"Follow the magic," his little voice told him and he smiled because that was exactly what he was doing.
Listening to the inner voice was something that he believed only humans did and he prided himself on knowing when to listen and when to tell it to fuck off. The alien freeloaders couldn't understand that this is what gave humans their edge, the ability to mix intuition and logic, and it was more than they could handle even on the best of days. For all their abilities, they never see the proverbial piano falling on their head until it's too late.
"Survival of the fittest baby," the voice purred and he smiled. The damn non-humans are at the bottom of the food chain and he knew it even if they didn't.
The term "non-human" used by the press stuck in his throat because he felt that "sub-human" was a better fit. Hacking a wad of phlegm into a puddle, he made himself stop chewing on his lower lip as he turned it over in his mind. Screw their "codes of honor" and that ebb-shit that the white-eyed freaks liked to rave about. Those were just crutches and excuses for when they couldn't keep up with his so-called lesser race. If humans were inferior, why were they still on top after all these centuries even without super ebb-shit powers or armored skin? The pasty-faced freaks probably couldn't answer that one without breaking into tears.
His truth was that the World of Progress was a humans-only game, but then someone got tired of the alien trash whining about opportunities and let them in. That was fine with him, as long as the new meat knew their place - they got to be the dumb marks that made everyone else winners, so even they had a purpose. Of course, there was always one or two of their kind that wanted to run the table, but it had never been too hard to put the arrogant fuckers back in the sewer where they belonged. They could whine and scream and blame Slayer for the game until their faces turned purple, but a lot of good it would do. The big guy didn't like to listen to them either apparently, after all, look at that pussy Intruder for proof.
Slayer may have made the game up, but it was the humans like him who were making up the rules, those like him who could follow the magic and push the envelope. The damn aliens couldn't understand that and the pleasure he got from teaching them their place had grown from a hobby into a professional goal. He smiled because he still could see the look on that Ebon's face after he had screwed him and his three friends into taking that Black BPN instead of a Red. If the pathetic off-worlders didn't like it, they should just jump a foldship back home.
"Welcome to Mort assholes," he chuckled as he watched a couple of young Ebons huddle together under a burnt-out awning as they were hemmed in by rain. You'd think they'd never seen water before, but maybe they just hadn't seen water that had an aroma. A moment later, almost on cue, the eave above them sagged and cracked like a popping bone, and crashed down on them.
"You see assholes?" he asked, in between laughs. "Mort doesn't like you fuckers either."
He wished he had gotten that on film because it was absolute poetic justice as he watched the two pale figures try to dig themselves out. There was a lesson there also, the one about knowing that when your luck is about to run out you have to know how to get clear before the shit comes down on your head. Until then, you push as hard as you want and make things happen your way. Just follow the magic, do it your way, screw over those that try to stop you.
..but there was a drawback to living like that because this game had its risks and costs. Hell, someone had to pay for all the bad karma floating around and he remembered when he was young enough to care when somebody "innocent" got hurt. That had been a long time ago and he hadn't lost much sleep ever since reality smothered his conscience with a pillow. It's not like "payback," his name for the game's penalty, had anything to do with anyone "deserving" anything. It was about whatever schmuck who isn't quick enough to duck and cover having to pick up the tab. This time, though, the payback was coming down on him and he had been backed into a corner. Maybe he could push the payback off onto someone else, but things were getting sharp. This was the only way he knew to get clear and that brought his mind back to the present. Time to cut the cards, palm an ace, and keep your eye on the Joker because he's wild.
He had been waiting outside of the Shiver station's door a half-block away for so long that the tips of his fingers were numb and the inside of his mouth felt like it was crusted with ice. The dim blue face of his watch said he had forty-three minutes left, but he could nearly have marked time because every ten minutes or so, one of the gimps in green had strutted up to hassle him. The ID he flashed had been enough to keep them at bay better than pepper spray and they always wandered off to go share the love somewhere else. The last batch were still busy pounding the hell out of a bum they had dragged from behind a dumpster about twenty minutes ago and the thumps of the batons and boots on bloody meat meshed with the dull rattle of the falling rain.
"Those morons sure are easily amused," he thought aloud to himself. "Chin straps must be too tight."
When the watch said he had twenty minutes left, he splashed through the misty wake of an APC and made his way up the far side of the street. The air was cold enough that his breath was a puff of cotton in front of his face and shivers rattled up his spine. He was sure to keep his head down as he walked, as much to keep the rain out of his eyes as to avoid trouble since a lot of the local crazies didn't need much of a reason to cut your throat. The sense of threat on the old street was still here, just like the dripping tar and trash. The only thing that had changed were the faces, but each was still harsh and hungry. A lot of them were younger than he remembered, but then things are tough all over.
Ignoring challenges and weaving carefully out into the rain again, he stayed clear of the throngs of people that ebbed in front of him. It was too bad they couldn't find a nice, lonely Shiver to take out their hate on, but then the gimps are never around when you need one. If there is a God, he thought, it probably has a whole lot of payback saved up for anyone wearing one of those helmets.
A fight broke out behind him and he heard the clang and scream as someone was thrown into one of the flaming barrels. The sounds and the smell brought the old slogan from the orphanage he grew up in to mind and he laughed quietly as he quickly put more distance between him and them. The slogan had gone something like "Attitudes kill, people don't" and he smirked because God knows that the damn nuns and their razor edged rulers certainly backed up that idea. Hell, at least ten totally whacked-in the-head psychopaths came out of the loving attention of the bitches in black in the past year alone. At least four of them were known to torture victims with rulers and one even specialized in nuns. He chuckled quietly, thinking how irony and Payback could be great things.
Jacob forced himself to relax when the bright red Open sign loomed out of the mist in front of him, popping and fizzing in the drizzle. He trotted over and smiled when he hopped onto the stoop and out of the cold black rain. The place smelled "warm" even from out here and he took a moment to scoop some of the crap off his hair. It was time to shift into a different mode and he shrugged off his street mannerisms like an overcoat.
It was just like coming home, he thought as the door opened into a cloud of smoke and noise. The scent of New Parisian cigarettes and whiskey tickled his nose as he pushed through and an old song hummed quietly from the speakers of the far wall. There wasn't a crowd at the bar and he knew it wouldn't get busy until after eight o'clock when happy hour hit. So far, everything was going according to the timetable he had set and he had a good fifteen minutes to take care of any trouble.
With only a thin group of patrons as cover, the trouble caught up with him just inside the threshold.
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