Project Angel

Pretentious

Wyck worked at a place called Starby's.

It was a small, greasy, dirty burger place--which he hated--that was part of the massive chain of fast food restaurants in Dana Efra. With one of his arms being metal, they didn't let him manage the counter.

Cooking in the back of the kitchen wasn't all that bad though. The quiet was welcome, soothing to the swirling wiles of his mind. It gave him time to think--while flipping patties, that is.

He brushed some strands of black hair away from watery blue eyes, his focus upon the TV mounted in the corner of the room.

"Flad Fenster, a star program of rank 24 Dana Efra's Program War Initiative Team, died mysteriously in the middle of Program War Incursion 15 against neighboring city, rank 30 Smaek. Officials declared he died to a mysterious case of "brain death," a reporter said blankly.

"Many claim this upset would have been different if not for this unfortunate occurrence. Resources for Dana Efra will be distributed accordingly. Stay tuned."

"A pity," he whispered under his breath. Flad was one of the few programs that was actually famous; a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield and a celebrity around the city. 

A few of his fellow cooks worked further away, deep in conversation. "Dana Efra's economy ain't lookin' good. I 'ear that after the loss, some of the generators are going to Smaek: the electric irrigation is going to take a big hit and so is the food. To make matters worse, the water levels have already rose a foot or so this year..."

The water levels... Wyck thought.

He'd learned in school that food wasn't as much as a problem before, not when there was earth and natural ground beneath them; massive farmland and forests. He'd seen a picture once: trees carpeted the ground all the way to the horizon.

Then there was the Great Flood, where a relentless downpour descended from the skies for forty years. Religious heretics claimed the holy waters would wash away the sinners and leave only the righteous. They worshiped the waters, even the tsunamis--as large as cities---that drowned nearly half the world's population.

Dana Efra was said to have stood upon a plateau as tall as a mountain. Entire countries were lost underwater, and what remained of humanity lived on high ground, working desperately to build further and further into the sky.

To escape the waters or find the sun, the obelisks were erected, black pillars thicker than any building, raking the very sky itself. Paths and platforms wove between the different spires, uniting the survivors.

"I've been asking for some more patties for the past ten minutes now and here you are cooking them nearly black, boy!"

"O-oh," he stuttered, woken from his reverie, "right. Sorry sir."

Before the place closed and his shift ended at 12:00 am, his manager gathered all the employees together.

"Maybe you haven't heard yet, but Incursion 15 did not go in our favor. Just to make sure, the owner of Starby's is stockpiling a few thousand credits in light of a possible crisis. I will still wire credits to your accounts at the end of the week, but," the stout manager waved his hands around with a solemn expression on his face, "instead of your usual pay, it will be around 100 credits shorter."

The workers were outraged. Even Wyck was shocked.

"He's taking our pay?" one of the waiters shouted, "we have families to feed!"

"I do, too," the manager replied. "We all do."

*****

Wyck stumbled in the rain. He could barely make out the slumped silhouette of his rickety apartment as he entered and ascended the steps to the third floor.

Opening his door, he tripped into his cramped home in a fit of exhaustion and frustration, almost missing a letter slid under the door.

He carefully picked it up, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

"Rent is late again. If it is late next month expect to be moving all your stuff out" he read in his landlord's neat scrawl.

He groaned, throwing his keys against a paint-peeling wall and collapsing upon a messy bed shoved into the corner of the room.

For a while he just laid there before he tore off his clothes walked into his bathroom and stepped into his same old cold shower.

He pounded the dirty tile walls in frustration, and whispered curses into its crevices. He looked red-eyed into his cracked mirror, yet he couldn't see his tears amidst the water. All the security and confidence he'd gathered washed away, revealing the simple kid he was. He welled in self pity, but after a few minutes the water stopped working.

He got out, grabbed his phone, and checked his bank account. "23 credits" shone dimly on the screen.

He worked 7 hours a day and it wasn't enough; he didn't want to live like this anymore.

Then he remembered how everything went to shit a week ago with a girl named after a flower.

Thanks for reading, it means a lot! Don't forget to let me know what you think! c: