Title: A Boy in Old Town
Author: Eli
Summary: It's Tribe World Sin City style. When the virus came, kids took over the City, and years later it has all gone to hell. And this is just the beginning.
Note: This is just my start out point. If things go well, I'll add more stories with more of our favorite characters. All the excerpts I used for this story were taken from "The Big Fat Kill". And please be mindful of the Sin City physics.
Disclaimer: I do not own Cloud 9's The Tribe or Frank Miller's Sin City.
He stumbles out of his building, looking around in a way that only guilty men do. He knows what he has coming to him, he'll admit it. No denial he doesn't deserve a blunt object to his head, but also no denial that he isn't looking forward to it. He picks himself up and begins his trek through Sector Three.
As expected, the back alley is dark and ominous. And why wouldn't it be? All of The City was dark and ominous, so why should his street be any different? There's a rattle, a bang, and he's pointing his weapon at a cat. Damn animals. The virus should have wiped them out with the elders.
He moves on, checking behind him with every other step, a perfect picture of paranoia, but it's only for a short time. It's just a little further to Sanctuary, to a safe heaven that'll last as long as the price on his head still stands. He hears footsteps and whips around. Nothing. The bad feeling in his stomach increases. He begins to run, all shadows that could be hiding hit men be damned. Heart on fire, invisible foes on his heels, he runs faster. He can see the familiar towers of Sanctuary. End of the alley and he can taste hope. End of the alley, and
BANGSanctuary fades as he falls, cupping the bullet wound in his neck. His killer hovers over him, grabbing the patch off his sleeve. Tribal identification. Proof that he's hit his mark. Like taking back a severed head, just a lot cleaner. Choking on blood, he watches the killer move up to get his headband as well. He sees bleach blonde hair and the face of a twelve year old. Holy hell, he'd been done in by a kid? So much for his tribe sending him off to the beyond with three cheers. Just a kid, and a pretty boy at that. He tries to move so he can spit blood on him, but just then they come eye to eye and he stops. Those eyes. Twelve year olds shouldn't have those eyes. Who the hell was this kid?
Blood is dripping from his mouth, so his train of thought goes to his life flashing before his eyes. His killer gets up and leaves without so much as a 'thanks'.
As one would have guessed it, he actually isn't twelve, just unfortunate enough to still retain the pre-pubescent look of one who was. And maybe the bleach blonde hair didn't help, but it was what he was use to. No point in changing now. He climbs up multiple fire escapes to get to the top of the building. It was easier to travel rooftop to rooftop, and in this part of town, it was less about being able to jump and more about not looking down. You can expect the occasional big leap, and you know you'll eventually find one jump that is too much for even the most skilled in his profession. He knows it. He expects it. He anticipates it.
He's all about anticipation. To know what is coming up can mean the difference between a bullet in a wall and a nicely ventilated corpse. When he comes upon something he can't predict, he hits the books until he can. It's easier than it sounds and it's kept him alive this long. No need to change. Only a need to know what is going to happen.
This will be the last hit of the night. After this he'll return to the apartment, with its loud noises and envelopes of money being slipped beneath the door. Who knows whose idea it was to re-establish the currency. It may have made trading easier, but it brought back the rich and the poor and a way to reward people for killing others on your behalf. Last hit of the night, and he'll be back before sunrise.
As he jumps from roof to roof, he imagines the girl's crying face and hysterics. He can hear her begging and pleading and her eyes going wide when she realizes that she's not having any effect on him. Then she'll cry harder, and then she'll die. The voice, the tears, all identical to the last time he saw her, after he had put a round of bullets into three guys right in front of her. Loose ends needing to be tied.
He lands on a balcony and peeks in. Bingo. She's sitting up in bed, twisting the ends of her nightgown. Another woman is asleep next to her. He comes in without a sound. She glances up from her bed partner to the window and flinches. He goes to pull out his weapon and she shakes her head. "Not in here, please." She whispers. "Don't need no more witnesses." His hand hovers over the handle of his weapon. She's not stuttering. She's not shaking.
She's not acting like he had imagined.
He watches curiously as she kisses the woman besides her and gets up. She beckons him to follow her into the next room. Unsure of what she is up to, he follows, half expecting an attack, keeping an eye out for potential weapons or others intending to intervene. When the door to the bedroom is shut, she turns to face him. No crying. No pleading. No clue as to what she will do next. He tilts his head and studies her, and her eyes drop to the floor. It doesn't matter that she's been expecting him and his black outfit with the red and the metal, that blonde hair and those eyes; those eyes that still give her nightmares. They make her feel like she'd been judged and has been found wanting. No, none of that. She forces herself to look back up at him. She has to be strong.
He pulls out his weapon and aims it at her. She nods. "Just needed to say good-bye." A second later and her body crumbles to the ground. He takes the necklace from around her throat and leaves out the front door. Silent kill, silent exit, silent victim. It doesn't make sense to him. Where was the sobbing and fits of panic? Nothing like he had expected. He'd seen stronger individuals piss their pants in the same situation. She was weak, soft, pathetic… He doesn't understand.
He begins the trek back to the apartment, resigning himself to no rest. He has work to do, like all the other times he has been wrong. He has to understand, he has to know. The sun is just beginning to rise, and he spends the entire day hitting the proverbial books.
In comic books, characters became stronger after rolling around in toxic waste or being too close to radioactive arachnids. Though entertaining, strength is never that simple. His last victim didn't get a bug bite or a bath in Sector Six. She met a girl, and they began a relationship.
He read about old world housewives who tore up cars to protect their trapped infants. He read about timid stick figures with no backbone find the strength to take down men twice their size. Soldiers going through hell and back because they had a sweetheart at home. This is what happened to his last victim, he was sure of it: Strength born from another.
It seemed as though two wasn't only company, but a power bonus as well.
Night falls, and partly because he wants to get stronger, and partly because hitting a punching bag all day isn't cutting it anymore, and partly because the 'other' side of his hormones, the ones that had been repressed by his former leader, had really started to re-surface, he begins his way towards a place he knows he can test his thesis. One can never be so sure.
He's heard stories about Sector One and the elusive Old Town. The ladies were the law there, beautiful and merciless. If you have the cash and you played by the rules, they'll make all your dreams come true. But if you cross them, you're a corpse. It was a woman's place, no men allowed, at least not without a wad of cash.
Beautiful and merciless. He liked the sound of that. Granted, he's never been attracted to anyone in his entire life. He could be chasing the wrong sex for all he knows. But it was a girl who had given her strength, so why wouldn't it be a girl for him as well?
The streets of Old Town are decorated with women, each one wearing less than the girl in front of her. He keeps his distance and studies the females around him. And although some have slight effects on his libido, none of them are giving him that feeling described in the books. A half hour has passed, and he's still not satisfied with what he sees, and some of the girls are looking at him and laughing. Perhaps it has just been a waste of his time.
He turns to leave when one of the girls comes along side him. "Hey sweets, you've been here an oftly long time without getting some company." She says to him. He turns to study her. She has on a cowboy hat with matching boots and a star pinned onto her top. The bottom half of her hair is a light red, and she has these weird tribe markings in the same red tone. She was decent looking enough, but still he has no real reaction. Giggles can be heard from a group not too far away and begins to walk faster.
The girl besides him rolls her eyes. "Ignore them, they're new. They don't know any better. And neither do you, it seems." She grabs his arm to get him to stop moving. "The first trip is the hardest, especially if you go alone. I've seen plenty like you here." He stops walking and she turns him to face her fully. She smiles. "Boy, aren't you a cute one? I'd almost offer myself if I didn't have an eye for our female clients. Why don't I give you a hand? It hurts our reputation if any decent guy leaves here empty handed." He nods and she begins looking over the other girls.
After directing his attention to four different gals and getting nothing but rejection, she shakes her head. "Well, aren't you picky. Why don't you tell me what you're looking for, that might make things easier." He wants to be a more effective assassin, but he doesn't think that is the answer she wants, so he just shrugs. She begins a rant about needing to know what one likes when he hears the familiar sounds of struggle. Ways off behind her, a guy is attempting to shove a girl into the wall, hands trying to get beneath her clothing. She shrieks.
The girl stops talking and turns around. Her eyes go wide and she becomes giddy. "Oh, this is going to be good." Before he can question her remark, something sharp and metallic comes flying down and hits the guy square in the back. The girl he had trapped against the wall frees herself and takes a couple of steps backwards and looks up.
Following her gaze, he sees a girl on a nearby balcony. She has tan skin, black hair with green highlights, and a sword. She jumps down, landing catlike on the asphalt. The man is groaning and moaning as he tries to remove the sharp object in his back. When he sees the girl, he immediately goes for his weapon. And faster than he can even cock the gun, her sword is unsheathed and he's lost an arm. He screams louder, but the girl is unfazed. She retrieves her throwing star from his back and motions for him to leave, and he runs off.
His eyes take in her image, the blue tribal markings on each side of her face, her shirt with the oriental looking designs, the dark half robe with its long sleeves, the black pants and shoes, her eyes, determined, fearless. He feels something in his chest tighten and turn, and his hormones flare.
Bingo.
"Her. I want her." He tells his companion. She turns back towards him, unsure if she has heard him correctly.
"What'd you say, sweets? I think I misheard you."
"I want her." He says again, pointing to the girl with the sword who was now checking over the girl who had been attacked.
The red colored cowgirl gives a quick look of surprise before wincing. "Oh, sorry kid, I hate to disappoint, but she's not on the market."
"Why not?"
"Because… She's our little angel, she's special." She tells him resolutely, taking a step back. God, this kid is more than a bit creepy. "Besides, didn't you just see what happened? No one can keep up with that." She begins trying to move him away from the scene. "Now, if-"
He grabs her arm and gets in her face. "I want her." He says firmly. She tells him to let go and struggles. He goes to say something, but he can hear something whistling through the air. He pushes the girl from him and moves backwards. A second later he sees that metal throwing star sticking out of the nearby wall. He turns towards the direction it came from, and the girl with the green streaks and the sword is staring at him. Her eyes grow defiant and she raises her sword towards him challengingly. He nods in acceptance.
The streets begin to clear as they come close to each other. They leave a good couple of yards in between them. They begin circling each other slowly, their eyes never leaving the other. He pulls out a gun and cocks it just as she removes her sword from its casing once again. In his head, he sees her sword lunging at him and powerful kicks, he sees having to dodge and reload quickly, and he sees this fight not ending without some blood.
In the real world, she takes the initiative and takes a swing at him.
It begins.