Dirty Work: Volume 1

The First Run - 1

Money is a funny thing, when you think about it. It means absolutely nothing, and yet means absolutely everything. You chase it here, there and everywhere, all in the pursuit of pleasure. It is tangible, and yet is made of some strange ether which means that you can never quite keep a grasp of it, for it always falls through your fingers.

Looking back over what I've just written, I realise I've mentioned the word 'pleasure'. Such a sensual word, and used an awful lot of the time out of context. However, it seems an almost perfect word to use when discussing how I came to work under Gleeyus' ruling hand.

It's 5100, and I'm almost on the streets. I'm living in a run-down, mould-ridden two-room apartment a mile down from the Region 57 Magna-Train Main Station, which isn't much better structurally to tell the truth. I've got enough food to eat, if I eat one meal a day, and I've almost systematically cut off all ties from anyone else I know. Yeah, great way to start, isn't it?

I didn't exactly come from a good family, as you can tell, but then again who does? Celestria isn't known for birthing celebrities or anyone that makes a good living above board, unless you happen to live in the top 10 Regions. Then you might stand a chance, and sometimes its guaranteed if your parents have already made it. My family lived in Region 54, so I haven't slipped down that far. However when they both die in a Magna-Train hijacking on the way to a possible job interview that could have got us up a few rungs of the social ladder, you realise that you're going to go down fairly quickly.

I managed to secure a job in Region 46 two and a half miles away, as a delivery-boy for a small grocer, doing the rounds, delivering pizzas and whatnot. When he dies as well though, and you've got two months before you haven't got anything at all save for two sets of clothes and a six year old Halo-Core, you come to realise that you're already underneath the sludge of the slums before you get there. It's a depressing thought to keep you awake at night, and it often does.

And so it's October sometime, in 5100, and its throwing it down with rain. I don't just mean raining, I mean the rain that only happens when you feel like the world is out to get you and the weather decides it wants to get in on a piece of the action as well. We've all had them, and we've all been through those showers, and it seemed like the officials controlling the weather decided that I was to be the latest target of their downpour assault.

Hair wet, dripping in front of my eyes, the water seeping through my clothes so cold that its surely giving my balls frostbite, I hurry underneath the Magna-Train overpass for some kind of shelter. A train rumbles overhead, and I'm cursing the fact that Odd-Job-Jae down the road had run out of his special offer bread. I'm almost to routing through bins at this point, my stomach is rumbling louder than the train going over the top of me, and the fact that I can't afford to turn the heating on in my apartment means that soon it's going to be colder than the steel of the ground I'm standing on.

Spray paint graffiti shouts some expletive in a language I can't determine on the Magna-Train's pillar just before me. I'm on a high walkway, and over the edge of the path are the tops of a large, condensed cul-de-sac of apartment buildings. They all look like they're huddling from the rain themselves, trying to press together for warmth. It's actually quite funny, or it would be if I wasn't going to be turning over my keys this time next week and heading out onto the streets with a single backpack. Trust Celestria to have a cynical sense of humour.

Heading out from under the relative shelter of the overpass, I put my sodden jacket over my head and begin to scurry towards the left, where a path takes you down into a small complex. After that its only a few minutes back to some kind of comfort, aka a roof. My teeth are beginning to chatter and my fingertips are beginning to wrinkle. It's not fun running in this weather, I can assure you.

As I'm heading towards the turning off down, I hear a shout from above me. Confused, I turn to look up, only to see someone jumping down from the Magna-Train line, obviously intending to use me as a cushion to stop them killing themselves. As I'm putting my arms out instinctively to try and catch them, I've just enough time to realise that they're at least sheltering me briefly, before the figure slams into me and knocks me to the ground.

It hurts, let me tell you. Having someone jump off a bridge onto you is not the most pleasant of experiences, and when they've fallen quite a considerable distance, the crunch into the ground is painful.

'What the hell are you doing?' I say, trying to ignore the fact that most of my bones feel like someone tried to take a mallet to them. My back feels like someone rammed a train into it and it's a miracle I didn't slam my head into the ground, or else blood would currently be dripping onto it. I like my blood inside my body, always have done.

'Get up and run,' the figure says, scrambling to their feet. It's a male, in his late twenties perhaps, with an unkempt look about him and wild, startled eyes. He pulls me up, before ducking as a gun blast singes the top of his head, cleaving a runway into his hair.

'Fuck,' I shout, as the man begins to run down the path I was previously aiming for. Another blast rains downs from the heavens, and I realise that they're now aiming for me as well as my new friend, as loosely as one could describe a 'friend'. I throw a glance up to the Magna-Train line and see two figures there, guns outstretched, and the glow of a gun re-charging. I've got about three seconds to make a decision, and the decision is pretty obvious to me.

I run off after the man, small shards of metal nicking my heels as they rip up from the ground.