"If you want to view Paradise, simply look around and view it,

Anything you want to, do it,

Want to change the world? There's nothing to it."

-Willy Wonka

Night Life

Chapter 1

He walked around the city streets, staring at it all. The doctor told him that getting out might help him, but he wasn't sure.

"You were found in the dark alleys," the doctor told him, "at the very heart of the city, any life you had before must have been centered there."

But it didn't feel like his city. He didn't remember any of it. Not that he even remembered his own name; that too had eluded him. He looked down at the sketch in his hand, and then crossed the street. This was the industrial side of town. Tall grey blue factory buildings crouched behind chain link fences. Dark shadows clung to their sides. A breeze picked up scraps of paper as it whistled over the empty road.

The man zipped up his leather jacket, and turned down the alley next to Acne Co's compound. This little stretch of uneven tarmac was called Slade Avenue. The bottoms of his boots scrapped along its mutilated surface. It was empty, save for a box like garbage compactor and a few old crates. He pressed himself against the cold brick wall to see behind the compactor. Heavy shadow covered the small space, but he could just make out the dark stain on the wall. It was his blood.

This was where the man had been found by an Acne employee, half dead from lack of blood and exhaustion. From where he was, there in the slums, they thought he was a victim of gang violence. He couldn't remember, but after seeing the outfit he was found in, he had to admit it seemed likely. Black leather. Not many people with office jobs wore black leather, or had bodies covered in scars. From what he could tell, he must have been pretty proud of the one shaped like an X on his chest, the leather shirt left it exposed. And if he were wearing that outfit now, the new scar that stretched from his back to his side would also be in the open. But it was too chilly to wear clothes like that; besides, he couldn't understand why he'd worn them in the first place. The pants felt like they were falling down all the time, and the shirt was so tight it was hard for him to move his arms, which made him wonder if he really had been in the gangs. Surely wearing trash like that could get him killed, if it came to a fight and his arms were pinned by his own shirt, or he could barley get his legs apart, he'd be dead. No wonder he had gotten so banged up.

Been an idiot, most likely, and had almost gotten himself killed for it. Well, he wasn't being an idiot anymore. Now he wore a pair of Jeans that fit, and a T-shirt with a leather jacket big enough that he could throw a punch in it if he had to; clothes that put survival first, and looks second.

He also had a blade in his pocket. It was the one they'd found on him; a curved dagger, just big enough to fit in his hand comfortably. His attacker had stripped his pockets, probably taking everything with any identification on it; anything worth a cent, but why he would leave the knife was strange. Then again, maybe he didn't need it. The man in the alley pressed his arm to the bandages on his side. That man had his own blade.

Well, now they both did.

He knew he had to think of a name for himself, but it made him angry. He'd obviously had one before, and then that little son of a dog had stolen it from him. He would get it back, somehow. Since he'd been found here, he hoped this was his attacker's territory that was frequented often. He hoped he'd show up again tonight. Until then, until he pumped the weasel for his name, and who he was, he'd have to call himself something. But what?

He looked around himself for inspiration, but only the bleak dirty alley met his gaze. Not much to go on, trash, boxes, blood... Then his gaze fell to the paper still in his hand, 'Slade Avenue,' it read next to the squiggly map the doctor had drawn, 'an alley next to the Acne plant'. Slade; that had potential. Slade, Slade what? Slade Shadow? Slade Avenue? Slade Smith? Slade Acne? He shook his head, and stuck the map back into his pocket. Cold steel brushed against his hand. Slade Dagger? That didn't sound half bad, a little cocky, but hey, it fit. It would do, for now.

Another gale whipped past him and the chill seeped into his wound. Dang that hurt. It was still pretty raw. The doctor told him he'd been out a day or two, but man that cut ached. Slade leaned back against the dumpster, its overly sweet sickly smell wafted around him. The whole alley reeked. Night was coming on around him, shadows had darkened and in front of the factories themselves he could see streetlights turning on.

Slade sighed, and felt his side ache. He should have waited until he healed up more to go looking for his attacker. If he did end up fighting with the jerk now he'd be hampered by his wound. The doctor barely agreed to let him leave the hospital, he'd warned Slade that if he put too much of a strain on his side the stitches would come out. He wondered if taking care of his attacker would be a stain. Probably. That meant he'd be back in the hospital sooner or later, strapped down to the bed this time.

He wanted to take care of this tonight, though. After two days of sheer hell, finding out that his mind was a blank slab, that he didn't even recognize his reflection in the mirror, he was itching to get his hands on the son of a mother who'd done this to him. But his side ached from the night chill, and his back burned.

Angrily, he pushed himself up. "Stupid back," he muttered. He walked up and down to alleyway a few times, arms gripping his side, waiting, listening, but the night was still.

Slade counted to thirty slowly, and then admitted defeat. Even though pain seared through his body at every step, he forced himself to stand straight and look forward when he walked out of the alley. If you looked like easy bait for a mugger, that's what you'd become.

There was no one anywhere that he could see. Rats squeaked and scurried out of his way as Slide walked back up the main road. Metal gates and fences were pulled down over the store fronts. 'Closed' signs hung on the diner doors. But when the innocent days stores locked their doors, the shadier establishments were just opening.

Neon lights cast florescent pink and green puddles onto the street in front of the night club Slade passed. A long line was already stretched out in front of the door. Two huge mountains of muscle stood before the entrance, pulling some people aside, and letting others pass.

Slade walked close to the crowd, making sure his face was in the light. He listened and watched those he passed, but none of them acted like they'd ever seen him before.

Three black clad youths stood beneath a street light across from the club. Gang members. They were dressed like idiots, all chains and black sunglasses. Slade rolled his eyes; those would sure come in handy on the street at night. Along with their too big clothes that sagging and bagging from their lean bodies, they looked more like circus clowns than threats.

"Hey, buddy, what are you staring at?" One of them demanded.

Slade shrugged, "Nothing."

"Then move on before we get pissed," another ordered, "I don't like sons of mothers eye ballin' me."

Slade stuck his hands deep into his pockets, his right hand gripping the dagger. "Sure thing," He turned cautiously, waiting for the gang to try and pounce on his back.

They didn't.

Odd.

He walked a few more yards and then dunked into an alleyway. He flattened is back against the wall and stole a glance back at the street lamp.

The gang was still under it, but now they were all looking at the night club line. Slade watched with them. A couple of girls were standing in the back talking and laughing with one another. One of them wore a newsboy hat over long black curls, while her companion was taller and blonde.

"Yo, Ruby," One of the gang shouted.

The girl in the hat looked over her shoulder, and then turned quickly back to face the line. She and the blonde girl began whispered.

"Yo Ruby", the street clown called again, "Ruby!"

Most of the line was turning towards the shouts, staring. The girl turned as well, her chest heaving in a great sigh.

"What do you want, Curtis?" She asked in a sort of tropical accent, while folding her arms.

The gang member who'd called her took a step forward. "Don't you start like that with me, girl." He pointed at her angrily, "You owe our boss, and it's collection night."

Ruby sifted her feet, "Listen, Curtis it was a slow week for me-"

"I don't give a what kind of week you've been havin', Boss wants the money tonight, and if you ain't got it... We ain't goin' back empty handed." The other members walked to Cutis' side, smiling.

At the same time, the line of party goers shrank away from the girl, leaving her alone. Even the blonde girl deserted her. She crouched down, her legs tensed, muscles coiled.

Curtis laughed and spit onto the road. "You can try runnin' gal, if you wan'u."

Steal baseball bats appeared from the folds of the gangs clothes. They looked like more threatening clowns now.

The girl backed up a pace, and then ran up the road, towards the alleyway.

The gang took after her, at a surprising speed for their too large clothes. Even though one of them had to hold his pants up as he ran, they were gaining on the girl.

Ruby raced to the alley and dunked inside. "Oh no," she panted looking at the wall of boxes and garbage, "dead end."

"You bet it is, for you anyway."

She turned about to see Curtis and the other two walking up. They were all grinning, and swinging their bats up and down.

"Well, well, well," Curtis gloated, "look who we caught without much fuss."

Ruby scanned the ground hurriedly, and picked up a metal pipe, hoisting it to her shoulder like a batter.

The gang members laughed. "Oh, look it boys, the little girly's got a stick," Curtis wailed mockingly, "oh, I'm so scared. She's just gonna kill us all with that."

"Yep," Ruby snarled, "I am."

"You gonna wish you was dead girl, when we get done with you. We ain't gonna kill ya, there ain't no fun in that. No, we'll beat the tar out of ya' and then dump you somewhere and let you bleed to death." Curtis spat on his hands, and twirled the bat. "Come on boys, let's get to it."

Slade stepped out from behind the dumpster then, hands deep inside his pockets.

The gang stared at him for a moment before Curtis cursed, "Man, I thought I told you get lost, looser."

"I did," he said, "it's just you found me again."

"You're stickin' your nose where it don't belong, string bean."

"I might be," Slade allowed, "but it is my nose to stick where I see fit."

Curtis grinned, "fine, you wanna die the hero, I ain't gonna deny you that." With a yell he flung himself at Slade.

Slade side stepped, and his dagger moved in a blur.

"Ow, hell," the group's leader retreated, sucking his hand, "You got a blade. But still," he hefted his bat, "that ain't no match for three of us."

The gang made a semicircle at the alley's mouth. One still wearing his sunglasses was the first to swing; it was aimed at Slade's head. He dunked and then squirmed out of the way of the rebound.

"Slippery little cuss ain't ya?" Curtis snarled. He lunged again, this time with the others.

Bats rained down on Slade from every side. He weaved and dodged through them, seeking an opening for his knife. One of the bats caught him in the shoulder, another slammed into his leg. He drew back, hands raised, knife ready.

With a shout, the one with the sunglasses pushed himself forward. His blows were hard and fast, pelting the arms Slade drew up to protect his face. Sunglasses snarled, and swung for the head. Slade dunked and popped back up, knife a blur again. A trail of blood leaked from the gang member's arm, he shrieked. Slade kneed Sunglasses in the groin as the gang member drew back, and when he doubled over, brought his clenched hands down hard on the back of his head. Sunglasses fell to the ground.

The other gang member stepped over his friend's body. "Oh man, you gonna pay for that." The bat came down on Slade's arm, who repulsed it away. Then brought his knife up. A long gash streaked across the other's shoulder. He hefted the bat again, but Slade pushed himself at the gang member. Before he could swing, Slade was across the bat. He wretched the steel bat from the man, and swung it one handed. It connected to the gang member's skull with a loud clang, and he toppled.

During the fight, Slade had lost track of Curtis. The big youth appeared at his side suddenly; with a blow that hit right on Slade's wounded back.

Slade was thrown forward, and landed heavily on his side. Curtis was upon him instantly, striking his head and back. Pain sliced through Slade, forcing him to curl in on himself and clouding his vision.

"Leave him alone, Curtis!" Ruby's shout was accompanied by a blow from the metal pipe that sent the gang member to the ground. Ruby leaped upon him then, the pipe slammed into his face again and again.

Curtis kicked her off her feet, "You're dead, girl!" He roared raising his bat.

Gritting his teeth, Slade pushed himself upright. The wound had opened on his back, and he felt blood seeping down from it. Pain seared through every limb, and his vision was obscured by white flashes, but he could make out Curtis standing over the girl, bat at the ready. With a snarl, he threw himself at the gang member, pushing him sideways into the asphalt.

Curtis' bat clanked to the floor and rolled a little ways from his motionless body. Blood seeped from the back of his head. Slade lay across him, equally still.

Sirens whined from the main road.

Ruby leaped to her feet. Cops, just great. She ran to the mouth of the alley and peered out. Two Squad cars were parallel parked across the street. Policemen were starting to climb out of them. Ruby turned away and ran to the barricade of trash at the alley's other end. Wooden crates were staked tightly ten feet high. Ruby found one a row up that was half pushed out. Grunting, she managed to shove it the rest of the way. It fell back with a thud, leaving a space large enough to crawl through.

She grinned, and began snaking trough the gap. A deep groan from behind stopped her. Curtis? She looked over her shoulder. No, it was that other guy, the one with the knife, he was still alive.

He was trying to lift himself up, but he was so beat up he kept falling down. He managed to raise his head, and his eyes met hers. "Help," he whispered and passed out.

Typical, Ruby could see flashlight beams skimming across the alley walls, the cops were almost there. She looked at man with the dagger. He'd probably die anyway, she reasoned, and she hadn't asked him to help her. It was like a jungle on the streets, every man for himself. Ruby knew she could slip away from the cops alone, but trailing this loser, who couldn't even stand, she'd for sure get caught. There wasn't any time for her to debate, the cops were almost there. She started through the gap again, then sighed and wiggled back out. She crawled over to the man and slapped him, hard.

His eyes opened, and swam about before finding her face. "Listen Jack," She whispered covering his mouth when he tried to talk, "if you want my help you gotta keep up, kay? If you can't, you're on your own."

He nodded once. Ruby hauled him up to his knees. His limbs gave out under him, but he caught himself.

Ruby rolled her eyes and crawled to the hole in the crates. She didn't look back to see the man, either he was with her or he wasn't. She shifted her way through the hole and stood up. The man slid through after her, his teeth clenched. He held onto the wall and pressed himself up to his feet.

Ruby took off then through the alleys. Skirting the pools of light from the odd window, she turned and twisted through the maze of back roads. She could hear the man behind her, breathing heavily and dragging his leg.

"Hey, who's there? Halt!" The sudden appearance of a police officer drove Ruby to a run. The man staggered along in her wake. Behind them cops shouted.

Shoot, Ruby thought as she tore through the streets, how come I never get a clean get away? She turned a sharp corner on to a block of apartment buildings. Almost there. She leaped up and grabbed the bottom of a fire escape ladder, climbing up it as it unfolded.

The man clutched the last rung and tried to hoist himself up. With a cry of pain, he managed to swing a leg up and started to climb.

Ruby was already by the third story. She pushed up one of the windows and slipped inside. She sank to the floor and lay there panting. Outside, she heard the cops running down the street, then the wail of the siren, then nothing.

Had he made it? She pushed herself up and peered out the window. The man lay passed out just below it. With a sigh, she opened the window the rest of the way, stuck her arms out, and grabbed two handfuls of his shirt. Grunting, she hoisted him into the room.