At the Bottom

Mark took the long way.

Rather than moving straight into the central part of the city, he planned to curve around the territory of the Spheks.

This route wouldn't be as dangerous as going through the territory of the gangs.

No, it was much worse.

To make a map of the city, Royce's bar would be at the central part, the house of that nameless brunette would be in the wealthy northern province, Mark's house is at the poor southern area. And the western part, where he was currently going, was the slums.

Now the difference between the poor southern part where Mark lives and the slums is simple.

People waste away in the southern province, the western part is the literal waste. It's utterly repulsive, to the point where no gang would dare dirty their hands in doing business there; and if they did, their losses would be greater than their gains.

So the land was essentially lawless, and even though the people there sometimes formed groups, most would end in a desperate struggle for money and food. Every person was to fight for their self.

Yet his chances there were much better than going any other way. After all, he was being hunted on his normal route.

The eastern part of the city?

That was the port, where people were either loading weapons onto the departing ships or loading theirselves off to the war. It was military territory and Mark was not about to go there looking like some vagrant with nothing to do. Above everything else, getting drafted was a definite way to die.

And so he went to the slums.

'Repulsive.'

The word didn't do enough to describe the sight before him.

Everything was run down- not as in destroyed, but was defiled by a whole plethora of horrid things. It seemed to have rotted from the inside.

Vomit, blood, and other substances stained the walls and roofs of the rusted buildings. Excrete, broken glass, and trash lined the streets.

All the abhorrent stenches amalgamated into a putrid miasma.

People hurried about, desperately looking for something to extend their life. They were all too weak to find labor in a factory, forced to find another way to live. Some stole, some sold their bodies, some were collapsing in exhaustion- never to rise again. While Mark's path to the city had droves dying on the streets, people here were fighting for their lives in the utter chaos that unfolded. This is where true desperation lied.

Rodents crawled around, finding food in those who couldn't. Half-eaten bodies were seen in the edges of the streets. Disease was rampaging among the moving masses.

'Damned wretches!'

People tried to brush against him while he viciously pushed their fragile bodies away. Mark had a foreboding feeling that if were to be overwhelmed by the crowd, all his possessions would be lost in a moment.

It was like swimming amidst a swarm of bloodthirsty piranhas.

Mark sped up as he pushed through the horde of people. Some were trying to take from him, others were minding themselves. He honestly couldn't tell, and was not about to take any chances.

After having blazed his way through kilometers of thieves. People became more uncommon- at least the living ones. Corpses became more apparent as the stench of rot intensified. Perhaps the latent disease in the area drove others away.

He crossed the wastes with sparing breaths, not wanting to succumb to whatever horrors profilerated from those bodies. It was depressingly quiet, as if the whole part of the city died, simply rotting in place.

A wail echoed through the desolate street. One of utter anguish and terror.

Mark looked at the source of the heartbreaking noise. There was an infant lying in the street. Abandoned and utterly doomed, without anybody to care for it, unable to care for itself.

He was shocked. Even though he knew that the situation in the slums was desperate, never had he imagined that it would be to such a terrible extent.

Looking away, the young man continued walking. There were things he could have done, but chose not to. The shrieking infant was likely riddled with disease, already on the precipice of death. Nearing it would cause an infection on himself. But that wasn't the true reason.

Mark simply feared that if he took the baby in, he would raise it only to end up without the money nor means to sustain either of them.

So he pried his head and walked forward.

The cries echoed through the street, into his heart, and reverberated in it with a condemning tone.

He endured the chastising sound and continued, his thoughts in utter disarray. He had his eyes closed, as if doing so would stop the torment.

In reflection, his power wasn't very special. Manipulating emotions was something almost anyone could do. Intimidation, guilt tripping, pleasing.

He simply was able to do them without any physical action.

Mark shook his head and continued walking.

Hopefully he would not have to endure such a thing again.

Then something bumped into him.

'Goddamn it!'

He turned without a second thought and grabbed.

While his eyes had still been closed, he was pickpocketed by a child. Yet the girl was too frail to run away. The pitiful wretch turned around with pure terror, looking at the firm hand that had gripped her wrist. A wallet was in her hands.

She struggled with all her might, yet the force amounted to that of a small branch being shaken by the wind.

Mark deftly pried his wallet from her fingers and turned, hastily walking away from the child.

Steps trailed behind him.

'…'

The persistence of the thief nearly stunned him. The girl seemed to have enough energy to tail him, yet seemed too inexperienced to see the danger in doing so.

He glanced back.

The child was too green, seemingly not used to thievery. Perhaps she had just recently lost the person who had taken care of her.

Picking up his speed, he tried to leave behind the trailing vagrant, but the persevering thief was matching him in speed.

Suddenly, the girl burst forward with a seemingly last ditch effort and latched onto him. The leech tried to take things from his pocket with one hand while holding onto his windbreaker with the other, yet she was too tired to muster any precision.

Mark pulled her away, but she clung back on. He used his ability, instilling dread and terror into the girl, but all it did was make the wretch shake intensely as she grasped at him with her remaining strength.

Without other options, he approached his bottom line. Morals suppressed him as he attempted to find a compromise.

He reached for his gun, wanting to threaten. But the idea of holding the firearm to the child's head disgusted him. It was the same for any form of aggression.

So Mark took out his wallet, pulled out a couple of notes, pried one of her hands off of him, and pushed the money into it. He amplified the shock of the girl and broke out of her grasp, then spared no moment as he moved forward.

Bodies started to fade from the street as he moved further north, then turned inward and headed to the central district. While the air quality was still terribly reeking of smog, it was an outstanding improvement from what he had just endured.

Frowning, Mark pulled his windbreaker up and took a sniff. Then nearly retched.

Looks like the first stop was the laundromat.

While gazing into the spinning machine in front of him, the slums flashed through his mind. The vivid derogation was vomit-inducing. The caucaphony of the streets drowned his ears as he closed his eyes, attempting to rest from the day's toils.

'I still have work after this…'

His expression soured. The idea of having to do labor in such a state was unpleasantly daunting. But he picked himself up nevertheless- as he always did, and will continue to do. Like that girl who ultimately got some of his money, perseverance is how he survives. This is simply another thing he will have to live with.

He took his dried windbreaker and left. With nothing else to do, he strolled around the city as the sun leisurely made its way through the sky.

Twilight soon befell the city. Mark entered the bar and stopped before the counter.

'Hopefully Royce doesn't get nosy.'

He put his gun in one of the cabinets and then proceeded to the back and changed into his work attire. Despite having cleaned his windbreaker and changed clothes, he still felt like he gave of the most repulsive stench. Perhaps this was some sort of trauma.

The door creaked open as twilight poured into the empty bar. Caramel hair was endowed with a brilliant flare as the nameless brunette entered the bar.

"Welcome!"

Mark smiled radiantly. He really didn't want her to see him like this.

But what could he do?

Her peach-colored eyes focused on him with an indescribable glint. She lightly frowned.

"Mark… you look ghastly."