Circle of Fate and Pain
by Elliot Bowers
Chapter 9—Dark Pains of Contamination
1.
"Okay, it's nearly noon," said the blonde-haired cyborg-woman--a tall and beautiful female figure standing at the door, long blonde hair to go with her looks. A cyborg could have a body as physically attractive as desired--so long as there was the money to buy it. And from the looks of her, the cyborg-woman clearly had the money for that sort of thing.
She had money because she was the current co-owner of this night club. Also happening right now was her trying to balance mercy with impatience in dealing with the sleeping man on the floor. "You've had your indoor rest. Now that you're done sleeping off your hangover or whatever, it's time for you to get out to go do whatever it is that you do. So come on! Up with you and stuff!" She waited until Jack Bent was standing up and able to walk before saying anything else.
Jack Bent eventually got to his feet and barely knew where he was this time--another day waking up somewhere else, this afternoon. This was the storage-room of the club--concrete floor beneath, with boxes and beer kegs along the left and right walls. It was no place really fit for a fleshie to sleep. Yet here Jack was after paying the cash to have spent the night. And the sight he saw was a welcome one to his very male brain.
Cyborg though she was, Jack Bent felt himself become reinvigorated by just looking at her body. Her clothes exposed some lengths of her body while clinging to the rest... A tight leather skirt clung to hips and thighs, belted at the flat and articulate abdomen--the midriff exposed, and a tight whithe top clung to the shapes of breasts. Dark shoes fit her feet at the ends of nicely shaped legs. She was indeed beautiful--so long as one never-minded the fact that her body was made of metal parts. Her face was of synthetic flesh and elegant, a smooth synthetic face framed with long blonde hair from the scalp.
Her body is electromechanical with an alloyed exterior, you horny dope, insisted part of the thinking components of his mind. Except the thinking parts of his brain were not being heard at the moment. How can you have sex with a body of cyborg-and-robot-metal--unless she's equipped for that? And not all cyborgs are!
After last night in the nightclub's main room, hanging around long after Kyrie left, he needed to get off to somewhere and go to sleep. The night before last was him sleeping in a factory. This time, it was a one-night deal at the night club itself. He got up off of the mattress he'd made from lost clothes--feeling a wee bit off-balance. Root beer, it was only root beer, he thought to himself as he went unsteadily towards the door. That cyborg-woman pushed the door open wider, her back to it.
She was quite a sight to his male brain... He stepped past with his right arm close to himself to avoid brushing against the cyborg-woman's chest, which was hard to do--an effort to keep from actually touching. The front of her elastic, abdomen-baring top filled out quite nicely with twin shapes. The top did not hide much at all. So why should a cyborg wear clothes at all? The curves of her body were just shaped metal, but cyborgs were still conscious of their bodies--which was why most cyborgs still wore clothes instead of walking around naked. Most, not all, because some cyborgs just didn't care. They were just electromechanical bodies with articulated joints where necessary. All the same...
Right now, a female cyborg--definitely female--was standing with her slender back to the door and holding it open, standing in the doorway itself. It took that extra bit of effort to get past the beautiful cyborg-woman. And he took that extra effort and stepped through sideways. Or maybe she wanted him to touch...? Oh, and of course, cyborgs still had human brains, and human brains thought of that sort of thing as well.
He was out in the short hallway and had both hands on the metal door of this rear exit. "Wait a minute," said the female cyborg, her voice suddenly becoming less than cheerful. "I didn't forget... I noticed you staring at the girl last night. You know who I'm talking about. Just so you know, the girl is taken. You just have to know that."
She's not taken in the way I'm thinking, thought Jack Bent. He thought that, said aloud, "Well... I can look, can't I? She's probably the cutest thing for hundreds of miles around--so petite and pretty, with long pretty hair... Like a living doll, you know? And those big gold-colored eyes of hers have a way of getting attention. I can't help but to stare."
"Hey! What are you, some kind of stalker!" exclaimed the cyborg-woman. Anger burned into the edges of her voice. There was then the sound of her putting her hands on her leather-covered hips, followed by the sound of her increased anger. "Listen, you fleshie loser... I can't tell the Factory anything about you because you haven't done anything yet. But I can sure as Hell keep you away from the girl while she visits this club! Look, she's barely even an adult. Some of us are thinking she can't grow up at all...because of her illness. Her father left her when she was younger! Left her alone! So guess what? We all in this neighborhood look out for her. It's so we can keep creeps like you from getting the wrong ideas." The cyborg-woman crossed slender metal arms. "Besides, Kyrie isn't interested in boys. Not at all. To think I let you sleep here and felt sorry for you! Now we all know better."
Jack Bent stood there gripping the handle of the exit-door. Oh yes, city people looked out for each other. This was a land without institutions like schools or police--at least, not for those who lived on the lands beneath the floating city of Zalem. Young ladies like Kyrie could actually live and be safe in places like Scrap Iron City because their local community was always watching for trouble. And right now, someone of that community was doing some of that watching.
He actually was supposed to be one of those people to look out for--put under contract to take Kyrie and send her intact body up to Zalem. It was supposed to be Kyrie's body, not necessarily alive: just well-preserved and shipped up. No... No... No... Jack Bent didn't want the girl to be hurt. He didn't want to hurt the girl--so precious, so delicately beautiful and cute. And she was smart.
Kyrie was one of those good and wonderful people who make the world just seem better and more beautiful. He would never hurt her. But he did not say that to the cyborg-woman standing behind him. Click-clack. He pushed open the door to step out into the side-alley that flanked this club.
"Don't come around here anymore!" shouted the cyborg-woman after him. The angry shout rang in his ears as he stepped onward. This brought him into the alleyway at the side of the club, where beer-kegs and club food stocks were brought in. No use hanging around here anymore, so he walked towards the mouth of the alleyway. Walking out there brought him into the brightness of the city afternoon.
Thoughts bearing down on him, the sun glaring down, Jack Bent began his walk. There was nowhere in particular he had to go at the moment. He could go wash himself and his clothes at the clinic--health clinics for fleshies--for a nominal amount of money--a few credits. Or he could just go buy some clean clothes whenever his current set of duds became too foul. Most people seldom noticed or cared if he did get too dirty.
Though generally homeless, most fleshies kept themselves and their children clean somehow-finding pipes to open and big tubs that were once parts of machines--washing clothes and bodies in that water. They did that even if the water available was tainted with chemicals that may or may not be toxic. Some people were just dirty and didn't care. As for drying, the bright sun was good for that. This city was in a desert region. Then again, most of the land was desert nowadays except for the occasional city or farm. The Scrapyard region didn't even count--that landscape of metal junk and hills.
Clean clothes, a shower or bath, those were things to try and get away from being dirty. Or maybe his struggle for better cleanliness was also him trying to wash away the grotesque guilt of what he was hired to do? The kidnapping and murdering of an innocent girl, just the every-present thought of doing so, still weighed on him and pressed into his mind.
In the afternoon light of the city, he felt very much exposed. The hot light of the sun illuminated everything, sunlight glaring through the slightly toxic haze of the city sky. Night-time was his preferred time because it did so much to conceal what a person did not want to see. A person could hide in shadows if one did not want to be found. Also, people in positions of authority were always more likely to cause a person trouble during daylight hours. Jack Bent was in trouble with certain kinds of authority--particularly one kind of authority from Zalem. It was not that he wanted to deal with them in the first place. No, the man just wanted to do what was necessary to earn money enough to get by without having to resort to the means everyone else did.
There was not much going on in terms of traffic--on the street or along this sidewalk. The sidewalk, it was something to look at while walking with his head down. It was not that the man really had a particular desire to look ahead in going somewhere. Where was he going? There was no particular direction in mind.
Then a pair of better-dressed cyborgs were talking the amazing crashes and blasts of destruction that happened last night over at the Motorball Arena. Maybe he ought to follow them just because there was nothing else for him to do around here--besides kidnapping and murder. So follow them he did. It did not take too much of an effort to just get in step with them.
Murder did not have to be a big deal. It happened over at the Motorball circuit again and again: fiery destruction as the cyborg competitors speeded around that great big track at speeds that sounded ridiculous. Why the Hell would anyone want to go around in circles and risk death repeatedly? It was for the purpose of getting that ball along the track and to the end. Those that failed and lost died in fiery explosions of sparks and flying metal body parts. Around and around... Or had he thought of this yesterday?
These two guys in business suits, they were some big-and-important people related to the Motorball business. The Motorball players zoomed around that great big track and risked their lives each and every game, while the hard-working mechanics and coaches kept the players--the surviving players--wise and in good repair. Oh yeah, it was pretty much like the way things were in Scrap Iron City overall: All the people who did the real hard work were paid enough to keep them happy, while the people in charge wore business suits told everyone else what to do...and took most of the profits.
Just then, something changed with the two businessmen that Jack Bent was following. One of them glanced back at him--as if he was preparing to attack and rob them of money. It was that sort of look used by rich people in looking down on fleshies and Scrappies who were not rich. Jack Bent was too familiar with that look after having seen it too often.
Wilting under that glare, he stopped, turned to face the street. He didn't need people staring at him as if he was the worst loser in the world. That was because he already knew that he was the worst loser in the world--thank you very much!
Traffic was going by along the street--trucks going by--their heavy wheels rumbling along as their payloads were weighed down with goods along the street. Those trucks were always going to and from places around this time of day--transporting clothes for shops or wine for the clubs. Those trucks could do a lot of damage to someone caught in the street. If he so happened to be in the path of one of those trucks, there would be a hard thwack, then everything would black out--the end of his story. So he took a step forward as a particularly fast-moving truck was going along the city street...
Fwa-a-aa-rk-k-k! The gigantic vehicle just barely roared past him--the horn going with it. He could feel the air with the vehicle's passing--coming less than a meter from himself. The truck driver shook a metal fist at him while screaming something. Jack Bent felt that shaky and light feeling of fright blasting through his mind and body. That really was close.
He eventually made it to the other side of the street--though maybe he would have been better off not doing so. Jeez McCheese! Did he just come close to killing himself? The man didn't even have the courage to do that! So he did not have the courage to do his current job, and he did not have the courage to do himself in.
"Jack Bent!" came a man's shout from somewhere behind along this sidewalk. He did not bother to turn to see who it was. All that mattered was why someone just shouted his name. It was likely another thug sent by the criminal underbosses of big ol' Scrap Town. The way things were going for him these days, the owners of the shouted voice would likely not be at all friendly. "Hey you!" went that loud voice, again being loud--very loud. One thing about cyborgs' voices was how they could be very loud and still be very understandable--easy for cyborgs to yell like Hell at a person. Cyborgs didn't need portable microphones and amplifiers.
If Jack Bent did not have courage enough to kill his own self, then others would likely have that courage for him. It was that slumped line of thinking which prevented him from even bothering to run or evade at this point. Another person in his position would be thinking, Run like Hell! Except no one else was in his exact position at this time. No, his mind more had a question mark at the end of those three words, Run like Hell? So... Why run like Hell? He just didn't have the will at the moment, just as he didn't have the heart or will to kidnap that happy, pretty girl who was living her own nice life.
Thank goodness the angry cyborgs did not take too long in getting here. At least they could get it over with quickly. The sound of heavy feet running for him was like mental torture in waiting for something to happen. This ritual of pain began with a cyborg-man's electromechanical hands gripping both his arms and lifting him up. He then had that amazing experience of his feet no longer touching the sidewalk while both his arms felt close to breaking. Was there a popping sound within his left shoulder?
2.
The cyborg-man took Jack Bent into an alley... Jack Bent didn't know who he was, though--a rubbery faced cyborg-man wearing beige work-pants, thick brown shoes on the feet that were close to being boots, footwear that was good to kick fleshies with. He was unfamiliar--probably one of the newly hired of the criminal underworld. Jack Bent didn't know the alley either. Yet he knew enough about alleys to not want to be taken into one at the moment. Alleys, they almost always have not-good things happen in them, he thought even with the pain of his popped shoulder sinking inThe fact that he was being less-than-willingly being transported to such a place certainly meant that something of the not-good category was going to happen to him. And of course it was one of those less-than-clean alleyways of this city border neighborhood--one of those alleys with chunks of metal junk and a few industrial-sized garbage bags. Oh, about the things sometimes in alleyway garbage bags of Scrap Iron City, a person was sometimes better off not knowing.
Jack Bent expected to be beaten up yet again. What Jack Bent did not expect was how. He was first slammed up against one of the alley's walls. Yeah, and the bricks were hard--too hard. There was too much pain
Jack Bent blinked his eyes, recovering consciousness. He was now lying sideways on the concrete floor of the alleyway--as usual. The left side of his face felt too loose and numb with a distant ache, and his vision on that side was also blurry. Hell, both sides of his vision were blurry right about now; it was just that the left side was more messed up. The unfocused vision--and feeling of numbness--was actually good because it felt him from fully experiencing more of this experience one would define as torture. He'd rather be in a blurry and numb state-of-mind than be fully conscious and feel everything being done to him.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?" asked the cyborg-man. It wasn't asked in a loud-and-angry sort of way. It was more asked in a conversational way. That cyborg-man was then polite enough to give Jack Bent hints as to what this business was all about--this business of one person making another person go wham against a brick wall. "You were asked to do a job from Zalem! Do you hear me? It's from Zalem. And you are not doing it."
Jack Bent tried to say something through the haze of pain. "Well... I'm not sure about this gig," he said. "Say... Would you be able to do it? I'm having an attack of consciousness and what-not..." The distant ache in his jaw was getting bigger right about now. "Well, howu about this? I would prefer not to."
"You prefer not to, huh? I'm sorry to hear that," said the cyborg-man in beige work-pants, talking to the sprawled figure of Jack Bent on the alleyway floor. "And you are going to be even sorrier than you ever were in your pathetic life. They pay me to make people like you feel sorry--especially you pathetic fleshies. Why the Hell do you still have a meat body anyway? Guy your age ought to have metal arms or something by now... Oh well! Let's get down to business..."
Lying down here on the rough concrete, Jack Bent then saw one of those shoe-boots go back, back some more... Whamp! An explosion of pain and sickness blew up inside of his chest when the boot-shoe caught him there. "U-u-u-gh-h-h!" He sucked in a breath and clutched at his own chest. A quick exhalation, and he had to painfully suck in another breath. "U-u-u-h-h-h!" By now, having to struggle for air after being attacked by professional cyborg thugs was getting to be a habit. He hoped that the habit would not have to last too much long. "U-u-u-u-ugh-h!"
Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp... Jack Bent stopped gasping just long enough to hear the low and thick sounds of very heavy boots coming in this direction. "U-u-u-ugh-h!" It sounded like a very powerful thing coming in this direction. Well, that's just peachy, he thought--when he wasn't concentrating on sucking in another painful breath. "U-u-u-u-ugh-h-h-hp!"
The curly haired man on the alley floor did not see who or what was From where he was lying, Jack Bent saw what just walked into this alley. But he did see the cyborg-man's shoe-booted feet move as the big thug turned to the right. "What the Hell are you supposed to be?" asked the cyborg-man, talking to that newcomer with the armored boots. "Hey, lemme go! Big-armed freak! You..."
Shwank-k-k! There was a brief blast of sparks and sprayed cyborg cooling fluids. A metal arm fell a foot from Jack Bent's face. It was actually one of the arms used by the cyborg-man to grab Jack Bent. "My arm!"
"And you will lose the other arm if you continue to beat this person any more," snarled the voice. Jack Bent squirmed around enough to have a look at the newcomer--an impression of great big armored shin-boots. He turned his head enough to look up at a dark figure in a ridgy black bodysuit--and the biggest set of machine-arms he had seen on a cyborg that size. "I was sent by Miss Aidas to assist you in convincing this man to do his job. Yet it seems that you are more obsessed with causing pain than convincing him of anything."
"Sent...by Miss Aidas?" blurted the cyborg-man. Now he was talking as if the ripped-off arm was the last of his concerns. That particular name had him worried. "Wh-why didn't you say so? It's about time somebody else was hired for this!"
"U-u-uh-h-hp..." came another gasp from Jack Bent. He heard what the replicate said. Sweet mercy...! So now maybe he would not have to do the disgusting job. No, not him! Then came the thought that someone else was going to hurt sweet and pretty little Kyrie. No!
"I was sent to find this man because the same man must be kept on the job," insisted the Sechs replicate. "It was for that reason which caused me to stop you from foolishly beating him to death. What you were doing now was also a very foolish thing to do."
"Hey now! I would have stopped before he died," complained the cyborg-man. "It's not like I like to beat up on fleshies... Hmm, well... Maybe a little. It's just business, you know? And if one of our guys needs a little convincing to do a job, we have to give it to 'em--or kill 'em."
"R-r-a-a-rgh.!" That massive roar of sound blasted throughout this alley. It took a moment to realize that the roar came from Sechs. Then, even with the roar still echoing, the nightmarish replicate dashed forward to grab the cyborg-man. Now the one-armed cyborg-thug was being gripped around the waist with two huge machine-hands--being held like a large toy. And like mistreated toys, the missing arm was a similar touch. "I should twist your torso just enough to keep you body's mechanical organs functioning, barely functioning? It would leave your pathetic brain slowly dying within your pathetic metal skull..."
There was one sound of something cracking. Apparently, the cyborg-man's own torso was just now slightly crumpled. "A-a-ah!" he yelped. "Alright, already! I hear you! I'll leave 'em alone! Geez, you already took an arm today, and that's gonna cost me money to repair! They're custom-made."
"They are pathetic arms. Now you have an opportunity to have your arms remade into ones of better quality," sneered Sechs. "Leave now. Or I will make good on my threat."
"I hear ya! I hear ya!" declared the cyborg-man. He then decided to take this change to get the Hell away from this Sechs replicate. But first he quickly dipped down to go scoop up the electromechanical arm that was ripped off--a severed electromechanical trailing metal connection-strands and wires greasy with cyborg machine-oils. The way he ran away was befitting someone who was just a little off-balanced--due of course to the fact that a limb was gone. Still, there was the sound of his heavy and off-beat run carrying him away, going away.
"Thanks, lady...or man..." said Jack Bent as he sat down on the ground of this alleyway, "Or whichever you are. Say, which one are you supposed to be, anyway? Something about you reminds me of somebody I met a long time ago. She tried to kill me, too--chased me all over the place, when I still had a really cool cape-thing that let me do stuff. Anyway, you really pulled my bacon out of the fire just now!"
Sechs snarled in speaking. "Shut up. I did not save you for the sake of 'mercy.' I have done this on an order from my superiors in Zalem. You are involved in an action of potential illegal trafficking of human flesh. GiB desires more investigation into your doings."
"Say what now?" asked Jack Bent--his face nervous, his gut becoming full of fear. Except the question wasn't really a question. The mentioning of GiB was enough to make his insides turn cold with the frozen mush of fear. Oh yes... The people of GiB, those jokers were the last ones that a career thug would ever want to know about. "I don't know what you're talking about. Even I don't know what I'm talking about right now. Now what was I talking about?"
The Sechs replicate hunched over, huge robot-arms hanging at the sides as the face was now close to Jack Bent's eyes. "If I must mention the organization again aloud, then perhaps you do not deserve this second chance. You are not fit to talk about this business at this time. I will give you two hours to make yourself fit for work. Then I will find you."
The thought came to mind, What'll happen if I don't? Nope, he would not ask that question aloud, because it was very obvious that Sechs here was on the edge of losing his or her--or its--anger. He could tell that the nightmarish replicate wanted to do nothing but crush and eliminate anything in its way--a replicate all full of emotional steel and fury. Man, he could feel the fury. And right now, it felt like the heated metal-smelling breath of a pissed-off replicate. What'll happen if I don't? No, stop thinking about it! Don't even...
"You have your information," declared Sechs. "You know what must be done." That nightmarish replicate then stood straight again. There was the sound of a boot-sole grinding on the alley floor, the sound of Sechs pivoting to turn away, to go walking away. Then came the sound of Sechs heavy clomping armored footwear in walking out of this alley. There was a slight swaying motion of those huge construction-machine arms as the replicate moved. Heck no, a person did not want to be on the receiving end of punishment from those robotic limbs--especially if one was a fleshie who has received more than a little physical pain already.
He sat there in the alley for some moments after Sechs went clomp-walking away. Wow, went a thought. Thoughts of GiB now being all mixed up in his business was a real mind-stretcher. Maybe he would live to see this job through anyway. And just maybe, he would get out of doing this crazy job. He could try and manipulate this situation as so sweet and pretty Kyrie wouldn't end up being hurt. It was just a matter of wait-and-see for the moment. Just, wait...
First up, he had to stand up. "Gosh darn-it..." he muttered as he put his right palm to the floor of this alleyway. He painfully got to his feet--and a hint of headache swam around in his head to go with all the pain of his body--aches from previous injuries and building pains from new ones. But his head, it felt like a swirling mess. It was probably also because his body was in such awful-rotten shape from that latest attack. Staggering yet again today, he wondered if cyborgs ever stop beating up on him. The pain of accumulated deep bruises--of squeezed and beaten skin and muscle tissue--was seriously beginning to take its toll.