Expanded Horizons: Beyond the Blue

Heir to Nothing: Chapter Two

 Vesselin wiped the blood from his face as he ascended to the streets from the brawling basement that acted as his second home. The bruises didn't go away as easily, though, so he typically wore a mask as he made his way back home. It kept concerned strangers from asking a child what happened to his face.

Fourteen years old, living on his own, earning tins and some coppers to pay for his meals and maintain his alleyway residence. Living in a hollowed out dumpster wasn't easy, but it was free. All his money had to go to food, to feeding the machine that earned that money in the first place. Hopefully he would rise up and make more money over time.

He counted the coins in his hand as he began the short walk to the food cart not far from his alley home, just barely enough to cover the week's budget.

"Gets a little higher each month," he mumbled to himself with a bit of pride.

He kept close to the stone walls and stayed as unseen as possible when he had to be in the illuminated, above-ground world. Curious or concerned persons would get in the way, but underground fighting didn't exactly have a clean reputation; some dudes would stab you topside to keep you out of tournaments, and no one would ever be able to prove it. Didn't mean people didn't know who did it, though.

When he saw the food cart, a smile crept across his face and he upped his pace. The last fight left him hungry, and he always enjoyed his conversations with the best server in all of Primo.

"Pho!" he called out. The server turned his head to see Vesselin approach and his face lit up.

"Vess!" he replied, sticking his hand out as the boy came up to the cart. Vesselin clasped it in his own and shook firmly. "Glad to see you in one piece, though unsurprising. I assume that means you've done well for yourself yet again?"

"You bet," Vesselin said. He pulled his winnings out and dropped them on the counter. "It gets a little higher each time."

"Certainly this time!" Pho proclaimed, counting the coins. "You got four coppers and eleven tins here!"

"Haha, I'm telling ya, I'm going places!" Vesselin said. "Pretty soon, I'll start getting more from you each week to feed this machine." Vesselin flexed his arms for the server, who laughed joyously at the display.

"Glad to hear it," he said. "Tell you what, to celebrate, I'll even give you a little something extra today. A taste of things to come."

"Hell yeah!"

Pho started preparing Vesselin's signature dish and set the money in his cash box. Truth be told, Vesselin had never had enough to pay for the amount of food Pho was giving him, but every service provider has a charity client of sorts. Vesselin the street kid was his.

"Here you go, Vess," Pho said, handing Vesselin a larger box of food than usual. "Think of this every time you don't know that you can keep on fighting."

"It's all I ever think about," Vesselin said with a grin. With a wave of his hand, Vesselin turned around and made his way back home for the night.

A couple of turns and a few minutes later, Vesselin arrived at his alley and waltzed through to his personal dumpster home. A bunch of dudes lived in the alley, with varying types of shelters from cloth tents to platforms with doghouses, but everyone kept mostly to themselves except for group protection. Those who could, like Vesselin, had padlocks on their residences to keep people out. Vesselin set his dumpster up to lock from the inside when he was sleeping.

He nodded to his fellow vagrants as he passed and opened up his home to sit and eat. He didn't have any amenities, sure, but the steel box was really just for sleeping. Some sheets, a pillow, and his few personal belongings served to comfort him well enough. The only thing he wished he had was a way to dispose of trash for the next day so it didn't sit next to him while he slept.

On that note, he crawled out of his dumpster, locked it up, and walked back to the street to toss the box from his meal. The empty paper box served no purpose, not even to the others in the alley, so as long as he ate all his food, no one batted an eye at him

Except for this time.

Vesselin turned around to see one of his fellow residents standing between him and his dumpster, shifty-eyed and nervous. He could see the man's breathing went quick and shallow, his hand behind his back as he constantly tried to reassure himself that nothing was wrong.

"What're you doing, Lane?" Vesselin asked seriously. He already knew.

"Look, Vess, t'ain't nothin' personal," Lane said. He pulled his hand out to reveal a crude shank. "Just business."

"You don't wanna do this," Vesselin said with his palms out. "I don't want you to do this."

"I just need to get out of here, man," Lane said desperately. "I gotta see my wife and son again!"

Lane charged at Vesselin with his hand outstretched and shouting, animalistic rage overtaking him in his attempt to murder his fellow vagrant. Vesselin took a low stance and parried the knife-hand, then grabbed the wrist and spun Lane around to slam him into the wall. Lane spread-eagled against the wall and bounced off, shaking his head, and Vesselin delivered a solid uppercut to his gut and an elbow to his back.

Lane dropped to the ground, coughing and cursing, while Vesselin took a stance between him and the alley to keep the others away from him. Lane had violated the Code of Community, but Vesselin wanted to give him a second chance.

"Lane, just stop and think!" he pleaded.

Lane shakily stood back up and roared as he resumed his attack. Vesselin's face twisted with sorrow as he heard the others crawl from their homes and rally behind him. Lane's fate was sealed.

All he could do now was make it as painless as possible.

Vesselin grabbed the knife hand again, but this time, used his free hand to collapse Lane's elbow and redirect the shank into Lane's own neck. As the twisted, rusty metal plunged into his skin and throat, Lane stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and strained. Vesselin sucked in breath and shut his eyes as he felt the crimson flow fall onto his hand.

Slowly, as a mother lowers her child into a crib, Vesselin brought Lane to the ground and motioned for the others to stay back. Tears began to flow from Lane's eyes as he desperately searched for anything that might save him, anything that might let him go to see his wife and son again. Anything that would let him find them and tell them he's sorry.

"I didn't mean to..."

Lane's words faded out of existence and his head went limp as he lost consciousness. Vesselin swallowed the lump in his throat and breathed in long and deep, trying to maintain control over himself. With Lane's passing, the others approached, placing hands on Vesselin's shoulders and offering words of condolence.

"Get some rest, Vess. We'll take care of him."

"Treat him well," Vesselin said as he stood up. "He didn't mean it."

"We know."

"We'll treat him right. You treat up the guy who tried to get him to do it."

"Oh, I will," Vesselin said darkly.

Not the first time, not the last, but certainly the worst he had ever encountered. Vesselin knew the street life was tough, but this crossed a line. Whoever did this would pay dearly, as they always did when they came after him.

Vesselin slept lightly that night with his door locked as always, steeling himself for the next day and the life that would either come someday or end soon. Either way, he had work to do, and nothing would stop him.