Shattered Ladder 1-15

Chapter 15

“Oya, toss the legs in fryer!”

District 44 meat-market had a taste to it; much like the rest of the Forties, it was thick and raw with recycled rust raining from the upper-strucks and fried Flicker-tail fresh off the street.

“Ay, boss!”

Wasn’t a taste most liked at first, but you either learned to love the Sump-stink like everybody else or you ignored it all till your nose gave up and it didn’t matter no ways.

“Eats! Get th’ eats! Fresh eats!”

Donny Lee hated it every day of his life.

Sixteen sets in the bottom of the Sump and it still sat wrong on his tongue. Maybe he was just a greedy bastard, the way his brothers said — always wanting more — but the forever film that greased the back of his throat always felt like the worst kind of life to live. 

‘Course, there wasn’t much to say against that, considering everybody knew One-Forty-Four was the worst kind of place to be born in. True as anything. With a sigh, Don leaned against the grimy, corrugated metal wall of a noodle stall, metal vibrating with the low hum of the stall’s overworked generator.

Trying to look casual was a whole lot of work, the not-so-easy grin plastered on his face tight on his jawline. He scratched the side of his face, thick red sideburns itching just a little. 

Truth was truth, though; being the ‘nice guy’ was a scrap-job, considering it took too much effort and just as much practice. Even with all that work, his stomach was all up-and-down and halfway to blasting out his back end, a whole pot of bad broth and worse booze that had nothing to do with the food sizzling a foot away.

No, right across from him and leaning in a little too close, was the reason why.

“I should break both your hands, monkey.”

Wangzi Xiao.

Also known as, Lady Zee.

“Start with your thumbs, too.”

Also, also known as, the biggest threat to his life right about now.

A splash of too much color in the gray of the grime, her bright pink puffer and brighter blonde hair was a beacon of either money or trouble in his world. Right now, for Don, Lady Zee was both, and the trouble part was standing out strong above all else.

“‘You can trust me, my people know what goes on there’.” Amber eyes narrowed his way as she spoke his own words back to him, voice low and dangerous enough to cut right through the meat-market mayhem. “That’s what you told me, monkey.” A thousand thousand people shouting and screaming and cursing over each other past the sizzle of multi-tailed rat meat and the high-pitched whines of a hundred failing signs, and her voice still made him shudder when it promised pain.

Just make it quick.

"Worse, I paid you for it, Dong Ye." Her voice stabbed right into his chest with a click of her tongue, his real name spoken no different from a threat. “For intel you swore was good, for clean salvage you promised me.” The younger girl shook her head, messy blond hair going everywhere before those gold eyes locked back on him. "You sent me to a nest of Junker Fist wannabes lookin' to expand!"

Donny’s hands went up, nowhere to go with his back literally up against the wall. His grin stayed firmly in place, face almost frozen to keep it from shaking. Info-broker can’t keep his own info quiet, Donny. He bit back a low groan as he nodded along to Lady Zee’s words, only half-listening as his voice ran ahead of his thoughts. "H-hey, hey now, Lady Zee. Intel was good my side, swear it! Sharp deal cut both, see? Ay, how'm I know they shift overnight? Dump's fluid market, yeah? Turf moves quick, don’t wait for nobody." 

He tried a laugh, the sound forced and fading as she refused to laugh back.

‘Course she didn’t. Lady Zee hadn’t been down in the Forties for long, but every time he’d seen her, the girl was a perfect pretty mask of absolute annoyance. Maybe a set under him, but she had the eyes of a killer at least twice his age; a look that told him she wouldn’t flinch if she had him recycled for less than a bad tip.

And this was a really, really bad tip.

"Your 'fluid market' cost me muscle-boys." She leaned in closer, tan fingers flexing into a tight fist. “Basic junk-rats, you said. Light work, you said.” Air around her was too sweet, skin and hair coming off all candy and sugar, something  so clean and out of place Donny almost leaned into the threat. "Heavy-grade iron, they had on ‘em. Not scrap-shooters—Irons. I paid you, I paid my boys…” 

A pink-painted fingernail jabbed hard into his chest, right on top of another bruise. “And I came out with scrap."

Don’s grin went wider, face stretched like a piece of slick-hide long past its prime. ""Zee-lady, Zee-lady, y’gotta know these things happen. These things— tell you what, see, next tip’s on me, swear it. Real gem I got ya.” The words tumbled faster, hands up like he could almost push the offer away and make her ease up. “Old crashed cargo drone over in the 50s, whole pre-War faction te-" 

"Stop talking."

She didn’t need to say it twice, Don’s mouth snapping shut.

Gold eyes stared him down, gaze cold enough to make the hair under his bandage-wrapped arms rise higher. The roar of the market seemed to fade away, replaced by the frantic, high-pitched thumping in his own chest. 

Her hand shot out, slender fingers gripping a piece of flex-pipe by his head right hanging from the stall’s rickety frame. It was cheap, flimsy stuff, the kind used for gray-water runoff.

It still didn’t stop him from flinching when she ripped it off like it was nothing, brittle plas at one end exploding out in a shower of gray shards. Scrap. Donny’s eyes flicked over to the owner of the meat-stall, the man refusing eye contact even as he flinched. Yeah, me too, man.

"Think this a game, Dong?" She bit out his name again, one hand gripping the flex-pipe with all the strength of three grown men. "You. Cost. Me." Each word a jab and a squeeze of the new weapon in her hand. "So I'mma cost you back. Teeth. Fingers. Whatever it takes til we even, yeah?"

The grin slid right off his face, all the charm gone with it, as Donny swallowed air with nothing else to swallow. "Okay, okay, look, I'm sorry, yeah? For real.” The words came out rougher, tripping out of his mouth as he tried to smooth himself back out. Swear on my brother’s gear, I’ll make it right. Lady Zee. New tip for you, real one, solid solid. Nobody else got it. Just need a day, maybe tw-"

"You owe me.” Three words landed hard as she cut him off. "Refund and a new tip, good one this time. Or those protection boys you payin' might not come through."

The casual threat hung in the air between them, thick as the greasy smoke from the noodle stall behind them. He was already paying the Fists almost half his spread just so they wouldn’t use his glitch-shop like a public pisser. 

If Zee pulled that plug… I'm gonna be food for the flickers.

He opened his mouth to spin another line, mouth already halfway there, when noise from the alley next to them made his head twist. Someone stumbled out into the market crowd, Don’s brain already screaming warnings just like they did with the Lady.

The someone was a scrawny kid, no older than Zee-lady; dark skin and darker hair tied back in long thick bundles. Southblood? Those were rare enough in the Forties, rare enough on 144 already. But that wasn’t the part that made him freeze.

No, it was the dead blood, so browned it was almost black, that stained his clothes; green Pre-War wear that hung loose on him. Dressed like an old man for no reason, with bare feet stained and crusted, he looked lost; running on nothing but fumes and dumb terror. 

Trouble. Donny knew what he was looking at; another walking disaster. The kind of person you see and immediately walk in the opposite direction of. Someone else’s problem.

And right behind the kid, three others spilled out of the alley.

One was bigger but all three were meaner, Don spotting the markings all three wore immediately; sloppy tattoos of a snarling rat on their necks standing out clear as neon.

Scrap Boyz. Not top-tier but out here in the Forties, they were top two you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of. And this kid had clearly gotten on their very, very wrong side.

Don looked over at Zee-lady, expecting to see her already walking away. A smart mover like her, she’d be gone quick, not wanting to get caught up in gang business.

But the Lady hadn't moved.

No, she was perfectly still, head tilted, eyes narrowed with a new kind of focus. What the… She wasn’t looking at the Boyz. She was looking at the kid. The prey.

The biggest of the Boyz laughed loud and pushed the kid back against a wall and Don flinched as he waited for the ugly beatdown about to happen. Quick and brutal with a few screams, and then the crowd would just swallow it up like it never happened. Life in the Dump.

It didn't happen.

At least not the direction he thought it would.

Don blinked, mouth open as the kid’s body moved in a way that didn't make sense, and the biggest one flew back, dropping into a pile of trash in a boneless mess. The other two Boyz froze as the bloody kid stared in confusion at his own hand.

The Southblood stumbled forward, almost falling, but the trip turned into a lunge, elbow slamming into the ribs of the second Boy. The man collapsed, gasping for air, his face going pale. Before he could even fall properly, the kid’s foot came up in a kick both messy and powerful, the Scrapper flying back into a stall selling insect pies.

The whole thing was over in less than two breaths, the last one just running as the bloody kid stood there in the middle of the market, a small circle of silence having formed around him in the chaotic crowd. 

What the… Not just trouble, but a real monster. A freak fighter like Lady Zee, and one that didn’t care about messing himself up with blood. 

Don flinched again as Zee let out a whistle, the sound low and quiet. Don didn’t need to use his brain all that hard to figure what was going through hers. The blonde girl had been asking around, using his info to find out about freaks and fighters for weeks now. 

Whatever she wanted to do, he wasn’t fully sure but he figured it was something about building a crew to hit the higher floors. 

Past that, Don didn't ask. 

Asking questions about fighter business was a great way to lose teeth.

Zee turned back to look at Don, attention already a million stretches away as she pushed his shoulder back. "Go on, monkey, get back to work. I'll come by later." She turned back to the Southblood, the bloody boy already running through the market crowd.

Don just stared back at her, mouth still open. "Wait, what about my… my protection? You still gonna keep them off my back?" A laugh spilled out again, faster and more nervous than he meant it to. "Lady Zee, for real, the Fists, they'll use me for their dogs!"

Zee’s eyes didn’t even touch him, that golden gaze firmly on their new prize. "Uh-huh, uh-huh, I hear you.”

Don felt like she very much didn’t as she walked off, a bright pink predator trailing wounded prey. Scrap.