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The Pestilent City · InkandNeon | Speculative Fiction Stories

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  They called it a pit. The old belly of some ancient
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  machine that used to carve the earth like rotting
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  flesh from bone. Too many singular parts were
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  far too large to move, or to be melted down and
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  repurposed, but still large enough for many other
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  things. Down here the surfaces might call us
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  grotesque monsters. It is true Down here where
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  the light doesn't shine We plot and scheme We
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  kill, murder, rape and torture one another Of
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  all the things you wish not to be born as Being
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  born in this camps Is probably the last place
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  you wish to be Those born as men have a slightly
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  higher chance to live Those born as women You
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  can still hear the screams at night If you're
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  lucky The Overcrafters will come and take you
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  as your birth from the spawning pits before anyone
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  else can get their hands on you. The Overcrafters
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  tirelessly work day and night to create the perfect
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  monsters for the master, the great Under -Sovereign.
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  I was born as what you would call a half -caste.
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  I had just enough biological material to be viable
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  for augmentation. But not enough to be considered.
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  Food. Being born, I'm not too sure whether or
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  not if I was a man or a woman. Everything about
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  me was taken apart before I could understand
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  what that truly meant. But sometimes I wonder,
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  would really matter? Trust doesn't come easy
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  in the halls of the under -suffering. But betrayal
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  is always close at hand. Us here in this gab
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  - We cannot afford to have friends. We can only
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  hope that we can push another body between us
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  and our goals, or our enemies. Born to be nothing
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  more than meat. A horde of mouths unending, creating
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  mouths unending. Most would consider being born
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  food lucky. Keen the rot pulls. I hear the cries
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  of born human flesh. That which can walk upright.
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  Created too early, unnaturally large. Taken swiftly
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  away to be studied. Determined its place like
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  everyone before it, and all that would come after.
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  And once I would wince at the sound of the cleaver.
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  The chopper and the smusher. The pounding of
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  bone and meat into nothing but gristle and paste.
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  By now it is as natural as a metallic spine.
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  that jabs through my skin. I attended work every
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  day, content with my life. A three -hour work
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  shift gave me three hours of safety, for none
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  would kill a rat on a job, lest they take his
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  place and then some, and the rest was mine to
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  do as I wished. This more often than not meant
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  constantly hiding, fighting, or screwing. A mystery
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  for me was what I would do with my life. Up until
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  one day, our freak accident saw an explosion
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  that rippled through the scabs. Dared I look
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  up and saw it, a light shining down from the
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  world above. I saw a city, bright and beautiful,
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  in its pestilent colours, the kind flesh wears
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  when it runs, upon pale skin. I aimed to see
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  it once more, to be there amongst them. amongst
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  its fields of colors to save myself from constant
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  threats this is not a dream I have in silence
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  or alone millions of others have the same goals
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  lofty ambitions often put to rest was cursed
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  with intelligence born of the ability to comprehend
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  my situation and think and to educate myself
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  and with this gift I approached the Overcrafters.
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  It took years of constant begging and whining,
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  but finally they let me in. Finally I served
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  a Master. He is cruel and does whatever he pleases
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  to me. But he teaches me, shows me things about
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  the body and cybernetics I never thought I'd
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  know, taught me the words I speak now. But this
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  is my life now. At least it saves me from the
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  constant back -stepping. Now I need only worry
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  about 10 other apprentices, not 10 million neighbors.
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  The master overcrafter gave us the task to find
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  a surface -born rat. There was no limit on time
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  in which to achieve this. As he understands these
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  surface rats are stronger, smarter and quicker
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  than us. But not only that, they are often in
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  groups, actual gangs that form. people that will
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  have each other's backs. Surface rats are not
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  made of the spawn pools down here. They are people
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  coerced by other rats to join, to forego their
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  life of that pestilent city above. And so, I
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  schemed. The other apprentices took a lot of
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  more forward approach. It was only down to me
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  and three others within a week. So I set a trap.
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  I used the cunning of my mind to consider what
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  I could do. After I had found the target of my
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  master's desires, he had not explicitly stated
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  male or female, but I understood what he wanted.
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  I understood what he craved. A female. And thus
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  I found her. And so, I found a large rat in his
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  gaps by the name of Pex. Like us half -cars spot
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  much more larger, brutal, powerful. I cozyed
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  up with him for months, and then more and more
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  time I spent split between the pools and my two
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  masters. The more I felt safe, the more I sometimes
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  found the visions of that pestilent city fade,
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  but just as I was thinking, maybe I should give
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  it up, maybe I am happy now, I would have the
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  dream and see its lights once more, goading me
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  towards it. On one particularly long session,
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  Pax, held his closest in his arms, and I snuck
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  out. He had naught to steal of much value, nothing
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  I could use that he would come for me for, all
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  except the slaves he had, and there one was,
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  not a favoured, not one drooling on his chest,
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  but beautiful all the same with her matty, rotted
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  hair, but she had a chest full of flesh, and
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  that was more than enough. I grabbed her by her
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  wrist and pulled her. On her lips I could see
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  a smile, a thankful expression move across her
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  face. She had no idea what I had planned for
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  her. The desires in my mind, what I could do
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  to her before we reached our point, made my mouth
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  drool. She could not speak as her tongue was
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  taken. When I dragged her all the same, allowing
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  other rats to see me, I found the building in
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  which my target had been within, and I waited.
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  It didn't take long before I could hear Pax charging
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  through, one of a thousand screaming voices,
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  but this was just a little louder. I talked a
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  woman by the wrist and pulled her towards me.
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  She looked at me with a tongueless mouth and,
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  expectingly, almost begging to serve, I took
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  her under the arms and I threw her through the
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  window, her eye and face gouged completely by
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  the thick, rusty glass and strings of metal.
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  I then ran into the alley streets and pointed,
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  told him that she was in there, that they had
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  taken her. My plan was going so well, Pax pushed
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  me over and ran straight for her. Between a growl
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  of gunfire and heavy thuds I heard screams as
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  men and women were pulled apart. Before I could
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  celebrate my victory, I could feel something
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  cold against the back of my skull. The other
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  rats that had gathered looked at me, eyeing me
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  patiently. their mouths watering with anticipation.
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  I touched the greasy liquid at the back of my
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  skull and realized a stray bullet had caught
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  me. I dropped to my knees and they descended
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  upon me. That planning, all that scheming I had
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  had, all was for naught, to have my luck run
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  dry. As they ravaged my body, as they took me
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  apart, I felt nothing, nothing but the fading
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  dreams of that pestilent colored city.