S1 E5: Memories Pt. 5

“Auntie” Staff Sergeant Callista Grivas (1 year ago 2014) 

Rummaging through the bins, I sighed, annoyed.  

Today’s scrap pickings are running light and the information on the street is even lighter. If only I could catch a break, then I could get the community some more food.  

I looked at Marcus’ ugly mug and found he wasn't even trying to scavenge. He was playing with that stupid camera he bartered for. The lazy thirty-year-old would only work when it helped him. He was a parasite with a scrappy beard, but I couldn't deny the results he got from brokered information and the food it got for the community. It was really the only reason I made him my second, even though I knew he would stab me in the back one day.  

The clattering of a metal trash lid grabbed my attention. I expected to see the odd rat, cat, or dog, but what I got I didn't--couldn't understand. Before me stood a drugged-out kid with blood-red eyes and a ghostly appearance. His clothes were tattered, and blood dripped down his arms and torso. A large knife wound slowly bled out on his stomach. The surrounding air seemed to tremble in fear.  

“Are you okay kid?” I questioned, breaking the unbearable silence, and bringing the situation to Marcus’ attention.

“The kid’s not right, Auntie,” tones of worry and interest, colored Marcus’ voice. We both knew this could go south quickly, but we also knew this could lead to premium information and food. His camera slowly moved to capture the kid and me, but I could tell that I was blocking most of the shot. I had to wait for the right moment to get out of the way.  

“Since when do you worry about me? You can’t wait till I die, and you get to run this joint,” I harshly retorted as the red recording light flickered to life. I could see the kid slowly staggering towards us out of the corner of my eye and I noticed that not all the blood belonged to him. That kind of spatter only happened from close-range bullets and the smears were more consistent with a beat down. 

“Yes, because the homeless network gets nice perks from the mobs,” Marcus hissed greedily. He always wanted more. He had champagne tastes, and would rather see the community starve if it meant he could 'live large'. I was one of the few people that could keep him in line and make him help others. All those years of training gave me some benefits.  

“We get what we need. No reason to stir up trouble for more than that,” I spat, noticing the kid was staring intensely at Marcus.  

“You work for the mob?” the kid questioned, grinning in an unsettling way. I had to be careful how I replied. This child looked dangerous and the blood on him gave a clear sign of what he was capable of. If he liked the mob and I said yes, we would be fine. If he hated the mob and I said yes... Well, I got a feeling we wouldn't get to say much more than that. 

“Mobs, gangs, fight clubs; whatever helps us survive. You could call us a neutral party that does odd jobs,” I explained, nervously yet slowly moving out of the camera's view; forcing the kid to focus on me and not the camera. The footage wouldn't be worth a damn if we couldn't get a clear shot of him. 

“Info gathering pays the most,” Marcus grinned, tapping the camera. 

That damn idiot! Why did he point out the camera? The kid could run or seriously hurt us if he doesn't want to be seen on tape. 

The alleyway was eerily silent when a soft wind started to pick up around the kid. Then the unthinkable happened. Some of the blood on the child began to float into the swirling wind. 

“I hate mobs. They always break promises,” the kid growled, tears forming in the corner of his red eyes. It was then I noticed one eye was cloudy looking; a literal blind spot I could use if needed. More blood swirled around him savagely, protecting him, but something about it seemed… animalistic and afraid.  

“He has the weird power the shot caller from the Royal Mob has,” Marcus shouted as the bloodied wind hissed with power. I'd never dealt with that mob due to whispers of their odd abilities, so I didn't personally know what the shot caller could do, but Marcus’ fear was enough to get a general idea.  

The odd thing was, I didn't feel a killing aura coming from the kid. Now, I'm not saying the kid couldn't kill, because his injuries did paint a gruesome picture of what he was capable of, but that wasn't the reason for this show. Crying when you go to kill is more in line with a crime of passion or self-defense. Even then, the tears arise after the shock and adrenaline has worn off. I knew if I didn't stop the kid we would be done for, so I figured I could take a gamble on my hunch. 

I reached out my hand to the kid’s swirling vortex of blood. His eyes widened for a split second before I felt the wind and blood slash across my outstretched hand. It was a reaction to fear and a sign of a possible mental break.  

“He’s scared. I doubt he’ll remember any of this,” I explained, pulling my hand back to give it a once over. I tried to keep my tone even, to avoid scaring the kid more, but damn, this hand burned like a son-of-a-gun.  

“You’re worried about him?! He just busted your hand. Just forget him and run,” Marcus bellowed in shock. He was always so loud and obnoxious when it was unnecessary. All I had to do was calm the kid down, and we would all make it out uninjured… Well, mostly uninjured.  

Slowly moving forward, I abandoned my fear and went back to my training. Just keep moving forward. The kid stood his ground as wind and blood circled closer to him, making a defensive cocoon. Moving my hand into the fray, I noticed the rushing blood felt less like knives and more like silk. He didn't want to hurt me. He wanted to scare me off. It would've worked, but I have a bad stubborn streak. The blood slid over my arm as I reached for his terrified face. A light touch and a calming hold, I watched the red eyes fade to a brilliant blue, but one was slightly milky. Then a slight sigh of relief escaped the child's lips before he closed his eyes. His blood rushed back into his body via the abdominal wound. The wound then closed into a fresh scar as he fell to the ground with the dying wind. I may not be as spry as I was in the old days, but I was still fast enough to prevent his head from hitting the ground.  

“How did you know the kid wouldn’t hurt you worse?” Marcus whispered in shock, approaching the kid and me. All the while, keeping his camera pointed at us. I would have to have a talk with him about the footage later, but for now it could come in handy.  

“The kid was having a mental breakdown. I knew that once I calmed him down, his body would collapse and faint from the stress being removed,” I explained. I'd seen it many times before, but not to the blood tornado degree. I must admit, it was a new one for me.

“Help me get him back to camp,” I ordered, already lifting one of the kid’s arms over my shoulder.