Vending Machine Lunch (10 page)

Jad paused and
turned back and looked upon the sobbing Jink.

“I, never
knew,” muttered Jink, tears rolling down his dirty face, “I never
realised we’d become one of, them,” he looked back up at Jad, “We
need to go home because, it’s for our own good. Were addicted to
the Requiem.”

“Shut it boy,”
snapped Jad, marching back to Jink, “So what if we’re addicted, its
great stuff and it keeps us alive. There is no food but the
Requiem. So get of ya moral high horse, put them pompoms down, wipe
the drool off your face and find us another vehicle. This one is
wrecked and I want feeding tonight. Ya want to starve to death, go
away and be my guest. I can survive by myself. You know you
can’t.”

“You
don’t get it do you?” Jink snapped back, wiping the tears from his
face, “This stuff is driving us apart! We haven’t talked about
anything but Requiem ever since we started eating the stuff. And
don’t think I don’t know what you do to the female ones that
miraculously disappear from the stocks. You make me
fucking
sick!
”

A silence fell
between them. A nastily awkward silence. Planets collided in their
minds.

“And I could
survive without you,” continued Jink after the silence,
“Easily.”

“That’s the
Requiem talking and ya know it!” yelled Jad, spittle flying out his
mouth in a furious manner, “Now shut ya trap up and find us a
vehicle!”

“Hit a nerve
have I? Good, I hope your disgusting actions haunt you for the rest
of your sad, pitiful life!”

Jad stood
there, furious and lost for words. Jink’s brain began to hurt. He
knew what he wanted. He wanted to taste the flesh. He desperately
didn’t want to but desperately did at the same time. Just one fix.
Just one more fix. Then that will be it. Over. He would resume
scavenging. He just had to get rid of Jad first.

“At least I’ll
be having a damn life!” screamed Jad, raising the weapon to Jink,
“You ungrateful little wretch. Without me ya wouldn’t even exist.
Rather fitting that the very person to help you survive in this
land is the one to take you out of it. Don’t ya think?”

“Bring it you-”
that is as far as he got. His voice was drowned out by a blood
curdling screech from behind Jad.

Jad turned to
see a large creature of sorts, large as a bear, with transparent
scaly skin, a cavernous mouth and claw-like hands.

“Crap! It’s a
Red Devil!” said Jad loudly. Before either of them could react, the
creature, Red Devil, let out a second ear-splitting scream before
leaping forwards down the steps towards them menacingly.

Jink had never
seen a Red Devil before, only heard of them. He stared at it, both
fascinated and terrified of the creature’s mass. He could see right
through it, it’s transparent skin revealing all of its internal
organs and systems. Blood pumped though the transparent veins in
stomach retching detail.

Before either
Jad or Jink could even move, the Red Devil, let out another
bowel-moving scream, produced a ball of blue fire in the palm of
its rather large, deathly looking hand and flung it towards both
Jad and Jink.

The ball of
fire hit Jad square in the chest. He was flung backwards by the
force of the gaseous object, knocking Jink over as he was propelled
onto the rail tracks. Jad’s fall was broken by his head hitting the
stonework. The scene was ended by a rather nasty crunch from Jad’s
skull.

Jink scrambled
on the floor with fright. What was he to do? Jad was now most
certainly out cold, if not dead. How had a ball of fire propelled
Jad? Unless it wasn’t fire. Jink’s mind was racing hard, life’s
images flashing before him to try and drag up a solution from being
either torn to pieces or fireball’d to death. With life flashing
before his eyes, Jink recognised he had spent far too much of it
miserable and hungry. And now his first encounter with a Red Devil.
The majority of people’s first encounters with them, were their
last encounter with anything.

His mind
scanning through a lifetimes worth of memories flashing before his
retinas, his thoughts turned to the weapon Jad had. It had dropped
to the floor, a short distance away from him, as Jad had fallen to
the rail tracks. Or whatever the android thing called them.

The Red Devil
approached slowly, letting out another deafening scream. It was now
or never. Jink had used a weapon plenty of times before. The
challenge was in getting to it and aiming in time. And hoping to
God that it was loaded. And he had to do it now. Now!

Jink scrambled
up to his legs, avoiding a heavy claw-filled swipe from the Red
Devil and stumbled to Jad’s weapon. He grabbed it with both hands
and spun around to have a second heavy claw strike him across his
face. The needle sharp claws penetrated the surface of his skin,
scraping three perfect lines diagonally across his face. Jink
howled with pain and fury as the contact ended, a small amount of
his face sent flying across his left shoulder.

Blood began
seeping out of the three perfect, deep scratches across his face.
The weapon clattered to the floor. Jink stumbled around, his vision
blurred with pain. He knew he only had seconds left, probably less.
He’d pick up the gun and shoot now, but the angry white light of
agony wouldn’t leave his eyes, his head.

His eyes
scanned over the wreckage of the car in the wall. How had it gone
so horribly wrong? He already knew the answer, since the day they
began eating the unhallowed meat from the Requiem they were doomed.
The evidence off other people they’d seen eat it was enough alone
to seal their fate. Ego clashed with ego until this. They’d messed
up, big time. And the result was their death.

The thoughts of
death turned back to what the android-thing had said. Elision City
was just a spare parts factory? The thought angered Jink. He
refused to accept it, even though the idea made sense. All
dependant on the android telling the truth, but he had heard
rumours of Union not being a safe haven but being a land filled
with robots.

But they were
all stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, damn stupid rumours! All of
them. Stupid! He refused to be part of the System. To hell with the
System. The System sucked. Jink forced the pain from his face.
Stupid System. He wasn’t going to be some factory part. Or even
just an anomaly in a factory full of parts. Jink grabbed the
weapon.

He spun around.
The shadow of the Red Devil crawling up his clawed face. It was
time to see if the weapon was loaded or not.

Would You Like A Razor Blade With That Thought
Sir?

Today, he was going to
kill someone. He knew exactly who. He knew exactly why, although
his brain wouldn’t admit it. After a night spent laid wide awake in
his bed, fuming and plotting, his mind racing and raging furiously,
the conclusion was made. He had to kill her. He just had to. It was
the only solution. A final solution. Life would be complete after
today.

Jack looked at
himself in the grimy mirror, whilst listening to the daily noise of
people passing on the street below. He looked like death. An
unshaven, ghostly face stared at Jack from the mirror. He had dark
rings under his eyes, a complexion that would make a vampire
jealous and tired, worn out look about him. Jack felt sorry for the
guy. He wanted to help him, cheer him up a bit. In fact, that was a
lie. He couldn’t have cared less for the guy in the reflection
staring back at him. The entirety of Jack’s emotions, the entirety
of his rage, his anxiety, his sheer desperation bottled down to one
word. Eliza. He hated her. Oh, how he hated her.

Jack didn’t
bother with breakfast. He was on a diet of fury. All the energy he
ever needed until his goal was concluded. And it would be
concluded. Only then could he rest. Only then would he be
complete.

After punching
the mirror, Jack left the room, seething quietly. A few shards of
mirror glass fell to the ground, rather unimpressively, and bounced
onto the floor. The door closed. Jack had left his flat for the
last time.

The morons from
the flat next to his were arguing. Somewhere, a baby was crying.
Jack would probably have cried if he were in the baby’s
situation.

“Well why don’t
you just go and dip your pen in company ink then!?” a male voice
shouted.

“Why don’t you
just go and boil your head!?” a female voice yelled back.

Ignoring the
screams of fury from the quarrelsome couple, Jack pulled the call
lever and waited for the lift to rise to his level. Level 41. What
fun.

The lift door
shuddered open. The single bulb in the bare metallic enclosure
flickered invitingly. Jack entered, keen to leave the insignificant
but irritating argument behind him. The conveyer-belt lift music
trickled down, shedding off a rather bad atmosphere as Jack and his
rage travelled down the floors alone.

“Feeling down?
Depressed? Anxious? Do violent thoughts occur often? Buy some Happy
today! The miracle drug, which takes away life’s problems!
Available in your local newsagents store.”

The
advertisement infuriated Jack a little more. He checked the small
CRT screen. It displayed the number thirty four. Still a while to
go down yet.

He forced his
thoughts onto Eliza. It helped him focus thinking about her. It
helped him stay awake. Jack hadn’t slept in two days. He’d been too
furious. He’d spent his time sat in his flat, angrily staring at
the crap hole of a place they called the land outside, furious
thoughts racing about her. Rent money hadn’t been paid, work had
probably sacked him by now, and the food allowance money was well
overdue. He’d been expecting Enforcers to come knocking anytime
soon, not they, this or that would stop him. The flat was littered
with empty Happy packages. Screw Happy, it’d done nothing for him.
The more he took, the angrier he got afterwards.

Some might have
said he was addicted and this was a side effect. But Jack didn’t
see it that way. Jack didn’t give a toss. Jack wanted Eliza dead
and he wanted it now.

The annoying
drone of manufactured music began again. What would be his weapon
of choice? A gun? Just walk up to the silly mare and- BOOM!? Blow
her brains right out of her skull? Or maybe watch her sweat it out
at the other end of the barrel for a bit.

It then
occurred to Jack that he didn’t have a gun, nor would he be able to
get one. The lack of a 0110 licence saw to that, and it would take
months of unnecessary training and form filling to get that. He
would have to use a knife.

A knife.

Jack’s eyes
brightened at the thought of it. A knife. Easy to buy, easy to use.
Guns were far too quick anyway. The chance to taste them last
minute emotions of panic off his victim would be all lost with a
gun. A knife, would be a totally different story. His hatred would
feast upon a banquet of surprise, hysteria, panic and fury that
Eliza would emit. Maybe the world would see what the stupid girl
was like in real life for once.

“The Lecture
Brew! Nothing beats something we can all hail-“

The lift dinged
and the door scraped open. Ground level had arrived. Jack left the
annoying concoction of bland music and mind-drilling adverts behind
him, strode past the grubby looking reception without a glance and
walked out into the streets of the land.

The streets of
the land were the same as they had been for a while now. Riotous
and dangerous. Many of the street shops were boarded up, either in
fear of looters or due to them already being looted. The streets
were packed full of protesters, people panicking, people preaching
and people who were just trying to get by their daily lives in the
chaos.

Jack forced
himself into the packed street. He pushed through shouting people,
frustrated. He had to find a shop to get a decent knife. He passed
a man who was stood upon a box, yelling conspiracies and praising
the sky for something-or-other.

“Remember
this!” he yelled to his small audience and everyone else passing
who didn’t care, “When there is no room in Hell, the dead will walk
the land! For they are what we call The Requiem! They are the
deceased! And whom have we got to thank for this monstrosity? The
very souls who abolished the belief in Him! Our one true Lord!”

Jack figured
the raving madman was going on about religion. Unwilling to bring
up old governmental issues in his mind, Jack continued down the
bustling street. There was a gunshot and someone somewhere screamed
a little louder than everyone else was doing.

He cursed under
his breath as he passed another boarded up shop, wondering if any
shops were left. Ahead, a building was on fire. Thick black smoke
and flames were pouring out of the window and door holes. Jack saw
a woman at a window screaming for help. Keeping his head low, he
suppressed his thoughts back to Eliza.

There was only
one word to describe her. She was a bitch! A stupid silly little
bitch. He marched furiously in the crowd, the thought of her
rekindling his fury. He was so over her. He was God-damn over her.
He was so over her. He was God-damn over her. He was so over her.
He was God-damn over her. He was so over her.

He was
God-damn.

Ov.

Er.

Her.

Jack marched
past a struggling Enforcer unit as his mind exploded with hate,
insisting over and over again that he was so over her. But he
wasn’t over her. He would never be over her. It made him want to
cry. It made him want to tear his hair out in frustration, as an
action to symbolise the pain, the torment, the fury, the green-eyed
monster that constantly followed him. His blood boiled, it felt
like his veins were about to explode. He needed something,
something to make him happy.

Something to
make him really happy.