Slumrat Rising

Vol. 4 Chap. 32 Measure Twice, Or At Least Once

Truth sat on the bus next to the vile little rat. Maybe he shouldn’t look down on his unenlightened cousins. Fair to say, his life had not been typical. But he absolutely did look down on this particular specimen, for one very simple reason- this rat had never tried to climb. He had probably never even looked up.

The little rat sprawled across a couple of seats on the back of the bus. Glaring at anyone who dared to look at him for more than a second. Making sure his colors and tattoos were highly visible.

Optimistic of him to think Citizens would recognize them, but then, he wasn’t a big thinker. Besides, most of the people on the bus were Denizens. They understood just fine.

Truth tried not to mind the stink of him. The body odor, the unwashed clothes, but worst of all, the unwashed ass. Visible tooth rot. Dentists were barely a dream in the slums, and dental hygiene was considerably more optional than cheap schnapps. Truth wondered what the little rat’s drug of choice was.

The little rat’s eyes had a sheen to them, like scuffed marbles. Thin threads of blood traced over the white, flooding it in red. The pupils were wide, jerking around, trying to find where the next punch was coming from. Where the next prey was coming from. As they got further from the slums, the rat’s feet started hammering on the floor. His hands clenched and relaxed, clenched and relaxed.

More citizens were getting on the bus now, carefully not looking too long at the denizen in the back. No one wanted to get involved. Was there a plainclothes cop on the bus? Didn’t look like it, but then, that was kind of the point.

How long could the little rat hold out? One stop, two, three. They reached a reasonably residential district. Lots of nice tower apartments. The rat waited until the doors opened, then he exploded up from his seat, shoved past the standing passengers, and ran out the back door of the bus.

Once his ratty sneaker hit the curb, he kicked into high gear. There was a little service alley just up the block. He sprinted for it, juking past the gawping people on the street. If he hadn’t drawn official eyes on the bus, he certainly had now. Not that the rat was aware of that. He was out in the open. There were familiar shadows ahead. He ran for them, looking for a dumpster to hide under.

The alley was disconcertingly wide and clean for a slum kid. It had to be- wagons would run along it to the parking lot in the back. Had to make the deliveries somehow, right? No handy dumpsters to hide behind- they were neatly around the back of the building too. No graffiti to let you know who ran things around here. No local gangsters keeping you off the turf. It was like falling into the middle of the ocean, or waking up in the middle of the desert. You recognized everything around you, and had no clue where you were.

The rat’s eyes darted around, seeing the very obvious recording talismans. He pulled his hood up, and hugged the wall. Truth nodded sagely. Clearly the rat was now invisible to all modern technology.

The rat found the garbage bins and tucked himself in beside them. Sooner or later, someone would have to dump their trash. Someone with an amulet that would let him into the building. Then it would just take some time trying doors.

Truth sat down next to him. A little farther from the garbage cans, a little farther from the concentrated slum-ness of it all. Just watching. He was minorly impressed. He didn’t think the rat would have the patience to set an ambush like this. He might be out here for hours- brave choice. After all, there wouldn’t be any known suppliers out here. Unless he was carrying his next fix, the little rat was taking a big gamble.

Truth grew up watching withdrawal kick in. Usually that’s when things got bad. A person who was high might act crazy, but a person in withdrawal? They were crazy and desperate. What exactly it looked like varied from drug to drug. Sometimes the shakes, or lethargy, or manic energy. There was almost always pain.

It was the pain that was the killer. It was the pain that made people desperate to find that next fix. It hurt to be sober. It hurt to be feeling those feelings that the drugs had been choking down. It hurt when the chemicals started leaching out of your brain, removing your ability to feel happiness, or even pleasure. You couldn’t live like that. Even a few minutes like that were unendurable.

It only took a few instances of involuntary sobriety to make that lesson very plain. So the addicts started living in fear. Fear of drying out. Planning their lives around their fixes- how much do they have, and when can they get it next? How much is too much, and how much do they need to deal with life in the slums.

It wasn’t a life spent feeding an addiction. It was a life spent avoiding the pain of sobriety. Slum rats struggling with all their might to avoid anxiety. Same as all the other rats. Nobody thought it was right, or fair. It was just life in the slums.

Maybe it would be different if someone reached out to them, showed them they could beat the addiction, beat the slums. But nobody had, and nobody would. Their only hope was to stay high until they die.

The back door of the apartment building swung open, the metallic clack of the ram-bar echoing off the concrete walls and asphalt of the parking lot. A middle aged woman struggled through, a baby on one hip, a trash bag on the other, and a cigarette hanging from her lips. No cosmetic glamorous here, though she had clearly done her face at some point in the day. Still wearing the soft leggings and baggy sweatshirt of someone not expecting to be out in public.

Truth’s mouth twitched a little at the sight. It seemed that he was far from the only one who had to put on and take off his identity.

The little rat slowly pulled out a knife. Crouched down next to the bins.

“Yeah, no, we aren’t going to do that.” Truth gave the vermin a firm slap ‘round the ear. He pulled the shot- didn’t kill him, did give him a concussion that might finish the job. He tossed the unconscious fellow directly into a bin, dropped a trash bag on top of him, and wedged the lid on.

He would have to teach the rats, but this rat was not worth teaching.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Oh, sorry, I didn't realize someone was in here.” The housewife muttered around her cigarette.

“No problem. You need a hand?” Truth grunted, pretending to strain as he shoved the garbage bin towards the back.

“Actually, yeah, thanks.”

Truth grabbed her trash bag. Felt like it was mostly diapers. He found an empty bin and disposed of it. “First kid?”

“Third. First girl.”

“Ah nice.” Truth started walking off. He wasn’t sure what he had wanted from the conversation.

“Oh hey!” She called after him.

“Yeah?”

“You work for the building?”

“Nah, I needed a trash can, and there weren’t any on the street. Why?”

“Oh, well, you kind of look like a maintenance guy, and my water talisman is busted. Never mind. Sorry.”

Truth sighed, and mentally shrugged. Why not?

The apartment was small, about the size of what he grew up in. He didn’t know why he found that so surprising. He had just assumed that Citizens lived in luxury, even if he knew, logically, that it couldn’t be true. Some lingering class prejudice there.

It was unquestionably nicer than his childhood home. Cleaner. No mold. No stacks of empty wrappers and boxes and bottles. Some cheap wine bottles in a rack by the fridge, but no signs that mom had been going after them hard. Overflowing ashtrays, but then, she hadn’t been expecting company.

No busted armchair. No MegaShroom. No Dad. There were toys, though. And board books, in bright colors. Even some “Early Readers” books.

“Other kids at school?”

“Spring Garden Preschool. Yours?”

“Oh, I don’t have any of my own. Raised my younger siblings. Well, you know how it is.” Truth had a fine rasp out and a technician’s loupe over his eye. He had collected a good set of tools over the last day.

“You raised your siblings? How does that happen?” She sounded disbelieving.

“Two working parents who had no time but all the stress in the world.”

“Ouch. Sorry to hear it.”

“Don’t be. It’s what made me who I am today. Never would have learned maintenance if I wasn’t hustling for my sibs.”

She snorted at that. “Smoke?”

“I don’t, thanks. I’d take a glass, though.”

“Sure. Of what?”

“Just the glass.”

She gave him an odd look, and handed him a glass. He polished a few channels, removed a sizable blockage, and returned the talisman to its mount over the sink. He put the cup under it and pressed the activation gem. Cold, clean water filled the glass with a smooth, lamellar flow.

Truth took a good gulp, then another. Delicious. Just the right balance of minerals to give the water an excellent flavor. A Starbrite product, naturally.

“Always loved this model. Usually completely reliable.” He put the glass down in the sink. It would take unusually keen eyes to notice he left no fingerprints on the glass, or anything else he touched.

“I never had a water talisman break in my life.” The mom shook her head wonderingly. “I know that the sunspots are causing those horrible magic saturation events, but somehow, seeing the water just not work.” She groped for the words she wanted, then visibly gave up.

“It feels real in a way no amount of news stories can.”

“Yes.” She tapped her nose. “It’s really scary. Like, she’s mostly on real food now, purees and all that.” Truth nodded along. “But she still has to drink something, right? And she needs a bath, and I need a bath, not to mention Jake and Saul. Who also have to drink something that isn’t juice or Orange ‘Splosion.”

“Preaching to the choir on that one. Speaking of necessities, how is your toilet and shower looking?”

“Oh, I haven’t had any problems with them.”

“Mmmmhmmm. Mind if I take a quick look?”

“Sure, go nuts.”

Truth went through the bathroom quickly. Oddly enough, the sink there only needed a little touch up to be back in perfect working order. The toilet was a fairly crude talisman, and was in crude health. Just needed a little brushing and he was done. The shower, on the other hand, had famously finicky controls, and it was half dead.

“Woah! Lucky I came! Guessing you don’t take hot showers.”

“No, with the little ones, I’m always worried about them being scalded, so I keep the temperature just lukewarm.”

“Lucky. See that? Your hot water controller is corroded. Try putting it up and you could be looking at boiling water in just a few seconds.” Truth pointed at the channel. He wasn’t lying either. She must have been just barely touching the hot water side.

“Saint Mechivus protect us! That’s the inside of the shower talisman?”

“Yeah, don’t let the green-black color fool you, that’s just surface oxidation and the reaction of some of the metals used to make it. Looks scary, but it’s actually completely normal. What you want to pay attention to is this bit right here- this channel. If you squint, you can probably see where the channel breaks?”

“Oh? OOOH! Yeah, I can see it when the light hits it just right.”

Truth nodded. “Not going to lie- I can patch this, but I wouldn’t put my sibs in this shower, and I really, really, wouldn’t put your kids in there. I recommend replacing it immediately. Everything is more expensive these days, but this shouldn’t be too bad. At the very least, you can get a more basic model that does the same exact stuff in a less fancy shower head.”

“What brands are good?”

“For this? Almost any. Don’t buy Bosken, their quality control is very bad, but pretty much any other brand will be fine.” Truth shrugged. It was true five years ago, anyway. Probably still true.

“Thank you so much. What do I owe you?”

Truth smiled. “Nothing. Pass it on to someone else.”

“Pass it on?” She looked puzzled.

“Everyone’s looking for that get-back, right? Well, someone helped me out. Now I’m helping you out, paying back the guy I owe. Now you do something good for someone else to pay me back. Pass it on.”

She snorted at that, then started laughing. “Really?”

“Really. Oh, is she supposed to be eating that?” The mom whipped around glaring at her daughter. The daughter looked back with a wronged expression on her face. For once, she wasn’t eating anything.

When the mom looked back, Truth had vanished.