Chapter Two – Various Points In Time, 2000-2005
(Okay. Thanks for r+ring, everyone! I don't think I own anything in this, and I hope it doesn't annoy anyone what I've pictured the GGs turning out like…oh, well…please r+r!)
Garam adjusted his black sunglasses, and squinted into the darkness. They should be along any moment. Good.
He leant against the wall, in the shadows, and gripped the shotgun tighter. Now all he had to do was wait. The first time he'd done this he'd been shaking all over, unable to keep still. Now he was a professional.
He made himself quiet, silent. Held the gun over the white skull shape on his T-shirt. Now he was nothing but a dark shadow you wouldn't even notice unless you were looking for it. Hopefully they wouldn't be.
Focus on the quarry. The kill. Don't let your thoughts drift.
But it was no good. This was Benten-cho, the walkway area, and it was too familiar.
Sometimes he wondered if he should have left the GGs. But come on. He and Cube had thought it was the best thing. At the time. Cube still did.
Garam wasn't always so sure.
Cube had changed all right.
The purpose of doing this, Garam had always believed, was to wipe out their prey. Make it so there weren't any left. Which meant one quick shot through the back of the head, the end.
Cube didn't see it that way. She seemed to think the purpose of doing this was to make as many of their prey suffer as possible. Make it so they died in maximum agony. Which meant her doing stuff he didn't think about, because she was his girlfriend and he had to stand by her, because if he didn't he was no better than – stop it. Stop it.
Footsteps.
Garam straightened up, very slowly, and listened to the voices.
Sounded right. But better make sure.
He took one hand off the gun and touched a button on his sunglasses. His vision suddenly glowed with inverse light as the night vision function was activated. Now he could see the guy's face.
Yep. Right one.
Carefully he raised the gun. The sight lines wobbled like they were drunk. Garam steadied his hand, angry at himself.
Lines on skin.
Go for it.
His finger tightened on the trigger. He felt the build up of power in the weapon, rising, rising, and then – release.
The guy fell. The woman walking with him began to scream.
Garam didn't move. Cube's voice rang in his thoughts. Go on. Kill her, the bitch. Firstly, she'll blab, and second, you know what she is. Whore.
Nope, Cube-chan, Garam answered her silently. I ain't you.
He turned and walked back onto the bridge, keeping in the shadows. The cold air stroked his skin.
I ain't you, but I ain't sure if I'm me either.
He sprang from the bridge to the roof of a train. The landing knocked the breath out of him. This would have been a lot easier on skates – no, that's in the past, buddy.
He didn't dare feel much. Not fear, not anger, not much love, even. In case he started feeling guilt. He knew enough to realise that could swamp him.
He slid off the train onto the rough ground, and walked towards the boxes piled up at the side of the rails. Behind them was a door.
He knocked, and waited, collecting his thoughts, breathing slowly in the oil-soaked air. This was his life now. This was what he'd chosen. This was all he had.
And that was that.
Mew stared down at the test paper, and felt her stomach drop like it had been sucked out of her body. Forget working out the answers. She couldn't even figure out the damn questions.
Tears stung her eyes and she bit down on the end of her pen to stop her mouth trembling.
Okay, girl, she whispered to herself, be calm. Be calm. You can do this. You revised. Well, sort of.
It's not my damn fault they kept playing that music in the next room…it's not my fault I keep having nightmares…it's not my fault I'm stupid…
Mew bit her pen again and blinked several times to bring the paper back into focus. That didn't help. It still remained incomprehensible.
She glanced up, and met the eye of her maths teacher. Quickly dropping her gaze back down to the paper, she started to decorate the edge of it. May as well look as if she was doing something.
She didn't even care about school. She didn't want to be here, she'd been forced. But however bad it was, it had to be better than what they could have done to her…
Her hand trembled and the line she was drawing wobbled.
It was ten a.m. The GGs would be out tagging now. Tagging made her feel – feel like she was alive, or flying, or something corny like that. Just being able to do it, neatly and quickly and well, playing with colours, the smell of paint, leaving your mark so everyone knew you…
Her pen traced the outline of a Sweeter Than Sugar tag across the corner of the paper. It was dangerous, but she'd wanted to do this for so long…they didn't even let her draw or anything back at the foster home…She felt her muscles loosening, unknotting, spreading like the roots of a tree, growing down her arms and back, filling her with green gleaming energy.
She finished the Sweeter Than Sugar, and scrabbled for some coloured pencils.
Kabuki Jam…Theatre of Sound…she whispered the words in her mind, stroking the familiar shapes, then danced a swirl of green across the paper. Colour, yes, yes…she wished she had her paints, she could really go for it then. Turquoise. Emerald. Crimson. Violet. Paint the world. Paint this dumb classroom for a start, did they think it helped having nothing but grey and stale yellow in here?
She shaded in blue over a spatter of fractions, and stretched her aching fingers. Yes, much better. She felt like she'd laughed herself stupid, like she'd just heard the best music in the world, like she'd leapt off a high place and landed safely.
"Stop writing now."
The test.
Oh, shit.
Mew glanced down in horror at the paper, the paper blazing with colour, colour and nothing else.
I'm doomed.
Quickly she flipped it over. The teacher held out her hand for it. Mew reluctantly surrendered. Maybe she'd get away with this. Maybe.
"Now please take out your books and work through Exercise 9A. I will mark the tests and give you your results at the end of the lesson."
Mew's hands were shaking so much she could hardly open the book, and when she finally found the relevant work, it made no sense, her brain wouldn't take it in. Standing the book upright, she glanced over it at the teacher, who was marking quickly, the pen making little scratches on each piece of paper.
Maybe she won't find it. Mew felt the tension creep away a little. Maybe she'll turn over two by accident. It was silly to worry about this. Maybe nothing was wrong.
The teacher turned over a finished paper, and stopped. Mew's hands began to tremble again. She ducked her head to stare at the maths.
"Miyako, stand up."
Mew got nervously to her feet and tried to look innocent.
"What do you call this?"
The teacher held up the test paper. Mew heard people snickering, and closed her eyes.
"Don't just stand there pretending you haven't seen it. This is what rudies call answering a test paper?"
"I – I couldn't do the test," Mew whispered.
Because you're stupid, stupid, stupid…
"So you decided to scribble all over it instead?"
Mew didn't answer.
"I knew there would be trouble, having rudies in the classroom. Now listen, Miyako. You have been sent to us on probation. The way you're going, you'll be looking at the inside of a cell by Christmas."
"I'll – I'll try harder," Mew said. She could feel tears welling up inside her again.
"Why did you do this?"
"I – I – I couldn't do the test and I just wanted to make it look like I was doing something, and I just wanted to…"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake." The teacher walked over to Mew. "Do you really think you can go through life only doing what you want?"
Mew stared at her feet. A miserable, blurred reflection looked back at her from her shiny patent shoes.
"Miyako, will you look at me when I'm speaking to you?"
Mew quickly glanced up. "Sorry…"
The teacher ripped the paper down the middle, and dropped it on Mew's desk. "There. You'll retest this in three days time."
"What if I fail that?"
"I'll be contacting the authorities."
"No!" Mew felt the scream tear from her and hit the outside world like a bullet.
"I don't appreciate direct challenges like that." The teacher pointed to the torn tag on the paper.
"It wasn't a challenge," Mew snapped.
"Then I guess you're just stupid."
You're stupid, stupid, stupid…
"Shut up! Just leave me alone, can't you? It's not my damn fault I can't do anything except tag, just get off my case!"
She felt the tears rise, break, run down her skin. Through the burning haze covering her vision she saw people staring, whispering, laughing…
She pushed her chair back and ran out of the classroom.
Outside in the corridor it was cooler, and thank god, it was empty. Mew ran down it, and finally reached the main hall. She stopped outside the door, trying to catch her breath, trying to stop sobbing.
Footsteps. She dashed away from them, into the hall, and dropped down behind the pile of crash mats in the corner.
What would the others say? she thought at last, breathing in the warm smell of sweat and rubber. They'd laugh at you. You're the best off of any of them probably.
Yeah. Either off to jail, or if I do get through this, stuck in some second-rate job, no drawing, no tagging, and watched to check I'm not being subversive…
I hate this. I hate this. I want to go home…
Well, you can't, can you? You slipped up, and now it's one institution or another.
And that's that.
Combo stood tagging over an electric advert in Grind Square. The tag was shaping up good, but it wasn't making him feel better.
Don't start, he told himself. Don't start going on 'bout what you could've had. You're here now.
That was the problem. He was here now. The last member of Triple-C had come home to roost.
And Cube was back in Tokyo-to, damn her, and she was being stupid.
He finished the tag, but he couldn't bring himself to skate on. What was the point? Tag, skate, tag, skate. Maybe he'd been a rudie too long.
Don't keep fooling yourself, his thoughts muttered. You're stressed about Cube, admit it.
Well, why shouldn't I be? If she got caught her ass'd fry and you know it.
She won't get caught. She's careful.
Not when she's mad she ain't.
Anyway, quit thinking about her. I bet she ain't thinking about you.
The worry ate away at his heart like a – a coyote. Some sort of scavenging animal, anyway.
If only he hadn't said what he'd said. Then they might have been able to remain friends, at least. He could have checked she was okay. He wouldn't have felt so down he'd hightailed it back to Grind City.
And now only Garam was looking out for her. Combo's eyes narrowed as he stared up at the lilac sky. Like that punk could look after anyone. He couldn't even look after himself, let alone Cube. Not that Cube would ever admit she needed looking after.
And now anything could be happening and he didn't know shit.
Well, keep it that way, his mind said. Forget the GGs. Forget Tokyo-to.
He could do that. He could do that just fine.
He just couldn't forget Cube.
Not that he felt, like, that way about her. Yeah, right.
Well, he didn't.
He didn't!
And there was no point in thinking about it now. She'd made her choice. After what they'd said to each other she probably never wanted to see him again. They'd known each other for years and now she never wanted to see him again…
He'd wanted to tell her, once, that he, well, liked her. But then she'd started going with Coin. And Coin had been his best friend. And he wasn't gonna throw a spanner in the works of that relationship. So he'd stopped thinking about it. Thinking about her.
But then she'd started doing something really stupid, and he'd had to say something, because you didn't just let your friends – yeah, your friends, not anything else – you didn't just let your friends do things like that.
And she'd freaked. And so had he. And now here he was, an ocean away from her.
Loneliness was better. He stared round at the lights of the city. When Coin had disappeared, he'd carried on hoping right up to the end that he might come back. But no dice. So he'd mourned, and then he'd got over it, and he'd thanked his lucky stars he still had Cube, and now she was gone.
So distance yourself, dude. Forget it all. Grind City's not so bad. A lone rudie can survive.
And that's that.
Piranha lay on the sofa and gently stroked her pregnant stomach. What week was it now? The thirty-second? Which meant about eight left to go. Eight weeks. Fifty-six days. Who knew how many hours. Eight weeks until she became a mother.
I can't be a mother, Piranha thought. I mean, I just can't be. She wanted to giggle hysterically at this dumb joke. Her, having a baby! Yeah, right! It was so funny it was…it was real.
Her ankles were swollen too, and her breasts. You've just had the best years of your life, she told her body. From now on, it's downhill all the way. Back pains. Wrinkles. Lack of sleep. And absolutely, positively, no more skating.
She'd ditched her skates by now. It was all too dangerous.
She stretched out her bare feet, wriggled her toes. At times she wanted to cry when she realised what she'd let herself in for. Or she was angry at how things had spun out. No more GGs. No more skating. No more tagging – except as a cheap decorating source, of course. But then at other times she felt ridiculously, stupidly happy that she was having this baby.
It was probably just mood swings. Surely when the kid was born she wouldn't feel so crazy.
When it was born…she shivered, and all the films she'd seen with women in labour popped into her head. Screaming. Agony. Blood. Like a damn massacre.
She wished the other GGs could be here. They'd snap her out of this.
But they weren't. She was alone. They'd been not too happy with her about this. Not furious, just…sort of well-you-should-have-stopped-it. She'd tried, hadn't she? She hadn't asked for this either. She hadn't asked to be banned from being a rudie for the rest of her life. She hadn't asked to be left alone…
Piranha blinked back tears. Don't be so stupid. You're not alone, he didn't dump you, did he? He could've done. She'd expected him to. But he hadn't.
Piranha rested her head against the back of the sofa, and watched the golden dust hovering in the sunlight.
Eight weeks to go. Would it be just her and him when she finally had this baby? Probably. Who else cared?
Most of them can't get here anyway, she thought. Not unless they get parole in honour of the occasion.
And it's a stupid rose-tinted picture anyway, imagining them all turning up for you. Get a life, Piranha. You're grown-up now. Maybe you didn't want to be, but you are. And that's that.
Cube stood in the moonlight streaming through the French windows, squares of it cutting her into segments.
There was a lot of blood.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Cube murmured. "I've always liked red. And it goes so well with your sky-blue carpet, Mrs Toriyama."
The huddled shapes on the floor didn't answer. Cube shrugged. Walking over to the shiny mahogany table, she took an apple from the fruit bowl, and bit into it.
She knew how it should taste. She knew it should be a sweet, wholesome dampness.
But she couldn't taste it. She could feel it in her mouth, but the enjoyment factor was zero.
She glanced at her watch. Four minutes to midnight. She should get going.
But she didn't think she could face the other two just yet. Especially not Garam. He'd ask her how it went.
She'd tell him.
He'd look at her.
And she'd be frightened, because it was the look of someone staring at a monster.
And she wasn't a monster.
Just because Combo had looked at her that way when they'd argued, no, not argued, fought, rowed, brawled – just because he'd stared at her like that didn't mean she was a monster.
Clouds passed across the moon, and the light covering her went out. In the darkness you couldn't see that anything was wrong. That was good. Because nothing was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Nothing.
The gun was warm in her other hand, sticky with sweat.
She swallowed her mouthful of apple. If she brought the gun up to her head and fired, she could be out of here in seconds.
The clouds were pulled back, and the moon blazed out again.
There was a phone on the table. She could call the cops, sit down and wait till they came, let them take her away.
Or she could go back to the GGs. They'd be there for her, they would, they always would. They'd take her back. Then she could leave all this behind.
After what you said? I don't think so.
Besides, you know they deserve it really.
"I wonder if it was you who caught him?" she said out loud to one of the slumped shapes. "I wonder if it was you who broke his face with your little stick. I wonder what you did to him once you had him back at the station. No one cares about rudies, do they. No one but the rudies themselves."
She finished the apple, shoved the core into her pocket. No need to give them any more evidence.
"So you see," she said, walking towards the French windows, "I can't stop. Sometimes you just have to fight."
She opened the windows. The night air tiptoed in, ruffled the curtains, flicked over the pages of a book on the table, skimmed the pools of blood.
Cube turned back to look at her handiwork.
"I've got mad skills," she whispered.
Then she leapt out onto the patio, and was gone.
And that was that.
Slate paced the grey carpet of the hospital waiting room. There was a clock ticking and it was making him nervous.
She'd been in there three hours now. How long did it take to have a baby, anyway?
There were two other guys in here, he assumed waiting for their girls, or wives, to give birth. Nobody was speaking.
They were both, like, adults. Grown-up. One was in his forties, Slate guessed, the other late twenties. He felt like a kid next to them.
A kid who was about to be a father.
He'd always told himself that if and when he became a father he'd do it right. Not like his parents had. But now he wasn't so confident. Okay, he wasn't confident at all.
What if the child had his face? Looked like a freak? He'd love it all the same, and he guessed Piranha would too. She'd gone with him, hadn't she?
But no one else would. Ever.
It would be much better for it to not have his looks. Not to have any of him.
Some father you'd be…if it even gets your face it'll be screwed up for good.
But I won't make it ever feel bad about that, Slate promised himself. Ever. That's something I can do better than my own stupid family.
He couldn't seem to sit still, unlike the other two guys. He had to keep walking. He'd read all the posters in this room several times. At least he knew the symptoms of meningitis and what to do if you found someone unconscious.
Not that it was doing much for his peace of mind, all this warning of doom.
Was Piranha okay? Was this normal or was she meant to have been out by now? Maybe there was something wrong. Maybe she was gonna die, maybe the kid was gonna die…
Maybe he should stop thinking for a bit.
But I can't do this, his thoughts complained. I'm not smart enough, or old enough, or anything…
You think she's having an easy time of it?
She'd got really scared about actually giving birth. He wished he'd offered to go be with her. It couldn't be more stressful than being down here.
Here felt pretty lonely. He wondered what it'd have been like if they hadn't quit the GGs. If they'd stayed and she'd had her kid in the garage. Well, hopefully not literally in the garage, but…
If they'd stayed. The others would probably have made fun of them, but it mightn't have been that bad. It mightn't have been bad at all. And he'd have some company now, someone to stop him starting to think about what might happen.
It would have been bad, though, if Piranha had been out skating…and fallen or something…and had the baby too early…or if she'd been arrested…if Onishima or the paratroopers had shot her…if, if if…they'd had to leave…
He wished they hadn't. He was scared.
Piranha's got to face this stuff as well, you know.
Yeah, but he had to look after her and their child. It was either that or run off and forget them, and he wasn't going to do that. It would be so easy. It would be such a relief. But he wouldn't do it.
Yeah, he told himself, squinting in the harsh lighting. You gotta face it head on, all that stuff. And that's that.
The abandoned loft in Benten-cho was pretty cramped, but it had a great view of the city. Tab could see the district spread out beneath him like coloured stars.
But he didn't have time to spend on gazing. He had work to do.
He pulled off the gloves he was wearing, and switched on the computer. It whined softly as it booted up, and the screen glowed, illuminating Tab's face. As letters scrolled across the blackness, he stared into his own eyes, and grinned. If this worked, it would be…well, let's say satisfactory. And sweet. Revenge was always sweet.
The computer finished loading, and Tab opened a file and began typing.
Find TEMP…
Lucky the other Noise Tanks were all busy, leaving him alone. They'd want to join in, and then this wouldn't be his any more. Because he wasn't just doing this for kicks. He wasn't even just doing this for general rudie revenge.
No. This was specific.
Delete FILE00000HRDRV…
This would be the last time. After this he'd stop moping. He'd become the guy the Noise Tanks thought he was. A brainy kid who'd quit the GGs because they were too dumb for him.
Primary Master = Primary Slave…
And he'd never, never think about what he'd left behind again.
Typing the characters was like slotting bullets into a gun. Only cleverer. Any moron could slam a couple of rounds into their enemy. This took a bit more skill.
"Listen to yourself, Tabster." He smiled. "You're becoming that stuck-up kid already. Keep this up and everything'll be fine."
But it won't really, will it? Because you're still hurting.
FindData Banks Delete
The keys clicked in the empty loft. Tab's fingers were starting to sting with cold, but he ignored them. He could feel his mind predicting, considering, anticipating the technical havoc his commands were about to wreak. Everything had to be right. Each shining letter in its correct place. Sweet.
Thinking like a Noise Tank made it easier to pretend the GGs meant nothing. But not that much easier. Trying to forget it all made him want to scream, at himself, at the cops, at everyone. But he had to forget. There was nothing else he could do.
Except one last private attack, to avenge a friend.
Find= 64092Div54897…
Just a friend?
Delete All…
He has to be, now.
Goto inbox = attach file C:\Sigmasstuff\WLH send…
Tab closed his eyes a second. The screen had blurred and he knew it wasn't due to VDU problems.
Just get on with this. You get it right, that'll go some way to achieving payback. You get it wrong, no one's happy.
Goto inbox = attach file C:\Sigmasstuff\lunatic Send…
He was throwing everything he'd got at them. Just like they threw everything they'd got at him and his kind. Serve them right.
He could hear, very faintly, the shouting of some drunken partygoers, outside. And a cop's voice: "That's right, move along please, this is a public place."
Tab grinned. If this worked, it would be even more satisfactory that they'd stood right next to his building and hadn't even guessed.
Open Copy file C:\Sigmasstuff\doh
The screen was filled with lines of print. Illegible to most.
Finished.
He clicked on the Internet Explorer icon, and waited as the modem bleeped its tune into the darkness.
Nearly there…
He logged into Hotmail, began to type.
To: OnishimaS@police.net
Bcc: krokkaku@rokkaku.com
To Whom It May Concern…
"So I miss you," he said out loud. "Is that a crime?"
The attachment to this contains most of my notes on the rudie movements I have witnessed…
"But I've got to accept it. I don't think we're gonna meet up. Ever. That's if – if you're still alive."
I hope this is helpful to you, you dirty scum-sucking bastards…
Tab deleted the insults and finished the e-mail.
"You might be. But they'll have tried to make you spill, right? And if I know you you'll put up a bit of resistance…because…because you're you, okay."
Attach File…
"If you coped with that, you won't be in great shape. And I know the law. They don't let you out now till you're really crushed. And preferably over thirty."
File Attached…
Tab sighed again. "Well, here we are. Okay, get ready. This is the best virus I've been able to come up with. It does everything but play Happy Birthday when you switch the monitor on…hey, that's not a bad idea…but anyway. I hope you enjoy it, punks."
Send…
"Beat-sama, that's for you."
He shut down the computer, and moved away from it, back to the window. Benten-cho glittered. Slits of red, dots of orange, green and blue Japanese characters holding back the darkness.
This was his home now. He was a Noise Tank now. Beat was gone now.
And that was that.
Gum sat in the cell and wondered if kicking something would improve her feelings.
Her feet were bare now, so she decided not to. But it didn't help much. She was bubbling with rage. They'd caught her and she so, so, so didn't need this.
She started slapping the orange dust off her black top and jeans. Kogane factory yard was not a nice place to get arrested. She'd fallen down the heap of cars onto the ground and it felt like every inch of her skin was bruised.
Her forehead stung. She touched it and red came off on her fingers. Nuts. Now if you'd worn your helmet…
I'm sick of that old thing. What's wrong with wanting a new image?
They'd pulled her hair. That was the disadvantage of having it long. She twisted a few strands round her fingers, plaited it. The advantage was she always had something to fiddle with. Of course, it tangled easily, and it was much harder to wash, but…
She remembered what he'd said about it, and found herself smiling, heat rising in her heart.
Oh, honestly! You're in jail and all you can think about is love?
Or lust. Not love. He doesn't do love.
She was waiting here while they searched their records, to see if they could find three sightings of her being a rudie. If they could, it was wham, bam, in the slammer, ma'am, and that would be it.
That was why she was thinking about her hair, about guys, about whether to kick the wall. If she thought about the serious stuff, she'd start screaming. There'd been a kid in one of the other cells who'd done just that, yelled and yelled until they grabbed him out and dragged him into Onishima's office. Then it had all gone quiet.
Gum didn't want to draw attention to herself like that.
They'd find three sightings. If they could book Beat they could book her.
He'd been in five years. What had happened to him?
She remembered him, naïve or angry or fair or amiable, and then she heard someone crying out, and she shuddered, and the anger snarled up again. The bastards! They could've done anything to him and god damn it, he didn't deserve it! Her hands ached, she curled them into fists, smashing their skulls would be too good for them…
Stop it, she told herself. You sound like Cube and Garam.
At the thought of those two a chill ran through her body, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She knew what their little Mafia group was doing. Everyone did if they saw the newspapers. She couldn't bear to read what had happened to some of the victims. Especially the ones who'd been surprised in their homes, and had families. It was depressing reading anyway, but when you thought of people you'd known doing that – well, you didn't. Think about it, that is. It wasn't something you could take in.
She heard footsteps, and saw Onishima walking towards her cell. Before he could even speak she knew what he was going to say. He'd found the three sightings of her. She was toast.
That was that.
Yo-Yo swallowed another mouthful of beer, and wondered why there appeared to be two cars in the garage.
She'd gone. He'd lost her. He was a useless, idiotic rudie and he'd lost her. She'd never get out of there, how could he get her on his own? His own. He was on his own.
He was the last of the GGs.
"Oh, shit!" He threw the beer can across the garage, and it bounced off the sound system.
The last of the GGs, like the last of the dinosaurs. Or some other extinct spee – specci – sppeec – animal thingys. They'd all gone away and left him.
Another beer would be good.
He was in darkness. The window cast a square of light onto the floor, gold-plating the pizza boxes, chocolate wrappers, spray paint cans and magazines strewn across the floor.
At least when Gum had been here she'd tidied up a bit. She was no homemaker, but she made sure she had a good place to live.
All gone. He was all on his own.
He took another mouthful of drink, felt it burn its way down his throat. Any of the others would go in and rescue her. She'd go in and rescue her. He couldn't. He was too young, and he was quite possibly too drunk.
The youngest GG is the last surviving one, he thought darkly. That's ironinical. Ironish? Ironyese? The joking, pervert kid who never takes aaaaanything seriously.
Been alone for much of his life. Most of it, in fact. Could handle it now, right? But he missed the GGs. They were family. Family and friends and totally, completely gone.
And as for Gum…
Forget her. Maybe if I keep drinking enough, it'll all go okay again.
His mind thought that was a brilliant idea. Cos he was on his own now. Completely abanond. Adandened. Abadananaed – everyone else had gone away and left him.
And that was that.
Beat lay in the dark, trying not to move or make a sound. He knew he was probably safe at the moment. But it was best to make sure. Don't draw attention to yourself, and you might just survive this.
His arm was starting to throb, under the mess of bruises. It hadn't stopped hurting since this morning, when he'd once again practised saying 'I don't know anything.'
They didn't believe him, and why should they? They'd seen him in the company of other rudies. They had evidence of it, damn it, that was why he was here.
So they won't give up, will they? And sooner or later you'll tell them everything.
I won't. I won't, and they can't make me.
I think they can.
He closed his eyes against the sneering thought, but he knew it was right. Telling all was beginning to seem like such a nice option. So comfortable. So safe. Just say a few words, and they'd leave him alone.
And what would the others think about that? another voice demanded. You'd sure be out of a gang position then. That's the lowest thing you can do, selling out your friends.
Well, he wouldn't, that was all. Wouldn't say anything except 'I don't know.' Maybe they'd get real mad, and kill him, and the problem would be solved.
But if they didn't, this would go on, day after day, week after week, month after month…
Beat deliberately gripped his bruised arm, and the pain that screeched up it freed him from the thought. Take it slow, dude. One day at a time. All that shit.
Anyway, there's no point in complaining, on account of how it's your fault you're in here. Mr Trusting. Like some dumb dog. You never learn, do you?
The darkness was very thick. They'd given him a cell without a window, just in case someone tried a jailbreak. Which meant at night, i.e now, it felt like there was nothing but him, him and his bruises. He wanted light, natural light, not this electric stuff, he wanted a sky to skate under, he wanted weather, he wanted out of this life and this pain.
I want, I want, I want. That all you can do? Any of the other GGs could handle this better than you're doing. Gum'd keep fighting till they did kill her, Tab'd – Beat gripped his arm again until his ears rang from the pain, it was still better than thinking about Tab – Tab'd never stop hoping and keeping cool, Garam can handle angst like nobody's business, Mew's smart enough to manipulate the situation, Yo-Yo'd do something, not just lie here, they wouldn't even be able to scratch Combo, Cube's faced down much tougher shit than this, Piranha's got sense and sanity and they can't take that from her, and Slate can lock up his fears like Onishima's locked up you.
Face it, buddy, the voice continued, Any of the other GGs would make a better leader than you. They're all a bit more suspicious, for a start. They wouldn't have made that mistake in the first place, and then they wouldn't be here.
Maybe I should just sell them out, then, Beat snapped to the voice. If they're all so much better than me. Why bother? I'm a washed-up rudie and I'm never getting out of here.
He wondered what time it was.
Interrogation times varied. Sometimes it was the morning, sometimes the afternoon, sometimes even after lights out. Beat figured it was meant to unsettle him.
Most of the cops were actually okay. Not, like, cool or anything, but just doing their job. Some of them thought it was funny to hurt rudies. But Onishima…
Onishima was crazy.
The pain was making it hard to think about anything else now. Oh, well, sleep deprivation was supposed to work almost as well as controlled violence. More power to them.
Were the others all okay, though? What if he had said something, something he shouldn't have, he couldn't remember exactly what he had said. What if they'd been caught and he just wasn't being told? They'd think he ratted them out.
But I didn't, he cried out at them. I didn't, you're my gang, I may have failed as leader but I still wouldn't do that to you, would I? I didn't, I've got to believe I didn't.
Thirty years old I might get out of here.
Who'll know me then? It don't seem real any more, the GGs or outside or anything. Maybe I just dreamed it or something. Maybe there isn't anything out there.
He shuddered.
Keep quiet. Keep quiet and you keep safe.
And that's that.