A Fluke

And there it was again, the same voice that, whenever it was I did choose to dream, spoke to me, saying what it was it always did when it came around, "Wake up", and alongside it, a name. A name I'd agreed not to speak. A name that I'd understood that, should I use it, would get me killed in time. And so I woke as somebody different, somebody who only existed in this world because of luck, good or bad. Just a fluke.

Even in the center of Taisho's slums, I still somehow managed to find myself in the shadow of the wall. No matter where I looked, there it was, rising fifty feet above the ground, a dark gray obelisk that somehow still managed to put the overcast Autumn sky to shame. I imagined, from time to time, that in the city center, maybe the walls didn't seem half so foreboding. Hell, maybe even the sun shone out there while we were stuck in what seemed to be a constant gloom. Smog had a tendency to do that, I supposed. But here, if it wasn't the smog from the factories, or the overcast Fall weather rolling in from the east, it was the wall, the shadow of it never failing to remind us that we were trapped here. That unless you were military or one of the upper-class residents living in the inner city, there was no way in, no way out.

For us in the slums, it was simply an understanding we all had come to sooner or later. We were a human shield, a mass of thousands of compressed children, infirm, and elderly, or, to put it simply, anybody not fit to put on a uniform and be sent to the front. If you weren't drafted the moment you became 14 then, if you had any sense of what was good for yourself, you'd sign up anyway. It was no surprise to anybody anymore. It was a promise of food, water, and a roof over your head—all luxuries that could scant be afforded out here. Not in this city. Out here, your fate was, for all intents and purposes, set in stone: to die of starvation, thirst, disease, or if you managed to survive those three, gang warfare. There was only one certainty anymore, and that was death. So it no longer surprised us when some new 14-year-old handed himself to the guards at the gates and proclaimed he wanted to be a soldier. I guess that dying in warfare would always be superior to dying in these slums.

Though not all saw it that way. There were plenty, on the other hand, who saw the chaos of these slums as an opportunity. I had a way of reading the people around me, knowing what they thought and what they believed. I had the eye for it. While most everyone was too concerned with who to mug one day, what struggling vendor was viable enough to rob the next, or overall just finding some way to make sure their gang didn't view them as not worth the food, I preferred to let my attention remain on the finer things. I had the eyes to notice the changing world around me, ensuring that no worthwhile piece of information went wasted. Being 12 years old wasn't the worst thing on the streets. You weren't quite old enough to be drafted, sure, but you also weren't too young to be literally stomped on by the gangs or bullies.

I had my own setup, seeing as how my sojourn in this city wasn't likely to come to an end any time soon. And so, I did what I did best. I watched. You'd think that on an empty stomach, not having had a proper meal in weeks or drink in days, people wouldn't be quite so talkative. Then again, there wasn't exactly much more to do. Wandering the streets of Taisho's Outer Ring, the Slums, "The Filth District", whatever one wanted to call it, information of all kinds could be picked up: a vendor showing the marks of being "easy pickings", a gang safehouse being stocked, a dumb rich kid from the inner city who thought himself invincible, these were all the kinds of things I'd sell. Information. I'd watch, memorize, deliver the news to the right people, and they'd pay you on the spot. At least, most of the time they would. Sometimes proof was required, but that was more in the old days. Now, time was money for the gangs, and if there was a fresh lead, they weren't keen on wasting any time. And besides, I'd built a reputation for myself at this point. So most of the time nowadays, I got paid on the spot in coin or in food and clean water, the latter being preferable. Coin wasn't much use out here as there wasn't much to buy. What little there was, from artisan shops or craftsmen, it served me no purpose. Food was the real currency for anybody who didn't want to find themselves a skeletal husk dead in an alley one random day, and there was enough food to go around, at least if you knew where to look. And these days, business was thriving. It seemed gang warfare was good for something at least.

On normal occasion, how I make my pay would be considered 'snitching.' But this wasn't quite snitching per se. Rather, it was business. Snitching would have been going to the authorities. No that they really cared. Unless it was some rich kid getting mugged, a caravan being robbed, or the threat of foreign intrusion, they were perfectly fine with watching us tear one another apart. Sometimes I even wondered if they bet on who would live or die from one day to the next, watching our lives like some high-stakes boxing match. Plus, you'd be painting a target on your head bigger and brighter than any other rival gang. And so, there was little reason to go to the authorities. Last person to do so had learned that the hard way, found a few days later in the middle of the street, hog-tied, mouth sewn shut, his attempts to scream in pain so fierce he managed to tear open the threading. Grim description aside, it was a good reminder of the first rule in the slums.

As far as my memory served me, I could remember no time when the gangs were more at conflict than they were now. The conflict was between two gangs, the Hornets and the Rats. The former was as close to the "old breed" as you could get here, them having been the leading gang for the last 3 or so years now. They were led by a 16-year-old named Riu. Rumor had it he killed the soldier who'd tried to pull him off the street to draft him. The odds were just as true of the story being true as they were of him just being a slightly taller 14-year-old. Nobody would dare confirm nor deny the rumors, however, making him something of an urban legend at this point. Not a bad thing to be for the leader of a gang. The others were relative newcomers led by a 14-year-old named Miro. Not much was known about him, still likely trying to make a name for himself, this war perhaps being the best way to do so.

It was hard to call it a war, of course, by no means comparable to what was happening outside of the walls, at least judging by what I'd heard. It was more just a series of thefts, beatings, ambushes, kidnappings, you name it, anybody ambitious enough to get in one of the action joining one gang or the other. I took part in my own way. Despite my preference being for Miro and his newcomers, I didn't let anything get in the way of a good payday. I sold to whoever offered most, occasionally seeing the consequences of my actions, but paying them no mind. A heavy conscience was something I had to avoid if I wanted to stay fed. Of course, however, I did have standards. I never did anything or gave away any information that could get somebody killed. Having a heavy conscience in crippling a gang's operations was one thing. Having a dead body turning up on the street because of a fluke like me, that was something else in its entirety.

Around midday was when I came to the assessment that sitting around all day wouldn't put a meal in my stomach by nightfall. And so, I left my regular spot perched on the railing of the 2nd story balcony of a decrepit old pottery shop, making my way down the Liángshí Street towards the inner gate.

The main streets and gates of the city were appropriately named after the trade routes they were connected to. If you were to keep following the Liángshí Street north, you'd eventually, of course, leave the city, but going beyond that, stumble across the farmland on the outskirts of a different city called Ba Sing Se. Talk was that it was an enemy city, but I didn't imagine it stopped the Fire Nation from taking what it needed from there and sending it south to us. How very generous.

The main streets always served as hubs of activity for the slums, never empty as far as I could remember, save for that one Summer when plague had rolled through. Even then, though, I guess it hadn't been empty. None of its inhabitants had been alive, of course, but notwithstanding, it was never empty. Nowadays though, the plague being a distant memory, things had returned to normal on the main streets, there always being some sense of haste and activity to them despite the fact that hardly anybody in the slums actually possessed any form of profession beyond "survive." Sure, you'd have your tradesman, artisan, cook, prostitute, and, well, more prostitutes. There was no shortage of them carrying around a load of diseases best left to themselves. I didn't doubt some trace of the plague may still have been circulating amongst them. I myself never could tell how they stayed in business, ugly and visibly disease-ridden as they were. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

The main streets, at the end of the day, was where all the commotion was, and that extended to the gangs as well, acting as a neutral territory of sorts rather than an open combat zone like the rest of the slums were. The 2nd unspoken rule of the slums seemed to be just that--leave the fighting behind closed doors. There was no sense doing it in the open public, reason A being that it risked collateral, reason B being that some snoop like me could easily make a quick buck off of publicizing whatever the outcome was. Not that I didn't have my own ways of finding out, though.

It didn't take long for me to pass by a trio of Miro's thugs. They caught sight of me quickly enough, as was their job after all. I'd normally expect to pass by them without any incident, but it just so happened that one of them was an old friend of mine.

"Oh would ya look at the time!" Reek called out, pushing his way out from between the two other Rats to get a proper look at me. "Must be some sort of Fluke for you to be here 'round now!" It was a joke I'd heard hundreds of times over. If anything was low-hanging fruit for comedic material in these slums, it was somebody's name, so easily prone to being assigned to somebody after the first dumb thing you did. I figured Reek should know that better than anybody.

"I'd return the favor and make fun of your name in response, but, on second thought," I said, raising a hand to my nose, mockingly swiping away some unwelcome smell, "I think the odor speaks for itself."

I'd made my way over to their little trio, the other two rats making some distance. Reek knew me well, as did the others, but to a less favorable effect clearly. I didn't blame them. People learned to watch what they said around me. Only old friends like Reek still had what it took to put gang loyalties aside for a minute or two to have a little fun. I had to appreciate the small moments like that when they came. They seemed to be too far and in between as it was.

"Woahhhhh. Look at you. Never heard that one before," he guffawed in clear sarcasm. "So the hell you doing 'round here? Just taking in the scenery, or you just miss me that much?"

"Well you know I never consider a day complete without visiting my favorite parasite in this town. No, wait, second favorite. Ringworms are my favorite."

"You done?"

"No, no, you're right. I lied. Ringworm, then elephant rats with the plague, then you."

"Very funny. So you here to bring sunshine and rainbows to this shithole with that wit of yours, or do you actually have something for us?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I was actually wondering if it was you who had something for me?"

Reek grinned, saying with mock elegance, "Why of course. Me and my associates here were just talking about our latest plans to hit the Hive in full force tonight. So do be sure to let them know so that they can pull all of their guys out. We wouldn't want anybody to get hurt after all."

"I'll make it my utmost priority then," I replied with an equally joking smile, taking imaginary notes on an invisible notepad.

"Shut up, Reek," said the oldest of the bunch who I recognized as Mu. At least, I thought I recognized him as Mu. Much as I tried to keep track of everybody in these slums, gang members in particular, I couldn't help but mix up a name from time to time.

"Just making friendly conversation, Mu."

So I was right, I congratulated myself.

"We're not fed to talk. Hell, we're hardly fed at all."

"You complaining, Mu? Got something you want to get off your chest in front of our esteemed company"

Mu's eyes drifted over to me where I was standing, having paced a few steps back so as not to get caught in the middle of, well, whatever this was. I considered stepping in as Mu seemed about half ready to blow up on Reek, but I doubted he'd do anything at the end of the day. He could more than take Reek, who was half his size, in a fight, but in the process, he'd paint a target on his head for the Rats to snuff out. He wasn't smart, but he wasn't nearly dumb enough to do anything here. "No," he answered, turning away, clearly having nothing more to say on the matter.

Reek turned back to me with a shrug as though apologizing for Mu's behavior.

He had no reason to apologize. Mu may just have bought me dinner. Dissent in the ranks, news of food shortage. That ought to get me something at the very least.

"Well," I said, straightening my back, dusting off my outerwear as I prepped to get moving again. "I hate to leave on such a positive note, but I probably shouldn't be sticking around," I said.

"Aw, going so soon?" Reek asked after me in jest.

"I know. What'll you ever do without my lovely company?"

"I just may be broken hearted. So where you off to?"

"Oh you know, off to see if I can get anything out of the Hornets. Maybe they'll be more talkative than this lot."

"Ah, well, in that case, do be sure to stop back by if you hear any news, ahem, 'buzzing' around."

I had to stop in my steps just to turn back at him with a look of sheer disappointment on my face. "Really? That's the best you could do?"

He shrugged in a plea for innocence, defensively saying, "Wha- I thought it was pretty good."

I shook my head. "You disappoint me," was all I could muster before turning back onto the Liángshí Street, already planning my heading towards the Hive. Making a b-line for it would be stupid. It wasn't as though I was trying to hide anything, but simply put, it never helped to be as obvious as humanly possible. I left the trio of Rats there, figuring they could work out whatever difficulties they had amongst themselves. I, on the other hand, had other matters to attend to. I potentially had some useful information on me. Something that a few Hornet friends of mine might just have been able to make use of. For the right price, of course.