When looked on by an outsider, the people of New York City were the anomalies of the world.

But, like everything else in life, there were exceptions, of course.

The anomalies were not the rich businessmen of the city, who strutted down the street with black leather suitcase in hand, or the twiggy model who, having starved herself for infinite years, was now only hungry for fame. Not the bum who slept by the side of the richest bank in the world with a cardboard sign for food or money hanging loosely on the handle of a cup, or even the scam artists who opened their loaded coats to reveal stolen items that a person could buy "at a low, bargaining price".

Instead, the anomalies were the people who thrived in the back alleys and in the pulsating nightclubs. The people who wept with open sores from needles contaminated with HIV, hepatitis, and other diseases that names had not discovered, all while rubbing their swollen bellies that had developed either from the great amounts of alcohol they consumed or from their abusing boyfriend's sperm. They were the teenagers who danced in whirling leather jackets on tabletops, trashing clubs and screaming obscenities before gunning the engine of their stolen vehicle and disappearing into the night; the stringly covered teenagers who sat on men's tabletops, flashing tightly packed breasts or fleshy asses, or even the young males who had been reduced to scenes of opulent humiliation for the amusement and pleasure of those from above. They were the babies who shrieked in the middle of the night, crying out from hunger and pain, as their tiny hands clawed the air spasmodically, wanting nothing more than to be held. Ultimately, though, their cries were forever deafened by the angry beating of a human bear claw that struck the child back into the heaven from which it came.

These were the people: the sex slaves, the abused children and women, the merciless pedophilias. These were the claimed anomalies.

Yet, despite their reputations, these were the normal people of the world, who were scorned and degraded by the true monsters in the world's basement. And, it was with the normal anomalies I made my home in New York City, and felt, for one of the few times, that life wasn't nearly as bad as everyone assumed it to be.

I resided in an abandoned apartment building where walls were tinted brown with dried blood and what could have been feces, while puddles of slime and urine gathered in corners. At least one murder or suicide was committed each night, which seemingly surprised nobody. When the gunshots ricocheted down the hallway followed by staccato screeches, I would rapidly snap forward in my rickety bed, remembering nights long ago when gunshots used to wake me in the middle of the night as well. Eventually, though, I would drift off into a fidgety sleep, clutching my gun fiercely and keeping one eye opened at all times. Although these people seemed to fear and respect me, I knew that many crimes could be committed out of fear, and I couldn't take a chance that they would decide to turn on me.

On the third night, during which I was sitting on the decapitated windowsill and watching the gangs gathering below for their midnight hunt, there was a knock on the door that nearly caused the whole room to cave in. "What?" I grunted, not bothering to turn around-but reaching inside my coat to place my hand over the handle of my gun-as the door creaked open.

"You help?" the tinny voice that entered the room asked. "Momma say you smart…that you know many things." After lingering a minute longer, I turned my head to find myself in the presence of a young Asian female. She was malnourished with the onset of jaundice overtaking her skin and had purple scars on her legs, but her eyes held their position defiantly, daring me to kill her.

"Help with what?" I snapped, hating to be disturbed.

"Baby," she responded in her broken English and started to twist the thin shirt that hanged sloppily off her fragile shoulders. "Sister. She have baby. We don't know what to do."

I gave an indignant snort. "You want me to help? With a baby?" I leaned back against the windowpane, loosely reclining on the sill so the temperate air kissed my jacket before clawing her tangled hair. "Why should I? It'll just die here anyway."

The girl, now appearing rather distressed, bit down on her bottom lip and rubbed the top of her bare foot with the other. "We pay."

"No."

"Please…we pay good."

"With what?" They had nothing that I would be interested in. Money was no object to me, nor was sexual gratification, for I could receive both with more ease than should have been permitted. The only thing I truly needed, though, was another servant for the Blue Lady. Since Jack's arrival from the dead, I had sunk into a low state of depression and had been neglecting my duties to serve Her. She was becoming impatient with me, and I feared Her anger would ultimately destroy me, sending me away from the Good Place.

"We pay," the girl repeated in the same blatant tone.

"No."

"Please…my sister…the baby…die."

Finally, overly exasperated with her chirping, I sighed, retracting my hand from my coat. "If I help, will you leave me alone?"

"Yes, we leave alone."

"Fine," I groaned irritably. "Lead the damn way." I didn't want to help her. I didn't want to help any of them, but since I didn't feel like murdering the kid just to get her out of the picture, I figured I might as well check out this doomed baby. Besides, with the baby's innocence, perhaps Her impatience with me would be lifted.

The little girl smiled eagerly and reached for my hand. Her tiny fingers had just clasped my thumb and forefinger when I harshly snapped my hand away from her and glared down at her. "I didn't say you had to touch me…just start walking."

My cruelty seemed to have unfazed her as she turned down the hallway with me in tow. Outside of my room, the apartment seemed no different in the scenery of unknown muck and grime. The only exception to the similarity was part of the hallway that was burned down, and the little girl pointed at it, glancing back to make sure I was still following. "We had fire couple weeks ago."

"Oh," was the only closely intelligent response I could give her while I patted my chest pocket just to make sure that the guns were in their original position; a drunk pissing in the hallway had given me the finger, saying that he was going to come after me. I'd murder the son of a bitch, though, before he would have a chance to even zip his pants up; nevertheless, I needed to reassure myself every once in awhile that I was safe from these people. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the little girl and I arrived outside of a room where horrendous moans echoed forth. "Sister," she chirped. "Sister have baby."

"Just get out of the way," I growled and pushed past her into the room, where a rather beautiful Asian woman, who must have been the sister, squirmed on a bed, muttering in her native language what resembled obscenities. She repeatedly cursed in English as well, most likely angry that her pimp's condom had broken. Next to her, a Chinese prune of a woman cooed soothing words, stroking the sweaty hand of her daughter, and looked up as I entered.

"You come! Good, you come! You help."

"Help? Look..." I scoffed, holding up my hands in protest. "I don't know anything about babies."

"No. You smart boy. You know."

Arching an eyebrow as to where she drew her assumption, I stated bluntly, "I was told that I'd be paid."

She paused her frantic chattering and smiled through rotten teeth that hanged in a cigarette yellow mouth. "You be paid." Her words, though, were more like a threat than a promise, but I told myself not to worry about people with bad hygiene.

I groaned, unbelieving that I had actually abandoned my comforting room only to be stuck with a bunch of pigs who didn't even have enough common sense to deliver a baby. As I crouched down at the foot of the bed, I glanced over at the mother, who was starting to panic me in her leering grin. I ignored her and focused on the task at hand.

Around the base of the sister's spread legs that were covered with a blanket, a dark stain was smeared on the dirty mattress. She bit down on her lower lip, suppressing a scream, before glancing back up to me. Her eyes were electric with fear, and she reminded me of a terrified animal before the slaughter.

"Have the contractions started yet?" I asked her, hoping that the payment they planned to give me would be worth this shit. All I really wanted was to be back, sitting on my windowsill and wondering if that punk in the alley would be dead before morning. I couldn't believe a prized X5 soldier was learning how to deliver babies in the slums of New York City. God, next I'd be playing a pimp to the prostitutes, too.

"Yes, yes, contraction start."

"Water broken?"

Her body instinctively contorted, and she reached for her mother's gnarled hand on the edge of the bed, before she nodded her head, affirming my question. The little sister leaned on the doorway, pressing her gaunt face against the slimy wood, apparently not surprised by the labor scene as if she had seen it before; she failed to notice the rat scampering around her bare feet.

"What is the problem, then?" I questioned, glancing from senseless mother to daughter. "As far as I'm concerned, everything seems to be fairly normal. Water broken, contractions-"

"Baby," the mother interrupted. "Baby no come."

"What?"

The daughter pointed to her bulging belly, which quivered underneath a sheet so thin it was practically transparent. "Baby not move."

"Great…" I grumbled, rolling my eyes up at the same time I did my sleeves. Before starting, I turned to the mother. "I'm being paid for this, I hope you know."

She nodded so earnestly that her whole body bobbed. "You paid. Yes, yes."

Still unbelieving that I was actually kneeling in front of a pregnant woman in full force labor, I lifted up the sheet. Not surprisingly, she didn't seem offended in the least that a male was viewing her naked lower half, but then again, I forced myself to remember what her day job was, and continued onward.

In Manticore, we had escaped before finishing up our mandatory human anatomy unit, so my knowledge of pregnant females was limited to what I had learned on the streets-which, in truth, wasn't a whole lot. Yet, apparently, I seemed to know more than the frightened Asian women who watched me in fear and wonder as if I was some type of immortal god.

"Everything looks fine…opening's dilated…I don't see why the baby's not moving," I told no one in particular.

"Baby hurt," the sister whimpered.

"Yeah, well, getting yourself fucked over by a rich lawyer will do that to a person," I mumbled into the bed sheets as I wondered how to coax a baby out who preferred the internal cavity of its mother.

There was a stark silence before the mom awkwardly blurted out in her squeaky voice: "Not lawyer."

I glanced upward to meet her raging eyes that were ready to rip my heart out, and she curled her shriveled lip into an ugly sneer as she repeated, "Not lawyer."

"Then who?" I snapped back, annoyed that she, the misfit peon, was challenging me. Nobody, especially, she, the stupid woman who knew nothing about life could rise against me. "Construction worker? Bartender? Actor? Doc-"

"Daddy." Like a bullet screaming out of a gun, all of the heads in the rancid room whipped in the direction of the little girl who stood cowering by the doorway, her eyes large and red with tears. "Daddy did this."

With that comment, the mother rose to her feet and hobbled over to the girl, pinching her by the upper arm and hissing in what sounded like Chinese. Since there was no door to slam shut, I could easily hear the sounds of angry slaps as the mother repeatedly hit the child. Not understanding their native language, I looked upward from my crouched position to see the sister sadly watching the hallway scene.

"Momma not happy," she whispered, forgetting that she was supposed to be giving birth.

I gave a dull grunt, listening intently to the furious words of the mother and screams of the little girl.

"Momma no!" Some hissing in whatever mundane language they spoke. "Please...Momma!" This time only slaps, then a crumbling sound as the little girl inevitably hit the floor of the hallway. "He good, Momma, he good..." But her brave words were ignore by the fury of the mother who continued her horrid beating.

At that moment, now punched in the face with realization of the abuse children went through, I began to wonder why Zack always insisted that our childhood was bad.

In the distance, the shrieks subsided just as the sister's contractions started up again, and the birth canal opened enough for me to see that the baby may have been positioned right, but it needed some extra help.

Meeting the sister's sweaty eyes, I ordered, "You've got to push this baby out-got it?"

She nodded weakly, and, clasping the sides of the rickety bed, started what appeared to be a dull attempt at pushing. Finally, after a few seconds, she sighed heavily and shook her sweaty head as wet flaps of hair hit the side of her head. "I can't."

"Try," I hissed.

Again, she tried, but her attempts were all in vain, for nothing appeared to be happening from my viewpoint. This time, tears came to her eyes as she grimaced at me. "It hurt…I-I can't."

Flashing upward to my feet, I whipped out my knife faster than she could follow and waved it menacingly at her. "Listen to me," I growled under my breath so the mother wouldn't hear me, "you push like your goddamn life depends on it or else I'll slit you from chest to bottom, and I'll get the baby out!"

Terrified, she shrank back against the bed, but began to shove like her life truly did depend on it. I intently watched and timed the contractions so I could order her to push when one would hit her frail body. Suddenly, there was a baby's piercing cry as a tiny head poked out of her body, and the sister choked back a startled gasp. Rushing around to the foot of the bed, I gently helped to ease the baby out of her as the mother came staggering in, followed by the younger sister.

"A boy!" the mother laughed joyfully, seeing the baby which thrashed in my bloody hands. The knife, although tucked away my coat once again, remained fixated in the sister's mind, and I notice her panicked eyes examining me as I handed the baby to the mother. After wiping back the black hair of the child, the mother went over to sit by her daughter and they cooed over the baby together, obviously pleased with the work that I had done.

Wiping my bloody hands on my black jeans, I exited the room, nearly oblivious to the little girl who followed me. In my own room, I returned to my original spot on the windowsill, seeing that the gang was still swearing and fighting below. Just as I had pulled out a cigarette to help ease my frazzled nerves, the little girl chirped, "Thank you."

"For what?" I mumbled, lighting the cigarette between my lips.

"For helping my sister. She happy and…Momma happy, too." I looked over at her, replacing my lighter, and noticed new bloody bruises up and down her arms, accompanied by the swelling of her lower lip. Her mother may have been a monster by giving her such external wounds, but I had a suspicion that the father gave her internal wounds to finish the job of full child abuse

"Yeah, whatever…" I blew a stream of smoke outward, finally relaxing, and personally pleased with the work I had accomplished. After all, I would have liked to see Zack try to deliver a baby. This thought produced a chuckle from me, and the little girl stared at me queerly, cocking her head like a dog.

"What your name?" she asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Your name." She laid a hand over her scrawny chest, where a stain of drying blood showed through. "Me Lia."

I paused, examining her childish innocence, and I realized just how similar she was to Jace back at Manticore. Like my long ago colleague, Lia was scared on the inside, strong on the inside, and her hellish gaunt features covered it all. "My name's Ben," I answered.

"Ben…" she mused, then smiled. "Ben. I like it."

"It works, I guess."

A long pause followed in which there was a scream in the alley below, and a person collapsed to the ground, holding his chest, while the rest of the men darted off into darkness. Lia, though, accustomed to the horrors of street life merely carried on without notice. "Ben?"

"What?" I groaned, inhaling cigarette smoke.

"You help me again? Protect me?"

"From what?"


"From my daddy."