The streets were dirty and as unclean as third world garbage. Part of it was simple neglect; neglect that had been building under tons and tons of nihilism, disgust and hatred that permeated every corner, every street, every damn building like it was God's mission to yank the angels out of the city and let the demons emerge from the gunk of the gutters. No one was moving into the city anymore. It was cursed -- and by the residents themselves. You could leave, surely, but many committed suicide rather than simply walking out.
The wind wasn't even blowing. It rarely howled anymore, like that would be wasted energy on an already dead city. The rain had soaked the dingy place days before, and it still stunk of that awful odor that old cities have from rain. It was like a wet shoe. The shit-heap felt like a wet shoe from walking in mud puddles and soaking the socks.
Young Kpserpon for the first time met his compadres, his brothers in arms, the men he'd lay down in his eternal rest next to under some cheap tombstone. He had always wanted to know these men and be a place in the world he'd heard myths about. Coming to fruition, Kperspon entered the dark world only available in thrashing nightmares and paroxysms.
The first one he met was some mutt, a half-Indian half-Caucasian troublemaker with as much respect for the system as he had a future. But he had energy; he had gifts; he had it. There was some bravado about him that made him stand out in the crowd. He was liked for being hated, and he was hated for being liked. No one even knows how he gained the reputation that he did; it was like he was born into the position of being the love-'im or hate-'im upcoming kid. He sneered at Kperspon, and told asked him what the fuck a nobody like him was doing here.
The guy standing next to the mutt rolled his eyes and sighed. He was older, but he didn't look much bigger. "Don't listen to him, kid. Even when ya get all that sand out of your vagina, it's still really itchy." He playfully punched the younger guy, then looked right back Kperspon with his sharp eyes hidden behind glasses. He was as bright as the damn sun; he was as quick as a tornado; he was as smart as a fuckin' doctor, and yet there he was in that godforsaken place. "My name is M," he said. "It's an alias, of course. Now what's yours?"
"Kperspon."
"What the fuck?"
"Uh, ignore him," M said. "He gets easily confused … but that's quite the alias you have there. By the way, his nom de plume is Gecko, which he got after a certain skirmish that made the Boston Tea Party look like a high school prank."
"Yeah, let's not go there, 'kay? Let's take this kah … person. Yeah, K-person – we gotta make this deal down near Lime street with a pimp. You ever met a pimp before, K-person?"
Kperspon humored him, despite mispronouncing his name, "Nope."
"Ah, he's a great guy. You'll see. Just beware the JBD." M and Gecko led the kid down the dark canyon of an alley, as the wind started to whisper and lightly blew the debris across the black and wet pavement. They were framed by the tall, menacing buildings that shot up 90 degrees straight to the sky. Their wispy breaths curled like dragon tails in the cold weather.
Lime Street was a real hellhole, but in comparison to the rest of the shit-stains in town it was an oasis lost in a degenerate desert. It was covered in old cars that hadn't moved in years, windows broken and glass everywhere, tires stripped clean off, doors unhinged or stolen, paint husked and who goddamn knows what the hell even happened in the cars before they were left here. For a block south, it was clogged with at least ten cars not even in the slightest parked off to the side. No one cared anymore. People who still have cars and drive only use the main avenues and never come to the back-streets like Lime – it was a wasteland.
But this was the place for the pimp and his kind. He was a heavy set man who had his ladies tied to a delicate string, yet they did not want to break the tether. He respected his ladies and treated them right, and in return he didn't have to put up with much shit. No one would want to mess with such a big guy, either; they feared he could crack their skulls with just one blow.
As they neared the pimp's house, Gecko started to tell Kperspon a story about Life, the Universe and Everything. Back before anyone knew just how special this place was, when this city was just another blotch in the garbage of this world, some prodigy, some prophet thought he could unlock the secret to the Life, the Universe and Everything. He went fuckin' insane as any man would with such an endeavor. The problem was, the closer you got to the secret, the farther from humanity and, accordingly, rationality you were. This poor nut was lost for months in his head trying to bring the ultimate answer to live, but then he said he had a breakthrough that would explain everything: from things of nothingness, came something; from things of ignorance, came knowledge; from things of the product, there is the question. He reasoned that, for example, the living came to be from the dead because without the dead there is no living, and vice versa. In a batshit insane theory, he said he had to find the answer to the Life, Universe and Everything.
Days lengthened, no one saw him anymore, he was in solitude – a year later he emerged and told the entire city that he had it. He finally had it. With the answer, there would be a greater understanding of the world, this wretched place we just happen to sit idly in. But something … someone stopped him. He soon disappeared before he could present the answer like someone ended him, but the cops said they knew nothing about it and wondered where he was too. Some criminals were accused, those kind who you know are hired to kill low-lifes, and some leaders, pimps and shop-owners were blamed for hiring a random to off him. No one fuckin' know what really went down; all anyone knew was that everyone was a suspect.
"Fuck man," Gecko said, "if a guy who knew the secret to life disappeared, you know, what is this all worth? Who cares?"
"You always hint about suicide," M sneered. "It's a great filter: all the idiots in the world off themselves, and I'm left blissfully enjoying the calm."
"Shut the hell—"
"HEY you two, you need someone to kick your asses?" a deep voice boomed.
"It's the pimp himself!" M exclaimed. The burly pimp with the ragged beard stepped out of the shadows of his front porch awning and into the dim light of Lime street. His clothing, a long dark green coat and shorts while wearing a strange hat, flapped lightly in the stuffy air, as he galloped to the trio for the deal.
"We ready for this?" the pimp whispered. He looked around in a suspicious gaze to the narrow alleys and the dark houses.
Gecko leaned in: "Just be careful and don't get yourself killed." A bolt of light struck from behind as the sound followed a split second later, a horrible BOOM that deafened their ears and knocked them to the cold pavement. A grating clatter went by and tires squealed, and the rush of pain and fear subsided in the young kid, Kperspon; he stood up.
The pimp lay unmoving on the ground, his belly to the sky like a pig baking in the sun. He looked as near to dead as a man could be without saying hello the pearly gates. His glistening body was like some forsaken piece of meat tossed in the astral garbage by old Saint Paul. As Kperspon looked, the other two slowly rose to their feet and stared the large still body.
They stared in utter silence for a moment before M acted: they, all three, all their muscles, moved the large man off the street and into his house before whoever was after him could get back. They bolted the doors and windows shut and locked him in a bedroom. Soon, they called a friend who could take the poor fat guy to a hospital out of town, the one no one talks about. Some people say it doesn't even exist and it's just some ploy to keep certain folks out from the inside.
M was going to stay behind until someone else showed up, while Kperspon and Gecko out of the house like bats out of hell, carefully watching for passing cars or other people. They sneaked across Lime Street like two sewer rats, ducking behind the abandoned cars and listening for any sound that may appear like a figure out of the night fog.
Old Red got in his beat-up car: another man down, another man he had to drag off to Nowhere. M never got himself in trouble, but this pimp always did. They were both intelligent, but how the fuck does he manage to get hurt so much? he thought. M said to Old Red that they never saw the shooter, but he knew who it was. Problem is, he can't ever tell or he would be wiped clean off the earth for good. He was a cop, a cop who actually cared, but he was reckless. It was only a matter of time, not how.
Gecko leaned up against a cruddy wall trying to make out the landscape in the utter black, as the new kid tried hard to at least walk with him in his general direction. Kperspon's shoes stamped the ground as he walked, creating a world of racket. M whispered to him to shut the fuck up. The footsteps continued, one at a time in wide strides. M swung his arm in the darkness and hit the kid in the arm, whispering to stop walking, and then he realized that he had indeed stopped walking and it was someone else….
A strange voice spoke: "I could blast this kid's heat apart faster than you could say, "fuck", so do as I say and you two won't be killed." They obliged.