20 Fluke

Two weeks had passed since Bee had been found dead. It'd been quick at least, or so it seemed, her throat slit in a dark alley.

It was an odd feeling, feeling relief over the manner in which somebody had been killed, the fact that they were dead already set in stone, the only thing left to debate how it was done. I suppose I had been expecting something far worse from the Rats, no doubt eager to avenge their fallen comrade.

If even it was them.

It was a creeping suspicion, likely one with no solid footing, but still, it lingered, seeing me question just whose hand it was that had held the blade.

I didn't ask questions, of course. I didn't ask questions when we'd returned, and all that awaited us was a somber silence and a timely absence of somebody I'd been approaching deeming my only friend in the Hive. I didn't ask questions questions when Danev had refused to speak to us open our return, only nodding us within, granting us leave to decide the rest of our day as we pleased. I hadn't even asked questions when Riu had lied to the other Hornets, told them Bee had gone out on her own, killed a Rat who she deliberately sought out, and attempted to do so again, getting killed in the process.

I knew that he'd done so in order to make the others certain that her death had been coming. I knew when we'd arrived back that day, that Bee was already dead, and I knew that, one way or another, Danev was responsible. Whatever it was that had led up to it, the facts remained; Bee was dead, and I was down a person who had somewhat trusted me to some slight degree.

Saku's generosity towards me wore off in time over the next couple of weeks. He never quite became malicious, still likely remembering how I'd stuck my neck out to help both him and Bee, not that it mattered much for the latter anymore, but it felt as though I was drawing ever closer back to square one. This held especially true as Danev figured there was no sense in wasting time to announce their new arrival, doing so the same night Bee was declared dead. There had been no shortage of complaints, some hushed, others not so much, but be them quiet or vocal, the sentiment was clear–I wasn't wanted here.

There was something enlightening about seeing the effect I'd had over the years. The only extent to which I'd cared about the effects of information I'd sell was that, the more it led to something tangible, the more reliable I was considered, and the more I could be assured of repeat customers, which, in the case of the Rats and Hornets, had been the case, loud and clear. Perhaps I'd even managed to deceive myself over the years, thinking their hesitation of me a matter solely of self-preservation, but their overall disposition positive, results speaking for themselves time and time again.

But if Bee had been a hint, I'd refused to take it, and I was now surrounded by those who'd seen the effects of the information I'd sold. Theft, raids, beatings. Would it have been any different with the Rats?

I imagined not, and besides, there was no point in thinking of that now. Even if I still wanted to, I wasn't leaving. The Hornets didn't want me here, but much less, they wanted me back on the streets with what I'd seen.

I suppose I was just lucky they hadn't killed me yet.

They put me to work, of course. I didn't imagine they'd be too keen on housing, feeding, and watering me if there was no sense of return on their investment. I spent my nights in the same dank room that'd once been Mahin's. I never tried the door, perhaps not wanting to see that it'd been locked, choosing instead to believe that there was enough trust that I wasn't just being kept in another cell. In the mornings, I was fed the same gruel as the others. I couldn't complain. It was food, and it was consistent. It may not have been as much as I could earn for myself back on my own, but at the very least, I didn't have to go from one day to the next wondering if I'd get a meal inside of me nor a cup of semi-filtered drainage water.

And all I had to do for it was make myself useful.

It was, for the most part, the same thing I'd been doing prior with Saku–making supply runs, collecting pick ups of supplies from either other Hornet holdouts, people who owed us for our 'protection', or people we'd made loans too and now expected returns from, with interest. I was no stranger to the functionings of the Hornets. While I'd been caught unawares by their dealings with the city's west side a few weeks ago, I was beginning to understand more the breadth of how the Hornets, and I imagined the Rats, by extension, functioned. From outside, looking in, I could understand a good deal, put details together, and understand just how widespread it all was, but to see what connections those were, how much the Hornets had managed to keep hidden from me, it was humbling to say the least.

Fortunately for my self esteem, our campaign of collections now brought us to the side of the world I was familiar with, collecting what was owed to us and doing our damned best to try and remind people the Hornets, in spite of their recent loss, was still a tangible force in Taisho.

The incident with Bee had been a setback, but not nearly as much of one as it could have been. The more I thought on it, the more I could draw the lines, see what it was that had birthed the new bags beneath Danev's eyes. If it was true…if it was true that he'd done it, then, naturally, there were the implications of it being a mercy. He would have made it quick, ensured there was no suffering–a generosity I'm sure the Rats would not have been so keen to demonstrate.

Then there was the political side of things, or at least, the extent to which the term, 'politics', could be attributed to this chaos. It would have been Match who'd wished for Bee's death. He would have been the one on the hunt, and more likely than not, it would have been him who'd found her dead. Word would spread that Bee was dead, and the implication would be that Match would have been the one to do it. He'd be a legend among the Rats as nobody would suspect Bee of having gone down without a fight. Match, of course, would know the truth that somebody else had gotten to her first, but he wouldn't deny the claims of it having been him. He would begrudgingly accept recognition as her killer, but satisfaction wouldn't be his. The situation would be resolved. Bee would have been given a swift death, the Rats would be satisfied, the Hornets would accept the death, but become certain to not repeat the same mistakes, and things would go back to normal.

Except they wouldn't.

Nobody could miss the bitterness. Bee hadn't been popular, and had it been left to a vote, I wouldn't have been surprised if the rest would have chosen to given her up. But she'd, as far as they'd known, gone off on her own, and gotten killed for it. A Hornet killed by a Rat, even if blood for blood, set nobody's anger aside. War hadn't been avoided, but simply cooled. I couldn't say how much longer it would remain that way, but anything was better than what a hot war looked like in the slums. Time had passed since then, but the memories still were there.

It made the grotesque manner in which it had all ended seem tame by comparison.

At the very least, the Hornet name seemed to still carry some weight across the slums, not much difficulty being had in making collections. Without Bee, the distribution of who would run collections had become subject to augmentation. Rather than sending me and Saku to go alone, something that'd be considered rather foolhardy in light of present circumstances, we were given a third by the name of Shuho, a humorless man whose sole intent was to make it from one day to the next and not give the Hornets any reason to doubt his use, the limp he sported already enough to put that into question.

I couldn't blame the man for behaving the way he did. He and I were in not too dissimilar a situation I supposed, myself just as needing to prove that I was worth my weight in breadcrumbs. I did as I was bid, naturally, doing what it was they told me, when it was they told me to do it. It was all that I could do, but at the end of the day, I knew it wouldn't be enough. I possessed the physical composure of a corn stalk, my most immediate fear a light breeze, and after that, everything else. That wasn't to say everybody else in the slums was some example of physical perfection. Starvation tended to have an effect in preventing such advantageous development, but in my case, a life spent running, hiding, watching from afar, it did little to make me worthy of being considered 'muscle'. Hell, it was everything I could do as it was to assure them I was even worth my weight as a lookout or runner. I wanted to think the fact they even had me on the streets was some indication of an understanding that I had some degree of use.

We weren't the only group of Hornets making collections such as these of course. Sparse though we were so as to avoid drawing attention, we were out there, the conclusion of every day seeing us add to the stockpile as we further prepared for the dry season we knew was approaching.

It would be as it'd been every Winter prior. Slowly, but surely, the grain would stop coming into the city. The interior would make due with the stockpiles that they would have spent all of Spring, Summer, and Fall building, while those of us in the street would consume our reserves by the end of Winter's first month, and spend that which came after killing one another and forgetting what made us human to survive until the end.

It was the slums' personal special way of culling the population on a yearly basis, and I still had no idea how it was that I'd made it as long as I had. No, I knew exactly what it was. I'd looked after myself, and I'd survived.

Now it was just a matter of ensuring this year was no different. I wanted to, I had to, think that it would be different, that it would be easier. In the past, it had been more of the same, selling information as usual, knowledge of food stashes all the more valuable. Now, I couldn't pull the same cheap tricks. However, it did mean I had people looking out for me. Or at least, I would have people looking out for me if I did what it was I had to do. And part of that…part of ensuring I was still worth keeping around, part of ensuring we'd be ready for what came forward, meant pulling our weight no matter what it was that got in the way.

"Shit," I heard Shuho whisper to me and Saku's side as we approached another collection spot. This one wasn't to be a dead drop, but a meeting with what was described to me as "a group of like-minded individuals."

The Hornets and Rats weren't the only gangs in Taisho to be sure. There were others, significantly smaller, never numbering more than a half dozen. Hell, they could hardly be called gangs more than they were crews of freelancers that gave their loyalty on a basis of pay. During the time of the peacemakers, any such crews so bold as to announce themselves were swiftly and decisively removed. In more recent times, they would still spring up from time to time, never quite deciding to make a play for territory themselves more than they sought to get a hand in the action. They were, for all intents and purposes, proxies through which turf wars were escalated. Those that didn't play by the rules, that tried to go out on their own, they rarely lasted more than a few weeks.

But times were changing, and people were emboldened.

"The hell?" Saku asked, noticing at around the same time I did the group of 8 that huddled around where I'd been told we were set to meet them.

It wasn't a good look. I'd been told there were 4 of these "fireflies" who we were set to meet, yet there was double that amount, armed, not looking particularly keen on making their payment to those who'd ensured they'd been allowed to exist in the first place.

"What's this shit?" Saku asked ahead towards the group that awaited, gathered around the interior courtyard of what I assumed had once been a pleasant enough attraction so as to justify the fountain, now sapped dry and rusted from its years of inactivity, that sat in the center.

"What?!" the one at the head called back with a bemused chuckle as he stood up from the edge of the fountain he'd been sitting atop. "We're a gang. We not supposed to defend ourselves in these dire times?"

"We are your protection, Saze," Shuho reminded the now-named boy, likely somewhere around fourteen years old.

"That so?" he asked, braving the additional step forward. "'Cause I hear Queenbee got her pretty lil' throat slit few weeks back. That the protection y'all are offerin', then we're not interested."

"We let her go," intervened Saku, stepping forward as well by Shuho's side, using a truth that, to all save me, would seem a lie meant to save face. "We let you go too, don't expect the streets to treat you any better. Or the Rats for that matter."

Saze grinned, looking over his shoulders towards the others in his company who appeared to be enjoying the performance he was putting up. "Thing 'bout that is, we're thinking we'll be putting your services on hold for the time bein'. We've been doing rather aight on our own, and really, we don't see the need in paying you for somethin' we can do just as well, sorry, better on our own."

There were eight of them, and only three of us. We weren't going to intimidate them, not as we were now. We'd come equipped to make easy collections, use the weight of our name to get what we needed, but we hadn't been equipped to fight. That much was clear by the wooden pike Saku wielded, the club tied by a hemp rope to Shuho's side, and my lack of shiv, even after nearly a month had been spent with these people. It was with that in mind that I could already identify Shuho taking another step forward as the horrible choice that it was, but he was a desperate man, doing whatever it was that he could to show the Hornets that he was more than his limp.

But if it gets him killed in the process, what difference does it make?

"You going back on our agreement, asshole!?"

"We not make that clear enough the first time?"

"You owe us, Saze."

Let it go. We're accomplishing nothing here.

"We don't owe you fuck all!" Others had stood up as well. This wasn't going to go our way. Shuho had to see that.

"Shuho," Saku spoke up. "Come on, man. Not worth it. This is going nowhere."

Shuho only pushed him aside, his attention still on Sazu and the others as he exclaimed, "You really want to fuck with the Hornets?! Think that's going to get you anywhere but the side of the road in a gutter?!"

The fireflies displayed no hesitation to take him up on his empty threats, those who hadn't been paying attention prior now giving the circumstances their well due regard. "That a threat, Shuho? Careful now, you aven't a leg to stand on."

It was a face off we wouldn't emerge on the standing side of. We had to pull back.

"Shuho," I tried to reprimand him in a hushed tone, unaware of the likelihood that it would fall on deaf ears if not spiteful ones. "We can't win this."

"Shut up!"

"He's right, Shuho. We heard Danev. No more casualties, yeah."

"Believe me," Shuho said anyway, reaching for the club by his side. "Not planning on it."

The move alone was enough to bring some life to the crowd ahead of us, having been waiting for precisely the excuse to engage. They likely would have done so too had Saku not placed himself between Shuho and them, arms outstretched, saying desperately, "Woah woah woah woah. We get the message, alright?! Let's not do something any of us regret."

It wasn't blood, but it was victory all the same as far as they were concerned, the stupid smirk on his face saying just that.

Shuho turned to face Saku, appalled by the sight of him, that he would even suggest such a thing, that the Hornets, Taisho's strongest gang, was backing down from a group of punks.

But there they were, eight of them, armed. I saw sharpened sticks acting as spears, clubs larger than Shuho's own, shivs, even what looked to be a pair of makeshift brass knuckles.

Now's not the time, I found myself thinking, though I knew not why.

All I should have been caring about was the fact that Shuho turned, Saku nodding for me to follow as we backed away, nothing left here for us.

But it wasn't over yet.

"Hey let's not be too hasty!"

What now?

"Let's see what you got on you," Sazu continued.

Saku turned. "What?" he asked, hand clenching around his homemade spear.

"Your collections. We can't've been your first stops, right?"

Are they...mugging us?

"You made your point. We won't be collecting from you anymore," Saku continued, still trying to get us out of this before it went any further, but no. It was already a lost cause.

"Well, me and the boys think you owe us for the inconvenience and waste of our time, so...," he signaled for the others to move forward, armed, eagerness in their eyes. They had us outnumbered. If ever there was a time to make a move, this was it, and if ever there was a time for us to hang our heads low, this was also it.

Saku saw just that, turning to his companion. "Shuho," he started.

"What? No! Fuck no! We're not giving them shit! This is ours!"

"You rather them beat us for it?!"

"I'd like to see them try!" He reached once again for his club, but immediately thought against it the moment two pikes were raised to his chin, and a single move forward would have meant a spearhead in his throat.

"Damnit, Shuho," said Saku. "Just do it."

The man in question gulped, his adam's apple nearly brushing the spearhead, but, in due time, he submitted, reaching for his belt and the small purse of collection money we'd spent the day collected. Only a second later, and it was gone, the spears lowered, us at their mercy, only permitted to retreat upon them having checked the bag and waving us away.

We did so.

"That's right, dickheads," a firefly called out.

"Get back to your Hive and fuck each other for some honey or whatever it is you fags do!"

"See you got yourselves a little fuckboy too to have fun with."

"Fucking faggots."

We paid them no mind, urged forward by Saku's better judgment and calmer disposition as much as the hands on our backs prodding us forward away from it all.

I should have just been relieved things hadn't escalated. I should have just been happy that my captivity with the Hornets hadn't put me in the middle of a situation that would have seen my head caved in for some damned stupid collection that I had no stake in.

I was a captive, nothing more.

But it's still them I'm relying on. It's still them I'm with, that, one way or another, I chose not to leave. I'm their captive, nothing more, but I'll be damned if I'm not the captive of the gang that's going to make it through this bullshit on top.

We'll remind those sons of bitches who's in charge in these slums.