Sanity

Chapter Five

   What kind of person feels good about himself after murdering six people? I am not even pretending to be the good guy anymore. This city doesn't need a hero, it just needs someone who is willing to go dancing cheek to cheek with the Devil himself.

   There was no need to take a break or turn back. I was living my blood fueled dream of taking on the Bazaka Clan on my own. Nothing to lose, nothing to gain just cause havoc on the way. My body, however, begged to differ. I bled enough, some things were probably broken and I went dizzy from the side effects of my little cocktail.

   Instead of the overnight massacre I had in mind I was forced to return to my apartment. It was already a challenge not to pass out on the way to the large living complex which housed so many people that it could be a city on its own. Far from the quality of Rascon Avenue, my place was on the thirty-second floor of this concrete abomination. On the ride up I was enclosed in this cube-like cage made from rusty fences which was our elevator. Once it stopped I was back at the well known atrium that had internal balconies wide enough to house evicted junkies and their tents, shops and a gym right under my corridor. Someone asked for a cigarette and I gave them before opening my reinforced metal door. The distant yells and conversation mixed with the echoed noise of the building: no place like home. My apartment was chaotic and not well lit, just the way I like it. Someone used to rent these furniture before they got kicked out and forgotten about; but this is how I originally got this place. Fully furnished, large screen on the wall of the living room, kitchen, bedroom all within a single living space with only the bathroom being separated. I think I just fell onto my bed in the corner and slept. I simply blacked out.

   I got up later to shower and change, I noticed it was already day time, but soon I went back to bed after emptying a whole bottle of water. Yes, I drank water. Say what you will. You can't keep doing this to your body and expect to live to tell about it. I treated my wounds, took a lot of painkillers and fainted onto my broken bed to sleep for another couple of hours, or more likely, half a day.

   I regained partial consciousness when someone was banging on my door. This was far from the first time some idiot was testing the reinforced frame, so I didn't give much thought to it until I heard some heavy machines on the other side and orange sparks sprayed as the circular saw of the steel cutter rammed its way through the armor. I was not conscious enough to applaud their efforts, to be honest, I was never prepared for this. Thinking back now how much paranoia I had against the clan, it was still pretty easy to come by and pay a friendly visit. We will talk more about security measures this time.

   They bashed in the steaming iron and heavy boots marched towards me. I wasn't even awake enough to grab my pistol, I also had no memory where I left it. They were some guys in the clothes of a private security company, the Jezebeth Team. I've heard about them much later, but at the time I had no idea that they were the cleaning team of Bazaka Clan. By cleaning I mean disposing of corpses and other unwanted dirt. Well, no surprise they eventually found the lone survivor of my little drama improv from last night and tracked me down. Honestly, it's on them that it took so long to get to me.
They dragged me over to the sofa in the corner and while two were aiming their sub-machine guns at me one was holding me upright with a well planted forearm on my neck. Not like they needed to keep me down, I was in the state of a half blown up sex doll. The fourth was standing guard in the door. They all had Anubis weapons, and the other equipment was also good military grade. At this state I was actually not concerned about my safety, I just wanted to go back to sleep. Have you ever been that tired? So tired you rather take a bullet to go back to sleep? I could pretend I was playing it cool, but I just didn't give much of a shit anymore.
   "Come on..." I said, but this asshole was choking me.
   "Shut up, urreh" replied the one strangling me. He had an accent and they all spoke that low-life ghetto version lagar I hated.
   "You gonna tell us what we wanna know." Their leader was a daeva, but a beefy one.
   "No. Just get on with it." I complained. It almost threw them off their track. "Come on, kill me already, I have a headache."
   "No!" He argued which was a good sign if I wanted to live. "You anse' first."
I protested and he punched me in the only body part that was not yet entirely in pain yet: my face. He did it. He made me angry. I didn't give a rat's ass anymore, but he did the impossible and made me want something, namely to see him bleed like a pig. This leader daeva kept asking questions but I was playing up my wounds to make them think I was in an even worse state and to buy time.
   "You work with the Azag? Tell me!" This was a question or accusation that made me listen. I didn't knew any Azag and sure as hell I wasn't working with them. I looked up and honestly asked "who?" To this the daeva kicked me.
   "Don'you lie, urreh!" He was furious and so was I. "Where is the bitch?" His next question was even less specific and I honestly hoped this all made sense at least in his head.
   "Which one?" I asked and his heavy breathing above me halted for a second, which meant that he was surprised by the question.
   "What you mean 'which one'? How many you hiding?" He asked in the voice of a crow. I had room here for a litany of your-mom jokes, but instead I tried to reason with him.
   "Listen," I sat up properly and I was somewhat annoyed, which probably trickled through into how I spoke to him. I also saw from the corner of my eye that the guy from the door was missing. I didn't think I got lucky, I was not expecting a rescue or a friendly neighbor to help me out. I should have been stalling them, instead I said this. "You either start asking proper questions in full sentences so I know what the fuck you are talking about or you can pop me in the head right now so I don't have to listen to your screeching voice anymore."
His dark red eyes were locked on mine and he looked as if he considered offing me right there. He aimed at me and I had a good look at his semi-auto Anubis combat pistol. It was half as good as the army variant. They criticized it for the weight and the smaller magazine, which they eventually made up for with an ugly new clip that was longer than the handle itself. This guy was still packing the standard version which also had an exposed hammer on his side. This will be important in a second.
   "You really wanna die." He said pointing the gun at my forehead (wrong move) with just one hand. He was feeling particularly gangster-like.
Nobody spoke for a bit then someone stepped through the door and I felt that it was my cue. I grabbed the pistol that was in my face with one hand blocking the hammer and the other turning the barrel. This resulted in him not able to fire and also breaking his finger before forcing him to kneel down. All of it happened really fast, one movement, really. The guys next to me readied their weapons to aim as a reaction but one of them got hit with something silent and fell back so the other looked towards the door only to catch another shiny object with his face.
The pistol was in my hand after a short struggle and the daeva wanted to take something from his belt but the new guest caught him by the arm and fixed his ugly face on my small table.
   "Found your balls?" I said something similar and leaned back to put my feet up next to the daevas face. Yes, I was owning the situation.
   "Look at you, Sheriff. You've got a whole party going on but not invite me?" Daran was laughing. This asshole pulled this hero bullshit on me, now I had to correct the tab.
   "You took care of the one in the door?" I asked as if it wasn't obvious, but I needed to be sure.
   "He went down to see if you've got a basement."
Good answer. So instead of being cool I checked the others and I determined that these large knives he likes to carry almost chopped off the head of one of them and a pool of blood was still growing under and behind my priced sofa, while the other one got a similar knife into the middle of his face and the point of the knife was sticking out from the back of his skull. There was significantly less blood in this one. Looking over the whole mess now, I actually made my move when I wasn't even sure if their own pal was the one who appeared in my door, which would have made the whole situation just a shitty attempt. And even this disarm move had way too many points I could have fumbled. I guess, I was really pissed and tired. Wouldn't have done things like this before, especially not something so risky if my life was depending on it; yet somehow this was an uplifting feeling. Having nothing to lose, even worse, wanting to die made me resistant to all of this. I wasn't the rookie anymore who shat his pants every time a gun was pointed at him. Looking back now, I think differently. You actually need to give a little damn about your life if you want to survive. Otherwise it is not even called recklessness, it becomes just suicide. I wonder when I lost that edge.
   "I'm asking the questions now." I declared and Daran was smiling while holding down this creep.
   "You broke my hand." he complained and his whole body was shaking.
   "It was just a finger. You have plenty more." Probably it was all numb and in pain. I had my fair share of broken bones, I should know.
   "Just ask, I'll talk." He said and I was honestly surprised. "Let me go, is all. You'll let me go, right? If I talk?" he was the first person to properly bargain for his life in my short career of interrogating people with death and torture. With all that I was still on the role model side of morality in Yilbegän.