Apprentice waited impatiently for the end of the day. At the Z gathering, he blushed deeply when he saw the girl he'd given his virginity to, and vaguely wondered if she knew it had been his first time. She giggled when she noticed him looking at her, and he noticed a lot of looks from the others that suggested that they knew what he'd done…although that could have just been paranoia on his part.
Finally, Apprentice and his master went out raiding. Apprentice dug up a body, popped the lid open, and stepped aside.
"Alright, kid," his master said, "time you see how this is done. Watch carefully."
Eagerly, Apprentice watched as his master opened his pack, took out a needle, attached an empty vial to it, and bent over the corpse. The necromerchant held the needle pointing towards the body's face for a moment, then suddenly - and to Apprentice's alarm - jammed the needle up the corpse's nose.
Fascinated, Apprentice watched as his master pulled back on the plunger, and the vial filled with the glowing blue liquid known as Zydrate. When it was full, the necromerchant pulled the needle out, detached the vial, and held it up to Apprentice.
"And that's that," he said with finality.
Apprentice stared, unsure what he was seeing.
His master chuckled and stuck the vial into a loop on his belt. "Remember when I told you Zydrate's true identity wasn't charming?" he said to Apprentice.
It was a rhetorical question, but Apprentice answered anyway. "Yes, Master," he said. He waited for his master to elaborate. When he didn't, he asked, "Master…what is Zydrate?"
His master smiled wickedly at him. "Brain rot," he answered.
Apprentice blinked. "Don't you…have to do…something to it?" he asked.
"Nope," his master replied, grinning; "it's pure."
"How…how can pure brain rot work as a drug?" Apprentice asked, bewildered.
The necromerchant shrugged. "Kid, I don't have the faintest idea," he replied; "anyone who does know works for Rotti, and they aren't telling. People don't know that Zydrate is brain rot - they probably wouldn't be quite so eager to inject themselves with it if they knew." He chuckled. "We're necromerchants, kid," he said; "literally, 'death-traders'. We deal in rot."
"Why is it blue, though?" Apprentice asked. "And why does it glow?"
"I don't know," his master replied. "It doesn't really matter."
"Uh-huh," Apprentice muttered. This was not at all what he'd expected, and he found it fascinating.
His master laughed. "I'll tell you a funny secret, kid," he said; "when I first learned what Zydrate really was, I threw up."
Apprentice stared at his master. "You did?" he asked, surprised.
"Yep," the necromerchant replied. "On the other hand, when I learned that being a necromerchant meant getting laid all the time, I was thrilled." He grinned. "How about that, kid?" he said. "We're opposites."
"I guess we are," Apprentice agreed. "Now, can you show me how to do that? I mean, do you just jam the needle in a corpse's skull, or…?"
"Well, why don't you dig up another one, and I'll teach you?" the necromerchant said.
"Yes, Master!" Apprentice said enthusiastically. He filled in the grave he'd dug up, dug up another one, popped the coffin open, and stood back expectantly.
The necromerchant readied another needle and handed it to Apprentice. "Now, kid," he instructed, "it doesn't matter where you stick the needle in terms of getting Zydrate - the stuff just forms in the brain cavity, so it doesn't really matter where you draw from as long as it's in the top part of the skull. However, there's a soft spot between the brain and the nasal canal where it's safest to jab it, as the needle can break if you try to stick it straight through bone - and these needles are very difficult to replace, so be careful."
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.
"Here," the necromerchant said, and he took hold of Apprentice's hands and guided the needle in his hands to a spot stuck up the corpse's nose, sticking it into the rotten flesh slightly - the needle felt to Apprentice's hands like it was in something particularly sticky. "Right there," the necromerchant said; "you feel it stick like that? That's where you want to aim. After some practice, you'll be able to just jam it in without even thinking about it; for now, when you draw, gently stick the needle in a few times until you feel it stick like that."
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.
"Now," said the necromerchant, "smack it."
"What?" Apprentice asked, confused, looking at his master.
"You need to get the end of the needle inside the brain cavity," his master explained; "hit the end of the plunger hard so that it goes in."
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he took the flat of his palm and hit it so that the needle broke through the flesh barrier and entered the brain cavity. Without being prompted, Apprentice then pulled back on the plunger, watching, fascinated, as the vial filled with Zydrate. When it was full, he pulled the needle back out and held it up.
He grinned. "I did it!" he exclaimed.
The necromerchant smiled, too. "Congratulations, kid," he said; "you're almost a necromerchant now yourself."
Apprentice chuckled triumphantly. This was what he'd been waiting to learn the whole time he'd been the necromerchant's apprentice - how to break Rotti's laws. This is my first true act of rebellion against GeneCo, he reflected, feeling immensely proud of himself. He looked at the sky. This is for you, father, he thought; I hope you're proud of me.
"Are you going to stand there all night, kid?" Apprentice's master asked, startling him from his reverie.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "No, Master, I'm sorry."
The necromerchant chuckled. "Don't be sorry, kid," he said; "you've worked hard for this - it's only natural you feel a little in awe of yourself."
That wasn't exactly how Apprentice would have described what he was feeling, but he didn't object to the wording. He detached the now-full vial of Zydrate and held it out to his master.
"Oh, no, that's yours," the necromerchant told him.
He blinked.
The necromerchant smiled. "One last thing you need to learn," he said: "Robber's Right - whoever draws the Zydrate, owns the Zydrate, until it's sold. So that vial's yours."
Apprentice thought. "But…that means that, if you want to have Zydrate to sell tomorrow, you're going to have to draw it," he said slowly. "But I want to practice. I don't need money - you're taking care of me right now, so I'm not the one who needs it. I'll need it when I go on to deal on my own, but…well, for now, you're sort of paying me back by taking care of me. So, here." He gestured insistently with the vial.
The necromerchant hesitated, then nodded. "Thanks, kid," he said, and he took it.
That night, Apprentice's master's role became purely to supervise - Apprentice did everything. He dug up the bodies, opened the coffins, harvested the Zydrate - perfectly, every time, though he did need to take several probing jabs each time before he could find the soft spot - and filled the graves back in. The raid finished, they went and found a dumpster to spend the night in, Apprentice's night vision was tested - and proved to be unimproved - and they went to sleep.
When Apprentice awoke the next morning, he didn't feel any different right away. It wasn't until his master's morning quiz that there proved to be a change.
"What's your name, kid?" the necromerchant asked.
"Apprentice," Apprentice replied readily.
"Do you remember what your old name used to be?" his master asked him. Today, there was something strange in his eyes as he asked the question.
Apprentice opened his mouth automatically to say yes, but before the word was out of his mouth, he stopped.
What had his old name been?
He couldn't remember.
Suddenly in a panic, Apprentice frantically racked his brains. What was his real name? What was it?
Suddenly, he remembered.
He sighed, relieved. "Yes," he said, "I remember my old name. I forgot it for a second there, but I remember it."
The necromerchant was silent for a moment, his expression ponderous. "Interesting…" he finally said slowly, more to himself than to Apprentice. "Very interesting…So it is real…"
"What?" Apprentice asked, confused.
The necromerchant tilted his head. "Kid," he said, "it's time you knew about a certain necromerchant legend; something of a myth, you might say. You know how I told you you would forget your name and your past? Well, that's because all necromerchants forget their pasts, more completely than should be possible, whether they want to or not. This…phenomenon, I guess you could call it, has been dubbed 'Death's Revenge Syndrome', for the reason that our memories seem to start fading at the exact same time that we start disturbing the eternal rest of the dead. The name is purely superstitious - the idea being that the dead souls of the corpses we abuse are getting revenge on us by making it so that we can never be anything else but necromerchants, doomed to be only partly human for the rest of our lives. You, however, have just proved that there really is something valid to the concept - that there's more to this than just the power of suggestion; after all, I never told you about it, but it has affected you the same way it does every necromerchant." The necromerchant smiled. "If psychology weren't a dead science, like everything else Rotti couldn't allow people to have access to while still having complete control over them, you would be a case study worth documenting."
"I've been digging up bodies for months," Apprentice said in slight protest.
"Yes," his master said, "but you never so much as touched the actual bodies until last night - and in a matter of hours since then, everything you've held on to so well has rapidly started to fade from your memory." He chuckled. "I highly doubt it has anything to do with vengeful spirits, but there is something to the concept…I would be interested to know what."
"Me, too," Apprentice said, lacking anything else with which to respond to this.
Later, he would come up with a theory that he would never share: Zydrate itself was the culprit. It fits, as Rotti was somehow able to take over the entire world and brainwash everyone, even those who were old enough to otherwise remember a time before GeneCo; and, also, it makes sense in that, if brain rot fucked with living brain tissue, it would fuck with more than just the ability to feel physical pain.
For now, Apprentice finished the morning quiz, then followed his master to deal said mind-wiping brain rot to the local junkies.
~X~
Death's Revenge Syndrome was a fast-acting malady. Within the space of 48 hours after he first learned to harvest Zydrate, all of Apprentice's memories from prior to his father's death were irretrievably gone. Before a week had passed, he had forgotten all his memories of having ever been a Christian, and nothing about the religion that wasn't purely common knowledge existed in his head. Three days after that, he forgot everything about his mother - he did remember saying goodbye to her, but her face, voice, and name, as well as all his other memories of her, were simply gone. The sound of hammers on coffin nails slowly stopped echoing in his ears when there was silence, and after two weeks, when he closed his eyes, he no longer saw his father's funeral. In short, it was next to no time before all he remembered about his old life were the fact that his father had been taken by organ repossession, his vow to never forgive Rotti or GeneCo, and his own name. Everything else was quickly lost, forever, never to be recalled again. Naturally, being the most integral parts of who he was, those last three things lingered for quite a bit longer. Furthermore, his burning hatred and rage, being less of a memory and more of a feeling, never, ever faded, not even slightly.
On the other hand, his improvements in his training took a sharp upward curve. His body strengthened even further, his muscles grew, what little fat remained on his body was stripped away, and he became as strong and fit as his master. His senses, incredibly, started to sharpen at a surprising rate, and before long, he could actually sense how many fingers his master was holding up, even in pitch darkness - he wasn't able to truly see them, so much as his eyes somehow processed the information in a vague way he couldn't understand; at first, he thought he was just imagining things, but he quickly learned to trust his new abilities. No longer burdened by thoughts of sin, he took alternative payment in his master's place more and more frequently; the junkies actually preferred him, saying he wasn't as rough as his master - a strange compliment that he accepted silently, as they all still utterly repulsed him. He quickly grew proficient at harvesting Zydrate, and it wasn't long before he didn't have to take probing jabs and could simply jam the needle directly into the brain cavities of corpses. He started sleeping more lightly, and awoke each time a junkie came calling in the night - he was even able to fall asleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, as though he were in complete control of when his body shut down and restarted.
His master didn't seem surprised at his sudden improvements, and even said it was only natural that they follow the onset of DRS - you can't fill your cup until you empty all it has.
~X~
About three weeks after he first started harvesting Zydrate, Apprentice was out raiding a graveyard with his master, and found that the recently-buried bodies he was digging up were unusually young. He started checking the ages the tombstones indicated as he worked through them: Ages 18, 15, 15, 17, 13…
THIRTEEN?
When he saw this, Apprentice hacked at the ground until the coffin was exposed and furiously pried it open, not wanting to believe it.
But it was true: There, lying in the coffin, was the body of a 13-year-old boy…completely gutted.
Apprentice shook with rage. He dropped the shovel, unable to hold onto it, his hands were shaking so badly. The boy had been gutted, and that meant organ repossession.
Rotti.
Apprentice's shaking fingers curled into fists as his old rage flared in his chest, consuming him from the inside out like a bonfire. This was the height of injustice, far worse than the death of his father - this had been a child! And Rotti probably laughed as it happened, too…
He took a deep breath and turned his face to the sky, unable to contain his fury. Just before he let out a roar that would get him killed, however, his master's hand clamped over his mouth.
Apprentice struggled. The two of them were equally strong, but the necromerchant was more experienced with his strength, so he managed to force them both out of the graveyard before their fight drew any attention. Apprentice felt as though he had to channel his rage into something or it would literally consume him, so he attacked his master with all his might. The necromerchant didn't fight him back - instead, he tried to restrain his apprentice. They fought for several minutes, and the necromerchant was later left with a few bruises of his own, but finally, experience won out over maddening rage, and the necromerchant managed to pin his apprentice against a tree.
They were still, both breathing hard.
"What do you think you're doing, kid?" the necromerchant finally demanded in a low voice.
"That was a child!" Apprentice snarled. "Rotti ordered a repossession on a fucking kid! He's evil! That…that monster has no humanity in him - none! He should die for all the things he's done! Someone should gut him while he's still awake and breathing, and see how he likes it! He's…He's…!" Apprentice let out a cry of infuriated frustration.
"Look, kid, I'm not disagreeing with you," the necromerchant told Apprentice calmly, still not releasing his hold on his apprentice's wrists; "I've dug up kids even younger than that in the past, all of them killed by Repo-men. Rotti is evil, I wholeheartedly agree! But what do you think shouting at his guards and getting yourself killed will accomplish?"
"Someone has to stand up to all this," Apprentice growled. "Just being a necromerchant isn't rebellion enough - someone needs to show people a different way from compliance!"
"Kid, if those guards shot you, no one would ever know you died, except me and whoever I told," his master told him. "It wouldn't make the news - Rotti would cover it up, for that exact reason. Nothing would change - no one would even know about it. There's no point, trust me." The necromerchant grew stern. "You have to learn to control your temper, kid," he told his apprentice; "losing it, for any reason, can mean death in this business, and that would be a shame considering how far you've come."
Apprentice sighed, conceding. His master released him.
"Besides," the necromerchant added, "being a necromerchant is a significant rebellion, as you well know."
"Just doing something he declared illegal doesn't really affect Rotti," Apprentice grumbled.
His master raised an eyebrow at him. "If it weren't for us, people would give all their money to GeneCo to buy Zydrate," he pointed out; "in doing this job, we're essentially stealing from Rotti and GeneCo. You didn't think he had no reason to outlaw our profession, did you?"
Apprentice blinked. "I…hadn't thought of that," he admitted.
"Well, now you have," the necromerchant said. He stood. "Come on, kid," he said; "let's finish up here."
"Yes, Master."
~X~
Early the next morning, Apprentice awoke to his master leaving the dumpster…quietly - almost as though he was trying to get away without Apprentice noticing.
"Master?" he asked. "Where are you going?"
The necromerchant paused, then slowly turned back to Apprentice. "I woke you?" he asked.
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said.
The necromerchant sighed, sitting back down in the trash. "I get up at this time every morning," he told his apprentice; "I have…some things I need to attend to each morning, before I can be ready for the day. I always leave you behind…but the fact that I woke you despite my caution tells me that your training is almost done."
"Master…where are you going?" Apprentice asked again.
His master shrugged, getting up once more and climbing out of the dumpster. "Somewhere I can get what I need to survive and do business, and what I need to keep you alive, too - like food. I'll show you the place when your training is done. For now, go back to sleep."
"Yes, Master," Apprentice said, and he shut himself down again.
~X~
Slowly, Apprentice's memory of his father's death faded; even his vow was lost to DRS. The rage he felt didn't fade, but he no longer remembered what it was caused by. This led to frustration that was like tinder to the blaze, until his burning resentment consumed him, driving out his ability to feel much of anything else. At the same time, though, he also started to become outwardly cold, like his master. His rage never stopped, but he learned to hide it behind a cold, indifferent mask or an insincere, friendly smile.
The last thing he held on to was his name - and if his master didn't ask him each morning if he remembered it, he probably would have forgotten it a lot faster. Each time, he racked his brains, trying to remember it, and for a month more, he managed to hold on to it. Eventually, though, the day came when his master asked him if he remembered his real name, and he thought hard about it for a full five minutes before finally giving up and replying, with full honesty, "No."
His master gave him a long look, then spoke the words Apprentice had been waiting to hear for seven months:
"It's time."