Connection - 20

~1167

Kerra looked down at the shimmering letters of the invitation to double-check that she was at the right place. Upper Crust, Section WF, Pillar 86, Floor 32, Apartment B. That’s where she was alright. She’d had to ride further on the elevator system than she’d had to in a very long time. There was nothing much to see this far from the center of Abyssia.

Kerra often forgot just how close she lived to the center of humanity. The center section, A, housed the government buildings she worked at, so she had to live fairly close, in section Y, although she did live in the Lower Downs for that convenience. The fact that this apartment was in the Upper Crust (another level with cheap real estate because of the high radiation near the surface) and it was so far from the center, meant that whoever lived here probably struggled to make ends meet.

Or, perhaps, and this seemed more likely to Kerra, they were avoiding the government and people in general. Because the apartments here were so out of the way and in such poor living conditions, and because the population had shrunk significantly since Abyssia first was founded, many of the apartments in these areas sat vacant.

She was standing in front of a nondescript black door. She took a deep breath and knocked. It was a few seconds before the door opened to the smiling face of Numbers. He looked a bit sloshed, though it was early in the night.

“Kerra!” he boomed, opening his tattoo-covered arms wide.

Kerra backed up before he tried to hug her.

“Come in, come in,” he said, his voice a little slurred. He didn’t seem to notice her rudeness. “Welcome to my home and to the party. Help yourself to whatever’s on the counter. The gang’s all here. Well, not the whole gang. Though Markus is here, and I don’t think you’ve met him.” He leaned in closer to Kerra, even though she was still a couple feet away, and whispered loudly, “he’s my boss.”

From within, a voice called “Numbers? There’s something happening in the bathroom I think.”

“Oh, gotta go,” he said, and walked back into the room. “Coming,” he grunted.

Kerra carefully stepped into the apartment, taking everything in at once. Numbers had a half four story apartment, which meant that, while he still only had half of the pillar at his command—like Kerra’s apartment—he had at least four stories. From her vantage point at the door, she could see the story above and below her, because the floors were metal grates. Because of this, she could see that there were about twenty-five people in attendance. The fourth story, however, had a solid floor, though Kerra could see that a set of spiral stairs led up into it. She guessed that despite having quadruple the space, this apartment still cost significantly less than her own, centralized as hers was.

The apartment was furnished tastefully, but not lavishly or excessively, the way Ruth’s was. While Numbers’s personal style shone through in the black furniture with iridescent accents, he hadn’t gone overboard, and there was a healthy amount of clutter. The most striking feature was that the wall with the entry door had a mural of a number matrix that covered all three visible stories. The numbers shifted and flickered and provided a soft white light.

Kerra found herself drifting toward the kitchen, where indeed, the counter was covered in snack food. She helped herself to a meatball slathered in a sweet sauce. Music was dripping out of a speaker somewhere, slow and ambient. She could barely hear it over the noise of the party. Even though there were only twenty-five people there, the grated floors didn’t muffle any of the conversation, so it felt as if there were three times as many people in her immediate vicinity than there really were.

Kerra didn’t know any of the people clustered on the sofas next to the kitchen, but when she peered up at the floor above her, she thought she caught a glimpse of Angelface’s gaunt, pale face, and maybe she heard Blast Boy’s characteristic chuckle. She was about to climb up the tightly-curling spiral staircase when another person started descending it.

Kerra got a good look at his polished shoes, his gray jeans, his black button-up, and finally his tan neck and the dark, curly hair that stuck up about an inch from his head. The man came around the staircase and made eye contact with Kerra. He seemed startled at first, but then broke into a wide smile. He had perfect teeth that were so white they almost glowed.

“I don’t think I know you,” he said, sticking out a hand that was covered in a black leather glove. It looked very similar to the gloves Kerra was wearing. “I’m Markus.”

“Ah,” Kerra said, suddenly aware that she was meeting the head of the whole gang that Shandi had been in. The man who ordered his pawns around. The man who had organized killings and theft and had ultimately been the reason behind Shandi’s death. “I don’t… really like to shake hands,” was all she could seem to say.

Markus looked confused for a second, and lowered his hand. Then he ducked down a little to get a better look at Kerra’s face, which, as always, was half obscured by her wide-brimmed hat and high-collared coat. “Wait a minute,” he said, “you look just like her! You must be Kerra! I’ve heard so much about you! She really loved you, you know?”

“Er, yeah,” Kerra said. How was one supposed to speak to the most-wanted criminal in Abyssia?

“It’s good to see that some of her family is here. By family I mean flesh-and-blood. We’re as much of a family as anything, really, but there’s something about the blood.”

Kerra just nodded, and wondered vaguely if he was also drunk, or if he was always this chatty.

“And not that monster. Sure there’s blood, but that’s no family,” he continued, sounding a bit angry.

“What, what?” Kerra asked, suddenly not following.

“Why, her mother of course! She told us about how awful your mother was. I’m sorry you had to live through such horrors. I was actually in the room when the harpy called her up. Right before she was about to leave for the surface too. And the threats, and the name-calling,” Markus shuddered. “No, your mother is no friend of ours in this gang, you can be sure of it. Because Shandi hated her, for good reason of course, and we’d have killed for Shandi. One of the best members of our gang.” His voice trailed off wistfully. “She’ll be dearly missed. I’m glad you could come. Now if you would excuse me, I think I have some vomit to acquaint with a toilet. I wouldn’t want it to slip out now and cover those lovely people down on the first floor.”