Neo Chronicles: Black Void
Episode 19: Da Ghetto
Table of Contents
It's a new day—or is it a new night? I can't tell. We're on the bright side of a moon, but it still looks night out. The planet this moon's orbiting shines a bright white color. No telling what the land's like below—well, I guess for me, right now it's above. Still got no clue how gravity works for real. Objects are attracted to each other some kinda way. Small one's going to the big one, but the big one is—staak it. I'm walkin'.
Walkin' on moons is fun, because you feel like each step is so much bigger than anywhere else. Moons typically aren't that big, especially compared to the planet they're circlin' around, which means there's not much keepin' my feet planted on the ground. If I want, I can leap up towards the sky, touch it, and come floating back down. Most places keep things in check with whatever gravTech they got goin' on, but there's still enough weightlessness around to let me believe.
Sure, the atmospheres on moons is all artificial an' whatnot, but whatever cold I would be feelin' is canceled out by the adaptive wear I'm wearin', and as long as there's oxygen for me to be breathin', I can deal. Remember the first time I was on a moon—think that was my first bar fight, too—the lack of anything, any wind hittin' my face an' junk when I was out in the open felt weird, but now it's just whatever.
I'm walkin' the streets here. The roads ain't paved or nothin', it's definitely moon rock, like any other moon would have, but there's streets, street lights, hovercrafts, buildings, and alleyways. Ran's off some place else, or rather I'm walking some place away from her. When we landed, she invited me and Carlos to go some place. Carlos said he's got stuff to take care of, and I'm trying my best to avoid her. It's for a good cause though, seriously. Gotta prevent myself from doing or saying something I'll end up regretting. It's not like she's being mean about anything. I know that I'm the one actin' crazy, but I just can't stand being in the same place as her. Can't stand bein' around her, in the same room, on the same floor, anywhere. She killed Ri'lar. I think she gets it though, and she be doin' well to give me my space. I respect her for that. Still hate her, but respect her.
It's gotten to the point where I can hardly say anything to her. I answer whatever questions she asks, sure, but I still haven't sat down to actually talk with her about—well—anything. I don't know where she's from. I don't know where we're going. I don't know where she's working. Shoot, I don't even know how she survived a planet blowin' up with her on it, an' you'd think that would be tha first thing I'd got sorted out. Speaking of which, how the world she survive a planet blowin' up on her? I really need to find out about that. For all I know, she was in cahoots with that Visigen all along, and staged the whole thing.
But that wouldn't make any sense though.
But that's the thing. I just don't know. I don't know anything about her—or Carlos for that matter! Part of the reason why I'm not all buddy-buddy with him, either.
I mean, fo real. What the world is a human—an earther like me—doin' way out here? Why's he friends with Ran? They a couple? They act like it at times, but are they really? I just don't know. He doesn't even seem like he's missin' Earth that much. Maybe he's just accepted that he ain't neva goin' back. Or maybe, he's done something so bad, he don't wanna go back. I don't know, man. I jus' don't know, and because I don't know, ain't no way I can trust him.
These streets is congested. I don't even know if that's the right word, but that's the word that comes to mind. It's like I'm in the ghetto part of the 'verse. Too many shady lookin' people. Of course they all alien to me, but some things is universal. Like across the road, there's some blue skinned, tentacle haired, fish lookin' lady gettin' all angry black woman with some big, bulky lookin' faceless rock skinned man. The argument is heated. I see some slaps exchanged on both sides. Back home, I woulda did my best to speed on past them. Not because of it being a scary and dangerous situation to be in, but mostly because ain't nobody got time fo dat. Now? I got all the time in the world. So I stop for a minute. I look for a minute. And I take the time to enjoy a laugh.
When's the last time I laughed? I mean really laughed? Me an' my sister Jade would love to turn on some movies or TV shows that was funny. No matter how our days went, no matter how upset we got at each other—and I'm tellin' you, there's times when we'd literally rip each other's heads off—well, not literally, but you know what I mean, if we could sit down by the TV an' laugh about other people's stories, it was all good. I miss that.
The next thing I come across on my walk isn't so much a laughing matter. Depending on who you ask, the last thing wasn't a laughin' kinda thing either, but this is worse. I don't think I've ever seen the typa thing I'm seein' right now, except, oddly enough, on those TV shows Jade an' me be watchin'. But this is real. It takes me a while to make out what's goin' on down that dark alleyway, but from what I can tell—one alien dude, always checkin' over his shoulder, standin' up right, tryna hang back all loose, playin' it cool an' junk talkin' to the other alien dude, who's not as relaxed, way more on edge, tryin' hard not to raise his voice, but you can tell jus' by the tone that he's mad.
They talkin' about money. They talkin' 'bout product. The cool dude—dark, mysterious, lookin' like he's wearin' leaves or flower petals or somethin' another like it's a trench coat—is simply shaking his iguana lookin' head “no” to his unruly client. The client—face of a bat, body of a tall, strong built, muscle bound lion who's standin' up right—don't take too kindly to the dealer's response. All of a sudden, bat-man—or is it man-bat—doesn't care who hears him, he shouts at the top of his lungs,
“How could you do this to me! You've ruined my life! The least you could do is give me my money back!”
The dealer is unphased by the outburst. Still calm, still cool—like the devil himself, he says, “calm down. There's no need to attract any unwanted attention. How was I supposed to know LTC was going to change you like that?”
I'm pretty sure they don't know that I'm here. I'm not really doin' much to hide, bein' only a short distance away from them, but with all the people walkin' around—I guess I'm doin' well blending in. Judging by everyone else's reactions—or should I say non-reactions—this typa thing must be common place. Now I know I'm in the ghetto.
“You came to me begging for something to make you forget your problems,” the dealer continues. “I provided. Our business is done.”
“No, it's not!” the big guy exclaims as he grabs a hold of the dealer's scaly, slender arm. “We're not done until I say we are! You are going to fix this, right now!”
The dealer notices that the big guy's hand burns his skin on contact, something that catches him by surprise. “Let go of me,” he says snatching it away from his grip. “My God,” the dealer says examining his now charred arm. “That's not—wait a minute. You didn't tell me you were a Golemae! You idiot! What were you thinking? You should have known better! The nerve of you coming up to me sayin' it's my fault!”
“Fix this, now!” The big guy seems to get bigger. His eyes start glowin' an eerie seaweed green as smoke is exhaled from his nostrils.
“You don't get it! You're beyond fixing. No one on this rock can help you now.”
I think now's about the time when I should leave this junk be. Shoulda left as soon as I saw it get started, but people watching's fun. People are starting to catch on now. They start slowing up when they come pass this dark corner. Some speed on by hoping to not get involved. They're the smart ones. The others—like me—just sorta huddle up to watch. A couple of 'em try to jump in to the dealer's aid, but as soon as the—what'd he call him—Golemae looks at them, he freaks out and with his now gargantuan arm, smacks them out towards the nearest wall, an' let me tell you, they do not get back up. That is some insane strength. I think one actually goes through the building.
“What are you looking at!?” the Golemae shouts out to the crowd. “Does this amuse you!? Are you entertained!?” It's really time for me to go. I should really go. I'm trying to go, but there's way more people around here than there should be. This mob formed in a flash. I'm squeezing in between all the blobby, flubbery, spiky, plushy—man, there's so many different types of aliens in the 'verse. Don't think I've ever seen the same one twice...ever.
Did I just hear that dude howl? Like a wolf? On the moon? Move over butterfly wings. OOMPH. Someone just pushed me, an' worse, they pushed me towards the crazy person, and—oh my God, really? This dude is insane. I'm looking up from the ground and watching as he literally pounds the dealer's face into the floor. His fists are like jackhammers. Each strike like thunder. What is this idiot doing? He's hittin' so hard that he's actually causing earthquakes—earthquakes? Moonquakes. This dude's causing moonquakes!
Someone from the crowd shouts out, “STOP!” Thankfully the Golemae does. I don't know much about much, but if I were to guess, if he kept that up, this moon would have definitely cracked—an' I'm not talkin' small crater crack, I'm talkin' cracked in two.
My God, his face. The dealer's face is completely—it's a stain. Whatever's left of it is a stain on the ground—a blue stain. He's dead. Everyone's frozen in shock after witnessing that. This may be the ghetto, but I don't think any ghetto's that brutal or barbaric.
The man-bat beast creature isn't speaking right anymore. Translator's not identifying anything as a coherent thought or expression. He's just making animal sounds now. He walks towards the crowd, and, like a good mob, they do their best to clear out. I'm still lying on the ground from getting shoved over, an' run into from how crazy desperate everyone is to get gone.
They get out quick, too. Gotta commend 'em for that. Some get trash cans an' rocks thrown at them from the Golemae throwin' whatever tantrum he's throwin', but for the most part, they get out alive. Which leaves me, last—well, among the last—to try an' find a way out. I'm certainly runnin'.
He's terrorizing the whole block now, chasin' whoever for whatever reason, an' I swear to you, he's gettin' bigger, too. And he's glowin' brighter. That can't be healthy. Whenever he runs into somethin', be it a buildin', hovercraft, streetlight, or person, he plows through it all the same.
The thought crosses my mind. Stop runnin', turn around an' try to stop him from destroying everything, but at the same time it's like—it's like why should I? I mean, I think I've done a good job establishing that I'm not a hero. Everytime I try to do somethin' good, somethin' bad comes outta it. An' even if I did think it was my thing to be a hero, this crazy dude is ramming himself through buildings, poundin' people's faces under the ground. I've seen super strength before—shoot, super strength is my ST, but I've never seen or done anything like that! I don't think I could destroy a moon just by punching it really hard.
It's not like I'm bein' selfish is it? Is it? I'm jus' tryna do for me. Is that a crime? Plus this dude is gettin' crazier by the second. Hulkin' out with no rhyme or reason. Why should I get involved with that? I need to find Carlos, find Ran, get back to the ship, an' leave this place be.
But then the Golemae finds me. Got lost in my thoughts an' now—what the crud, how did he?
BOOM
It sounds like a sonic boom. I just turned the corner, an' the next thing I know my jaw feels like it's tryin' to go through my skull. The pain—it feels like, well it's not broken, I know that. My ST keeps that from happenin', but the pain—it hurts. The uppercut sends me flying. I know it does, there's not enough gravity on this moon to keep me planted after somethin' like that, an' if there was, I don't even think it'd make a difference—and the pain.
I know I'm flying. The dude's fist was the size of my whole upper body, an' he used it to send my sky high. No tellin' how high I'm at. Can't even bother to open my eyes it hurts so bad. I can't breathe, an' all of a sudden it gets really cold. Where did this cold come from? Can't even take the time to figure that out—the pain. It hurts so much.
I think that's it. I think—now it's getting hot? When did? Why? Staak, I think I'm—
Episode 19: Da Ghetto
Table of Contents
It's a new day—or is it a new night? I can't tell. We're on the bright side of a moon, but it still looks night out. The planet this moon's orbiting shines a bright white color. No telling what the land's like below—well, I guess for me, right now it's above. Still got no clue how gravity works for real. Objects are attracted to each other some kinda way. Small one's going to the big one, but the big one is—staak it. I'm walkin'.
Walkin' on moons is fun, because you feel like each step is so much bigger than anywhere else. Moons typically aren't that big, especially compared to the planet they're circlin' around, which means there's not much keepin' my feet planted on the ground. If I want, I can leap up towards the sky, touch it, and come floating back down. Most places keep things in check with whatever gravTech they got goin' on, but there's still enough weightlessness around to let me believe.
Sure, the atmospheres on moons is all artificial an' whatnot, but whatever cold I would be feelin' is canceled out by the adaptive wear I'm wearin', and as long as there's oxygen for me to be breathin', I can deal. Remember the first time I was on a moon—think that was my first bar fight, too—the lack of anything, any wind hittin' my face an' junk when I was out in the open felt weird, but now it's just whatever.
I'm walkin' the streets here. The roads ain't paved or nothin', it's definitely moon rock, like any other moon would have, but there's streets, street lights, hovercrafts, buildings, and alleyways. Ran's off some place else, or rather I'm walking some place away from her. When we landed, she invited me and Carlos to go some place. Carlos said he's got stuff to take care of, and I'm trying my best to avoid her. It's for a good cause though, seriously. Gotta prevent myself from doing or saying something I'll end up regretting. It's not like she's being mean about anything. I know that I'm the one actin' crazy, but I just can't stand being in the same place as her. Can't stand bein' around her, in the same room, on the same floor, anywhere. She killed Ri'lar. I think she gets it though, and she be doin' well to give me my space. I respect her for that. Still hate her, but respect her.
It's gotten to the point where I can hardly say anything to her. I answer whatever questions she asks, sure, but I still haven't sat down to actually talk with her about—well—anything. I don't know where she's from. I don't know where we're going. I don't know where she's working. Shoot, I don't even know how she survived a planet blowin' up with her on it, an' you'd think that would be tha first thing I'd got sorted out. Speaking of which, how the world she survive a planet blowin' up on her? I really need to find out about that. For all I know, she was in cahoots with that Visigen all along, and staged the whole thing.
But that wouldn't make any sense though.
But that's the thing. I just don't know. I don't know anything about her—or Carlos for that matter! Part of the reason why I'm not all buddy-buddy with him, either.
I mean, fo real. What the world is a human—an earther like me—doin' way out here? Why's he friends with Ran? They a couple? They act like it at times, but are they really? I just don't know. He doesn't even seem like he's missin' Earth that much. Maybe he's just accepted that he ain't neva goin' back. Or maybe, he's done something so bad, he don't wanna go back. I don't know, man. I jus' don't know, and because I don't know, ain't no way I can trust him.
These streets is congested. I don't even know if that's the right word, but that's the word that comes to mind. It's like I'm in the ghetto part of the 'verse. Too many shady lookin' people. Of course they all alien to me, but some things is universal. Like across the road, there's some blue skinned, tentacle haired, fish lookin' lady gettin' all angry black woman with some big, bulky lookin' faceless rock skinned man. The argument is heated. I see some slaps exchanged on both sides. Back home, I woulda did my best to speed on past them. Not because of it being a scary and dangerous situation to be in, but mostly because ain't nobody got time fo dat. Now? I got all the time in the world. So I stop for a minute. I look for a minute. And I take the time to enjoy a laugh.
When's the last time I laughed? I mean really laughed? Me an' my sister Jade would love to turn on some movies or TV shows that was funny. No matter how our days went, no matter how upset we got at each other—and I'm tellin' you, there's times when we'd literally rip each other's heads off—well, not literally, but you know what I mean, if we could sit down by the TV an' laugh about other people's stories, it was all good. I miss that.
The next thing I come across on my walk isn't so much a laughing matter. Depending on who you ask, the last thing wasn't a laughin' kinda thing either, but this is worse. I don't think I've ever seen the typa thing I'm seein' right now, except, oddly enough, on those TV shows Jade an' me be watchin'. But this is real. It takes me a while to make out what's goin' on down that dark alleyway, but from what I can tell—one alien dude, always checkin' over his shoulder, standin' up right, tryna hang back all loose, playin' it cool an' junk talkin' to the other alien dude, who's not as relaxed, way more on edge, tryin' hard not to raise his voice, but you can tell jus' by the tone that he's mad.
They talkin' about money. They talkin' 'bout product. The cool dude—dark, mysterious, lookin' like he's wearin' leaves or flower petals or somethin' another like it's a trench coat—is simply shaking his iguana lookin' head “no” to his unruly client. The client—face of a bat, body of a tall, strong built, muscle bound lion who's standin' up right—don't take too kindly to the dealer's response. All of a sudden, bat-man—or is it man-bat—doesn't care who hears him, he shouts at the top of his lungs,
“How could you do this to me! You've ruined my life! The least you could do is give me my money back!”
The dealer is unphased by the outburst. Still calm, still cool—like the devil himself, he says, “calm down. There's no need to attract any unwanted attention. How was I supposed to know LTC was going to change you like that?”
I'm pretty sure they don't know that I'm here. I'm not really doin' much to hide, bein' only a short distance away from them, but with all the people walkin' around—I guess I'm doin' well blending in. Judging by everyone else's reactions—or should I say non-reactions—this typa thing must be common place. Now I know I'm in the ghetto.
“You came to me begging for something to make you forget your problems,” the dealer continues. “I provided. Our business is done.”
“No, it's not!” the big guy exclaims as he grabs a hold of the dealer's scaly, slender arm. “We're not done until I say we are! You are going to fix this, right now!”
The dealer notices that the big guy's hand burns his skin on contact, something that catches him by surprise. “Let go of me,” he says snatching it away from his grip. “My God,” the dealer says examining his now charred arm. “That's not—wait a minute. You didn't tell me you were a Golemae! You idiot! What were you thinking? You should have known better! The nerve of you coming up to me sayin' it's my fault!”
“Fix this, now!” The big guy seems to get bigger. His eyes start glowin' an eerie seaweed green as smoke is exhaled from his nostrils.
“You don't get it! You're beyond fixing. No one on this rock can help you now.”
I think now's about the time when I should leave this junk be. Shoulda left as soon as I saw it get started, but people watching's fun. People are starting to catch on now. They start slowing up when they come pass this dark corner. Some speed on by hoping to not get involved. They're the smart ones. The others—like me—just sorta huddle up to watch. A couple of 'em try to jump in to the dealer's aid, but as soon as the—what'd he call him—Golemae looks at them, he freaks out and with his now gargantuan arm, smacks them out towards the nearest wall, an' let me tell you, they do not get back up. That is some insane strength. I think one actually goes through the building.
“What are you looking at!?” the Golemae shouts out to the crowd. “Does this amuse you!? Are you entertained!?” It's really time for me to go. I should really go. I'm trying to go, but there's way more people around here than there should be. This mob formed in a flash. I'm squeezing in between all the blobby, flubbery, spiky, plushy—man, there's so many different types of aliens in the 'verse. Don't think I've ever seen the same one twice...ever.
Did I just hear that dude howl? Like a wolf? On the moon? Move over butterfly wings. OOMPH. Someone just pushed me, an' worse, they pushed me towards the crazy person, and—oh my God, really? This dude is insane. I'm looking up from the ground and watching as he literally pounds the dealer's face into the floor. His fists are like jackhammers. Each strike like thunder. What is this idiot doing? He's hittin' so hard that he's actually causing earthquakes—earthquakes? Moonquakes. This dude's causing moonquakes!
Someone from the crowd shouts out, “STOP!” Thankfully the Golemae does. I don't know much about much, but if I were to guess, if he kept that up, this moon would have definitely cracked—an' I'm not talkin' small crater crack, I'm talkin' cracked in two.
My God, his face. The dealer's face is completely—it's a stain. Whatever's left of it is a stain on the ground—a blue stain. He's dead. Everyone's frozen in shock after witnessing that. This may be the ghetto, but I don't think any ghetto's that brutal or barbaric.
The man-bat beast creature isn't speaking right anymore. Translator's not identifying anything as a coherent thought or expression. He's just making animal sounds now. He walks towards the crowd, and, like a good mob, they do their best to clear out. I'm still lying on the ground from getting shoved over, an' run into from how crazy desperate everyone is to get gone.
They get out quick, too. Gotta commend 'em for that. Some get trash cans an' rocks thrown at them from the Golemae throwin' whatever tantrum he's throwin', but for the most part, they get out alive. Which leaves me, last—well, among the last—to try an' find a way out. I'm certainly runnin'.
He's terrorizing the whole block now, chasin' whoever for whatever reason, an' I swear to you, he's gettin' bigger, too. And he's glowin' brighter. That can't be healthy. Whenever he runs into somethin', be it a buildin', hovercraft, streetlight, or person, he plows through it all the same.
The thought crosses my mind. Stop runnin', turn around an' try to stop him from destroying everything, but at the same time it's like—it's like why should I? I mean, I think I've done a good job establishing that I'm not a hero. Everytime I try to do somethin' good, somethin' bad comes outta it. An' even if I did think it was my thing to be a hero, this crazy dude is ramming himself through buildings, poundin' people's faces under the ground. I've seen super strength before—shoot, super strength is my ST, but I've never seen or done anything like that! I don't think I could destroy a moon just by punching it really hard.
It's not like I'm bein' selfish is it? Is it? I'm jus' tryna do for me. Is that a crime? Plus this dude is gettin' crazier by the second. Hulkin' out with no rhyme or reason. Why should I get involved with that? I need to find Carlos, find Ran, get back to the ship, an' leave this place be.
But then the Golemae finds me. Got lost in my thoughts an' now—what the crud, how did he?
BOOM
It sounds like a sonic boom. I just turned the corner, an' the next thing I know my jaw feels like it's tryin' to go through my skull. The pain—it feels like, well it's not broken, I know that. My ST keeps that from happenin', but the pain—it hurts. The uppercut sends me flying. I know it does, there's not enough gravity on this moon to keep me planted after somethin' like that, an' if there was, I don't even think it'd make a difference—and the pain.
I know I'm flying. The dude's fist was the size of my whole upper body, an' he used it to send my sky high. No tellin' how high I'm at. Can't even bother to open my eyes it hurts so bad. I can't breathe, an' all of a sudden it gets really cold. Where did this cold come from? Can't even take the time to figure that out—the pain. It hurts so much.
I think that's it. I think—now it's getting hot? When did? Why? Staak, I think I'm—
