Slumrat Rising

Truth found the news with a bit of trouble- the old joke about eight thousand performances but nothing to watch seemed to be getting truer by the day. Eventually, he found a local news performance being broadcast.

The presenter was, of course, shockingly beautiful. Her every feature was perfectly symmetrical. The tone of her skin was set to the most fashionable and flattering color. Her eye color was adjusted to contrast nicely with her skin and the delicate blues and lavenders of her hair. Slender pearl earrings drew attention to the elegant curve of her neck as it joined her slim shoulders.

It was part of her contract with the studio. Every day before the broadcast, she would be sat in the makeup chair as a team of consultants, tastemakers, and brand coordinators decided what she would look like that day. They decided what features would “make up” her face, her body, the tone of her voice, and the shape of her hands. Famously, one national news reader had included in her contract that she could determine one aspect of her appearance on each show. A unique privilege, so far as Truth knew.

“Dramatic scenes in Gwaju City Center today as an illegal wagon modification may have set off a terrorist attack early. We are bringing you live updates on this story as we learn more.”

The image changed over to some B-roll of the city streets. “Gwaju has been quiet since the Black Day. Residents have kept their usual Southern cheer, living as they always have. There was a cut over to a citizen, neatly dressed but looking almost deformed compared to the presenter.

“Well, what can I do about it, you know? I just get on with my job and try to spend as much time as I can fishing!” The man on the street chuckled and shrugged.

A cut back to the street- this time in front of the parking garage. “This is the Gwaju 135’th Street Municipal Parking Garage. Generally used by the public servants in the Municipal Sanitation Department, as well as local businesses. It is also used by Sanitation Technicians to park their leased wagons at the end of their shifts.”

There was security footage of the sidewalk. Truth recognized Bosce Huelle walking along. He had a disconcerting physique- stick thin from his lowest ribs up, thinner still from his hipbone down, and with an almost spherical belly. Truth briefly wondered if he had shoved a Pitz ball under his shirt, then dismissed the idea. He was distracted by the angry young man coming up behind Bosce, holding something in his hand.

“Bosce Huelle, a twenty-five-year veteran of the Municipal Sanitation Department and widowed father of three, is seen here walking to his carriage. The young man behind him has not yet been identified by the police.”

The face of the young man was pulled up, sharpened up, and hung beside the presenter. “If you think you know this person, please contact the police non-emergency tip line. Information leading to confirmed identification will be rewarded with three civic merits, and additional information leading to arrests will be rewarded with Ten. That many Merits would lift even a Denizen Subclass Criminal all the way up to full citizenship. For Citizens, it’s enough to guarantee at least C-9-L status under the new System.”

Wait. Wait, what the actual fuck?

“Mr. Huelle had volunteered to assume additional duties under the new citizenship paradigm coming in just four weeks. He would be acting as an unpaid Non-Citizen Benefits Coordinator, helping businesses and Denizens connect and ensuring that those Denizens got the generous benefits the new system guarantees.”

The beauty pushed her perfectly styled and conditioned hair back over one ear, emphasizing the earring provided by one of the segment’s “generous” sponsors. Her nails perfectly matched her hair, the bright lights of the studio catching their dreamy semi-translucent color in a charming flash.

“It is then a particularly cruel irony that he was almost certainly killed by the casual, brutal stupidity of one of those same denizens. Warning. The following images are shocking.”

The clip showed both Huelle and the angry young man suddenly looking up in blank amazement before the wagon slammed down on top of them. It wasn’t particularly gory. Truth had managed to bag both of them neatly with one wagon. The image stopped and cut back to the presenter.

“Crime scene analysis shows that the wagon had been tampered with. It appears that someone, presumably one of the denizens who had leased and operated the wagon, had tampered with the spellwork. The internal controls, particularly the guidance system, had been badly damaged by someone. According to sources inside the Police, it is a common tactic of lazy Denizens to disable the guidance system in an effort to avoid location monitoring by the Sanitation Contractor. This allows them to “spoof” doing their rounds, resulting in trash being collected late, or not at all.”

She shook her head in restrained anger.

“In addition to the flagrant property damage, theft of City money, damage to public health and hygiene, and open contempt for the very idea of the dignity of labor, damaging the guidance system can cause the wagons to run out of control.”

Truth frowned. The pacing of the segment was odd. Yes, the wagon “accident” was very dramatic, but other than a brief request for information about the young man (whoever he was), there was not a hint so far of any terrorist activity, or out-of-control summonings, or… anything, actually. Presumably, it would be coming, but wouldn’t you lead with “Giant snake demon kills dozens in downtown Gwaju today?”

“This incident is sure to spark yet more conservative outrage at the generous new welfare scheme being offered by our proud nation. Minister for Internal Order Fe Reb could not be reached for comment.”

He might be a little busy, what with the Level Four snake demon appearing and killing dozens of people. Or not, what did Truth know?

“As disturbing as the unexpected death of Mr. Huelle is, worse was yet to come.”

FINALLY.

“Shortly after Mr. Huelle’s death-” No mention of the other person, Truth noticed, “There was an unplanned summoning. While the police are not willing to speculate on the causes of the summons, terrorism seems a likely cause. We are unable to confirm at this time if the summoning was state-sponsored or perpetrated by traitors within our great nation. However, we can confirm that several dozen people were seriously injured and more than five shops severely damaged before the summoned demon was banished by a plainclothes security officer.”

There were some panning shots of a few ruined buildings, lingering particularly on the charred clown puppet. It was somehow still waving and trying to call people into the gutted remains of the shop. There were also a few establishing shots of crying (but unharmed) children, as well as a young woman looking disheveled and covered in blood, but not so much as to hide her youthful charm.

“Five people remain in the hospital in critical condition. It is clear just how close Gwaju came to a terrible catastrophe. On behalf of the people of our great city, I thank the brave officers of the Security Service for keeping us safe.” She gracefully bowed towards the recording talisman, drawing the eye to the suddenly expansive patch of skin at the top of her chest.

Truth switched the scry off, sprawling back on the sofa in De’Ponte’s apartment. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. Some vague notion had floated through his mind of commentators dissecting his possible identity, the motives for the summoning, something like that. Not nothing.

Truth tried to gather some memory of watching scry before he joined Starbrite. He had seen it before, of course. Dad had it on all the time. Sports, the fights, singing competitions, dramas, comedies, Truth had always had the impression that it didn’t really matter what was on, as long as something was. Dad would bitch about it regardless. Mom sometimes watched, too, usually when she was half-cut and in a depressive spell. Those were bad times to be in the house. Very bad.

Truth shook his head, forcing away the oncoming flood of memories, trying to remember if he ever saw the news on. He felt like he must have, but he couldn't remember it. The news was on all the time in the PMC. “Scouting future jobs” they called it, and “watching the reviews.” He had seen it, but he couldn’t say he had ever really watched it.

System, was the news in Jeon always this- Truth groped around for the right words.

>Truth could imagine the blue haired sprite shaking it’s head.

But the sheer scale of it! Dozens died. Easily dozens. Might hit a hundred with the damage to the buildings. It was a damn Level Four demon, and they know perfectly well it wasn’t internal security that stopped that thing. Truth protested.

>

Seriously?! What are the damn odds of two, TWO, assassins coming for the same middle-aged nobody at the exact same time?

>

Truth thought about that one for a second.

The off-duty cops. Huelle was supposed to have a couple of off-duty cops as bodyguards. Where were they?

>

You think it wasn’t?

>

You think he was… what, carrying the demon in his guts? There was a giant pillar of flame. We saw the demon slither out of it.

>

They lapsed into silence. The apartment felt oddly oppressive, combining luxury furnishings with unfinished decoration and an unused kitchen. Like De’Ponte was haunting it every bit as much as Truth was. Eventually, Truth asked-

They were going hard on the Denizens. Trying to make them even more loathed?

>

Starbrite has spent generations building up access to the System as something super prestigious. The Citizens must be fucking running towards getting signed up. Truth sighed, both in his mind and out loud.

>

So no reason not to do it, but why do it now? Or at all?

>

I tried to tune them out.

>

Starbrite doesn’t think Jeon is going to be here in a year or two, so they are getting everything they can out of it. Hell, this might be their escape plan. Overload the System with an insane amount of power, then… I don’t know. Flee the planet, somehow. Truth connected the dots.

Truth could feel the system agreeing.

He lolled back on the couch. It was comfortable. Luxurious. Was it more comfortable than the couch he stole in Shorumbuti? He couldn’t really feel the difference. He was sprawled on a gangster’s sofa in the slum. Didn’t matter where you were, it was all one slum. The Slum. The whole damn planet was The Slum. And here were the Shattervoid, coming for the get back after one of theirs got grabbed. Collective punishment until they got what they wanted.

Slums and gangsters and all the little rats running around, hiding from the bigger rats. Somewhere, someone was a cat, but from where he was? He hadn’t met a cat yet. Thought he had. Hadn’t. Even Merkovah was hiding in the shadows, scurrying along the wall, afraid of getting jumped. A much bigger rat than Truth, sure, but not a cat.

So what would it take to be a man? What would it take to get up off your paws and stand on your feet and walk down the middle of the sidewalk? What was a human in the context of The Slum? He didn’t know. His education had always been suspect. But it sure as Hell wasn’t whatever the scry was peddling.

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