Outcasts

Chapter Two: A Stranger in a Strange Land

The weather over Satellite could never be described as 'good'. When it rained the streets drowned, the gutters overflowing as the shattered sewer system strained to hold it down. Sunny days were rarely any better. Air conditioning was a faint hope even to the buildings that belonged to Security, unchallenged heat setting the tarmac ablaze and lighting up rainbow puddles from uncleaned oil spills. If the wind was particularly bad, the entire island would be donning face masks and googles as not to choke on the back blown fumes from the waste processing plant. And the less said about snow, the better.

As it was, today was one of the better days, where the sun was hidden away behind a grey, lifeless sky and the island stained the same colour as the ocean breeze drifted mist inwards, where it settled about the empty windows and broken walls of ruined buildings, making the ruins look even more desolate and post-apocalyptic than usual.

But still the citizens of Satellite carried on, getting up, thanking whatever God still kept an eye on them for a less awful day than the one before and setting about their days. Those more inclined to be straight and narrow ambled towards the factories in no great rush, for what was Security going to do, fire them? Meagre pay for hard work was still enough to put something on the table, even if they came out the other side reeking to high heaven.

Those less able, less willing and less desired went about their own ways; looking for remnants of what had been before, taking advantage of those weaker than themselves, or simply whiling away daylight hours with a good old-fashioned duel under the ever-present gaze of Security's patrols.

At the far end of the island, those not walking the beat and keeping an eye on the locals waited by the makeshift dock for the new supplies to come in. This was always a heavy-duty job, as somewhere along the road the criminal elements of Satellite had figured out that the easiest way to get their hands on a decent meal or new cards was to try and hijack the newest shipments before it all got locked away behind closed doors. Nothing to lose and if they failed, all they had to suffer was a quick trip back to the city to earn themselves a fresh marker and a couple days in a cell before getting turfed right back into Satellite.

The usual fast and predictable assault fell upon the Security forces. None of the locals were sporting tournament relevant decks and many didn't have one at all, simply rushing up and trying to get a punch in. But what they did have was sheer numbers, and so the battle would be going on for a while, until the strongest duellists crumbled and either fled or got a pair of handcuffs slapped on them.

As monsters clashed and spells flashed, the team in charge of actually getting the supplies off the boat kept their heads down and cracked open the shipping containers, setting about retrieving the crates within and entertaining themselves with idle chit-chat as they worked.

The first container emptied out fairly quickly, but as the head of the moving crew made his way to the back to retrieve the last of the goods, a flicker of something caught his eye. A shadow, darting from box to box to box. His torch caught a flap of cloth just before it vanished out of sight. Looked like a skirt, by his best guess.

"Oi, someone there?" He shouted, holding the beam of light over the last place he'd seen movement.

"Something wrong boss?"

"I think one of the little bastards actually got in."

"How the hell did they pull that off?"

"No idea, but we got them cornered. Back me up."

Two of the men nodded, readying a duel disk and a set of handcuffs respectively. They advanced as a trio, torchlight widening as they came up to the box. He could make out the figure of a shadow now, hunkered down, trying to make itself smaller.

"Last chance buddy. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Both ways get you a marker, but at least the easy way saves us all some time."

The backup with the duel disk circled around right, the one with the handcuffs following him as he snapped around the corner, fully exposing the individual. Not a desperate criminal as he'd been expecting, but a slip of a girl, maybe nine at the oldest.

"What the…"

"Get away from me!"

The container exploded in a whirl of black and red, the top deck of the ship rupturing as a dragon of flowers and thorns burst out from within. Those in the middle of the battle were briefly taken aback, recoiling as metal fragments littered the dock and petals spun all about, indiscriminately hitting whatever target they could. Security forces and Satelliters alike dropped as if they'd been shot, rose petals as big as a man's hand sticking out of shoulders and legs.

The dragon bucked, starting to pull itself free in fits of rage. Ragged, scratchy screams echoed out as it struggled, claws shredding the side of the boat as it lurched upwards in one lumbering heave, the ship rocking violently under the sudden movement, foamy waves thrown up with each surge. Then, with a kick and a flourish, it got its wings free, beating down hard and escaping the clutch of metal as it took to the skies, clearing half of Satellite with another long screech before divebombing down and vanishing completely.

Those fortunate enough not to have been injured surveyed the sudden chaos, and a quick headcount showed that far more of Security were sporting rose-shaped wounds.

An emergency call for all officers blared as the first wave of defence was overrun.

The monster was having to run again, for the same reasons as before. Three more men hurt; plus whatever damage Black Rose Dragon had caused as it got her away. She didn't even remember drawing it; the card had simply been in her hand, and then on the duel disk. She was thankful for it at least, free from the angry men and the light they'd shone in her eyes.

But she had no clue as to where she'd been dropped off, and so it was time to run again, until she could find another dark place to hide in, away from everyone.

She seemed to be in a city again, although the air here was thick and acrid, unlike home. She moved through alleyways – those were just like the ones in Neo Domino, except sometimes she had to double back and find a new route, because someone would be sleeping in the way, or staring out at nothing, jaw slacked and twitching. The staring ones were worse, looking through her with their hollow eyes and mottled skin, surrounded by empty needles and packets. Somehow, it put a greater fear in her than any of the Security men could.

Eventually she found her way out onto a main road, or the nearest equivalent. They weren't as well maintained here, full of potholes where they weren't torn up completely. The few people that were about gave her funny looks but they didn't seem too concerned with her, quickly going about their own business, necks craned skyward, looking for the dragon or turning to their friends and wondering what else could happen to the island before it sunk completely.

She continued to walk, until she came to another park. Or rather, what used to be a park. The grass was overgrown where it hadn't shrivelled up and died, the trees thinned from constant smog blocking their leaves. The fountain had long since dried up, and now served as a general dumping ground, old food wrappers and rubbish piling up about the wounded statue of Graceful Charity that used to oversee the place. She made her way around, stopping before a sign.

Before, it had informed the reader that they were in the Domino Charity Park. But the top line of letters had been crossed out by an angry slash of paint, and the word 'Domino' replaced by 'Satellite', etched out in thin white lines.

Satellite. The island off the coast of Neo Domino. Where criminals and bad people had to live, to keep them away from the good of society. It was a favoured threat to a misbehaving child that they'd be boxed up and shipped out to the cursed island, and here she was. Boxed up and shipped out because she was a bad girl. A monster, sent to live in a place fitting of her.

A laugh escaped her unchecked, slightly manic and fractured. A laugh she didn't know she had the ability to make. It lasted only a second, drowned out as it was by the trickle of tears that ran off her cheeks and littered the cracked pavement. She'd wanted to go somewhere far away, and here she was. And now all she wanted was to go home, lie down in her own bed and wake up there, free from this nightmare.

"Hello there."

She whipped about, tensed up once more. A man stood before her, lean-faced and dressed in a suit that had seen better days. He took a knee before her, staring at her dead-on, but keeping a good distance.

"Are you lost?"

"I… I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." She said, jutting out her chin and quickly scrubbing the tears away.

"Well, that's very sensible of you." He smiled. "Let me introduce myself then. My name is Jim Schmidt. I'm a doctor."

He took out a faded piece of paper, set it on the ground and took a few steps back.

"Check my card, if you want. Although, I'll need it back. Hard to get new business cards these days."

She didn't move to look at it, and the doctor had to scramble to snatch it back before the wind caught it.

"What do you want?"

He slipped the card away, tried to recover some of his dignity.

"I just want to know if you're supposed to be here. Are your parents around?"

"I… don't have parents. Not anymore."

His face fell.

"I see. Well, if you need somewhere safe to spend the night, or want to make some friends, you should follow the road that way, until you see the tall building with the children playing outside. A nice lady named Martha lives there, she can take care of you. Okay?"

"Okay."

He gave her another smile and a nod, and turned away from her, heading in the opposite direction. She waited until he was out of line of sight, and then made her way back the way she'd come. Don't talk to strangers, don't listen to the things they promised. A simple rule, easily followed. She had more pressing matters to attend to anyway. After being scared, shocked and back to scared, she now found herself in dire need of something to eat.

Easier said than done. She'd left the house with only the clothes upon her back and her duel disk. Even if she'd had a single yen to her name, there didn't seem to be any restaurants or supermarkets about. Any vending machines she found had long been cracked open, broken glass still sprinkled on the ground about and the coin compartments torn up and emptied.

As the hours wore on and her searching became more involved, she made the decision to head back towards the port Black Rose Dragon had ferried her away from and look for someplace safe, or somewhere that might have food, even if there might be angry men looking for her around there. At the very least, the buildings there had seemed better maintained, keeping all of their windows and lacking holes in the walls.

She turned a corner onto what had definitely been a main road at one point, and started to hear voices, raised in joy. Tentatively following the sound, she found them not long after, tucked away in the shadow of a former department store. A great many people hung about it, currently involving themselves in a celebration. Two men were shaking out boxes from atop the balcony that bore the complex's name, trading cards fluttering down upon their fellows, who bumped and fought amongst each other to see who could snatch the cards out the air first. More than just cards, this lot had food, clutching onto unmarked silver packets and tearing into them ravenously. Her mother would have cried at such a lack of table manners as a man threw his head back and nearly drowned in the soup contained within.

Hidden behind a corner, her stomach almost gave her away. But the men were lost in their party, and no-one heard her. She considered the weight of what she was planning. Technically, in order to get something to eat, she would have to talk to these strangers, which was something she shouldn't do. But on the other hand, if she needed help, she was supposed to ask for it. And she was really hungry.

Another protest from her stomach made the decision for her, but just as she found the courage to go out and ask for some food, she noticed something. Golden strips and shapes, adorning each man's face, some sporting multiple brands, some with only one. These people were criminals, marked by the state for ill deeds and now tracked by the city forevermore. Faintly, she remembered hanging onto the back of her father's leg during some boring dinner party while he talked business with some other adults, and how they'd mutually condemned anyone who could be so distasteful as to lead a life of crime. Even amongst strangers, these people were cruel and wicked, and couldn't be trusted or expected to do the right thing.

A can clattered nearby and snapped her out of her thoughts, a trickle of foul-smelling amber liquid leaking out of the top.

"Get outta here kid! This is our haul, and we ain't sharing!"

The man said some other things but she was already taking his advice, and running away as fast as she could.

The rest of her day faired no better. The longer she walked and searched, the more her stomach growled, and the less she wanted to walk, legs burning from so much use. The dryness in her mouth was the worst part, as she could will away the growling and sit down from time to time to ease her legs, but no amount of licking her lips or swallowing spit made the dryness go away. As bad as that drink had smelled, she wished that she'd taken the can with her, if only to have something to wet her throat with.

As the sun began to dip and the sky blackened, she found nothing but empty buildings and lonely streets. The few people she met now seemed even less friendly than before, and now the looks she got sent her skin crawling in a way it hadn't even when she'd been sneaking through the back alleys. Most of them weren't even looking at her, but to the duel disk on her arm, assessing it and her coldly. Eventually, she started avoiding people altogether, crossing roads and taking long, winding paths just so that she wouldn't have to bypass people on the sidewalks.

Not knowing what to do, she dragged herself back to the one place she'd been all day she'd almost enjoyed – back to the Charity Park, still vacant save for the rubbish. The moon was high, casting Graceful Charity as the lone, one-winged angel atop a mountain of trash. Completely out of ideas, she climbed up into the fountain and started picking through the discarded wrappers and bottles, hoping that somehow, someway, someone might have thrown out a sandwich or a third of water. But in the half-light, she could barely make out her hands in front of her face, let alone if she'd found anything edible.

Then, as she was reaching for a bottle, pain burst out across her hand, something hot and wet soaking her palm. She flinched back in surprise and hit the lip of the fountain, going over backwards and falling in a heap on the other side.

Stunned, tired and hurt, she didn't even have the strength to cry. She simply lay there, remembering her mother's scolding's about not playing in rubbish, for it was filthy, full of germs and dangerous. There was a bump forming on the back of her head, but at least it wasn't bleeding as well.

After a time, she rolled over, finding her feet while holding her injured hand close to her chest. With shuffling, slouching steps she made her way to the nearest bench and lay upon it, staring up at the moon.

She didn't want to be a monster anymore. She didn't know why she'd become one in the first place. It was the birthmark's fault; she knew that much. She wanted to find whoever had given it to her and give them a proper good yelling-at.

Tomorrow, she told herself. She'd find some food and water tomorrow. Even if it involved talking to a stranger. It couldn't possibly any worse than looking in the rubbish. She'd met one kind stranger at least. Maybe she could find him again. Maybe she could find this Martha person.

With nothing left in the tank, her eyes closed of their own accord, and even though the bench was hard and awful to lie on, she was asleep in seconds.