Wide open
A tribute to Vince/Wingless Rain
The fat man had not run a mile in his life, but now he was running. Inside every man there is the running boy, and his running boy was cursing and panting with every laboured stride through the garbage strewn alleys.
"Now come on, I know you're faster than this," the mask giggled, always on the verge of earshot, dancing from alley to alley.
"Wait! You must… tell me! Who will… kill m… me!" the fat man shouted between great refreshing gulps of sickening city air, his stubby skinny legs burning furiously beneath his weight..
"My champion," replied the faraway voice, and the fat man ran faster, "He'll be born the usual way, and everyone will want…"
The voice had faded. The fat man panicked, knocking over trash cans and cutting his knees in his haste, "Want what!" he screamed, almost tearing a vocal chord.
"…him."
888
The fat man had sacrificed half his army to get this far. The Emerald Sanctuary had been partially destroyed, robots and cyborg Mobians marching into the area around the Master Chamber where Angel Island's army engaged them. But the fat man had blasted open the door, and was now inside.
"Get out of my way, rodent!"
"Why are you here?" the echidna demanded, holding an old shock staff that was utterly ineffectual at this range.
"I must know! I can't sleep at night! I can't think during the day! It is within my grasp, and now I have it!"
"What?" the Guardian shouted above the gunfire and mortar blasts outside, "What's so important you had to destroy the Sanctuary?"
"MY LIFE!" the fat man screamed, and shot the echidna with his galvanic rifle. The bolt smashed the Guardian against the Master Emerald, which was neither moved nor shaken. The fat man kicked the roasted body out of the way and laid shaking hands upon the prize.
"My wish!" he demanded, "I want to know! I want to know!"
The fat stone told him.
888
The city can be full of charms. Ms. Prower's apartment complex was not. It was one of those places that hobos avoided for fear of being mugged. She lived in a ten by twenty foot apartment that had once been a storage room. Somehow a futon, TV set, kitchen and bathroom had been fitted into a space too small for cockroaches to nest. Although half the rent of other apartments, half the money she made as a cashier at Moburger went into rent. Moburger: Mobian burgers double the size for half the price. "Would you like fries with that?" was the longest utterance she had made to another sentient being for half her adult life.
The other half of her rent went into the Resistance. They met at random places at random times and the only communication was done by word of mouth. Mr. Job came for her when word of a meeting spread. Since she had moved here, he had helped her with groceries and getting pregnant. You had to have money to be married, so they did not.
"Luttrel's calling," was all he said. She sat up from the warm spot on the futon next to the pipes, turned off the TV and followed him outside. She never locked the door. Nobody was desperate enough to steal from her. The foxes walked down the street, never holding hands. Public signs of affection meant you had enough money to support each other, and the predators here spoke less than their guns. Everything was gray concrete, black asphalt, white traffic lines… the only colour was green moss lining the drains. You couldn't see the sky anymore, not since the high rises encroached on the slums like giants among ants.
Ah, Mobotropolis, how we love thee.
Luttrel looked at the nine other members of the Resistance seated around him at Juniper's Bar and Breakfast. Juniper was one of them, and had closed for the day, shutters blocking all sight of outside. Pale yellow fluorescent light fended off the chill.
"The fat man attacked the Emerald Sanctuary yesterday," Luttrel began, "Nobody knows why. The Guardian was killed but not one emerald was missing. He took out half their army and they took out half of his."
"You got this information from the Freedom Fighters?" Mr. Job ventured, and Luttrel nodded.
"They're moving out of the city, going back to the forest of our ancestors. They say it's getting too dangerous to have a base on the inside. Maybe we should join them, get out of here."
His smile was weakened by their collective sadness.
"Most of us can barely make rent, except Ms. Prower here who got half the size for half the price."
Nobody laughed.
"Until I can contact the Freedom Fighters again, we should try…"
Luttrel's suggestion was cut short by his death. A wall of bullets shredded glass and metal, merging their leader with the far wall. Through the hole stepped a cat in army fatigues, who kept his still-smoking rifle trained on the nine while beckoning to whoever was outside. A dog and raccoon joined him, equally armed.
"Take the pregnant fox, kill the rest."
Mr. Job turned to her. His relief forced the corners of his mouth to curl upward in relief while his own imminent demise tried pushing them down.
"You will live."
She watched them kill the rest before taking her.
888
"I have you now."
Restrained on the floor of her apartment, Ms. Prower had bits of Luttrel, Job and the others staining her maternal dress. The fat man was walking around her, waving a handgun. She trembled, not from the cold.
"It told me you were the one, or to be more specific…"
He cocked the handgun and pointed it at the hill under her breasts. She was too shocked to react. Automatic gunfire still rang in her ears. She kept hearing the wet thud of hot lead burrowing into flesh.
"That thing will not kill me."
He lifted the handgun to her forehead.
"I will enjoy this."
He placed enough pressure on the eight-pound trigger. The hammer released, striking the primer of the round of ammunition meant to end Ms. Prower's life and, by extension, that of her unborn cub. The bullet flew through the air…
And…
Slowed…
Down.
Time can never be stopped. There is no force in the universe capable of stopping the eternal flow and ebb of energy, and if there were, the laws would contradict each other. No, time did not stop. It just slowed down so much that the bullet could be seen pushing aside the dust specks floating in the air.
The harlequin walked into the building. His white polished shoes sported black lacing. One leg of his pressed pants brooded black while the other shone white. His double-breasted suit continued the divide, so it seemed half a man was walking down the dimly lit corridors, a white mask bobbing where the head should be. His graceful black gloves had just finished tracing an X whose glowing blue lines hung in the air; altering the time and fate of the one he sought after.
"Fake," he spoke, and went up the stairs. The rune worked, but to keep things interesting, only that place had been affected.
The rest of them needed to learn a lesson. The first mercenary he came across, a Mobian rabbit, jumped with surprise at the elegant man walking into this nest of guns as though he were attending a dinner party.
"Hey you! No visitors allowed! If you live here it would be advised…"
His prerecorded message was cut short by the alarming absence of his throat, which lay at his feet as the harlequin continued walking, shaking red drops from one glove.
"One is fun."
The rabbit's brothers, hiding in apartments along the corridor, had heard the sudden collapse and the continued footsteps that sounded nothing like the heavy steel tips they all wore. As planned, the first two jumped out, laying down fire that tore through wallpaper and carpet. They did not know what they were shooting at until the white mask was suddenly between them. Gloves reached out and plucked the hearts from between their ribs. The harlequin dropped the organs at their feet so their owners could watch them stop beating.
"Three is free."
The next two brothers jumped out. Twin streams of tracer bullets lit up the corridor. The harlequin disappeared and reappeared between the streams, continuing to vanish and reappear between the bullets without ever missing a step until he was in front of them. Four eyes were skewered on four fingers. Those fingers dug into the grey matter and pulled most of it through the sockets.
"Five's a family."
He had not broken his pace yet, but one smart lad had hidden until the harlequin walked past. He jumped out, firing a handgun since he was the newbie. While the bullet was in flight, the harlequin reached into his suit to procure a playing card, which he flung behind him in the bullet's path. The bullet was cleaved in half, each fragment burying itself in the wall on either side of the harlequin's head. The playing card continued its path uninterrupted until it stuck to the wall, leaving the lad in two halves.
"Six of hearts."
Another stairwell. A big black human stood at the top with a minigun. It was total overkill, but the bullets flew in a nice orderly line, so the harlequin jumped onto them, his shoes pushing off the projectiles in motion, running up the line of fire until one gloved palm impacted with the black forehead and kept going until pink chunks decorated the wall behind.
"Seven's heaven."
A door beside him splintered open as another human, white female, leapt at him, gun butt raised and ready to crack down on his head. The harlequin reached out and snatched the right arm from its socket, then drove the pointed end of the fractured bone through the woman's stomach. Her lesbian partner tossed a grenade down the corridor from the safety of another apartment. The harlequin yanked out the first woman's other arm to bat the silly explosive device back where it came from.
"Nine's fine."
The raccoon threw a teargas canister from around the corner and rounded it guns-a-blazing. Loitering against the wall, the harlequin ripped off the gas mask as the raccoon charged blindly past, watching as the mercenary choked, coughed and died as the harlequin stuffed the canister down his throat.
"Ten again."
He walked past a ventilation grille on the ceiling. Moments later the dog punched out that grille, leaned out of the duct hanging only by his legs, and fired, but the barrel exploded in his face. The harlequin had one slender finger inserted in the bore.
"Jack."
The cat had an RPG-7 waiting for him at the end of the line, kneeling in front the door leading to the fat man. The rocket propelled grenade soared screaming down the corridor, trailing bluish gray smoke. The harlequin spun, caught the rocket lightly in one hand, and continued spinning until he had spun around, and let it go so that it return to its launcher, blowing the cat and the door to smithereens that slowed down the moment they blew apart. The harlequin walked through the blood and wood that hung static in the air. The fat man's bullet was just about to touch Ms. Prower's forehead.
"King. You can't take this life."
The fat man's head was allowed to turn to him and speak.
"Why not? I have a gun, and the bullet's already in flight."
"Because I just said so, and, just to spite you further, I'm going to let you keep yours."
"And you call that spite?"
"We will. For defying my wishes, I'll visit you whenever you want to sleep. We'll spend some real quality time on my hill. See you tonight."
The harlequin scooped Ms. Prower out of the way just as the bullet was parting the fur on her head.
"You will live," the mask whispered into her ears, cradling her like her child as he carried them away. Time resumed. The bullet thudded into the floor. Bits of the door and the cat resumed their flight to stain the fat man, who dropped the handgun and retched.