As twin moons drowned at sea, the grey clouds of another typhoon smothered what little light the sun managed to muster up. What was meant to be the bringer of light and happiness was diluted into a haze of green and grey as its rays hit the mess of wires and buildings that was the Riotbanks.
Even a place like this once had a proper name, a better name, but the stench of trash, booze, and swearing mouths fit the new name better. It really was a Riot, down by these riverbanks.
Haha…ha…my head hurts.
Hajoon winced as the pounding of a headache turned to fists against his door, a dull thud that grew into a painful thrashing that the doors metal no doubt felt the same as his aching skull. If it weren't for the voice that yelled obscenities beyond that door, he wouldn't have gotten out of bed to answer it.
"Open up ya worm for a spine..!!"
The slurred voice was followed by a thunk that caused the hinges to cry in protest, likely a kick that hurt the swearing thug behind it more than an inanimate door. As much as it cried, it didn't exactly have a soul. Hajoon supposed he was similar to it, in a way.
He reached out, his lethargic fingers circling around the doorknob as his head thunked against its solid frame. It was cold, a kind of cold that seeped through into his bones as he listened to the swearing that escalated mere centimeters beyond that frigid wall.
Bastard, turd, dog, leech, piss for brains, cockroach; those were some of the milder things he was called within the span of the next three minutes or so. He did try to turn the knob in that time, but he eventually realized that the door was locked.
He coughed into his hand, staring down at the blotches of red that swirled and swam, then dripped to the floor. It grew cloudy, then stained black, another speckle of ink decorating the floors of his dark apartment.
…? Oh, right the key's in my coat somewhere…
Where's my coat?
He turned and ambled off, unbeknownst to the voice that threatened an empty space.
"Oi..! I know you're right there! I saw yer shadow damn it–"
Another kick reverberated through the one room flat, the door sobbing quite pathetically as its owner ignored its plight.
"I'll shoot yer damn head off!!" The drunk thug screamed, his crude pistol clicking as it aimed where he believed was Hajoon's head beyond the door. It didn't fire the moment he pulled the trigger, the metal too rusted, and air too damp to heed his command to kill.
Within the few seconds that it stalled, the lock clicked open, then the door swung outwards without warning. As a feature of the decrepit apartment complex that shook and swayed on its foundations at every gust of wind, the problematic door connected with the thug's pistol, then his jaw.
A bullet fired, but not at Hajoon, or his poor door. He glanced up, squinting at the fresh hole blown into the ceiling, before looking down at the man who'd sagged against the railing that had saved him from a three story drop into the alley below.
A shriek came from his right, and he looked at the woman who'd dropped her morning egg delivery on the ground. He watched as the fist sized eggs rolled, cracked and leaking before they tumbled down into the alley for the rats and dogs to eat.
"Oh." He mumbled, his eyebrows darting upwards.
"You…you killed him—?!!" Her voice rose in pitch, and he winced, feeling as though she'd taken a stake to his brain and started stabbing indiscriminately.
"A-auntie please…he's not-"
"I heard it..!!? I heard you shoot–!!" She screamed out her accusations, which echoed through the narrow space of the surrounding apartments and alleyways to assault his ears a second time.
"I didn't–"
"I knew you were trouble from the start–! Because of you there's always Jeoksa thugs hanging around!!" The middle aged woman, whose face had gone red from the exertion, pointed a finger at Hajoon; as if it could somehow remove him from her sight.
"Ha..! You're kidding me." He couldn't help but laugh as more eyes appeared to gawk at him, to point their fingers and curse at him.
"I'm not the only one with debts here." He said, looking pointedly at an older, beerbellied man who'd peeked out of his cave next door to jeer at him.
"You should be grateful I'm a priority case for them, or you all are next." Hajoon smiled sweetly, before slamming his door shut. Even with that force, it barely closed properly, but that was an issue to deal with another time, because he'd realized during all that commotion that he was late to work.
"Ha…hope I don't get fired today…"
***
Smog filled the air as his long strides took him through the alleyways of the lower banks, up from Mulgwi wharf to the central roads that connected the slums to the city. The farther he waded through the shit, blood, and drama of the Riotbanks, the closer he came to the more industrious Ashfall belt: a strip of land squeezed in between the dregs and the riches to serve as a sort of pleasure ground for those higher up the food chain.
Factories, shops, clubs, you name it, and it was here. Of course, the better versions of every shop was across the river from here, accessible only to city dwellers and pretentious foreigners, but there was use to a place like this even still.
Hajoon held his umbrella higher as the crowds congested, pushing and shoving like a wave of miscoordinated ants. It was easy enough for him to see above their heads, the same way he could keep his good clothes dry as the shorter majority struggled to get to the awning of the bus station before they drowned in the downpour.
He kept his eyes on the station in all its rusted metal glory, squinting through the veil of rain to watch puffs of steam rise from the buses parked within its walls. From here, the railway went straight to Ashford station, a purposefully similar name to Ashfall station just to confuse the morons that came into the city to do the dirty work.
I'll be one of those morons if I take any longer–
His thoughts were cut short by a yelp, which devolved in a pained scream as someone tripped. Cold, dark blood splattered on the station steps, smearing against Hajoon's dress shoes as he held the man up by the scruff of his shirt.
It was something he'd done without thought—and as the stranger coughed and jerked until a squirming, throbbing piece of flesh regurgitated through his mouth—he felt nothing but regret.
"Bloody moons..!?" He hissed out the curse, looking away from the organ that squelched as it tipped, then toppled down the dirty steps. It disappeared under ignorant soles, no doubt ground into the asphalt by crowds too compact to avoid trampling it.
If Hajoon were to let go of the limp man, he would share a similar fate; especially now as the first buses rumbled to life, the heat from their steam-powered engines warming even the man's cold form.
"Ay– move it!" A passerby yelled above the deafening bellow of a bus declaring its departure, shoving past Hajoon and the dead weight he couldn't throw away.
"Oi! Get your drunk friend outta here!" Another scowled, yelling several other swears after him as Hajoon did as he asked. Dragging the guy through the crowd and to a quieter corner, Hajoon had to crouch beside the limp body to catch his breath. He could feel his stomach twist, but luckily for him, and the custodian to this place, it was too empty to throw anything up.
What in the moons just happened..?
He looked to the man, whose eyes had sunken into a dark mark of self neglect. His blood, once red, now smeared his lips in black. It smelled of oil, pungent and revolting.
"So it's not just me…" Hajoon murmured, inhaling through his mouth to avoid that stench before he stood, blinking away the exhaustion that threatened to immobilize him.
Is he alive? I'm not sure what that was but, can he survive without it?
His eyes squinted as he wiped his shoe on the ground, watching the mud smear with black ink.
Someone else will deal with it. I have to get to work or I'm minced meat.
He told himself a variety of excuses along those lines as he unfurled his umbrella, then turned to leave.
"...h…hr…hungry…" A choked whisper stopped him in his tracks, his eyes snapping to the source. Wide, blood shot eyes shared back, the veins of that face twitching and pulsing before those very eyes bulged, then popped.
"HunGrY–!!" Blood gushed from those sockets as the man's jaw spasmed to scream, his hands jerking towards Hajoon's throat.
"Hk–" Hajoon startled back, barely avoiding a stumble down the station steps. He saw fingers claw and slash at where he had been only seconds before, then before he could react, the bone of those digits popped and snapped grotesquely to extend their reach.
His heartbeat rang in his ears, his vision swimming as he watched the man's body jerk and stumble like a broken puppet on strings. Those monstrous hands, whose skin had bruised purple from the internal damage, were already around his throat. He expected pain, instant and deadly, but none came.
Hajoon could feel the blood drip down his neck and onto his shirt, staining thick and black. But it wasn't his. He didn't think before he kicked the man– no, monster, off of him. He could hear it land on the ground with a dull thunk, but didn't stay to check if it lived or died.
With his briefcase clutched tight in his hand, his feet took him to the last bus, boarding just before it left him behind to grapple with a monster. The blast of heat from the heated interior fogged his glasses, and as he stood there, clutching a hand rail for support, he was grateful for the blur it cast over his eyes and his memories.
"I must have seen it wrong." He murmured to himself, inhaling, then coughing as the pungent stench of that ink blood imprinted into his mind. He had heard mutters from the others that were packed into the bus like sardines, the usual grumbles and outlandish accusations directed at him. He had brushed it aside, tuned it out by force of habit; but when he looked down at himself, he realized that for once, their concerns were warranted.
I look like a bloody murderer.
Ha. I'm definitely getting fired.