Mirage

Chapter Three

          Ryder woke to the unpleasant feeling of being watched. He jolted up off the floor, his eyes flying open. He'd been sleeping in a pile of blankets on the wooden flooring next to his bed, which was a good thing because if he'd been sleeping on his bed he probably would have fallen off it. 

        A rather high pitched scream left his throat as a pair of yellow eyes greeted him, and then Ryder was instinctively swinging. Whisper grunted and stumbled backwards, letting out an irritated noise in the back of his throat as Ryder's fist connected with his cheek. 

      "Tsk~ You were having another nightmare." Whisper said, sneering defensively. He was  gazing at Ryder with a hurt scowl on his face as he rubbed the side of his face. Ryder sucked in a deep breath of air as he tried to steady his racing pulse. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts and his cheeks flushed pink as he desperately glanced around for the nearest shirt. 

      "How long were you watching me sleep?" Ryder asked, a hint of irritation to his voice. He'd decided to ignore Whisper's comment about having a nightmare. He tugged on a shirt that had been laying on his bed, a light purple shirt with a logo on it. Whisper chuckled softly, then his gaze dropped to the floor and he blushed.  

      "Eh~" Whisper's only response was a guttural growl, a non-committal answer that sent a small chill down Ryder's spine. He turned to glance at the 29 year old and realized that Whisper was wearing sweatpants and a band shirt, his tattoos on his arms, neck and shoulders visible. 

     Ryder almost shoved his way past Whisper, still tense after his unexpected wake up call. He dug out a water bottle, uncapped it and took a gulp before moving towards the food in the small kitchenette. Whisper silently trailed behind him, his gaze roaming across the other man. He was still blushing, his cheeks a faint shade of pink. 

       "The Peace Corps doesn't have an I.D. on you." Whisper said, the usual coldness gone. His voice was warm and even a little soothing as he turned his display on and showed it to Ryder. The blue hologram showed several files, reports of close calls with the law but there was no name or photo. They hadn't been able to I.D. Ryder yet. 

       Right, this is why I tolerate him. Ryder relaxed slightly, seeing the gesture for what it was, a peace offering for last night. He gently touched the bruise on his throat, took another sip of water then reached for another bottle and silently handed it to Whisper. 

        Information is valuable. Ryder gave Whisper the slightest smile as the other man took it from him and uncapped it, then he got up and began preparing breakfast. In minutes he had food prepared and dished out on plates. Whisper's face went bright red as Ryder handed him a plate. 

      From what Ryder knew, Whisper had grown up in extreme poverty, which was increasingly rare in a kingdom like this where food, water, transportation, healthcare, clothing and almost anything else you could think of was basically handed out for free. Currency wasn't even technically necessary unless it came to trade and import from other nations, which was the reason it still existed in Feinnral. 

      Whisper always claimed he was orphaned but Ryder had his doubts. Non-withstanding, at some point Whisper had gone without a steady supply of food growing up and sometimes it showed. He'd watched Whisper knife someone for touching his food on more than on occasion. 

       "Why do you live here with the refugees?" Whisper asked after a long pause. His voice jolted Ryder from his musings. The 20 year old took a bite of his food, chewed it thoroughly to give himself time to think up an appropriate response and then swallowed. 

        "Why do you?" Ryder asked, turning the question back on the other man. Twilight smiled through a mouthful of food, a pleased growl leaving his throat. His razor sharp teeth never made his smiles look friendly, not that Whisper ever looked friendly. He was a rather deeply unsettling person. 

       "Extortion. These people are easy to manipulate. They don't understand the laws or their basic rights. The Peace Corps rarely comes here and the few that make it up here are on the payroll. Not to mention I have my pick of loyal followers when new refugees are brought in." Whisper's voice was soft and warm with amusement. His voice drifted through the kitchenette like poisoned honey. 

      Ryder's nostrils flared as he gazed at his fork like it held life's answers. He was thinking about shoving the fork so deeply into Whisper's left eye socket it would puncture the central retinal artery and sink deep into the other man's skull until his brain was a puddle of goo and he was covered in blood. 

      Breathe. Ryder slowly and carefully put the fork down as he turned to gaze at Whisper. Whisper was calmly finishing off the last of the food on his plate, a satisfied look in his eyes. The silence hung between them as Whisper got up and carefully cleaned up after himself before stepping outside to smoke. 

     Ryder took the opportunity to shower, triple checking his bathroom door was locked before he undressed and stepped underneath the running water. The shower gave him time to collect himself and by the time he was dressed into clean clothes he felt better. After he'd finished his morning routine he quietly left his place. Whisper had left at some point, probably called away by gang business. 

      Wearing cargo pants and one of his favorite hoodies, with a few knives and a gun strapped to his person, he set off through The Needles, descending towards the ground. He was halfway down when a terrified scream pierced the air from above. He craned his head back in time to catch sight of a man tumbling through the air before gravity sent him flying past Ryder and down towards the ground. 

      "Damn." Ryder said, his voice impassive. If the man had fallen from a little lower he may have survived. He knew nobody would care when another body hit the ground below them. It would just be another thrill seeker who'd slipped and plummeted. He didn't want to think about the fact it could have been intentional, that someone could have pushed the man to his death. 

       A few seconds later horrified screams rose through the air to his ears. They were distant and muted from below. The man had finally hit the ground.