For A Few Corpses More - Pt. 2

                Above the Earth existed a new colony, a shining example of man’s progression and ability to overcome the harshness of any environment. It took time, but they gathered in the home of the gods and built their array of metal and continued out from it in different structures and massive tunnels until it stretched over a third of the sky around their former home. It was now their new home. Still they ravaged mother Earth for their supplies with great metal arms that reached down into the depths of the planet to steal what the dead could not. With the iron fist of the former world’s militaries governing over them, man and woman from many different regions and cultures would have to learn to live together in a new floating city of Babel.

               The Mithras docked in Elysium city after meeting the proper protocols. Four men wearing all black thick suits and dome like helmets came out with long tubes in their hands. Each man positioned himself at a different point of the ship. A hiss broke from each tube. The switch on the bottom was flipped and pure blue flames with yellow tips kissed the metal hull of the Mithras on each side to cleanse it from its journey.

Once the fire had stopped and the four cleaners had pulled back their hoses the rest of the crew descended upon the ship like a swarm of worker ants. The pilot released the pistons and with a groan the back cargo bay door and side entrance that lead into the cockpit chamber lowered. Two metal clanks sounded off simultaneously as the passengers all gathered their gear.

Pierce didn’t make eye contact with anyone from the ship as he turned the engine of the ATV over and rode it down the metal ramp out into the hold. He was eager to reach decontamination first.

“Got a bad feeling,” Bronson said out loud as he carried his pack in one hand and their bounty in the other.

“When do you not,” Nyx asked with a smirk as she pushed strands of her hair away from her eyes, the area still hot from the flames, and now the smell of gasses and oil filled their noses. They began to walk around the ship. A twin sized duffle bag was thrown from inside the cockpit door and landed beside them.

“Damn these thirty-six hour shifts,” Tower exclaimed as he threw more bags down. They made a thud on the metal floor that caused a few heads to turn their way. “I’m so tired I feel like one of the corpses we just left.”

The two hunters regarded Tower as he came down the ramp and smiled at both of them. Nyx was the only one to return the smile.

“Sorry about asshole over there,” he waved a hand in the direction Pierce had sped off. “Too many like him these days, trying to make money at any cost. I don’t mind hauling people like you two around. You haven’t stopped giving a shit about other people yet,” he shook his head, “even if you might have to shoot em’ someday.”

“Thanks,” Nyx wasn’t above taking a compliment from a smiling face.

“We better go,” Bronson said. Turning, he looked back over his shoulder at Tower. “Thanks, I’ll keep you in mind next time we go down.”

The pair walked across the large expanse that was the main cargo hold for Elysium city. They went through the sliding metal doors into a long corridor that had instructions in multiple languages written on the walls in different colors, all about protocols and containment procedures.

“You’re one for one today.”

“I’m not here to make friends, Nyx.”

“Oh,” she scoffed. “A fact of which I am painfully aware. The first time we met you put me in handcuffs.”

“Procedure.”

She laughed at his response. “They still have you guarding the French Quarter, or did your transfer finally come in so you can leave me?”

“I’m still there. I’m sure I’ll see you at some point tonight.”

“Right,” she nodded. “Hey, I want to go grab a shower and a quick nap before work if possible. You okay with running the heads by yourself, just give me the credits later?”

“You trusting me with your half of the money, that isn’t like you.”

She laughed hard at that and threw her head back slightly as they reached the end of the hallway which broke off into ten different smaller pathways.

“If I can’t trust you, Bronson, I can’t trust anyone on this floating shit pile.”

He didn’t respond to her. They broke up and took two adjacent paths out of the ten. At the end of the smaller tunnels were large metal doors with a small octagon of glass and several warning labels, one of which was against radiation. A loud hiss as the door opened and the room decompressed for each of them.

The doors shut behind them in their separate rooms. Several vents lined the ceiling and metal grates ran across the floors. Four small circular white lights framed the two doors. There was a table and several pull out drawers on the left wall. The lights turned from white to yellow and the two began.

Before Bronson could do anything else he opened up the drawer marked “bio-organic specimens”. Careful in his task, he removed each of the six heads and placed them in there with space in between each. Once satisfied with their positioning he slid the drawer shut tightly and locked the handle back into place.

Nyx had no need for the first drawer, she opened the second first. Inside her machete and pistol were placed. The radio, that she had worked hard to earn, had been placed down separately and gently. Lastly, she reached down and fathered up the ends of each shirt in her fingers before pulling them all up over her head. The clothes were discarded onto the small table that was built into the wall. In between her breasts, above the faded brown sports bra was the golden cross on the long silver chain she wore. It was placed in the box on top of everything before shutting and securing it.

Bronson’s guns and dog tags were put in the second drawer on his side. They were also carefully placed, safeties on. They would be cleaned later, as he did after every trip out. Bandana and mask inside his hat he placed it down on the table. He unclasped his belt and then his holsters and leg straps. His boots and pants were on the table next followed by his shirt and brown boxers. He was stripped clean of clothing and anything else on his person. Bronson was tall and muscular with long dark hair that was getting to the length he had begun to put it in a ponytail. His body wore the scars of war, next to his tattoos of service on his arms. His left calf was missing a large chunk that had grown back at a right angle, a pound of flesh he had lost.

Nyx’ clothes were also discarded onto the table as well. She had shorter auburn hair that barely made it down to her shoulders. She was tanned, but not as evenly as she would have liked. She was thin and her muscles were toned from the work that she put in with Bronson and the others. The tattoo that took up the majority of her back was a large cross with the full moon behind it. It was something she valued, something no one could take away.

Both placed their feet where the outlined diagram showed on the floor. Nyx always tensed up at this part. The yellow lights near each door darkened into a sickly orange and began to rotate in large circles around the room, shining their lights in circular patterns. The two hunters closed their eyes tightly. A chilling gas that smelled like mint shot down from the vents above engulfing the room. Before the gas was fully settled six small silver spigots popped up from the metal grating at their feet. Liquid shot out in a continuous wave from the rotating nozzles. Burning against their flesh, the liquid mixed with the gas and hardened into an almost cream-like shell over their skin.

No matter how many times she went through it, Nyx still flinched and shivered while the bio-bath was going on. Bronson simply put his mind somewhere else. To him it was still better than a trip to the dentist.

The vents calmed and the spigots sank back down underneath the grates. A tone sounded. The spinning lights stopped their motion and turned a bright green of approval. After a pause Bronson clenched his fists, his muscles flexed. Several large pieces of the new off-yellow shell broke apart and fell away. Popping his neck roughly, many of the other pieces followed and fell to the floor falling down into the metal grates to be disposed of. Nyx preferred to use her fingernails to get the material off of her as fast as possible, not liking the itchy feeling it gave.

The next step would be to clean the shell off of your clothes. They had learned to simply shake the item furiously until the substance broke apart. It didn’t take long for the material to begin to evaporate as the room’s temperature increased, after temporarily becoming a goo-like substance.               

Nyx was usually out first. Bronson saw her give a wave of her hand as she crossed the rest of the bio-tech area and headed under the large electronic archway that would take her home. Bronson went to the table just outside of the door that had let him out. The two drawers awaited him. He first retrieved his weapons and secured them and his dog tags back in place. The second drawer contained the heads, now sealed in plastic with a yellow dye lining the inside that showed that they were not contaminated. He opened up the black canvas bag and replaced them each in the pattern he liked. Cargo returned to his shoulder he headed across the room to a different archway, one that spelled out “Titan Gardens” in electronic blue letters. The same name and directions to other places that were this way were broadcasting across the archway in other colors and different languages.

“Weapons, ID’s, and anything you’re bringing back from outside, I need to see it!”

Bronson followed the voice of the bellowing security guard up to the checkpoint. Reaching into a pocket he produced a small black piece of thick folded leather. From between the folds he produced the metallic card with his picture and information on them. The guard scanned them and then looked to the rifle on Bronson’s back and the pistols on his side.

“Gonna need those.”

Without answering Bronson flipped open the top of the black leather to reveal a golden plate. The image of a black and gold bird with a barcode under it caused the guard to raise an eyebrow and then nod.

“Right, well you can keep the pistols but the rifle still has to go in your storage unit.”

“I’m aware,” Bronson said as he pulled the black canvas bag from his shoulder and pulled open the draw strings so the man could see inside.

“Ah,” he remarked with a smile, “productive day for you.” A small device the shape of a pen spread a green laser out over the heads. The guard counted them and then marked something down on an electronic pad. Motioning Bronson to step through the scanner, he buzzed him through. Nyx always had to leave her weapons in her storage compartment outside of the main city. Bronson’s job made it where he could carry most weapons on him at all times, just in case, it was the main reason he wanted the position. He stopped at the personal holds section of strong metal framed lockers. At locker G-18 he paused and entered an eight digit code that he knew by heart. He checked his rifle and wiped it down with a cloth after removing the ammunition and separating the scope from the weapon.

Past the check point were the platforms. The rail systems were all running through this point, as they did with the other five major points. He walked to his marker up by the purple line and waited. Standing there, bags in hand, he thought back to before all of this. When he was much younger he would wait for the subway in New York to go see his father or a baseball game. There were so many differences to this, but the reminder was always there.

The outskirts of the city, places like this, were pretty bare at this hour. First shift had ended and second shift would be preparing to leave soon. Unless your third shift job was on the outer rim of the space colony, at this time, you were either heading to bed or to the French Quarter. Everyone had to have a job after age sixteen, based off of your test scores and what you could do. There were no exceptions. Bronson was a security guard. He didn’t mind his job because it felt like a service. He felt like he was doing something good for what was left.

An electronic hum began softly along the singular metal rail and grew louder as four speeding platforms rode it into the station. The platforms had no operator on them, just markers to show you where to board them. The purple circle indicated where you could stand. There were several people riding the rail to other stops. Bronson chose the rectangular block with the fewest number of people on it. There was a buzz that let them know that the magnetic field which held them all in place and kept them from being thrown off was activating. It took some getting used to, suddenly feeling ten pounds heavier and restricting your movement until the next stop. He wasn’t going far though.

One of the perks for being a guard was opting to live in Titan square, in the Titan Gardens district. It was the safest place in Elysium city. They were mostly single room one person living areas. No smoking, no pets, just the way Bronson liked it. The gardens were a mixture of metal and stone along the floors and walls with a sprinkling of real trees and flowers amongst all of the fake ones. There were a series of solar windows that opened up in the roof and walls to help light the gardens, one of the few places where natural light could get through. The sun’s rays were so harmful though that the shutters had to rotate depending on the time of day. Bronson lowered the brim of his hat to block out the sun as he crossed the marble-lined courtyard to his quarters.

In the back of the quarter, in building H, Bronson entered his single-room apartment. The walls were off-white with nothing on them and the ceiling was bare other than the lights and two vents. There was a desk with a small computer console on it and a bed with black sheets but no frame, it rested close to the floor.  Next to the bathroom with the stand-up shower was a small closet. He slid the door to the closet open and pulled a silver case from behind some old boxes. In the case he replaced his two .45 pistols and retrieved his guard-issue service piece. A 9mm. weapon that was also equipped with a flashlight on the bottom of the barrel and a sun setting. The handle came to life when he touched it, requiring a thumb print for the safety to be removed.

Bronson then re-secured the silver case in its hiding place and pulled out a coat hanger with a grey suit on it. The wide shouldered padded guard’s suit was thick and heavy. In the grey of the fabric were several strips of armor woven into the cloth down the legs and arms with a sheer plate over the chest and back. The black belt that went with it held two pockets of ammunition, hard-light cuffs, and a collapsible baton in a holder on the side. He slid his guard-issue pistol in on the right hand side and finished the suit off by placing the grey cap on his head which showed his extra rank for military service in gold bars. Removing the black folded leather piece from earlier he turned it inside out and hung it around a silver chain that hung from his neck, the gold and black bird showing above the barcode for all to see.

               Black canvas bag in hand, there was one more place to stop before work. A quick ride out of the Titan Gardens and into the Trade District changed the scenery from a bright and new feeling to that of dark browns and hastily built structures with a lower ceiling under the area. The street lamps here were dull and the sidewalks were filthy, that was nothing compared to the smell though. The rails ran above the district, which caused the rattling and humming sounds that echoed through the alleyways. To Bronson, this place was the closest he had ever felt to home out here.

               Towards the back of the Trade District was a grouping of buildings in a semi-circle that all had flashing neon and advertisements for making credits. The furthest building down the row had a red and white cross on it with a young girl standing outside of it. She was dressed as a nurse in an excessively short white skirt and a push-up bra to show off her breasts in the outfit. She was passing out fliers about donating plasma for credits. Next to it was a slightly cleaner building that advertised that they wanted to purchase semen samples. There were a few other buildings, nothing illegal out in the open like this though. The three largest buildings in the large semi-circle though were the ones that didn’t out themselves on their signs. “The Sandstorm Company”, “Wolsten”, “Dead Man Inc”, they were all laid out in different types and fonts on their signs. They all wanted the same thing.

Bronson’s choice though was “Cada-dine”. Bronson preferred his evils to be of the lesser variety. Cada-dine hadn’t given up on everyone, on Earth; they were still actively trying to find a cure. At least they were convincing about it. Walking in, there was another cold mist that sprayed him down before the other set of doors opened and the lounge music of the white sterile lobby hit his ears. He went and stood in line behind the other two customers. His right hand gripped the canvas bag tightly as his left rested on his hip with the back of his hand touching the handle of the pistol, anxiously.

When his time came the young Indian girl behind the counter in her black business suit smiled at him. Her name tag read Sandeep.

“Back again,” she asked, handing him a tablet to begin filling out the electronic paperwork.

Bronson nodded, “six today, split two ways if you would.”

“Not bad for just two of you. How’s your partner anyway?”

“She’s fine, thanks.”

Her finger twirled in the strands of her straight long dark hair as she waited for him to finish. When the paperwork was done he double checked the tablet, scrolling back through and then handing it to her.

“How is it down there these days? I haven’t been in over a decade.”

The door to the side opened and a man in a white containment suit came out. Bronson opened the black canvas bag and the man removed the six plastic bagged heads of the former living dead and placed them on a small cart.

“Probably better you don’t, to be honest.”

“Oh,” she mused, sliding the two small disks through the machine. “I’m sure if I went down with you I’d be fine.”   

Bronson forced a smile and held his hand out palm up for the two small circular discs. Sandeep deposited them into his hand.

“Thanks for your business. We’ll put them to good use.”

Bronson nodded and turned from the counter. He headed out the door, folding up the now empty canvas bag in his hand. Checking the time, he turned to head towards the French Quarter. It was connected to the Trade District by two large multi-level tubes. Bronson walked up on the top level as transports and people on personal use vehicles sped down below him heading to and from. As he walked he could see the Earth through the glass out one side and the distant reaches of space out the other. Seeing both of these views was one of the things that made him appreciate walking this way. Lying in between two of the most unattractive parts of the city was this serene view. No work, nothing dead; from up here, everything still looked normal.