Unfair World (2)

"You are about 5 seconds away from becoming a memory if you don't do what I say."

"...!"

The Fat Guy gulped and looked pleadingly up at Hope.

Hope tilted his head as he inspected the man's features. He supposed he was intimidating in some ways for this environment. But to simplify his character, he was just an out-of-shape drunkard with a taste for power. Although, there was something else hiding behind this quick transition of a pathetic cry from his bold and brash self a moment ago.

"I heard you have a healing aspect. Right?"

The man nodded. "Y-yes I do…"

Hope flipped the pocketknife in his hand and caught it by the blade.

"Heal me then."

"…mm…"

But then a voice broke behind him.

"H-hey…Wait!" The little girl called out.

Hope ignored her and continued to stare down.

Outside, the sky's dim light looked like silver screens through the windows, but the room was stuffed with shadows. Blood so thick in the air muddled with sweat and alcohol. The bodies dropped dead around were like shadowed mounds. 

Hope pressed his weight against Fat Guy's stomach, feeling the folds of flesh beneath his boot. 

"What are you waiting for?" Hope said once more.

The man coughed nervously, his body convulsing with cold sweat. As if he was shaking off any last fears grasping him. 

And yet, all of a sudden, snickers started to build from the man's chubby face. Then grew into laughter.

His brows that furrowed in fear were now…raising in amusement. 

"Kekeke…what am I waiting for? Think I'd really die with no pride, boy?"

"..."

Hope kept silent.

The man's eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked up at his killer standing over him. A wicked smile stretched across his face.

"Oh for me to beg for my life! Why…everyone should know that's just the type of world we live in! Ha!"

His breathy laughs broke between coughs, but his smile didn't waver. 

"Ah…even some of my men didn't seem to understand it. And yet a boy?! You of all people! Seems like you've got this wrapped under your finger just fine—"

Stomp!

"Agh?!"

"I don't need your stupid speech. Are you going to heal me or not?"

"Tch!" Fat Guy glared back. "Useless for you anyway. I only heal wounds within my rank. And I can see—"

He tapped his eyes.

"—These tell me your wounds aren't from any Dormant Creature or human. Am I wrong?" He smiled again and chuckled, the disgusting alcohol smell flying with each breath. "Ah…so screw you, boy. I bet you won't last a fucking day staying with those weak ass pieces of shit! Tch! Unless…oh ho! You want some entertainment? Why, I don't blame you, boy. Go ahead go ahead! You understand don't you? I fucking earned my power! I, or anyone damn worthy, could take both crown and life at my pleasure."

Hope paused. 

"Mm…" He hummed in thought.

So…was this man worthless then?

The rush from the fighting started to wane as the marks on his body—made by that damn Fallen Creature—pulsed with an icy heat. It itched again as if it too was disappointed by the failed outcome. A healing aspect useless against higher ranks?

What were the odds that–

"..."

At that moment, a dark seed pulsed inside Hope from the annoying thought.

'How fucking unfortunate…'

He then peeked over his shoulder to glance at the doorway.

There he saw the little girl still crouched—edged closer inside the room—watching him with…impatience?

'Waiting for me to kill him huh.'

But an idea formed into his mind as he looked at the girl's face. A reluctant string tugged inside of him that he would have rathered ignored as well but…

Hope looked back down at the Fat Guy and crouched over him.

The man gulped at the same time as they met eye to eye. 

"You know, I've heard that the First Nightmare is tailored to each person individually."

"...what?"

Hope tilted his head, his expression indifferent.

He flipped the knife again in his hand and caught it by the handle this time, pointing the tip at the man's neck.

"Tailored how, I'm not quite sure."

Maybe to the person's appearance? Character? Now that Hope thought about it, he wasn't even sure the priest he embodied in his First Nightmare looked anything like him. If he recalled his memories, he supposed he could say his hands looked quite similar to his own in the real world. But he never caught a glimpse of his own face.

Or maybe it was tailored to the person's power potential.

"But that makes me wonder." The man's eyes trembled as Hope looked back at him from the pointed blade that edged into the skin. "What's a man like you with a healing aspect?"

The man forced a face. "Your point exactly…?"

"I'm a Sleeper too you know."

The man flinched.

"We're the same rank." Hope's head lowered and whispered. "But not that you can do anything about it while you're awake."

"Mph!?"

Hope grabbed roughly on the man's face as he forced his ability upon him.

The power rippled to life in Hope's veins, soaring to the tips of his fingers unto the swollen man's pale face of dread. Only a few seconds passed before his eyes rolled back and his head went limp on the concrete floor.

Hope stared at the unconscious body for a little longer. 

Then began looking around for some rope.

The thought crossed his mind of cutting his Achilles tendons and knees to prevent him from being mobile when he woke up. But the man would likely bleed to death before that happens. So, Hope had to forego that thought.

"Is he…dead…?"

Hope stood up and kicked trash away for any other sight to tie him up with. "No."

Tnk.

'Ah…'

Hope looked up, the cold and his memories' voices buzzed in his ear as the girl's finger was one shy pull away from letting out a loud bang in his direction.

***

'Not dead? Not dead!?'

The little girl stood on her feet, clasping the gun with both hands at the nameless soldier—bruised, bloodied, and silent. The gun's weight weighed far heavier than her scrawny arms were used to.

But…

This guy wasn't even batting an eye just like back in the kitchen…Do grown-ups never take children seriously?!

What was wrong with this world!

She bit her lip.

'N-no. That's fine by me!'

She didn't know much about right and wrong. She didn't know what outside the city was like. What the mention of some sea was. Or what a ship soared like. There was nothing like that in what everyone called here a god-forsaken city!

"Errk…!"

The swell of fresh blood nauseated her.

The bloodied edge of the knife the soldier held glinted in the dim light. He stood there, tall and still, his hands loose at his sides.

But there was still no twisted hunger in his eyes…

He didn't snatch her or grapple her as she thought he might.

She forced a glare through her dizziness at the one body on the floor breathing softly like a sleeping rock.

"It's my turn…"

Each of the dead men's echoes of sinister laughter throbbed in her ears.

Her head thundering.

If she could relive a memory with her parents just once more...she would–

Step.

"W-wha–"

The girl flinched.

Boots scraped against the ground as the man took one slow, deliberate step forward.

"Stop!"

Her hands shook so violently that the gun wavered. The point aiming back at his face as he advised before…

"I'll shoot you! I will! I'll-I'll do it!"

Step.

"You people are all the same!"

Step.

"Why did my brothers and I have to be born into this world?"

Step.

She was faced again with this thing she brought. Her choice that had paid for these deaths. Was it a good choice? These men weren't trouble for her and her brothers anymore…Maybe the next group would be but that was some buildings off.

At the moment, she could feel a sob choke her. Tears mingling with the grime on her cheeks.

Ah she was upset.

But most of all, she was annoyed.

Annoyed with herself for being the kind to cry when angry.

Step.

When she was shouting she wanted to cry.

When she was angry she wanted to cry.

When she was upset she wanted to cry.

When she was quiet to put up a front for her brothers she wanted to cry.

When she talked about her feelings, even to herself, she wanted to cry.

The man then crouched in front of her, close enough for her to smell the blood on his clothes. She clenched her jaw so tight that her teeth ached.

Another sob choked her as his blue eyes solemnly stared into hers. Was it understanding? Pity? Sympathy? She didn't know anymore.

She couldn't figure him out.

And then she pulled the trigger.