Usual copyright information goes here. Ai no Kusabi does not belong to me, and I woe my fate.
Chapter 4: Bleed
"How much is it?" Guy whispered, pulling the hood of the black sweatshirt over his ears, trying to shield himself in the dark alley.
The tiny man in front of him slipped him the test tube with a plastic stopper. Guy held it up in front of his eyes and looked at the concoction – it resembled heavy carbon monoxide except for the fact that ever few seconds, blue-white threads of electricity sparked inside and cast cobalt rays on the dark walls and the man's blotchy skin.
"Five hundred credits," the man whispered back.
"If I find you you've been pulling my leg about what this thing is – " Guy pulled the stopper off with his teeth and spit it down on his feet. "How long will it last?"
"Half an hour. I have it for more than an hour if you like, but it'll cost you more."
"No thanks," he slipped the plastic bill into the man's hand and emptied the tube into his lips.
He had only the slightest of urges to empty his stomach as fluid went rampaging down his throat. But after a few seconds, the slight burning feeling in the pits of his stomach increased and felt like he'd swallowed a hot fluorescent light bulb still attached to its wires. He cried out in pain as a thousand burning needles shot through his veins and implanted their tiny silver bodies in the darkness of his mind.
He held up his hand and grinned in satisfaction as he saw only the fingerless gloves he wore and nothing else. He could still trust the old man – he was invisible. He shed his clothes at lightning speed and made a mad dash for Katze's working department. Even though he all the qualities a thief would gladly lose an eye for, he was still in danger. Whoever was still inside the lonely building might have heat-detecting devices attached to their guns – invisible quintessence formulas weren't unknown in the world.
He made his way in through the window and trotted into the room he was working earlier in, glad to find that the computer and his hacking machine were still intact and left alone. Even his mug of coffee that Katze had brought him rested undisturbed.
But he was sure he locked the door before…
Biting his lip, he plugged the hacker back into the terminal and allowed it download the research he had done. He froze as he saw shadows move from somewhere to the right of the door. Nearing panic, he silently prayed as the download meter hit 68%. If any of them saw the screen, he was already half dead.
"Did he kill anyone?" A heavy voice asked.
"No, but he seriously wounded a few."
"Did he look like one of Katze's workers?"
72%…
"They didn't think so," the other man said. "They couldn't come up with a clear description of him because he moved so fast. They did mention a long pony tail – "
"Long pony tail?"
89%
"His hair, sir."
"Damn," the first voice started to sound angry. "Now Katze's running loose, and there's that boy – worst thing they could do is start telling the other black market people what we've been doing," he swore. "Let's go…"
He nearly collapsed as the download completed and the screen resumed its original black screen. He waited until the shadows moved to jerk the hacker off the terminal. He covered it with his hair to prevent anyone passing by on the street to the see the hacker zooming over the street.
He trotted outside and threw the door open.
"There's something down there!"
A felt something burning hot pass his head and he recoiled from the bullet. He looked over his shoulder and saw a man looking down at the supposedly empty street and waving his gun. Guy started running again, and heard the man shout.
His foot crashed into a garbage can and he gasped as a searing white-hot pain shot through his side. He can't stop – not now. He stumbled back into the dark alley as he felt the needles inside his body dissolved – and his body returned to its normal state. He gagged and threw up the contents of the tonic inside the dark alley, and every spasm brought an incredible pain to the side of his body.
Breathing hard, he felt his side and hissed in pain. Fortunately, the bullet had only passed through the skin under his ribs, probably no deeper than an inch or two. He pulled on his pants and jacket and crumpled up his T-shirt to use as a bandage underneath his side.
And smiled triumphantly at whoever had tried to shoot him.
"Katze…"
No sooner than he had opened the door to his apartment, he felt a heavy hand slap him across his face and he crumpled on the floor. He took a staggering breath for air and hissed in pain as he found out he couldn't. He violently coughed and tried to stand up.
"Thought you'd inject me with a narcotic would you…" Katze stopped and fell down on one knee. "What happened?"
Guy peeled off his jacket, panting. "One of them tried to shoot me."
Katze glanced at the wound. "Doesn't look too deep."
"I know, but it need stitches. Help me up," He took Katze's arm and he helped him stagger into the bathroom. "Can you do at least sew if I tell you how?" He turned on the shower and winced in pain as water hit his wound.
Katze shrugged. "What choice do I have?"
Half an hour later, Guy collapsed down on the sofa and rubbed his forehead. Katze sat down next to him.
"Did you manage to get your things?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I don't know if they've already been into it or not," he said. "And I don't dare hook it up to my terminal here. It could alert an injected virus and they can find their way here. Who are those guys anyway?"
"Doesn't matter," Katze leaned his head back on the sofa and sighed. "Black market business isn't safe."
"You think I don't know that?" Guy raised an eyebrow.
Katze didn't say anything but pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. Mesmerized, Guy watched the small flame of ember burn brightly, like a star turning super nova – then calmed down to nothing but ash. A soft wisp of smoke curled in the air as Katze exhaled.
"So what's with this "bike race" tonight?" He asked after a long moment of silence.
"All the bike gangs get together every few months to race down a series of streets," Guy said. "There's absolutely no rule so you can play as dirty as you want."
"And the prize?"
"Money. Lots of it," Guy said. "But the price to pay – who knows if someone's going to jump from the shadows and shoot you? What if the entire police squad decided to chase you down?"
"You've won any of them?"
"A couple of times. Riki broke his arm in three different places and his leg in one of them," Guy hesitated. "It's risky business, but when you're living in a slum – "
"The pleasure of outsmarting the horrors that comes along with it gives you a thrill, doesn't it?"
"Something like that, I guess. I don't have a life."
"So are you going to go?"
"I can't race like this, and neither can you," Guy said, touching his wound. "But I'm going to go down tonight and watch. You're coming as well."
Katze raised an eyebrow. "Why would I want to go?"
"You'd rather stay here alone and wait for those guys to come down and kill you?"
"And it's safer hanging around a bunch of street rats that don't know the difference between a knife and a fork?"
"Let me tell you this – it's safer hanging around a pack of street rats armed with firepower. There's nothing more they hate than seeing people that are better off than they are, and they'll shoot anything that looks rich to them…" he paused to look at Katze. "Maybe a more street-kid look will help you blend in a bit."
"I'm not going. Since when did I become your responsibility?" Katze speared his cigarette down on the table.
"Since I've operated on you. Get moving. You need to stop looking like you've been living among the elites."
The sun had set and had thrown a dark curtain over the sky. It was a cold night – strangely cold, so cold that Guy could see his breath coming out in small white puffs as he raced across the dark street. He turned into a quiet road and into an unfinished bridge.
About five or six bike gangs had already arrived, along with a throng of spectators ready to watch the show. Barrels filled with fire were scattered to provide warmth and light and a stereo was blaring music.
But the sight that was worth seeing was Jake, the Race Master. All the years that Guy knew him, he was the only man that was responsible – and the only daring person to host the races. He collected entry fees from each of the bike gangs and in returned, gave the reward, which was actually a small sum compared to all of the entry fees added together.
He was seated on a makeshift "throne" constructed from broken motorcycle parts and other mechanical parts from cars and hardware burned together. The wires and different types of metals, wires, and gears gave the accommodate an eerie look of a throne constructed from the bones and flesh of different animals. Two young boys wearing leather, probably still in their early teens and possibly stolen pets, were chained to the throne.
If there were any aristocrats in the slums, Jake was it. His muscular legs were clad in expensive leather pants, stolen good from the looks of it, and tucked into heavy studded black boots. Despite the cold, he wore a stretched black muscle tank over his torso and nothing else, showing off the numerous tattoos and embedded metal on his flesh. His face, although strangely handsome in a cruel way, had a long jagged white scar running over his left green eye. His hair was straight and raven black, falling to his shoulders and shielded his face as he silently observed the crowd in front of him.
Guy parked his motorcycle and felt Kazte slid off his behind him. He looked over and grinned. "You fit in perfectly," he said as he turned the machine off.
Katze tried to hide his scowl as Guy observed him. Dressed in leather pants with a studded and worn black leather jacket over his upper body and a bandana underneath his red hair, he blended in perfectly with the rest of them. Guy picked up a bottle of stout from an icebox and walked up to Jake.
"Need I bow down to the Race Master?"
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Are Bison going to take another victory again from the rest of us humble bikers?"
"I'm just here to watch."
Jake smiled. "The gangs are going to be disappointed they're not going to have a challenge, the meeker ones are going to be glad," he lifted his own bottle of stout. "Your team's a legend – the Bison, led by Riki the Dark. A living legend."
"What's the prize?"
"A choice of one of these two," Jake jerked one of the chains holding a lithe blonde pet, stumbling the boy down on his knees. "And ten thousand credits. Tempted yet?"
"No thanks."
"Suit yourself."
Guy walked back to Katze and leaned against his motorcycle, tipping the rubber bottle to his lips. "Some show, huh?"
"This is the only entertainment you have in your life?"
"I don't have a life. But then, growing up in the slums doesn't exactly provide you with class-A entertainment you get from watching pets suck on each other," he tossed the bottle somewhere behind his back and rested his entire weight on the motorcycle, trying to ignore the stinging sensation of longing to lash out at Katze's face with his fist. He bit his tongue instead and tasted blood.
Katze didn't answer him back, but watched the arriving troops of motorcycle gangs with mild interest. In a few minutes, the air turned reasonably warmer from the arriving machinery and the amount of fire barrels burning. Bottles of liquor were broken on unsuspecting heads; a knife fight was started between two teenagers, menacing laughter echoed through the air. Jake silently smirked at the crowd on his throne and stroked his lips with one hand, his eyes glittering with bloodlust and excitement.
Absolute chaos.
Except for a sound of a bazooka sending it's fiery contents into the dark sky, there wasn't a single warning for the start of the race. More than a dozen gangs of five members shot down the unfinished highway.
Guy grinned at Katze. "It'd no fun watching them from up here. You want to ride on the sidelines?"
Katze faced him and spit out the cigarette in his mouth. "And get killed?"
"Hey, who was so hotshot about racing this morning anyway?" Guy kicked a long leg over his motorcycle and felt the magnetic engine whirling into life, lifting him up in the air.
"It was my idea…"
"Fine," Guy twisted the handles and felt Katze grabbed his waist and swung up behind him. He winced as he followed the distant taillights from the motorcycles racing and he struggled to control the bike with the unexpected weight. He kicked it into balance and increased speed. He swung into an invisible path, shadowing the racing bikes.
"Shit!" Katze shouted as one of the motorcycles suddenly lost its balance and crashed into a parked car dangerously close to them. Grunting with the effort, Guy managed to swerve away before the whole thing exploded. He felt Katze's head on his shoulder as they bent away from the flames and debris.
"That's just the primary – level," Guy grunted. "Wait till you get near the end of the race."
Silently, he felt Katze tighten his hold around his waist.
Without a single forewarning shout, two men hidden in the shadows of an alley leapt out on the street and scattered what looked like silver cans down on the middle of the asphalt.
"Shit – battery gas!" Guy increased his speed, racing past the other bikes before the cans exploded, sending showers of acidic gas over the bikers. Only fifteen riders managed to work their way past the burning chemical. Guy slowed down at a bridge and came to a stop.
Two of the bikes burst into flames and exploded as they neared the end, shooting fire into the sky and sending dismembered limbs of the riders into the river down below. Guy took a deep breath and wiped the sweat off his face with a gloved hand, observing the scene. Slowly, as if quietly disappearing into the dark night, the red lights from the remaining riders vanished along with the distant sirens of the police approaching.
"That could've been you," Katze whispered.
"What?" He turned around in his seat and looked at Katze's face. It was expressionless, but the strange look in his eyes sent a cold chill down the bones in his spinal cord. The other man slid off and slowly walked to the burning remains of the two motorcycles.
"Katze?" Guy swung off and trotted after him. "What is it – "
"It's could've been you," Katze said. "Those kids that died – the explosion – the gas – it could've been you. You could've died all those years you spent, riding the streets of hell. Your life thrown away. And none of this would've happened."
"Katze…"
"You don't understand," Kazte slammed his hands on the rusting railing of the bridge, bending his head over so his red hair shielded his face from view. "If only you've died on one of those mad chases, Riki wouldn't have died, Iason wouldn't have died – this is ALL OF YOUR DAMN FAULT!!" He threw his head up, gasping for air and suppressing a dry sob back down his throat. His entire body shook madly and he gripped at the railings, trying to stop the mad shaking. "All of your fault! You – fault! Ah – "
He crashed down on the ground, silent. Guy felt nothing but a sharp white pain running through his brain, and he leaned against the railing, his heart exhausted. He covered his mouth with one hand and sobbed into it while he bit down on his lip. Blood tricked down on his chin.
"It might be better if I just end it all," Katze said, standing up. "I'd jump off this bridge right now if it wasn't for one thing."
Guy removed his hand and faced Katze. He silently stepped up to him and ran his thumb over the thin trickle of blood running down his chin. "I'll die after I see you turn this mess of a utopia into something real. Something human."
He stepped close to cut off the distance left between them and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, leaning his forehead on Guy's shoulder. Guy slid his own arms around Katze's waist and held him without a word.
He didn't know how long time had passed. It didn't matter.
He could nearly hear Katze's heart bleed as he continued to hold him, the warmth of his forehead spreading through his jacket and onto the skin of his shoulder. Somewhere in the darkness and the coldness of the night, a frozen jewel broke and shattered. His soul. Or Katze's. He didn't know.
He pushed Katze back a few steps and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Let's go home."
Katze slipped his arm around his waist as they walked back to his motorcycle.