Untitled-Perhaps the start of something Dark

The alarm turned on and began ringing. The small room was illuminated with light, and Fred Pastor climbed wearily out of bed, no more refreshed than when he entered it. He turned the alarm off and started to undress. He could hear that the shower was on in the bathroom, and so he slipped on his suit, ruffled his hair and went to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Shit, Fred thought to himself and looked back. The girl was pretty, not beautiful, her smile revealed too much of her gums and she had too small eyes to be considered anything spectacular, but she had some animalistic attractiveness in the way she moved and in her gaze that seemed to be calculating him even after last night.

“I was going to leave”, he moved towards her quickly and pulled her body close to his, “I guess I have a bit longer, the job can wait.” His hand moved towards her back.

“I think not, I can’t have some Lower stinking me up after my shower” Fred stepped back, “even more” she continued “I can’t have you of all people sweating on top of me in the morning, while I may find criminals attractive at night, I can’t abide them in the morning. I think you should go back to your wife and leave me alone”

Fred smiled and moved towards the window. The black fog that filled the city made it impossible to look through, but feeling the warm glass he could tell that the sun was strong today.

“It’s going to be a bad day today, especially if the air vents go bust again.” There was a small box on the right hand corner of her window, which emitted a low buzzing sound. “Wouldn’t want the purifier to go either, but I guess you people up here get better service, mine broke ages ago, probably will only live to sixty now, with all those fumes down there.” He paused and looked back at the girl, who was staring impatiently at him. “It’s funny, you know, we worked so hard for perfection, but now it’s just bitten us in the ass and all we have left is the stuff we wanted to fix.” He tapped the purifier and chuckled.

“I think you should leave, go and see your wife.”

“My wife, girl, I don’t need to see her, she’ll wait for me, she’s probably been up all night, just waiting.” He laughed, a deep, dark laugh that seemed emanate from the very soles of his shoes. “You see, girl, life down there, on the lower floors, it ain’t so cosy,” He arranged his fingers into a gun, “bang, your dead.” He looked at her with a smile. “My wife probably thinks that I’m dead.”

He looked down at his watch, it was late, and he had to stop by his wife before he went to work. The girl was getting dressed, and he helped her into her dress.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes peering into his. He could see his reflection in them, and he winced.

“The great thing,” he smiled ruefully, “about living down there is there are no mirrors.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Anyway, I better get going, maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

“I’m afraid you don’t move in the same circles as I do, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not” he said, his large frame stepping towards the door. He pressed the entry code into the panel on the side, and waited as the door slowly opened. Moving out of the room, he looked back and smiled once more, it had been a good night, and he didn’t regret it one bit.

As the door closed behind him he brushed his jacket with his hand. He knew it was of no use, by now the smog and dirt was ingrained in his suit, and it would never come off, such was the price for living down there. He smirked and walked towards the elevator.

“Open” he said, and waited stupidly for the elevator door to open. Then he remembered. Shit, he thought, am I getting old? He stooped slightly and pressed the button for the elevator. He checked his watch, it was eleven o’clock, and he was late, very late.

He remembered what it was like before, when these tall building worked with skill and finesse, he remembered what it was like when he first met his wife. But, he thought ruefully, that was a long time ago, and besides, he had changed, as had his wife. According to the number slowly rising above the door of the elevator, he would soon be able to leave this floor.

Fred frowned slightly, he couldn’t get this girl out of her head. I mean, she wasn’t anything special, was she? It was her vivacity, he decided, that set her apart from the rest of the girls he had slept with. He smiled once more, and looked back at the dial above the door, it was almost there. He was almost home.

Fuck it, she’s going to die! Robert Huxley stood still in the elevator, watching as the numbers crawled slowly upwards. The elevator was small, it had been a tight squeeze for him and his four friends. The small box was panelled with mirrors. Once they had hidden cameras and sensors that could tell the emotions of the people in elevator from the very heat of their bodies. He knew they had been shut down long ago, but it didn’t stop a small part of him wondering whether he was being watched. Call it a human tick, he would always say, but I think there must be a kernel of truth in my instincts. He looked up at the ceiling, there was one light, which luckily didn’t flicker, he had been in some that did; it wasn’t an experience he enjoyed.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, he wondered what it would be like if this elevator was to fail, if it was to fall for the next two hundred story and crush in the bottom. Could he escape? Not at the speed it was falling, he thought, although if he was quick he could try to climb out through the ceiling and then cling to one of the four walls. If it wasn’t circular, he had that experience before, too.

It’s probably the fear, he thought, looking at the other men in the elevator. There was Charlie, looking as fresh as someone who had never held a gun before. Then again, this is probably his first woman. Charlie had come from a long line of soldiers, for generations his family had fought, killed and died for war lords, the government, and rich men. Charlie himself was a bit different, sure, he killed people, but he had morals, no girls, that was his motto, never girls. That would change today. Then there were two of Jenson’s men, he didn’t know them personally but he had been assured that they were good guys, they would kill upon order. Lastly there was Basalt. No one was quite sure why he had chosen that name for himself, but it had stuck and Basalt seemed content. The only man who had a pistol and knew how to use it, he was a treasured commodity in Huxley’s circles and, well, he was a killer, which increased his value. He wondered how many of them had killed girls before, looking at them, both Charlie and Larry’s guys were new to this. Basalt was less readable, he had kept calm and stared straight ahead at the doors.

“What are you looking at, Huxley?” Basalt didn’t even look at him.

Bastard, Robert thought, and scratched his head.

“How many girls you killed?” he asked examining Basalt’s face.

“Why?”

“I want to make sure you don’t go green on me, I need you to keep focus, you have killed a girl, haven’t you”

The three others shuffled and stared at their feet.

“You need me, I need you, we don’t need to talk.”

Bastard. Huxley pulled his gun out of his pocket and stared at it angrily. His was a energy gun, it shot large quantities of pure energy at a target, effective at short range, it was more like a blunderbuss in terms of accuracy and carnage. They had invented them as the future of warfare, but it turned out that without computer software, normal bullet firing guns were far more usable and effective. Metal was expensive now, energy was not. Nevertheless, that bitch was going to die, and he, Robert Huxley, was the man to do it.

The lift was almost up when Fred noticed something, he didn’t have his gun. He shook his head and chuckled, that girl had definitely affected him. He went to the door and knocked, waited and then, reaching for the door with his left hand, turned the handle and pushed the door open.

“If you move one more inch, Robert, I’ll shoot you down.”

“It’s me, Fred”, he said, moving into view, he could see her holding his gun. His stomach clenched up with fear, and he could hear his heart beating. I don’t want to die. He closed the door behind him and waited to see if his suspicions were true. The elevator opened. Footsteps. Fred locked the door and moved swiftly towards the girl.

“Give me the gun,” he commanded, and removed the weapon her shaking hands. He counted the footsteps, four men, amateurs the lot of them. He checked his pistol, and judged the distance between him and the door. 10 metres. From here the energy pistols shots would dissapate into nothing. He prayed that they didn’t have bullets. If they have bullets, I die. He looked girl, she wasn’t pretty enough to die for, was she? The footsteps grew closer, and he steadied his gun towards the door.

“Get into the bathroom, and lock the door.” He knew it would be no use, if he died, then she would die next.

“They’re coming because I-”

“Get into the bathroom!” he whispered angrily, “don’t distract me, I want to live, not-”

The door exploded open.

The girl screamed.

Pastor shot four times.

Shit! Robert fell back from the door, clutching his shoulder. Bullets? He swore angrily and shuffled further back, turning to look at the elevator, it was still open. He could still escape. The hallway to her room was large, and he still had a long way to go. Even in his pained state, he still noticed the marble floorings. How could she afford this place? He was bleeding bad, and he wondered whether he was going to die. I’m going to die! He realised, stifling a sob, he didn’t want anyone to hear him. He tried to take his mind of the pain, but it pulsated through his body. What the fuck happened, he thought, Charlie, and Jenson’s men, killed instantly. If he had gone first, instead of hanging round behind the other four, he would have died. He congratulated himself on his tactics, his smile turned quickly into a grimace as the pained rushed across his arm. What about Basalt, he suddenly remembered, where was his man?

Fred waited, his gun still aimed at the door. He had killed three and injured the fourth. He counted the guns on the floor. 4. It was probably safe to venture out, but, something was telling him not to. Fuck it. He moved slowly towards the door.

“Is it alright now”, the girls head pocked up from behind the bed.

“Stay put for now.”

He looked at three bodies. Thugs, these were men with no training, probably lackeys for hire. He was careful where he stepped, trying to avoid slipping on the blood that had pooled on the floor. He peered around the door. There was no-one there. Shit!

He felt the pain before he heard the gun shot.

Basalt’s heavy hand dragged him back to the elevator and threw him inside. He looked back the man lying in a pool of blood and noticed that he was quite old, perhaps in his late forties and fifties. Too old to be doing this kind of work. Still, it was his fault for defending her. Who would have thought she could have afforded a bodyguard anyway? Then again, he thought, looking at the marble flooring, who would have thought she could’ve afforded a place like this? He clutched his shoulder as another spasm of pain shot up from the wound. She’s gonna pay for this. Then he remembered. She wasn’t dead yet.

“Basalt, the girl!” he shouted, “we forgot about the fucking girl!”

Basalt nodded and walked back to the room. Robert heard a scream and Basalt returned dragging her behind him. Robert smiled as he saw her face turn from a vision of terror to that of disgust as she was pulled through the blood of her bodyguard.

“Fuck it Basalt, just kill her and get me home” He was in too much pain to stand up, or to do anything he had wanted to do to.

Through the pain that racked his body, and the loud sound of the his heart beating slower and slower, Fred heard the gunshot, and felt warm liquid spray against his face. He did not move. He knew that if moved he would die and that the girl was now dead.

“Basalt” he heard the wounded man say, “ let’s go, I’ll send for some guys to clear this up”

The elevator closed and started to move down. Fred remained silent, trying to hear for any movement. He quickly pulled himself up and surveyed the corridor. The girl’s blood had mingled with his, leaving a pool with chunks of her brain floating upon it. He was too weak to throw up but he knew he had to leave the building. Why the girl, he thought, Why that girl? He slid across to the elevator and repeatedly pressed the button. His vision was blurred through the pain, and he kept his hand over the wound. He fell to his knees and cried out in pain. I’m going to die. He smiled wryly, and waited for the elevator.

A man kneels in front of the elevator doors, his life flowing freely through his fingers. Behind him the remains of a woman lies on the floor, missing most of her head. Further down the corridor the dead bodies of three fill the doorway into a room, in which, ten minutes beforehand, had rung an alarm. Down the elevator itself, two men hurtle towards the ground floor, already fitting their masks to breath in the dense air. The two men are both murderers, but the second, sitting upright in the lift, seems aroused by what had just happened, and places one hand over his groin to disguise the growing organ. The other man stares straight ahead, a smile, similar to the dying man one hundred metres above, playing on his lips. Even further down, on the fifth floor, a woman sits in a bare apartment waiting for her husband, who is currently dying above her. The home includes one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen. As she waits, a man enters and she leads him wordlessly from the kitchen to the bedroom, where they engage in intercourse for around twelve minutes, after which he hands her money and leaves. She remains lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling vacantly, still waiting for her husband to return. By now the elevator has arrived at the ground floor, and the two men, the sitting one having finally calmed, entering the lobby. The man has not moved from his position, but he has lost too much blood. The likelihood of his survival is negligible. It is eleven thirty five in the morning.