Civilians
 C[re]ate Champion
Posts: 106
Preferred Name: Varmun
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Profile: Character List
Character Name: Isaac Vasari
Main Account: Isaac
Status: Active
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Post by Isaac on Jul 26, 2015 20:30:03 GMT -5
“Isaac!” A deep, frantic voice called out, carrying across the park. Heads turned to face the man that ran across the grass. Dogs barked and ran beside him, catching beads of sweat that flew from his face. “Isa-aac!”
The bars of the jungle gym felt warm in Isaac’s hands. The rain from last night dried up, making it easier to climb the higher Isaac went. His shoes squeaked as they slipped around on the damp bars below, but his tiny hands remained strong, and he pulled himself up to the very top. A gentle breeze blew through his black and blue hair, though it wasn’t strong enough to knock him down. He stretched his arms out across the top bars and raised his feet until he managed to stand on the crisscrossing metal. His bright silver eyes scanned out across the park. He felt so tall, and a smile stretched across his face, only growing wider when he finally heard his father.
“Isaac!”
Isaac looked to see his father rush up to the jungle gym, his face half-shaven, his hair windswept, his cheeks red, not that Isaac noticed. He just spread out his arms and said, “Dad, check this out.” Isaac then raised his hands up over his head and swept his entire body down, looking like he was going to cartwheel across the jungle gym. His little fingers gripped down on the bars, and he raised his legs high in the air. “I saw a big kid do this yesterday. Watch me walk.”
“No, Isaac, don’t!” But Isaac already let go of one of the bars, putting all of his weight on one shaking arm. He barely even raised his hand before his arm gave out, and he started to fall through a gap in the bars—only to stop a moment later.
A pair of firm, strong hands wrapped around Isaac’s waist, and he heard his father sigh. With a grunt, he lifted Isaac up out of the hole and pulled him down from the jungle gym. “Remind me to yell at you later.”
“Do I have to?” asked Isaac, pouting and looking back at the playground as his father carried him away.
“Yes, later. And you can play—later. Right now, we need to go. Your mom’s already at the hospital.”
“What?” Isaac’s voice rose and quivered, and his face turned pale. “Is Mom okay?”
“She’ll be fine,” said Isaac’s father as they reached the family car. He buckled Isaac into his car seat in the back and added, “Give her about eight hours and she’ll be the happiest person in the world.” Isaac didn’t understand, but he felt at ease as his father finally calmed down and gently pulled out of the driveway. He mimicked his father’s deep breaths, and he sat patiently, wondering what was going on.
Isaac and his father spent hours in the hospital’s waiting room. The room was unnervingly clean—not a single crumb or piece of dirt on the floor. Apparently, the place smelled like coffee to all of the adults who kept using the machine in the corner, but to Isaac, all he could smell was carpet cleaner. He walked on his hands, going all around the room for as long as he could, looking under chairs as he went by.
“Hey, Dad, I found a penny.”
“Is it heads up?” His father flipped through his newspaper, the pages rustling with every turn.
“Um… No?”
“Leave it, then. It’s only good luck if it’s heads up. Besides, we’ve got enough knickknacks.”
“Kay.”
Isaac’s arms gave out a moment later, but this time he swung his body down and planted his feet on the carpet before gently falling to his knees. He looked back to the penny, then to his father. The newspaper still hid that now fully-shaven face, and so Isaac flipped the penny over and picked it up, tucking it into his pocket.
“Enzo?” asked a curious voice. The newspaper rustled loudly. “Enzo Vasari?” Isaac’s father shot out of his chair and rushed over to a nurse, his face once again shining with sweat. The nurse smiled and said, “Congratulations, Mr. Vasari. It’s a—”
“No,” he said, holding up his hands. “Please, don’t tell me. We want to see ourselves.”
“Of course,” said the nurse, her eyes drifting down to Isaac, who had climbed to his feet. “This way, please.”
“Come on, Isaac,” said his father gently, his voice strained to hold back his excitement. He waved for Isaac, and then picked him up in his arms. “There’s someone you need to meet.”
They followed the nurse down a long hall, past a dozen white doors. With each one they passed, Isaac tried to look through the windows to see inside, but the glass was foggy, and he couldn’t see anything. But he soon heard a sound from the end of the hall—somebody was crying, and it grew louder the closer they got. The nurse opened the door, and Isaac could hear his mother shushing softly. The crying quieted down for a moment, and Isaac saw his mother stroking a bundled-up blanket, which she gently rocked in her arms. Isaac’s father rushed over to her bedside, still holding Isaac so he could see what his mother held.
At first, his parents simply looked into each other’s eyes, silent, before his mother held up the bundle and said, “Isn’t he beautiful?” Wrapped up in the blanket was a tiny, rosy-cheeked baby, his hair so white that Isaac could hardly see it. His eyes were shut tight, and he squirmed around inside the swaddle.
“He is.” Isaac had never heard his father’s voice go so soft before. “He is. Have you seen his eyes?”
“Bright blue, just like yours. I hope they don’t change. They’re so gorgeous.”
Isaac leaned away from his father’s chest, trying to look closer at the baby. His mother smiled sweetly and sat up straighter, saying, “Isaac, honey, say hello to your new baby brother, Dante.”
“Dan-te?” he asked, reaching out his hand. His mother raised up the baby, letting Isaac stroke his soft, warm face. Isaac was gentle, laughing at how gross and wet his little brother’s head was.
But then Dante shrieked and cried louder than ever, and Isaac yelped. He pulled his hand back and covered his ears, looking up at his dad and saying he was sorry, but no one even paid attention to him.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” asked his mother, rocking Dante gently. “What’s wrong?” Dante grew louder, and his crying turned hoarse, ragged, pained. He writhed in his swaddle, coughing in between his screams.
The nurse rushed over. Isaac’s parents looked scared, and his mother kept rocking Dante while the nurse asked for him, then demanded. “Mom, what’s going on?” asked Isaac, his voice drowned out by Dante. The nurse took the baby from his reluctant mother, who called out for him, tears flowing down her face. “Mom, what’s wrong? Where are they taking him? Mom!”
It was days later that Isaac found out what had happened to his baby brother. The doctors said Dante was born with pneumonia. Isaac had no clue what that meant, but his house was quiet and still for days. Everyone sat around and prayed for Dante. When his mother got a call from the hospital, she sank to her knees and cried, her body shivering, her hand covering her mouth. It took Isaac and his father a good while to get an answer out of her: Dante was well enough to come home.
They all drove to the hospital to pick him up, and Isaac’s mother was the first to take Dante into her arms. She held him close, stroking his fuzzy white and blue hair, and she whispered thankyous over and over under her breath.
The family piled back into the car, and after taking a moment to calm themselves, they drove home, to bring Dante where he belonged. Dante slept through the whole ride, his head against his mother’s shoulder, and Isaac stared at his little brother from the back seat, wondering if he had looked that pale when he was a baby.
Dante’s time at home was short-lived. Hardly two months went by before the family received another fright.
Isaac walked down the hall, his hair littered with leaves, his pants covered in dirt from his time at the playground. As he passed the open door to Dante’s room, he heard a cough, then another, and another, before suddenly Dante screamed and cried. Isaac called for his parents, and they sprinted from the living room to see what was wrong.
Dante returned to the hospital, this time with a cold. It wasn’t nearly as serious as pneumonia, but Isaac’s parents looked worried. Every two months, sometimes less, illness struck Dante. Isaac would walk down the hall, or he would be reading a book in his room, when all of a sudden he would hear his brother cough, and then cry. The very sound made Isaac jump, and he would run into Dante’s room faster than his parents.
The doctors said that Dante’s immune system was taking a long time to build up. Isaac’s parents did everything they could to keep him clean and away from disease, but it always found him. For the first two years of his life, Dante suffered. It felt as if he spent more time at the hospital than at home, and every time he was there, Isaac’s house was quiet again.
But when Dante turned three, the doctors said his immune system was far, far stronger. Isaac was there when his father picked Dante up from his latest checkup. He hadn’t been sick in months, and when the doctors said that Dante could finally go outside and play, that he could finally be a normal kid, Isaac’s heart leaped and his eyes shined like gold.
Every day, when Isaac came home from school, he took Dante to the park. They ran around the playground, with Isaac showing off to his little brother as he swung from the monkey bars, walked on his hands across the jungle gym, and leaped off the swings to sail through the air. Dante tried to mimic his big brother, but he could hardly walk straight, let alone jump and climb and swing.
One day in early spring, Isaac carried Dante up onto the playset, holding him on his shoulders, and he brought him just beneath the monkey bars. Isaac grinned and asked, “Wanna try the monkey bars, Dante?”
With curious hands, Dante reached up to touch the bars, his tiny fingers barely curling around the cold metal. He managed to get enough of a grip to raise himself half an inch off Isaac’s shoulders, but then he looked down, and he gasped, falling back down and wrapping his arms around Isaac’s head and face. “No,” he whined, sobbing into his big brother’s hair. “No. No.”
“Aww, come on. I was three or four when I did this. Don’t you want to be like me? It’s fun, and I’ll be here to catch you.”
Dante didn’t even look again. He just shook his head into Isaac’s hair and said “no” over and over until Isaac gave up. “Alri-ight. Maybe later.” He jumped down from the playset, making Dante yelp, then he set his brother down and ruffled his hair, giving him a big grin. “Wanna race home?” Dante sniffled, his face slick with tears, and he shook his head again, to which Isaac pouted. “You okay?” Isaac knelt down to look into his brother’s eyes. It was no wonder he cried all the time. His eyes were bluer than water. Dante shook his head again, drying his tears with his long jacket sleeve. “What’s wrong? Do you want your music box?” When Dante had come home from the hospital all those times, he usually cried all night. No one could figure out why. Maybe he felt more at home at the hospital or he was scared of home because that’s where he always got sick. But when their mother put a music box in his room to try and calm him down, it worked wonders.
“Is that it? Do you want your music box?” Dante sniffled and nodded, saying yes and please in a sobbing voice. “Okay, come on. Let’s go.” Isaac picked Dante up again and carried him out of the park, heading back home—a rather short walk, really.
But when they reached the edge of the park, and they could see their big, white house, they saw a strange sight: a huge truck as tall as the first floor and as long as Isaac’s school bus. The word “Repo” was painted across the side in big red letters. Men and women walked in and out of Isaac and Dante’s house, carrying out furniture and big boxes, loading them all into the truck. Then, they heard someone shouting, and they saw their mother charging after one man holding an open tote. “What is wrong with you?” their mother shouted, her face bright red. “You can’t take our pictures.”
“Hey!” Their father’s voice boomed out enough to make both boys flinch, though the adults didn’t seem nearly as impressed. Their father ripped a cardboard box out of a woman’s hands. “You can take my things, but not my kids’!” The woman argued with their father, and their mother kept shouting at the man. Eventually, the woman pulled out something that looked like a plastic toy, and she pressed it against their father’s side. A bright light flashed and sparked, and their father cried out before falling to the ground. The woman picked the box back up, and its flaps popped open. A jingle rang out from the box, and Isaac’s head perked up, his heart jumping. He just knew Dante’s music box was in there.
Isaac set Dante down on the sidewalk and said, “Wait here.” He then ran for the woman. When he got behind her, he took the plastic zapper thing from her belt. He pushed down on its one and only button to make it zap and spark the air, and then threw it on the ground just in time for the woman to turn and look. Isaac stayed in her blind spot, waiting for her to bend down and pick up the zapper. When she did, Isaac reached up and took back Dante’s music box. It was small—about the size of a sandwich, and Isaac easily hid it inside his jacket. He moved away and stayed out of the woman’s sight when she picked up her zapper and continued walking to the truck.
By the time Isaac was done, Dante was already over by his father, sobbing and asking if he was okay. Isaac crossed his arms over his chest to try and hide the lump in his jacket, and he asked, “Dad, what’s going on? Why are they taking our stuff?”
At first, their father said nothing. He just rose to his knees and panted, then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his boys, pulling them in close and whispering, “Everything will be alright. Everything will be alright, I promise. Mommy and Daddy are just… changing jobs. That’s all. Okay?”
But Isaac could see his father’s pained face, the tears he held back. “Dad?” All he got was the same answer, the same lie.
By the end of the day, the Vasari family was forced out of their home and sent to live down in the slums. The neighborhood was dark—seated beneath a wide bridge and cast in shadow. The streets were wet all the time, and the whole place smelled like a bathroom. Isaac crinkled his nose every time he sniffed, and the inside of their new house wasn’t any better. The place was falling apart. There were holes in the ceiling and the walls, strips of loose paint that showed the rotten wood underneath, and bugs that crawled along the dirty floor. There was only one bedroom, a living room, and a broken bathroom, with only a tiny hall connecting them all.
“Mom?” asked Isaac, holding on to Dante’s hand. “Dad? Is this where we’re going to live?”
His parents’ faces tensed up, and they looked away, hiding the tears and the fear they didn’t want to show their sons, but Isaac could see it all, even through the backs of their heads.
A few days later, Isaac got the truth. While Dante was napping in the living room, his parents explained everything. A serial murderer—which his father kept calling “a real bad guy” instead—had been loose in their district for the last three years. His father had been leading the case. He was the finest detective on the force, but somehow he couldn’t catch the bad guy. He tried so hard, but apparently one of the cops he was working with tampered with the crime scenes. The cop hid evidence, kept it secret from Isaac’s father. He allowed the case to drag out, but Isaac’s parents were both blamed. His mother was the chief of police, so when the murders went on for three solid years, and she had had a baby at the start of it all, people thought she was slipping. They had been calling for her to resign for over a year.
Then, after the case went on for three full years, the crooked cop finally “found” the evidence needed to catch the murderer. He claimed to have gone back to the crime scenes to investigate, and he called Isaac’s father incompetent for missing such crucial evidence. When this cop managed to find and catch the murderer himself, he had enough influence to get Isaac’s parents fired. Other people swarmed to fill the two vacant spots in the force, to get promotions and pay bumps and start living in luxury. Or, at least, that was what Isaac’s parents said. No one believed them, and no one cared to even listen.
“But don’t worry,” said his mother with the best smile she could manage. “My birthday is only a few months away. I’ll retake the test and get a brand new job, and you and Dante can come with me until it’s your father’s turn. Your father and I are smart. We’ll get even better jobs than before, and an even bigger house. I promise.”
“Yeah,” said his father. “They’ll be like birthday presents for the whole family. So just try to bear it until then, okay?”
It was a long wait for those birthday presents. Dante’s birthday was so much sooner—a month before his mother’s. Isaac wished his parents could have taken the test sooner and made Dante’s fourth birthday special—something worth remembering, a dream come true… not a nightmare.
A pair of horrid, squelching, pained groans came from down the hall. Isaac carried two wet towels into his parents’ bedroom, where he found them each lying in bed, leaning over to retch into trash cans. The room reeked of blood. His parents were pale, and their bodies were coated in sweat. Their skin wrapped so tight around their bones that Isaac could see every bump and groove. Isaac put the towels across their foreheads, trying to cool them down, but they kept panting and groaning. They didn’t even seem to know he was there.
“Mom?” asked Isaac. “How much is it for a doctor?” His mother didn’t answer. Her silver eyes were cloudy, and she stared up at the ceiling, her fingers laced with her husband’s. “Mom?”
Isaac could hear coughing and retching from the nearby houses. A terrible disease had spread through the neighborhood the last week. No one knew they were sick at first. Nothing showed up for the first few days, and then all anyone did was cough a little. But then the fever set in, then the vomiting. People said it felt like something was eating them from the inside. The doctors in the slums and lower class had no idea what was going on. They were too stupid to understand, and anyone else was too expensive.
“I could keep mowing lawns near our old house,” said Isaac, his voice shaking. “I could put on shows in the streets. People will pay for that, right? To see me climb trees and do tricks? Right?”
His parents said nothing. They just groaned, their eyes drooping.
“C-can’t I just take you to the hospital? They’ll help, won’t they? They have to. They’re doctors. They made Dante better. They can… They have to. Why wouldn’t they?” Hot tears streaked Isaac’s red face. He gripped the bedsheets and felt his skin grow hot. “I’ll take you. I’ll get someone to drive. The doctors will make you better. I’ll make them do it. I don’t care if they say no. They have to make you better!”
“I-Isaac.” His mother’s voice was raspy and weary. His father’s eyes were completely closed.
“Mom?” Isaac grabbed her hand and touched the towel on her forehead. It was already dry. “I’ll get you more water. I’ll be right back. Then we’ll go to the hospital. Just hold on.”
Isaac sprinted to the bathroom with the towel and soaked it. He then ran back and placed it on his mother’s head, but her eyes were shut, and she didn’t move or flinch at the cold water. “Mom?” Isaac trembled. “Dad?” He wasn’t moving, either. “C-come on.” Isaac reached up and grabbed his mother’s shoulders, shaking her. “Come on. Wake up. Wake up. Mom… Mom!”
But they didn’t answer. The room went quiet. Isaac couldn’t hear anymore coughing outside. Everything went blank. He couldn’t stop himself from trembling. His heart pounded, and his stomach sank so far down. His body felt cold, but his face was hot with tears. “No… No.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Wake up… Wake up. Wake…”
Isaac’s body lit up. A burning hot lump formed in his throat, and he shoved his head against the floor and screamed at the top of his lungs. He smashed his fists against the floor. The splinters cut up his skin, but he kept pounding them down and crying out. His body shook horribly, but he continued to scream. He cursed and punched the floor, shouted and cried until his throat burned.
And then, when he took a breath, he heard it, something that shocked him so bad that he could hardly move: a cough from down the hall.
Isaac’s body seized up. His head slowly turned toward the open door, and he heard muffled sobbing. “Dante?” His voice was ragged and weak.
With trembling legs, Isaac walked down the hall. He found his brother curled up on the floor, a hand over his mouth, trying to fight back the coughs, to stay silent. Dante’s eyes were shut tight, and he shook so hard that Isaac could feel it along the floor. Isaac stared at him, his mouth quivering, his heart breaking.
The sun was hot, searing. The blood on Isaac’s hands dried up so fast, and all of the dirt and grime on his body started to reek. He didn’t realize how badly he smelled until he stepped back into the middle class district, where everything was clean.
Isaac pulled along a little red wagon, inside of which he had placed Dante. The wagon wasn’t even his. He had carried Dante up to the lower class district, where he found the wagon and took it. Once Dante was cured, Isaac would return the wagon. He would even pay the kid who owned it if he could. His pockets were heavy with coins and crinkled up bills—an old and unwanted currency from long ago. Coins were more like mementos now, but what else did Isaac have?
The wagon popped and rattled every time the wheels hit a groove in the sidewalk. Dante jostled around, and he coughed and groaned, his eyes closed as he started to black out. “Don’t worry, Dante,” said Isaac when he looked back to check on him. “We’re almost there.”
They reached the hospital where Dante was born, where he was cared for all his life, and Isaac walked through the glass doors, the wagon rattling extra loud on the tile. Isaac walked up to the front desk, where a row of nurses sat behind computers. He put his hand on the counter and stood on his tip-toes, and he said, “Please help. My brother’s really sick. He needs a doctor.”
The nurses stood up from their chairs and looked down at the little red wagon to see Dante all covered in dirt and sweat, curled up in a ball and shivering. The nurses, however, didn’t spring into action. They didn’t take Dante away like they used to. They just stood there, and two of them even sat back down. The last one asked, “Little boy, where are your parents?”
The hot lump shot back up into Isaac’s throat. His dry eyes stung. “Wh-what?”
“Where are your parents?” she repeated, trying to sound nice. “I’m sure they’re worried that you’re so far from home.”
“They’re… They’re not here. They…. Please, you have to help him. He could die. Please!” Isaac pleaded louder, and people in the waiting room started to look his way. These perfectly healthy people sat around with coffee in their hands, some with fake noses and fake eyes and fake everything else. They looked at Isaac and then to each other, trying to hide their distaste behind their cups, but failing.
“Little boy, did you try going to the doctors in the slums?”
Isaac snapped back to the woman, his eyes wide, his mouth quivering. “What? You can’t… Yes. Yes, but they can’t help. They don’t know what they’re dong. You have to help!” Some of the people in the waiting room put their hands over their mouths, and they distanced themselves from Dante as much as possible, thinking he was some sort of plague rat.
Just then, a pair of doctors walked out and started talking with one of the nurses. They both glanced to Isaac and Dante, and the looks on their faces… Isaac couldn’t take it. They looked disgusted, and they turned back to the nurse without giving the boys another look.
“What’s wrong with you?!” shouted Isaac, his voice booming and cracking at the same time. “Help him! That’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s your job. Save him.” Nobody said anything. No one made a move. “You treated him all his life. He was born here. Dante Vasari.” He then pointed to one of the doctors. “You! You cured his pneumonia. Don’t you remember?”
After being called out, the doctor stepped forward and said, “Little boy, you need to go back to the slums and see one of their doctors. We’re not taking a plague patient he—”
“I’m not going back! Not until he’s better. Why won’t you cure him? Because we live in the slums? We’re only there because of people like you—stupid, greedy, as—!”
“Excuse me,” came a voice that silenced all others. A hand touched Isaac’s shoulder—a soft hand with long, red fingernails. Isaac looked up to see an older woman with curly red hair that covered one eye. She wore an elaborate red dress and a broad hat. She was well-fed, and her body was covered in jewelry. In a sweet voice, she said, “I’m sorry if my nephew is causing any trouble. He’s just like his father, I’m afraid.”
“You’re this boy’s aunt?” asked the doctor, curious.
“Yes. Alex Vasari.” She gave the doctor a warm smile, and then gently pulled on Isaac’s shoulder. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” She pulled on Isaac’s shoulder harder, making him move as she said calmly, “Come along, and bring Dante. We’ll be back soon.”
Isaac remained quiet, unsure of what to do, his voice too hoarse from all of his screaming. He followed the red woman outside, still wheeling Dante along. They didn’t go far, and the red woman soon turned around and knelt in front of Isaac, staring at him with cat-like eyes. “It’s a hard world, isn’t it?” she asked. “No one cares who you are, only what you do. They let the weak die off without a second thought, even little boys like you. After all, what can you offer anyone? Hmm?” She reached out and stroked Isaac’s cheek with her smooth hand that smelled like strawberries. “I’m not like those people, though. I take care of the lost and forgotten.”
“What do you mean?” asked Isaac, confused. He pulled his head away from the woman’s hand, but she placed it right back, trying to calm him down.
“I’ll make this simple: If you promise to do me a favor, I’ll pay for your brother’s treatment. I’ll make sure he gets the best care in the city. You have my word.”
Isaac’s eyes shot wide open. His heart beat faster, and he asked, “Really?”
“Really. Just one favor. Deal?”
She held out her hand, and Isaac stared at it, then back to Dante. He turned back and grabbed her hand as hard as he could, shaking it and saying, “Deal. Just make him better. Please.”
“I promise. Now, stay quiet and let Aunt Alex take care of everything.” The red woman then took the wagon from Isaac, and she wheeled Dante back into the hospital. From there, she truly took care of everything. The doctors looked her up in their computers, confirming she that really was Alex Vasari. Isaac stood beside her, confused, but he remained silent and let her talk to the doctors, convince them that she planned to adopt the poor orphan boys. The doctors didn’t argue, and they took Dante away, wheeling him down a hall on a rolling bed. And as Dante disappeared behind those doors—as he had done so many times before—Isaac stood there, watching, praying, with the red woman’s hand on his shoulder.
Isaac spent the next week at home, alone. He sat in the living room, curled up in the corner with his head against his knees. A man had come to take his parents’ bodies away, but he had left their room dirty. Isaac had tried to clean it, but he ended up throwing so much away, even their bed. No matter what he did, though, he couldn’t erase the smell. It wasn’t actually there, but Isaac could smell the blood and death every time he set foot in their room. So he stayed in the living room, sitting on his own lumpy mattress, waiting for Dante to come home.
A knock came at the door, and Isaac bolted up, twisting the knob before a second knock could even come. He swung the door open, and he saw the red woman standing in front of him, two men in black suits by her sides. Isaac looked around, stared at everyone’s empty hands, then their legs. “Where is he?” Isaac asked, his heart beating with worry.
“He’s fine, don’t worry. He’ll be coming home today, just like I promised.” The woman then took a step back, and the men in black moved forward. “But now, it’s time for you to keep your promise.” The men then grabbed Isaac’s wrists. They pulled him out of the house and held him up off the ground.
“Hey! Wait! What’s going on? Where’s Dante? Where is he?” Isaac struggled in the men’s grasp, kicking out his feet and hitting them in the sides, but their bodies felt as hard as rocks, and they didn’t even flinch.
“He’s safe. Now just come along, little boy.”
“No. I want to see him. LET ME SEE HIM!” But the men soon threw Isaac into the back of a black car, shutting the door as he cried out, “Dante! DANTE!”
It wasn’t long before Isaac understood the mistake he had made. By the end of the car ride, he found himself inside a giant warehouse of some kind. He saw rows of kids all lined up in front of long, steel tables. They were packaging some sort of powder into paper. They looked sick and dirty, and a lot of them had scars on their heads. There were at least a hundred kids there, maybe more. Most were his age, some older, and some as young as Dante.
A pair of hands then squeezed down on Isaac’s shoulders, and the red woman said in his ear, “Welcome to your new home away from home, Isaac.”
Isaac jerked his body to try and get out of the woman’s hands, but she held him in place. “How do you know my name?”
The red woman grinned. “You already gave me your brother’s name. It was easy to learn yours. And even then, I know everything in this city, boy.” Her words were chilling, and Isaac shivered.
“Why am I here?”
One of the men in black approached Isaac, and the next moment he struck him across the face with the back of his hand. Isaac cried out, and his face burned with pain. The red woman simply said, “You gave your word that you would do a favor for me. Now be quiet and behave.” She let go of Isaac’s shoulders and walked around him, flicking her hand, silently ordering him to follow. Isaac rubbed his face and walked behind her, his eyes wandering and watching the kids pack away that strange powder. “Your payment is quite simple, really. All you have to is repay the money I spent on little Dante’s treatment.”
“How am I supposed to do tha—” Another smack across the face was Isaac’s answer.
“I have all sorts of jobs,” said the red woman as if nothing had happened. “You know the test you take at sixteen—the one that determines your class? Well, I have my own test. It’s more fun, though, and if you do well, you can have a very exciting career.” Isaac had never realized just how sickeningly sweet this woman’s voice was.
“Now then,” she said as she came to a large steel door. She pressed a button on the wall, and the door opened, revealing a room as big as a gymnasium, full of what looked like playground equipment, but less colorful, bigger, and harder. Gesturing to this large obstacle course, the red woman said, “Let’s begin, shall we?”
Isaac ran the obstacle course three times. It was long and challenging, but he seemed to surprise the red woman and her bodyguards when he made it through without falling, and when he seemed to break records. The look of awe on the red woman’s face, however, quickly changed to a sinister smile. He had proven himself to be quite fast and acrobatic, and she had the perfect job for him.
The red woman stroked Isaac’s cheek when he finished and said, “You did wonderful, Isaac. I’m very proud of you. You’re going to do well here, I promise you.”
“Can I go home, now? I passed your test. Let me see my brother.”
One of the bodyguards came forward, his hand drawn back, but the red woman stopped him, and she said to Isaac, “Of course you can. You’ve earned it, and I’m sure little Dante is worried about you. I’ll have a driver take you back home.” But just then, the red woman grabbed Isaac by the hair and pulled him in close. She pressed a sharp fingernail against his throat, and she whispered into his ear, “Listen carefully, boy. Tomorrow night, a car will pick you up and bring you back here. You will come here every night for training, and you will do exactly what I say, when I say it. If you disobey, if you speak out of turn or say one thing I don’t like… I will kill your little brother. Do you understand?”
Isaac’s body flashed red hot, but his stomach sank down, and his heart pumped so hard that he wondered if the red woman could hear it. He said nothing, only nodded and gulped.
“Good boy.” She then pulled back, leaving a sore mark on Isaac’s neck from her nail. “Go on home. But one last thing: When you return tomorrow, you will bow to me and say, ‘Good evening, Madam Roux.’ Now, give it a try. Tell me goodnight.”
Isaac breathed heavy, his shoulders rising and falling, his body a swirling, twisting mess of fear and anger. But slowly, he bowed his head, and he said, “Goodnight… Madam Roux.”
An hour later, Isaac returned home. He ran into the house and flung open the door, his eyes darting around. They soon fell upon that familiar white and blue hair, all wrapped up in a blanket on a tiny mattress. Isaac rushed for Dante and hugged him tight. He gripped his baby brother and fought back sobs of joy and terror. A soft groan escaped Dante’s lips, and he said in a sleepy voice, “I-Isaac?”
Isaac pulled back and looked down at his brother. He seemed healthy, but tired, his blue eyes drooping despite his efforts to stay awake. “Yeah,” said Isaac. “It’s me. You feeling better?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, his eyes heavy. “Where were you?”
Isaac hesitated, but he soon said, “… I-I went to the park.”
“Oh. Did you have fun?”
“Of course. I climbed the biggest tree there, and all the other kids were jealous.” He stroked his brother’s hair, letting out some sputtered laughter between hard sniffles. “But I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Get some sleep.”
Isaac grabbed Dante’s music box, which sat on the floor next to his bed. He wound it back up, but as he did, he heard his brother’s sleepy voice, “Isaac?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we gonna be okay?”
The question ripped Isaac’s chest. He felt Madam Roux’s fingernail against his neck again, and his cheeks started to sting. He looked to the floor, hiding his grimace with his long bangs. He gripped down and dug his nails into the wood, but soon he took a deep breath and relaxed his body. With a bright, beaming smile that Dante could see even in the dark, Isaac said, “Yeah, we’re gonna be just fine.”
Dante smiled from under his covers, and as his music box played, he drifted back to sleep. Isaac reached out and stroked his brother’s hair again, and he whispered, “Everything will be alright. Everything will be alright… I promise.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
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Civilians
C[re]ate Champion
Posts: 106
Preferred Name: Varmun
Pronouns: He/Him
Character Profile: Character List
Character Name: Isaac Vasari
Main Account: Isaac
Status: Active
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Post by Isaac on Nov 21, 2015 18:47:24 GMT -5
Sparks of hot, aching pain ran up Isaac’s legs with every step he took. His arms felt heavy, but he couldn’t drop them to his sides like he really wanted. The pockets of his oversized, scruffy jeans were already full of little computer chips—each about the size of a big toe nail—and he needed to hold up the rest that were tucked under his shirt. Sweat rolled across his face and dripped from his hair, splattering across the orange visor that covered his eyes. The visor was already too large for him, and the sweat only made it easier for it to slide down his nose. Every now and then, he tilted his head back to keep the visor on, though he regretted it every time.
What Isaac saw through the visor was disorienting. Rather than an orange-tinted world, he saw a deep blue void littered with wavering yellows, oranges, and reds. If he had had anything in his stomach, it would probably have come up once or twice by now. But he needed to see this, the heat of the world around him.
Most everything was cold and blue, lifeless steel with orange strips running up and down—hot water pipes, maybe. Isaac couldn’t see distance, couldn’t make it out as everything blended together—lacking shadow or light—but he could see tiny blobs of orange and red. There was even a cluster of color up ahead that grew larger and clearer the closer he got. The mass of color began to take shape, to crisp its edges and become a hundred silhouettes. Isaac looked away from the human figures and glanced around in every direction. There were no other figures nearby, only tiny blobs.
The next time the visor slipped, Isaac let it hang on the tip of his nose. He peered over the top, and saw the door to the warehouse in clear color. It almost would have been a relief to see if he didn’t know what waited for him beyond it.
Isaac tapped his foot twice against the door, and it opened soon after. A man dressed all in black towered over Isaac. His face was hard, his skin dry and chiseled. Neither he nor Isaac said a word to each other, and Isaac simply stood there, already knowing the routine.
The man in black held out a burlap sack, and Isaac unloaded the data chips, letting them all fall down inside. He then emptied his pockets, pulling out the rest of the chips, along with a black, plastic, handheld device that was just a little too big for his hands. He dropped the device into the bag as well, but he kept his visor on. Isaac then spread his arms out wide, and the man patted him down, checking him. All the man found was a tiny device on Isaac’s back—the projector for his biotic shield. The man ignored it and then handed the bag to Isaac, finally letting him inside.
The warehouse reeked of sweat and a nasty, nose-burning smell that Isaac couldn’t even describe. He looked to the long rows of steel tables, where orphans of every age stood, packing drugs into plastic bags or rolls of paper. Some kids had powders, some had bundles of little leaves, and some had tiny crystals that reminded Isaac of the candy store he’d robbed for Dante’s birthday last week—his most innocent memory in months.
Isaac’s eyes soon caught that bright, broad, red hat on the far side of the warehouse. Madam Roux strolled up and down, watching the children work. She patted them on their backs and praised them lovingly. One of the younger girls—barely six years old—smiled at Madam Roux, and she got a kiss on the cheek for a reward. Isaac had always heard that girls were smart.
When Isaac approached Madam Roux, he bowed his head and said, “Good evening, Madam Roux.” The words sickened him, and he had to hide the grimace on his face when he looked back up.
“Good evening, Isaac,” said Madam Roux with a smile. “How did your job go?”
Isaac walked over to a desk that was pressed up against the wall, where one of Madam Roux’s bodyguards sat to watch over the production line. The data clips rattled noisily as Isaac dumped them from the burlap bag and into a big pile. “It went fine,” he said, his voice tired and vacant. He took the black handheld from the pile and stepped aside, letting Madam Roux approach the data chips. Her smile grew wide and her red contacts shimmered in delight. There were no hugs or kisses for Isaac, though. Instead, he was flanked by two guards, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t care.
“Amazing work, Isaac.” Madam Roux grabbed handfuls of chips and let them clatter back down into the pile as they fell between her fingers. “You’re coming along wonderfully.” For about a minute, she played with her new money. Each chip could have anywhere from a single cent to a million dollars, but since Isaac had only robbed a pair of Lower Class convenience stores, even a thousand dollars was unlikely. Still, Madam Roux admired the chips before finally looking to Isaac and saying, “You must be exhausted. Would you like a ride home?”
“No,” said Isaac. He raised the handheld up for Madam Roux to see—a move that made the guards jerk before they realized what it was. “I need more hacking darts. I ran out.”
A snort left Madam Roux’s nose, and she asked, “Really? Are the stores raising their security, or did you miss your shots? You can have more for your next heist.”
“I need them now.” Isaac’s voice stiffened, and his face grew tense. But when a guard punched him in the stomach, all of his boldness flew out with his breath.
Madam Roux waved her hand to the guards, and they each stepped back, leaving Isaac alone. It took a moment to regain himself, and he spat and coughed before his breath returned. “May I please have more hacking darts? I want to rob a grocery store on the way home. Please.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Madam Roux simply smiled and tapped her cheek, clearly knowing what she wanted to say. All she did by dragging it out was tempt Isaac to speak out of turn again, to give the guards another excuse to hit him. But in the end, Madam Roux said, “That’s very thoughtful of you, Isaac. Be sure to bring me something nice. I’m quite fond of cake if they happen to have a—”
“I’m not doing this for you,” Isaac said, finally taking the bait. “This is for my brother.”
The guards stomped back to Isaac, but Madam Roux waved them away once again. She stepped closer to Isaac, and it was only now that he felt his legs shake and his heart sink. Madam Roux ran her soft hand along his cheek, her long nails threatening to slice his skin if he made one wrong move. “I’m aware,” she said softly, almost whispering. “But don’t make me repeat myself. You’re using my tech, my darts, my money. And after all I’ve done for you and your brother, the least you can do is repay my generosity. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Isaac held his breath until Madam Roux pulled her hand away. With another bow of his head, he said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ll bring you something tomorrow night.”
Her smirk returned, and Madam Roux nodded to one of her guards. The man reached into his pocket, and from it he pulled a trio of black darts that were no bigger than the head of a pen. Each of them had a blue neon strip around the bottom that glowed dimly but visibly—a sign that they were in wireless range of Isaac’s handheld.
Isaac took the darts and loaded them into a small, concealed hole in the handheld. He then turned and started to leave, but one of the guards stopped him and spun him back around. Remembering his place, Isaac bowed and said, “Goodnight, Madam Roux.”
Three years of theft passed, and Isaac—now twelve years old—had managed to survive and, in some small way, prosper. He and Dante were perhaps some of the healthiest, most well-fed children in the Slums. Even Dante’s frequent illnesses couldn’t change that he had meat on his bones and color in his face. Isaac himself had more muscle than most children his age, regardless of their class. He appeared thin and wiry to most, but his arms and legs were powerful. This had, unfortunately, attracted the attention of many other slum dogs. They came looking for scraps, attacking Dante when he was alone or challenging both of the Vasari brothers when they were truly feeling brave. Those kids had proven to be good brawling practice for Isaac, but more than anything, they were a much-needed excuse. When Isaac came home bruised and bloody from a heist, he would tell Dante that he had gotten into trouble again. Isaac was a terrible liar, and so often times he didn’t even try, or—in this case—he lied once and repeated a few choice words over and over. “Got into trouble,” to Dante, meant Isaac had gotten jumped by thugs again. The boy believed it every time, too. Why wouldn’t he? What reason did he have to doubt his big brother? Despite the working lie, Isaac did his best not to push its luck.
Isaac sat down in his parents’ bedroom, changing the bandages on his right arm. He’d rather not taint another part of this tiny house with blood—though he was sure it had seen countless horrors before had even been born. A squeak came from the front door, and Isaac threw his sleeve down around his arm to cover the bandages. He stepped out of the bedroom and saw Dante walk in, a little blue bag strapped to his back. Dante smiled and asked, “Have a fun day off?”
“Eh,” said Isaac with a grin. “Kinda boring, but better than taking finals.”
“Lucky.” Dante pouted as he closed the door and set his bag on the floor. “I’ve got a math test tomorrow. It’s a big one. Mr. Wilson says if I fail, I’m gonna be in the Slums for forever.”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed, and his brow fell, but he did his best to soften up as he said, “Yeah, right, because a Lower Class teacher knows everything. Sit down, I’ll help you study.” While Dante pulled out his homework and sat on a new rug Isaac had… bought… Isaac went back to the bedroom, opened a trap door in the corner, and grabbed two cans of peaches. He popped off their lids and walked back out to give one to Dante.
The two ate together, and Isaac helped Dante study. School didn’t come easily to Dante, it never had. Even in the Slums and Lower Class school they both went to, Dante felt stupid, felt pressured. Mr. Wilson wasn’t the only person to tell him he would be in the Slums for the rest of his life. Every teacher instilled that fear into their students. Some did it to motivate, others did it purely to terrify.
“Isaac?” asked Dante as he finished his food. “Why does everyone keep saying I’ll be stuck in the Slums?”
Isaac, who had been jotting down notes to help Dante solve his next problem, slowly rose up. He sighed through his nose, and he got lost in thought for a moment, thinking back to their parents, to their promise to retake the Test.
“So…” he started, trying to think of how to explain it. “They’re talking about ‘the Test.’ It’s this big exam you take when you’re sixteen, and it… grades you on how skilled you are.”
“In what? Math?”
“No, in lots of things. It’s not just smarts, either. They test everything, and how you do on the test determines where you live and what job you get. If you do well enough, you can go all the way to the Upper Class.”
“Whoa.” Dante’s eyes rolled up, drifting off into space for a moment, no doubt thinking of the glamor of the Upper Class, of big houses and fancy cars and who knows what else. His expression then dropped, and he asked, “So does that mean if I do bad then I’ll be stuck in the Slums?”
“No, no. Or, not forever. You can take the test again every year on your birthday. And if you do a good job at work, you can go up a rank that way, too. Trust me, you’re not going to be stuck in the Slums. You’re gonna be fine. We both will.” Isaac smiled and ruffled his little brother’s hair, getting a laugh out of him. “And hey, if you pass this test, I’ll take you to the park, one up in the Middle Class—give ya something to look forward to.”
Dante’s face beamed with excitement, and he refocused on his homework, flying through answers. Isaac watched him and helped him along the way, constantly smiling… and constantly fighting back his dread.
Synthesized music thumped against the ground, the beat so hard that Isaac could almost feel the air pulse. Beside the long, winding stone path through the park, a trio of dancers had set up a sheet of cardboard and a portable speaker. A woman had her head pressed against the ground, and she spun in circles, her legs and arms up in the air. Neon bars on her shoes made a mesmerizing circle of ever-changing color. People applauded her when she finished her long head-spin, and Dante hopped up and down, clapping and cheering before grabbing Isaac’s sleeve.
“That was so cool. How was she doing that? Can you do that, Isaac?”
Another dancer took the woman’s place, this one a man who moved as if he was a robot. Dante refocused on this man, captivated, but Isaac still answered, “I’m not really a dancer. But maybe you should ask her. She might tell you her secret.” Just as he had expected, he spoke to nothing but a brick wall. Dante was lost to the new dance, though Isaac wasn’t all that interested in this one.
His eyes started to wander, looking for something the two of them could do together. A familiar jungle gym caught his attention, and he watched younger kids playing on it, climbing the bars and standing on top until their parents came running over to stop them before they fell. But as a few kids got pulled from the top, Isaac saw a sight that made his chest tighten: Beyond the park, across the neighboring street, sat a big yellow house—their house. And around that house was a black rod iron fence that blocked off a dry and brown yard. The yellow paint was splattered with so much dirt that Isaac could see it from where he stood. His skin grew hotter the more he looked at the house, at that ugly fence, at the disgusting yard.
“Hey,” he said softly to Dante, trying not to sound mad. “Come on. I wanna see something.” Dante looked up to his brother, curious, but not at all opposed. He gave the dancers one last look before following Isaac out of the park and across the street.
They stood in front of the fence, with Dante staring through the steel mesh, and Isaac looking over the top, both staring at the house. Isaac’s face was a mix of sadness and astonishment, a stunned anger clashing with a longing that could have made him cry. Dante, however, just looked around, his expression vacant.
“Do you remember this place?” asked Isaac, looking down at his brother.
“Umm… No?”
Isaac’s expression finally settled on stunned. “Really? How can you… Well, I guess you were pretty young back then. This was where we used to live.”
“It is?” Dante pulled his face away from the fence and looked all around the neighborhood, then back to the park. He pointed to the jungle gym and said, “I remember that. I remember you and me playing there all the time.”
The faintest smile tugged at Isaac’s face, and he sighed. “That’s probably for the best. Forget I said anything.”
“HEY!”
Dante jumped, and Isaac snapped his head to the front of the house. The front door was open, and a broad man with a scraggly beard glared at the boys. Dante ran behind Isaac, cowering, but his big brother simply stood there, staring back at the man. The man had a greasy face with redness around his cheeks that slowly spread across his whole face.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing? Get away from my fence, you little shits!” The man shouted again, but Isaac kept looking, his eyes soon drifting to the driveway, where he saw exactly what he had expected: a cop car. Now Isaac’s face turned red, and his fists tightened. He glared back at the man. Though the man had the frame of a beast, he didn’t fill it out, too lazy to even stave off his slight beer belly. He was dressed in a robe in the late afternoon, clearly enjoying a day of nothing but TV and booze, and yet he had the nerve to shout at children. There was no doubt about it: This was the man who’d stolen Isaac and Dante’s home, their life.
And now, the man was furious. Isaac had stuck around glaring for far too long, and the man stomped out of the house and toward the fence. Dante tugged at Isaac’s sleeve and whimpered, “Isaac. Come on. Please, I wanna go home.”
“We will,” whispered Isaac so low that Dante couldn’t hear him. But he soon relaxed his face and turned around. “Let’s go.” He pushed against Dante’s back and the two of them sprinted down the sidewalk, fleeing as the man shouted and cursed at after them.
Four years later, in the dwindling hours before the dawn, Isaac stood behind the trunk of a live oak tree, his blue bandana drawn up over his mouth and nose, his orange visor masking his eyes. The big yellow house was dark and silent; the park was empty. No one would bother Isaac as he gazed at the house. In the last four years, the siding had begun to lose some of its color. The white stone foundation was caked in mud. A tarp covered a broken window in the kitchen. A new car was in the driveway. Was this the rat’s third wife now? How three women could even stand to be around that thieving rodent was beyond Isaac.
The city was chilly, but Isaac had been taught that winter months used to be truly harsh and deadly. The dome kept the freezing cold at bay, but allowed for just the slightest hint of a changing season. Isaac couldn’t notice it at the moment, though. The blood that trickled down his arms kept him warm, but every bead that rolled across his skin ordered him to leave.
After some time, Isaac finally listened to reason and headed to Madam Roux’s warehouse. He turned in his latest bounty and returned to the Slums. All the way back, he avoided the district checkpoints and kept to the rooftops—a necessary but painful route that disturbed the smaller shards of glass still lodged in his wounds.
Even when Isaac could see the small metal house in the distance, he still moved carefully, staying on the two-story roof of a bar. With his visor, he scanned the house, and all he found was a single blob of yellow and orange, lying down on the ground. Good, Dante was still asleep.
Isaac snuck into the house without disturbing his brother, who was lying on that old, thin mattress in the living room. Once Isaac was safe inside the bedroom, he removed his visor, biotic shield, and hacking handheld, hiding them all in a second trap door under the bed. He then sat on the edge of the mattress, pulled a bucket of water over to his side, and stripped off his hooded jacket, bandana, and muscle shirt. The bloody and torn shirt would have to get tossed the first chance he got. But right now, he had more important things to worry about.
The glass wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if his shield had been working at the time. The invisible barrier could have protected him, had it not been shattered by an officer’s bullet two seconds before Isaac jumped out of that window. Oh well. He’d had worse.
Most of the shards were big enough for Isaac to pull out with his fingers. One by one, he pinched the glass, slid it free, and tossed them into a crack in the floor. Once the big pieces were gone, Isaac scooped out water from the bucket and splashed it across his wounds. The cold water stung horribly, and only now did Isaac finally shiver, but he bit through the pain and kept going until the blood was washed away. Perhaps if the dome had rained tonight, Isaac could have gotten a “proper” shower after his heist. Such luck was never on his side.
Once he was done, Isaac put the bucket away and lay down in bed, closing his eyes and taking a deep, well-deserved breath… only to hear a knock at his door.
“Isaac?” asked a hushed voice. “Are you up?”
Isaac pinched his forehead and groaned quietly through his teeth. “Yeah,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “Gimme a sec.”
The lumpy spring mattress had actually felt comfortable for a brief moment, but Isaac rolled off and put on a new muscle shirt. He opened the door and was immediately greeted by a large, blue-frosted cupcake that was twice as big as his fist. Isaac’s eyes flared open as the cupcake nearly attacked him, and behind that pile of frosting, he saw Dante’s bright, joyful smile.
“Happy Birthday!” Dante pulled the cupcake back but still held it forward, excited for Isaac to take it.
When the shock subsided, Isaac stumbled back in a spurt of laughter. “Dante,” he said between chuckles. “You didn’t have to. How did you even pay for this?”
“But you got me one every year,” he said with a laugh of his own. “And I made money performing in the Lower Class, just like you.” One of Isaac’s other lies regarded how exactly he was able to pay for food and clothes. He had convinced Dante long ago that he performed acrobatic shows for people in the Lower and Middle Class districts to get money. Somehow, that lie had worked for eight solid years. Thankfully, after today, he wouldn’t need it anymore.
“Thanks, Dante.” Isaac accepted the cupcake, peeled back its wrapper, and took a big bite. Despite having stolen one every year for Dante’s own birthdays, Isaac had never tried this soft, moist, sweet treat before. “Wow,” he said before licking his lips. “Yeah, this is definitely the way to wake up.”
The morning went by a little too fast. The brothers hung out in the living room, with Dante eating a breakfast of canned potatoes and Isaac taking his time with the cupcake. Between bites, Dante went on and on about the Test and Isaac’s “Big Day.”
“So! Do you think you’re going to end up in the Middle Class or the Upper? I mean, the test is probably hard, but you can hit the Upper Class, right? We’ve never even been there, have we? What do you think it’s like?”
Isaac hardly had a moment to interrupt, but even if he had, he wasn’t sure what he could say. His stomach twisted and ached, and he started to regret the cupcake. Pretending to cough, Isaac eventually said, “It’s probably nice: Big buildings, big houses—that kinda thing? But, you know, maybe I’ll find out today.” It was impossible to hide the worry on his face, and even harder to look Dante in the eye.
Seeming to catch on, Dante said, “Isaac, don’t worry, really. I’m gonna be fine on my own. I mean, I’m already making money. And since it’ll just be me, I won’t need that much. So I’ll be okay. Besides, just because I can’t sleep over at your big new house doesn’t mean I can’t visit, right?”
Nothing Dante said made Isaac feel any better, but he was at least able to fake a smile. “Yeah, of course.”
A buzz went off in Isaac’s head. His neural implant signaled him, reminding him of his appointment. Isaac stood up, and Dante followed. Slacking his shoulders, Isaac once again found it hard to look his brother in the eye. “I… I guess I gotta go.”
Dante lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Isaac in a tight hug. “You can do it, bro. Make it to the top, okay?”
The beating of Isaac’s heart betrayed his lies. He gritted his teeth while Dante wasn’t looking, and he returned the hug before saying, “Right. I’ll see you there soon.”
When Isaac arrived at the testing facility, he found himself in a large, white marble lobby. Its ceiling was massive, a complete waste of space for decorative friezes and a gaudy chandelier. Behind an expensive birch wood desk, a woman sat at her computer, only looking up when she heard Isaac’s shoes tapping against the floor.
“Good morning,” said the woman. “Are you here for a test?” Isaac could see that the woman’s face was almost inhumanly perfect, as if sculpted and painted. Her eyes were emerald green with slit pupils—clearly gene mods, though it hardly took a detective to figure that out. She had cat ears poking out of her brown hair, and Isaac could only imagine she had a matching tail. Something told him that the Middle and Upper classes were full of gene modders like her—though hopefully some would actually be practical instead of… whatever this was.
“Uh, yeah,” said Isaac as he stepped up to the desk. “Isaac Vasari.” He spelled his last name for her, and she typed away at her keyboard.
“Okay, there you are. Isaac Vasari.” The woman’s voice trailed off at the end, and she looked puzzled as she read over her computer. Her cat eyes then rolled back to Isaac, looking him up and down and then quirking her brow. “And you’re from the Slums, correct?” There was disbelief in her question, and Isaac could understand why. His training and frequent heists had only bulked up his muscles over the last few years, and his diet had left him with more meat on his bones than three slum dogs combined.
All Isaac said was “yes” to her question, and then he waited for her to accept it and move on. She seemed to rationalize it in her head, or perhaps she gave up. “Well then, follow me and we’ll get you started on the logic portion.”
The logic test went on for two hours, testing many different kinds of puzzles and questions from science, history, math, and English. The Test judged people against the skills and knowledge for every job imaginable, and it was an all-day process.
By the time Isaac was finished, he had scored only twenty points—barely three percent of the total. His proctor—a man who sat nearby to make sure Isaac didn’t cheat—simply shook his head, looking unsurprised that a slum dog would score so low.
Isaac showed no remorse or regret, though, and he moved on to the creative portion. Luckily, he didn’t have to try hard in order to fail this one. He couldn’t play an instrument, he couldn’t dance, and he couldn’t draw anything more than a stick figure flipping off his next proctor—apparently an unoriginal joke.
The final stage of Isaac’s Test was the physical portion. He had to shoot down a range to test his marksmanship, lift weights, spar with a proctor, and run on obstacle course to an absurdly patronizing finish line.
Isaac stood at the start of the obstacle course, looking at the first hurdle he would have to climb. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, but not from the course. Madam Roux’s course had been far more challenging. His legs trembled, and he gritted his teeth to keep his head still. His breathing grew harder, and his fists clenched down tight. He could fall on his face at the starting line, or he could even back out and ask the proctor to give him a zero. He could pretend to have a stomach ache—not a hard sell—and move so slow that he would surely fail. He could do a thousand things to fail this test.
But only one thing would convince Dante that it was true.
Lights flashed above him, first red, then yellow. When they turned green, and the test began, Isaac sprinted for the first obstacle, clambering over it with ease. He moved fast and with grace, vaulting over one wall, then another. The pounding of his feet was the only thing that could soothe his heart, that could prepare him for what he was about to do.
When he saw a jump across a pit of foam, Isaac braced himself and leaped off his platform. But when he landed, he turned his foot to the side. He twisted his ankle until he felt a ripping, burning pain. With a hard grunt, Isaac fell forward, smacking against the side of the pit before falling down into the foam cubes below.
That night, Isaac slowly made his way back to the Slums, supported by a pair of crutches. He swung his body along until he reached that tiny metal house. As if nothing was wrong, Isaac opened the door and hopped inside, whereupon Dante spotted him from his seat on the floor and stared with shock.
“Isaac?!” Dante bolted to his feet and ran over to his brother, looking terrified. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” said Isaac with a wry smile. “It’s just a sprain.”
It took Dante a moment to calm himself and take his eyes off Isaac’s wounded leg. When he recovered, he asked, “So are you here to—like—get your things? You passed the Test, right?”
Isaac pressed his back up against the wall—his only support apart from sitting on the floor or Dante’s mattress. With a sorrowful look that came disturbingly easy to him, Isaac shook his head and said, “No. I’ve been assigned to the Slums, and I start work as a laborer tomorrow.”
The color flooded from Dante’s face, and his eyes started to water. He muttered words that Isaac couldn’t hear, but it was clear he was unable to believe what he’d heard. When he couldn’t bring himself to speak, he leaned forward and hugged Isaac. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, hey.” Isaac leaned one of his crutches against the wall and put a hand on Dante’s head. “It’s okay. Come on.” He could feel Dante trembling, could feel the hot tears seeping through his shirt.
“Is it really that hard? Are we going to be stuck here forever?”
“No,” said Isaac with a few calming shushes. “No, no. It wasn’t hard, honest. I would have gotten into the Middle Class no problem. But I tried too hard on the physical exam. They took off a lot of points because I hurt myself, and then I got mad and started yelling at one of the proctors, so I think he took extra points off for that. Trust me, the test is easy.” He gently pushed Dante’s head away so he could look him in the eye. “It’s not the end of the world. I can take it again next year, and now that I’m doing a real job, we’ll have more money. We’re going to be fine, Dante. I promise.”
Dante sniffled and nodded, doing his best to calm down. But he couldn’t say anything else, and he moved to his bed, curling up and facing the wall. Even from across the room, Isaac could see Dante shiver.
Isaac’s feet tapped against the warehouse floor, moving at an odd rhythm as his right foot barely tapped the floor with each step. He had discarded the crutches shortly after Dante had fallen asleep, but he couldn’t hide his limp.
When he made it across the warehouse, Isaac tossed a plate with a slice of red-frosted cake onto a desk, the porcelain clattering against the wood before it came to a rest right in front of Madam Roux. The woman looked at the cake, then to Isaac, and she smiled.
“A slice of your birthday cake?”
Isaac simply stared at her with half-lidded eyes. “Funny.”
“What, not in the mood for jokes?”
“That come as a surprise?”
Madam Roux snapped her fingers to one of her guards. After taking a moment to retrieve a pair of forks, the guard came over and sampled the cake. Once he was sure it wasn’t poisoned, he handed a fork to Madam Roux.
“No,” she said to Isaac. “I’m afraid you’ve become quite predictable over the last few years. Truth be told, I was wondering if you would come in tonight with a broken arm or a broken leg. I was going to do a company-wide gamble, but no one would bet against me.”
“You would have told me what to break so you’d win, anyway. Now can you tell me what you want already?”
A guard stepped forward, but Madam Roux waved him away and said, “It must be so tragic to have your time of the month on your birthday. But fine, if you want to get to business, let’s address the elephant in the room: Your leg. Are we going to have a problem here?”
“Depends on what you want.”
A smirk crossed Madam Roux’s lips. “Alright, I want a ruby from the Novus Museum of Art—the new exhibit. It’s the largest ruby left from the old world, so I imagine it will have the highest security in the museum. And given how you already robbed them last week—”
“That’s fine,” said Isaac as he pulled up his bandana. He turned away and pulled out his visor. As he slipped it on, he headed for the door. “It won’t be a problem.”
TO BE CONTINUED…
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