy. So, he did what every good Apoloshit boy does when in crisis: he prayed, and prayed, and prayed. When none of that worked, he started to beg all the people he'd helped to help him just this once and loan him any credits that they could so that he could go into the city and see a real doctor. After months of begging, scraping together every loose piece of change he could, and working almost around the clock, he earned enough to visit one of The Republic's hospitals, but not being a citizen, he couldn't even use public transport, let alone a fancy ride-sharing service like this. So, he put his child in a wheelbarrow and despite barely being able to walk himself, he left his house as soon as the sun set, father and child wrapped up in homemade TB suits, and he pulled his child all through the night, and even a few hours after dawn had risen to a proper city hospital. So you want to guess what happened when he got there?" The driver was silent for a few seconds until Fulgur closed just his fingertips, metal edges digging shallow cuts into his flesh.

    "Th- the boy was fixed!?" The man asked, almost screaming. "Given metal arms by the doctors?"

Fulgur laughed, releasing his grip slightly. The driver in the seat shuddered at the sound. The man's fear at having his life held in Fulgur's hand felt good. It was the first time in his life the child actually felt in control.

    "You're skipping ahead a bit, but I'm glad you're paying attention. No, actually the doctors had never seen anything like the child's condition and had no way to fix it. The best they could do was prescribe a ton of very expensive drugs that Ovid had no chance of ever affording and even those would only have slowed the progress of the condition and make him more comfortable. So Ovid carted his son back on the 9 hour journey to the slums, the pair being mocked and assaulted along the way by good Republic citizens. Ovid tried to be strong for his son, telling him that they'd get through this, just like they always did, but when they were back home the son heard his father crying for the first time in his life, begging his precious God to save his child.

Arriving at your destination in 9 minutes.

    "I guess I should hurry up. Time's running out. Months later, a man appeared at Ovid's house and told him he was a professor. He'd seen the child's medical records and wanted to examine him. Ovid thought this might be the answer to his prayers and thanked the stranger, allowing his son to go through painful examinations and eventually procedures that put him back together in a way that Ovid never could have. Thus, these less than conventional cynets, as you figured out. There was one caveat. The professor needed to keep reparing and modifying the child's cynets as he grew, and it wouldn't do to have his precious equipment out in the open in the slums where some piece of shit could try to steal them, so he made a deal with Ovid. The child would have the professor as his patron, attend the most prestigious schools in The Republic, complete conscription younger than any citizen ever before and return to his father as a fully fledged citizen shortly after he turned 16. Ovid was distraught of course. He loved his son more than anything in the world. Giving him up for a decade was the most painful thing he ever did..."

    Fulgur paused, tears finally welling in his eyes as his words similarly caught in his throat. "He told me so himself... last time I saw him. And I laughed at him. I fucking laughed at him. I told him if that was really the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, then life in the slums was far easier than he made it out to be. Then when he tried to hug me, I shoved him away and said I hated the feeling of his disgusting TB suit. I don't even know why I said that. It wasn't wasn't even true. I... I was just embarassed to be hugged by my dad in public. He'd taken me out to celebrate my upcoming birthday. Saved up all the money he could and even bought me a cheap bottle of gin so he could give me my first drink. I only took a sip and told him to take the rest home. I wouldn't take the money he tried to give me either. No-one even takes paper credits in the city! I told him it was worthless even though... even though it was probably most of his life savings."

    Fulgur gasped, gulping in air between sobs that were drowned by tears, then wiped away all the tears with his left hand, wrapped in the TB suit his father had made with his own hands. "I ordered him a cab and paid extra for a human driver so that he'd be safe. I'mprints and AIs don't go all the way into the slums where the duoverse doesn't reach. I didn't want him to have to travel far with his crutches... and I didn't even tell him goodbye. I fell asleep before you showed up. Before you ferried my father away and abandoned him, despite taking your coins. You left him in the worst part of the city, carrying a bottle of gin and with credits sticking out of his pocket to walk a mile home on legs that didn't work!"

    "I didn't know he was going to get mugged! I promise, I had no idea he was going to die. Please, just let me go home to my kids. I have 3 of my own!"

    "You didn't care..." The words came out of Fulgur's voice without any emotion. "You didn't care if he lived or died. Just like I didn't care if he knew I loved him. I thought there'd always be more time. He was always there. Always visiting me even though it took him half a day to walk the journey each time. Always there, even though I always made it clear I didn't want him there."

    "It's a funny thing when someone you love dies. You replay all your memories of them over and over again in your head to the point that they become a blur. Then in a day or two, you try to remember things about them and your mind won't let you remember. I was told it's a defense mechanism and that it will go away as I start to heal, but damn it... I can't remember what he looked like. I can't even remember what he sounded like. It's only been two weeks, but I can't remember anything about my own damn father other than shoving him away when he tried to hug me and laughing at him spilling his heart out to me. I don't even remember what I said to him when we got back to my apartment. I have no idea what my final words to my dad were..."

    Fulgur began bawling, letting his emotions finally get the better of him. He screamed, tears running down his face and into his open mouth, the salty mess covering the inside of the TB suit mask which was still drenched with the lifeblood of his father. When he finally composed himself he looked up at the notification in his IIs.

Arriving at your destination.

    "I wish I knew what my last words to my father were... just so I could hate myself even more than I already do. I'm sure that they were something shitty. I never treated him the way that he deserved. ...what were your kids' final words to you this morning?"

    "PLEASE-" the rest of the man's begging was drowned out by the crunch of his neck breaking, the snap of his Throa2 being crushed, and a wet guttural gurgle as his throat and lungs filled with blood which he began to choke on. The man twisted and rocked in Fulgur's grip, Fulgur's red right hand, coated in the blood of his father acting as vice and guillotine. The car twisted and crashed into a street lamp, spinning even further out of control before flipping sideways and rolling several times before coming to a stop. A bang then a metallic shriek rang out into the night as Fulgur ripped a broken door open and climbed out. The small child was almost unharmed, having grabbed the roof of the car with his left hand and locked his legs down against the floor. The strength of his cynets kept him almost still as the car had flipped. As he stood up, the only discomfort he felt was some dizziness and vertigo from the spinning.

    The lump of flesh in the driver's seat hadn't been blessed so, but still clung to life for a few more seconds, spasms of pain shaking him as he drowned on his own blood. Fulgur squatted down, watching the light fade out of the man's eyes without an ounce of remorse. It was exactly what he deserved, he thought. The same way his father had passed, only faster. The driver was the first man Fulgur had killed, but he wouldn't be the last to lose his life that night.

*************

Art by Step: https://x.com/sl_creature/status/1530630013028298752

    "Hey, kid, I need to talk to you for a minute." Canis' warm voice had snapped Fulgur out of an intense study session. In those days, it was rare to find him doing anything but studying. Fulgur hadn't been able to go to school in his formative years, so when Canis became his patron and enrolled him in advanced courses, Fulgur had to catch up on years of education in a few months. It turned out he'd inherited his father's aptitude for machinery and programing, but also mathematics and biology which his father never had the opportunity to learn. None of those subjects appealed to Fulgur, but Canis was adamant that he master them and set himself on the path to becoming a Praetor. "I'm your patron, kid. That means you're going to have to be the most exceptional student The Republic has ever seen. I don't make the rules." That was what he had told Fulgur on the day he was enrolled and the child had taken it as a demand. Payment for the 4 limbs that gave him some semblance of a normal life.

    Gelu, on the other hand, always went out of her way to teach Fulgur the subjects he actually enjoyed. Philosophy wasn't something she had known much about, but she made sure to stay several chapters ahead in the text books that she taught him from, and even tied the lessons to her own specialty. Often she would make a face after reading a particular quote from a philosopher and when Fulgur would ask what was wrong, she would suggest her own solution that either rationalized a thought experiment or diagnosed the philosophers themselves with varying disorders or chemical imbalances. None of this led to Fulgur becoming the genius that Canis would have wanted, but he'd so far managed to keep himself from being expelled from the fancy school he'd been enrolled in which was far more than any of his classmates or teachers had expected when they heard an uneducated, malnourished child from the slums was joining their ranks.

    "'Sup, Professor? I thought you said I was free this morning because of the meeting thing?" Fulgur scribbled a note on a virtual piece of paper, then turned to look at his patron, who, for the first time since he met him, wasn't in a playful mood. Standing at the doorway was Gelu, whose body language instantly set Fulgur on edge. Canis had only lost his smile and dramatic movements, otherwise he didn't seem much different. Gelu, however, was always boisterous and cheerful to an alarming degree. She had the type of presence that could either nourish you like gentle sunlight or burn you out from too much exposure. Now, she hid mostly behind the door frame, head and one hand the only visible parts of her. Her face was the strangest part. It felt uncanny to see her making such a sad expression. It looked as though, if she had the ability, tears would be streaming down her face and her eyes would be swollen and red. Instead it was like she was frozen in the moment right before crying, trapped in the instant she had been given terrible news.

    "Wait, what's wrong? Am I in trouble?" Fulgur asked, standing out of his chair to meet Canis eye to eye. The child peered up at the professor, looking even younger than ever as he panicked and brushed brown locks of hair out of his face that had grown well into his eyes.

    "No, kid, it's not that. You've done nothing wrong..." Canis looked back at Gelu who sniffled and stepped forward to wrap her whole body around one of his arms for support. Canis looked back down at Fulgur. The professor had always looked tired, as though he was carrying an immense weight that threatened to make him collapse at any moment. None of that ever stopped him from lightening the mood and relieving Fulgur's burdens whenever he was able. With what had essentially become his family staring at him in such a way, thoughts began racing through Fulgur's mind.

    Did I really get expelled? I think I'm still doing better than some of the kids in my class. Oh no, the internet lock! They found out I got their password! Please tell me they didn't go through my history... wait, what if it's my body? I thought he'd stopped the degradation.

    "You're freaking me out, guys. Seriously, what's going on?" Fulgur asked, looking from one adult to the other.

    Canis sighed. The warm breath carried with it the scent of apple whiskey. The professor had needed some liquid courage to even enter the room. "Kid... I don't know how to say this," Canis squeezed Gelu's hand in his own, sighed once more then locked his golden eyes with Fulgur's silver. "Your father has passed away. He was found 3 days ago on the street, but they couldn't identify-" Gelu had yanked on Canis' arm, silencing him mid-sentence. The silence hung in the room, thick like a shroud.

    "Huh?" Was all that Fulgur managed to get out of his mouth in the moment. He looked between Canis and Gelu, searching for some sign that he had heard wrong or that they were playing a twisted prank on him, but as they stared back, their looks of concern pierced him, letting the truth seep in like poison. "Dad's... he's dead?"

    Gelu tore past Canis and wrapped her arms around Fulgur's neck and back. Even at age 15 he had already grown as tall as her, but that didn't stop him from feeling tiny in her tight grip. She didn't say anything, only held him tight and made quiet sobbing sounds without any tears of her own to shed as she embraced the child she'd raised as her own son for more than half his life. Fulgur's eyes darted from side to side, catching glimpses of Canis beyond Gelu's dark hair. He was still just watching with that pity plastered on his features. The room began to blur and Canis became a twisted, distorted blob as tears rose in Fulgur's eyes. Memories of their last encounter flooded his mind threatening to drown him in guilt as much as sorrow.

    Small metal arms wrapped around Gelu's back as Fulgur buried his face into her shoulder and cried into her sweater. The smell of her perfume stung his nose even through all the snot. Her own soft hand raised to stroke the back of his head as he silently sobbed into her embrace. She'd gone as far as to wrap her android body in a flesh substitute, so she could hold him as a mother would. After what felt like an eternity, he pulled away, still sobbing gently, but needing to know more.

    "Wait, he was here 3 days ago! They have to be wrong. They made a mistake. He was here 3 days ago, remember? I told you he took me out for dinner." Fulgur wiped away tears, still taking little gulps of air as his crying began to stop. "It must be someone else."

    Canis ran a hand through his hair and looked off to the side, not sure what to say, but Gelu took Fulgur's hands, and with them his eyes were drawn to hers too. "There was no mistake. We confirmed it with a DNA match. Your dad wasn't a citizen so they couldn't identify him first, but when some customers noticed him missing, they reported it to The Legion and compared a blood sample to you. It was your dad, Fuuchan. I'm so sorry."

    "But he was just here! 3 days ago. He was just here and I... I booked a ride for him, right?" Fulgur stepped back, almost stumbling as he tried to replay the night in his mind. Gelu caught him, but he tore free of her grasp and backed up into the corner of his room. Opening a file, he confirmed that he had a ride completed notification from the night. "Where is he? I need to see him."

    Canis stepped forward, one arm wrapping around Gelu's shoulder as she turned and mimed crying into his chest. "They don't have a body anymore, kid. When a non-citizen is found without any ID, they do an autopsy, take DNA and other samples, and then they recycle it after 24 hours."

    "Recycle?" Fulgur repeated the word, images flashing through his head from school lessons. Dead bodies in The Republic were recycled, used to feed bugs, plants and livestock that were farmed deep underground. The only exception was for citizens who held one of the old faiths. Had he been a citizen with an ID, Fulgur's father would have been given the opportunity to be buried or cremated for a price. Because he had never been a citizen they hadn't even given him that opportunity. Images flashed through his mind of his father. The gentle smile he always wore even as he was shielding his son from people laughing and throwing rubbish as they stumbled back to the slums where they belonged. "It can't be him though. He was here and then home 3 days ago. They must have at least taken photos of the corpse?"

    Canis took both of Gelu's hands in his own, gave them a kiss and then stepped forward, kneeling down to place those same hands on Fulgur's shoulders. "They took pictures, but you won't want to see them. When you're older-"

    "I need to see them!" Fulgur screamed, one metal hand gripping Canis' wrist. "Please, Professor, it can't be him. Just let me see them and I can tell them it's someone else."

    Canis and Fulgur stared into one another's eyes. Silver met gold and for a moment they held each other at a stalemate until the Professor groaned and released the child's shoulders. "Your dad was murdered, kid."

    "Iggy!"

    "They showed us the pictures to try and confirm an ID and I promise you it is him, but you don't want to put yourself through that."

    "What do you mean 'try' to confirm an ID?" Silence was the only response to Fulgur's question. Canis looked down at the ground, fist planted on the floor. Even in grief, Fulgur was sharp. "So you couldn't confirm an ID?"

    "Not from the photos, but the DNA is more-"

    "Show me the photos Canis! ...Professor, please." Fulgur had stopped crying, hope damming the tears that still swam in his eyes and blurred his vision. I have their passwords. Fulgur accessed Canis' files without another word and hunted for the message from the Legion while Canis once again refused the request. When the images popped up on his IIs, they were in front of the tears, burned directly into his mind for all eternity. No noise came from Fulgur. As he scrolled through the photos one by one in the duoverse, he didn't even gasp or cry. All the hope he had held onto was cut off. His thoughts of telling his dad how much he loved him, shattered. His promise to make things right, broken. He didn't register Canis leaving, nor Gelu tucking him into, then cradling him in bed as he continued to look through the photos, again and again and again. 

    It was no wonder that neither Canis or Gelu had managed to identify Ovid from the photos. The legion hadn't found the right hand which had been cut off, nor had they bothered to reconstruct the chunks of gore into anything resembling his living face. Every part was swollen into a mockery of his gentle smile, teeth exposed as the flesh bloated and pulled away from the mouth. The best identifier that the corpse had once been a father to Fulgur was the metal crutch he himself had gifted the man to replace the cheap ones he used to get around on. The crutch had been broken in half from a hard impact and impaled though the man's stomach.

    Fulgur stayed in bed for several days, only asking Gelu to leave when he'd already fallen asleep once and woken up, expecting the whole thing to have been a nightmare. The first thing he saw when he awoke was those same photos he had been staring at until his consciousness faded.

    For days, he was unable to do anything other than sleep and cry. Then Fulgur's mind turned from regret to anger and he demanded Canis use his resources to search for the murderer. Even after promoting the case from a zero to a high priority, no legatus wanted to take a mission that involved hunting through the slums, hoping to come across the criminal again. The only report Fulgur received was a detailed description of how his father hadn't died immediately and dragged himself surprisingly far considering the injuries inflicted on him. The legatus who had actually given the case a go could only follow the trail so far with all the filth in the slums swallowing up most of the evidence. Even the wolves couldn't sniff out the spot that Ovid's murder had taken place.

    So finally Fulgur had come up with a plan. On the 8th day of his father's death, he returned to his conscription and after-hours schooling, ensuring Canis and Gelu he would be fine. And every night since then, he had ordered the same ride share service he had called for his dad and taken a trip to the slums and back, confirming each time that the driver hadn't been to the slums before. Now that he'd found the right driver, he was going to follow his father's last footsteps, wearing the same TB suit soaked with his blood on the inside, and carrying an even more expensive bottle of alcohol with credits sticking out of his pocket: bait, for his very first prey.

    Fulgur dug around inside the car, retrieving the expensive whiskey he'd stolen from Canis' study. When he finally found what he was looking for, he discovered only the top half of the bottle with the label attached. Through all the turbulence, the bottle was smashed, its expensive liquid mixing freely with the driver's cheap blood. There was a chance they'd mistake the man for being drunk at the wheel at first with how much the car now reeked of booze. It wouldn't take the legion long to realize the driver had crashed before letting off his passenger and begin suspecting foul play. That meant time was ticking for Fulgur to find his second prey. He stuck the broken bottle into the left pocket of his TB suit, expensive label just visible to any looking for it. He stood up, stepping away from the car and admiring the disaster he had survived with only a mild neck ache. These cynets really are insane. Professor Canis had warned him never to use them at full strength, and he'd been obedient enough to never even try. Now as he flexed his hand open and closed in the night air, he wondered just how much damage it could do instead of defense.

    Fulgur twisted his head from side to side, taking in each building in the area. From above him, dozens of pairs of IIs looked down, watching and recording his every move. The legati weren't going to need to work very hard on this case. Fulgur planted one foot forward, feeling the wet mess pooling at his feet. Whether blood or whiskey he had no interest. His prey was deeper in the dark. Where the lights of The Republic faded to black, where the pulse and shimmer of life had long since stopped beating. He was heading home, taking the exact same path he knew his father would have.

    Through the darkness, Fulgur marched, red right hand tucked snugly into his TB suit. The adrenaline that had begun to surge through his body when he got into the car was running low. He felt his heart racing and only now became aware of how erratic his breathing had become. Beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead despite the chill of the night, causing him to shiver. In truth, the shivering wasn't even from the cold. There was a queasy feeling in his stomach and burning sensation in the back of his throat. Later in life, this feeling would become but a distant memory to Fulgur. The rush that came after being in a life or death situation.

    The child stumbled, crashing to the ground and heaving a few times. The contents of his stomach poured out onto the grime of the slums. He had barely been eating, but it wasn't the contents of the vomit that troubled him so much as the realization of what he'd done. No matter the reason, he'd ended a man's life in cold blood. A father who had children of his own.

    The child cried and heaved, shaking and gasping whenever he had the breath to do so. The gruesome images of his father's murder were bad, but they hadn't affected him the way the murder had. The feeling of his fingers snapping through metal, crushing bone and tearing flesh. The blood that spurted through his fingers with each beat of the driver's heart. The smell of iron in the air, so thick he could taste it. When he finally came to his senses, the child was face down in a puddle of vomit, tears and sweat. He forced himself back up to his hands and knees and tried desperately to pull himself together. He couldn't. He'd taken two lives when he closed his fist. The Republic would execute him in a heartbeat. Probably throw Canis' research into a hole and do who knows what to Gelu. More than two lives. He'd ruined the lives of the only people left who cared about him.

    Footsteps approached and a voice called out to the child, but he could only hear his own thoughts, only feel the blood rushing to his head and ears. It wasn't until a foot collided with his chest that Fulgur was drawn back into the present.

    Gasping, he crawled backwards away from the first kick but took another to the head. The world disappeared in a haze of bright light and grown men grabbed him by each arm, holding up his head as the rest of his body hang limp in the filth.

    "Well look at that, bugs got some fancy looking cynets under that suit!" The man who had him by the right arm ripped open the TB suit further, exposing more of the metal to the world. The men holding him, began dragging him through the slums, the ground scratching at his lower half and tearing more parts of the suit as they went.

    "What the fuuuuck, dudes got fancy cynets down here too!" A second voice called out from somewhere behind him. Fulgur tried to lift his head to see where they were going but was corrected with a punch to the temple. Everything became a haze of muffled sounds and lights for a while until he felt a burning sensation on his wrist.

    Snapped out of his stupor, he tried to rip his wrist free but felt it being held back against whatever surface he was strapped to in multiple places. His mind cleared enough to take in the low lighting coming from a nearby fire and crumbling cement room where he'd been bound to a table.

    "Ohhh, the bugs awake!" One of the men exclaimed, voice filled with sadistic pleasure. "Just in time to give us a hand!" The room filled with laughter as Fulgur did his best to look around at his kidnappers. In the faint light, he only caught features and shapes, but he was aware of atleast 4 of them laughing from different parts of the room.

    "What is-" Fulgur stopped mid sentence as his eyes finally found their way to his right arm. The sound of the buzz saw revved up after allowing the other man to make his joke and once more they brought it down to his wrist. Fulgur screamed in protest, followed by the guttural gargle of pain as the buzz saw made contact with his wrist. He felt every tooth of the blade as his synthetic nerves transmitted the pain of being sawed open for more than a minute of torture. When they finally pulled the buzz saw away, he saw that they'd barely managed to cut into the carbon fiber of his joint, but for the full minute that they made the attempt it had felt like the saw was tearing deep into his flesh.

    "Now those really are some fancy cynets." The man with the buzz saw whistled at the blade which had been dulled and bent in the attempt. "Beatrice really likes taking hands, but I guess we can try a different lady."

    Other men in the room laughed as the first man left the table. Fulgur moaned in pain, staring at the tiny mark and how much pain such a small cut had felt like. The professor hadn't expected anyone to attempt to cut through his cynets with a buzz saw and hence hadn't set a limiter on the sensations that Fulgur could experience yet. It wouldn't do for his prized cynets to get damaged by the stupid human component not realizing he was touching hot metal or splashing acid on them, so Fulgur felt every sensation as though it was happening to a healthy arm.

    By the time the man returned to the table, Fulgur had focused enough that he could take in more than just the basic features of his torturer. A skinny man, with gaunt face and sunken eyes. He'd painted his skin with white paint, covering his eyes and lips with black markings to become some sort of skeletal clown creature.

    "Beatrice seems to need a new stinger," he laughed, drool running down his chin. "Chastity on the other hand," he revved a chainsaw, bringing the blade up to Fulgur's face as he struggled to pull away. The men in the room erupted in laughter again as the man guided the chainsaw back onto Fulgur's wrist, laughing as his screaming picked back up.

    Another minute and a half passed before the chain broke on the saw and the man fell backwards screaming. As the chain had broken it had whipped out and caught his chin. The man was screaming on the floor, writhing as he tried to stop the blood pouring out of his face. Fulgur had finally stopped screaming and looked over at his arm. A faint trickle of amber liquid had begun spilling out of what was now a small incision revealing some of the wires within his arm. He stared at it in disgust, not sure how something that looked so artificial could cause him so much real pain.

    Another man slammed the table on either side of Fulgur's head, looking down at him. "I told you not to bother with the hand this time! Those limbs must be worth a fortune. We can just cut the flesh parts." As he said it, the man brought a knife to Fulgur's arm, eliciting a panicked scream from the child. The man simply cut the TB suit up to his shoulder, finding the flesh he planned to cut into instead.

    "Wait, w-w-w-wait! What the fuck do you want!?" Fulgur screamed, pulling back as close to the table as he could while the second man teased the blade against his flesh. Some laughter filled the room from one of the men, but the one with the knife paused and looked down in confusion.

    "We want everything you have, you bug shit," Someone called out from the room.

    "Wait," the man with the knife held out a hand and silenced one of the other men in the room. "Are you a fucking..." The man didn't finish the question, cutting the TB suit all the way across the front and tearing the top off to reveal Fulgur's face. He stepped back, dropping the knife. "You brought in a fucking kid!?"

    More laughter from some of the other men. Freed from the suit, Fulgur could finally look around the room and see much more than before. There were 8 men in the room. Most were barely conscious, clearly high off of some drug, and slumped in part of the room watching the show. The man who had cut himself was just standing back up with a knife bared in his hand. Other than the man who has just cut him out of the suit, there were two more standing and looking on in clear excitement.

    "Never taken a kid's hand before. Wonder how it'll taste."

    "It's metal you idiot."

    The injured man ignored the others and stepped forward with the knife, but the second man who had cut open Fulgur's suit pushed him back. "I'm not doing a fucking kid, you psychopath."

    "Get outta the room then, prick!" A scuffle broke out with the second man standing off against the three that had been on their feet. Laughter and cackling filled the room once more as the others who had seemed barely conscious jumped up and began brawling with each other indiscriminately.

    Groaning in agony, Fulgur began struggling against his bonds. They'd strapped him to the table with multiple thick leather straps that looked salvaged from a variety of sources. His arms were tied to the table in multiple places, but his legs were only bound at the ankle and hip.

    One of the drugged men slammed into the table, blood and something solid splattering over Fulgur's face. The man seemed to notice Fulgur for the first time then and smiled in unbridled joy.

    "Finally, food!" Fulgur's eyes went wide and his scream filled the room as the man lowered his head towards his abdomen. A sound like a crack of lighting exploded in the room as Fulgur managed to snap free with one leg and bring his knee into the man's face before he could bite into him. Blood sprayed into the ceiling and chunks of flesh, teeth and blood rained down over Fulgur. Next he slammed the same leg down, shattering the broken door frame that the men had tied him to as a makeshift operating table.

    The air went out of his lungs as Fulgur crashed into the ground below, now free, but with the tattered remains of a TB suit and leather straps hanging off of him. He struggled to his feet, the grown men in the room all staring on in shock.

    The one who had fought the other men off now turned his knife toward Fulgur, standing defensively against the opponent he was no longer sure was even human.

    "What the shit are you!?" He asked, falling to the ground over another of the men as he stumbled backwards.

    I'm pissed. Fulgur didn't say anything, just thinking the words in his mind. When he planned this day out, he imagined being slower and more in control when it came to the men who had actually killed his father. He imagined them strapped down to tables while he reminded them of why he was killing them. Instead he gave in fully to his rage and simply ended them all as fast as he could. By the time he was done, he had punched and stomped all the chunks of flesh so much that the small room was flooded with a broth of human soup. Blood and chunks of flesh continued to drip from the ceiling as Fulgur laughed and laughed until his chest hurt and his throat grew hoarse. Then he just sat in silence, marinating in the mess he had made of the those who murdered his father.

    Hours later, when his senses had started to return to him, Fulgur called the legion himself and waited to be arrested. He'd thought the smell of blood was disgusting earlier in the day, but at the end of the night he was casually poking around in a river of it with his foot, looking at the chunks of gore and trying to figure out what part of a man they used to be. When the first legionnaires arrived, they threw up, left, and called in legati instead. Canis had arrived shortly after that with Chroma in tow. 

    There had been fights about what to do, but ultimately Fulgur was sent to join the auxilia and prove he could still be useful to The Republic as a citizen. The incident was reported as "The Slaughter in the Slums" and blamed on suspected gang violence. The only people who knew the truth of the incident were Fulgur, Canis, Gelu, Chroma, the arbiters, and the first auxilia members Fulgur met, who were warned to evaluate their new child soldier's mental state. By the time Fulgur went on his third hunt, he no longer shied away from bloodshed and hardly flinched after taking a life.