✄❀ challenge 41

The alarm went off at 4am and Ritz blearily unstuck himself from his bed. “Bed” was just a mattress lying on ground so he had some distance to raise himself to the window. Still dark. Like the night that would never die.

The alarm was somewhere in the sports bag and he crawled over to dig it out. As he did, he felt a tugging and turned to see the sheet was sticking to the wound on his leg. He peeled it off carefully and moved to the bathroom to clean up.

His flat didn’t have much in it, and it didn’t have much space to begin with. But he did have a plethora of medical supplies. A lot of them had been gifts from S2 Florists upon seeing the results of his challenges. God lord, get the bandages. Use as much as you need. You know what, take the whole roll. And some were from the hospital, a curious place. There were a number of unused pills also sitting under the sink, alongside a tiny pair of scissors for cutting stitches when he didn’t feel like going back.

Stitches didn’t bother him and he really wouldn’t mind going back to get them removed but they always asked him Have you been taking the pills? like he was in school again, and if that could be avoided that was preferable.

He patched together his leg, and smaller cuts on his face and arms with a roll of gauze and some bright orange disinfectant. He wondered what Ran used on her injuries, though it did occur to him that she always left without too many. Under his sink there was some unpleasant green paste that she may also have stashed somewhere on her side too. The stuff they used back at the school. Took months to grind and soak and it hadn’t been easy to find the plants and oils needed. And for all the difficulty he had to admit that the orange disinfectant from the drug store did a better job. You could hardly see the scars once the cut had sealed.

His clothes were soaking in a bucket under the shower and the small room stank of blood. He pulled out a black slab of fabric he thought was his scarf, but was actually his one piece work jumpsuit. The S2 logo had somehow stained purple. Sal would be mad.

Ritz considered the wondrous chemical he’d learned about called bleach. There was jug of bleach and another of detergent sitting beside the toilet bowl (which would just a cup of bleach itself, just saying.) It would be quick enough. But trapping more awful smells in his house did not appeal to him.

Well, no matter. There was a benefit to waking up early. He quickly hosed himself off beside his filthy clothes and grabbed the nearest shorts and shirt. Then he stuffed all the still-soaked laundry and the jugs beside the toilet into the CHAMPION sports bag and headed out the door.

The corridor was open air, and the air was cool and pleasant, and except for one streetlight (the rest were burned out) all lights were out on the block. He stretched and yawned broadly. He was not nearly as tired as he thought he would be.

He took one step out of his apartment and stumbled over someone who had been lying in front of it like a doormat.

Ritz yapped a few epithets and leaped away as lightly as he could manage.

His ever-vigilant neighbor was quick to respond. From behind the door he heard a yell, “TRYING TO SLEEP, ASSHOLE!”

“Fucker,” Ritz hissed.

On the ground, Val rolled over, apparently wide awake. “You swear a lot.”

Ritz gave him about a half second glance then continued down the hallway. Val jumped to his feet. “You know, when I heard you scream FUCK,” he thundered, and Ritz picked up the pace, “When I heard that, I thought you were the guy I was looking for. But then I heard you say other stuff and I knew I was wrong. It was the sound. Your voice, that is. You were pretty quiet for most the fight- I mean challenge, sorry – so I was fooled for a while. Not your fault, of course, don’t mean to make it sound like that. I’m sure you weren’t trying to be anyone but you.”

Even injured, Ritz could manage a respectable power dash. Val struggled to keep up and continue voicing his train of thought. “Where did you go to school?”

Ritz continued in silence.

“That’s okay. I know some guys around here come from places they’d rather not talk about. Bad places, bad times, I get it.”

That annoyed him, though he wasn’t sure why. School hadn’t been the best experience-

“I need you to answer these questions eventually. Remember, I’m trying to help.”  Falling back, Val started to make a loud, smacking, chewing noise.

Sound of someone speaking with their mouth full. “Are you on any medication?”

Ritz grumbled and broke into a sprint. Val’s rambling faded behind him.

The laundromat was three blocks away. It was the only place open at this time, its wide window storefront a square of light that made Ritz squint.

There were two black motorbikes parked in front, one diagonally and covering a car’s space but there were no cars aching for spaces so it didn’t matter. Two black jacketed bikers slumped inside the bright white interior, one flipping through a yacht magazine with a dissatisfied expression and one resting his head on the chipped plastic table.

They both sputtered to attention when Ritz entered then quickly looked back down to their respective distractions. The second one was staring at the table.

Ritz knew he looked awful. Baring a little much in shorts and a t-shirt, he was messily bandaged in at least six places and still bleeding. In lighting of the laundromat, better than his apartment and surely better than at the church, he could see he had a prune colored bruise on his shoulder and strangely, dozens, no, hundreds of very faint cuts running along his arms and legs.

He tried to inspect them while placing his clothes into one of the machines. Maybe he was blinded by the bigger injuries but it was worrying that he hadn’t felt the smaller ones.

The machete and his old sword were still in the bottom of the bag, with the alarm clock jammed into the corner. The tossed them on top of the machine and loaded the bag into the machine as well. Kneeling, he checked his leg.

The small cuts seemed to occur where the thick jumpsuit hadn’t been protecting him, mostly around the wrist and ankles. That raised another question.

He was staring into the glass door of the washing machine when Val’s face appeared alongside his distorted reflection.

“Looking for a mirror?”

“Hm.”

“Nothing around your neck, if that’s what you’re looking at. Nothing big.”

He’d guessed right. Ritz turned slightly to face him. Val pointed at his own neck.

Ritz signed and rubbed the cut on his face. “Did you see what did it? The cutting.”

Val shrugged. Ritz frowned at him and Val looked away, probably formulating another excuse.

“I thought you were going to help me.”

“I am. But I don’t know that much about you yet. I don’t want to give… wrong advice.”

In plain view now, Ritz trusted Val even less. He was the very portrait of one not to trust. Not in that he’d be an exceptional bearer of human weakness. There was something like an animal in that face, that slouch. Ritz had heard the theory at school. He was unusual among the people usually seen in the city. Along with slightly mismatched eyes, he had a wild head of dark hair. He was as tall as Ritz but looked as battle-ready as a coat draped over a playground railing.

Standing beside him, gawking into a foaming swirl of clothing, he was nowhere near the threat Ran was.

But still… those words, spouting out of that kind of creature: not to be trusted. Of course, Val wasn’t even giving him any information in the first place.

Perhaps sensing that Ritz was ready to cut him out, Val flopped onto the bench nearby and started up again. “You were wearing that scarf, right? And is that a denim suit? Probably saved you. But why were you using an old sword?”

“It’s a family sword.”

“You have to use it, then. But you can wear what you want to these challenges?”

Ritz shrugged. “I wear what I do to work.”

“Does the church lady know where you work?”

“I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“Don’t be ashamed, this is still helpful.” Val whipped out an already-opened chocolate bar and started biting into it. He chewed loudly, and intentionally, peering around them.

One of the bikers muttered something and they both went to retrieve their clothes from a drier that had long finished its cycle. Then they left. Val downed the chocolate and yawned before swallowing.

“So what is her name?”

Ritz mumbled, “Ran.”

“And you are Ritz.”

“That is what they call me.”

“Would you call yourself a warrior, Ritz?”

He was saying it wrong,  but so did everyone else. Ritz just slumped in his seat and Val feigned thought.

“Or a samurai? Or a ninja? Your sword–”

Ritz was irritated. A neighbor had asked him an identical set of questions a while back.

“What do you call your fighting style?”

“We are not fighters,” the words came reflexively. “We are performers and artists.”

“What?”

Ritz blinked.

“Who’s this ‘we’?”

“Me and Ran.”

“Just you two? But I know I've heard those words from someone else before.”

“In school. A hundred times a day. She went before me, and they told her. Then she told me.”

“Okay, but what did it mean?”

Val seemed to be expected some answer he couldn’t give. Ritz got up. “I don’t know about art. You can ask Ran.”

“I won’t get to, because you’re going to kill her.”

His jumpsuit and scarf were clean now. The S2 logo sparkled. The bag was clean too, though the printed catchphrase was looking even worse for wear. The square of fabric that had been cut along with the meat of his leg had come unattached from the jumpsuit. He’d fix it later. Sewing supplies were another thing he’d been loading up on.

He went to the driers and Val trundled behind him, disappointed with the lack of response.

“How do you prepare for your challenges?"

“Haven’t had time.”

“What? So… nothing?”

“I have work.”

“I thought your life was about getting revenge.”

Ritz felt very tired.

“So you’re a florist?”

“I’m an assistant to the florist.”

“You’d call yourself an assistant florist.”

“Yes. Okay.”

“See, you answered that on fine. You’d rather be a florist than a ninja?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Your self image. The skills and tools you think are right. I bet you see Ran as a monster, lord knows I do. And you’re facing her as a ‘performer’ and a ‘florist?’ That’s… Though, a job’s not bad. I suppose in today’s economy-”

Ritz didn’t like how he enunciated the two titles. He also hated the word economy and stopped listening. Val blathered on for half the drying machine’s cycle. Ritz focused instead on the mechanical hum and flipped through the magazine left on the table. Yachts were interesting, but expensive. But then with no sea, why get one? The whole thing was a bit of an insult.

“What does Ran think of you? Your job? What you’re doing with yourself?”

Ritz closed the magazine, itching with irritation and possible infection. “She does not have to think anything. It’s not her duty.”

Val rolled his eyes. “Weren’t you listening to me? It determines who she fights. Is she fighting a… ‘performer’ or samurai or a florist?”

“I’m not a florist.”

“What if she kills you?”

“…”

“Who will cover your shift?”

“She won’t kill me.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Ritz ground his teeth and refused to answer.

The whole ordeal was making his head throb. He moved to the swords lying on the washing machine. Val hurriedly circled to stop him. Maybe it would be worth finally breaking the old sword over his head to shut him up. Val in turn was determined to keep his mouth going.

“Okay, you’re tired. You tell me the details later, all I know is your next challenge is coming up soon.”

Was it?

“I already have a plan. Well, the start of one. Someone you need to meet.” Val paused again and would have gone on longer if Ritz hadn’t stood up to menace him. “Problem is he’s hard to find. Find him, and he’s hard to catch. But maybe I’m just slow.”

From inside his coat he pulled out an off-white envelope that had obviously been touching that had obviously been touching the chocolate bar in his pocket.

He looked at the envelope and licked a stain on it, which of course did not budge. Then he held the damp paper out. Ritz absolutely refused to take it. Val opened it himself and took out a little folded photograph.

It was a picture of a man, blank stare, forward facing, on a flat white background with something like a ruler on the wall. Ritz wasn’t sure where it could have been taken, or under what circumstances, but it wasn’t a complete loss.

“I know him.”

“Good, that should make it easier.”

“He’ll be able to help me defeat Ran?”

“Well. Like I said, it could take a while, and you might not have that instant answer, but it’ll help in the long run. I mean, he will help. Think of this as training. A test, even. You don’t seem interested in conversation, but you’re a man of action. That’s what saw. You’ll let your skills do the talking. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll at least know a little more about you.”

Against better judgment, Ritz’s let his interest take hold. “What do I have to do with him?”

He’d never had much to do with new people, so he wasn’t sure if the words had come out correctly. But Val was pleased.

Val pressed the photo into Ritz’s hand. “He’ll let you know. Remember, this is just a friendly test. It’s not a job or a duty. So just have fun.”

—

The bell above S2 Florists tinkled a welcome. Ritz strolled in tearing into a bagel. Sal was tying together white lilies in groups of six. In the morning rays of sunlight, they were dazzling in their neat little row on the central table. What really impressed Ritz though, was the pile yet to be bound on the larger worktable at the back. Hundreds of long white and green stripes with a scattering of dew, a fragrant hill of nature’s finest, picked from — he wasn’t sure. But they would not keep long – S2 wouldn’t stock so many at once unless a major celebration was coming up.

White often meant the Church. The real one, the white towers. It was also one of two places that would ever hold a celebration so massive.

“Morning Ritz,” Sal said.

“Good morning.”

Sal whistled when she looked up and saw him. “Er, must have been some game last night.”

Ritz knew to laugh despite his sore side and say “It was. Some tackles gone bad.”

Sal liked a sport called football, though Ritz was not entirely clear what happened in a game. Even the news seemed conflicted on what football really was but people were often injured, so much so that some had multi million dollar insurance for things like broken legs. This suggested injuries were extremely likely and around Sal, Ritz liked to hint his injuries might have been football-related.

Usually it seemed like Sal didn’t believe him, but she did not pry.

“Could you finish tying these for me? I have to run to the printer store for more stickers.”

Ritz settled at the table of ribbons and white lilies. Definitely a major ceremony.

Another whistle. “Fast as ever.”

“Sal?”

“What’s up?”

Absently letting his hands fly in easy repetition, Ritz faced her, continuing to bundle the bouquets. “Do you know where Len is now?”

“Len… oh, the government guy?”

“Yes.”

“Damn, sorry. I wouldn’t know for sure, haven’t seen him around. You need him for something?”

“He lived around South district when he worked here though, could be he works closer to home now. His address is on file somewhere if you really need it.”

“I know someone who really needs his help.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

”Thank you.”

Another whistle. “Damn, you’ll be done before I get back at this rate.”

The bell signaled that Sal had left. Ritz settled contentedly at his work. He grabbed the nice stainless steel scissors from the drawers and starting cutting new lengths of ribbon for the next batch of flowers. He coiled it into loops and cut the loops at either end for several dozen even pieces.

Len ‘the government guy’ had been a cashier of S2 Florists for three months. He became associated with the title ‘government guy’ not because he had anything to do with government – just the opposite. He hated government. Ritz didn’t know much about that but Shel and Sal thought it somewhat silly to hate a group of people he would never meet. Ritz was inclined to agree. He wasn’t even sure he hated Ran, a single person who he had known for years.

And Val? He hadn’t needed to consider that yet.

Maybe Val knew about football.

Len wasn’t into sports and thought any sport that made it to media was a setup created to get money from the poor hardworking people who couldn’t afford to expose themselves to action, though he begrudgingly admitted he was taken with the system. Like Ritz he seemed to have a lot of pills from the hospital but didn’t take them. He puffed approvingly when Ritz mumbled some excuse about his unused stash, “Overpaid quacks just trying to get us hooked,” one of the most unintelligible sentences Ritz had heard at the time.

Len was a fountain of speeches on drones and spies and oppression nearly every time he opened his mouth, but the rest of the time he displayed solid mental math skills and formality, so he was a decent cashier. He had left the company on his own steam rather than being fired, though those events could be fun too.

In any case, he had seemed normal, as far as Ritz could tell. Len had no particular strengths and had certainly been no threat to him. But he had always been poor at reading people. What had Val said about knowing others? To know who you were fighting. What if you died? Who were you losing to?

This wrapped around to Val’s request to find Len. To help him defeat Ran.

Ritz continued his wrapping. The idea of a rambling cashier facing Ran was absurd enough to make him snort. Shel walked in.

“Chilly out. Seems like you’re in a good mood.” He hung up his coat and patted his hands on his sides. “But- oh man, I guess I shouldn’t ask how the big game went.”

Ritz slashed through a few more loops of ribbon and smiled absently.

—

Ritz didn’t hear from Val for a few weeks. To be fair, it was a work week and S2 were completely occupied with arrangements for some expanded event didn’t get back to him about the address he’d asked for either. One Friday, they got a box of expensive white chocolate and macadamia cookies as a gift from the company that they had serviced. It was addressed from the South district, and that was when Sal hurried to dig up the worker file.

“Is that legal?” Shel had laughed.

“No rules against it here,” Sal said. “Besides, what’s this guy gonna do?”

Ritz was glad it had come up. He wasn’t sure how he’d ask again. Every time he thought back to that night, it seem further back and more insane. Val especially. Val had admitted he couldn’t stand up to Ran himself. How would he know a way for Ritz?

He’d appeared impressed too, which, after a few weeks of though, had to have been a front.

He had been right about the upcoming challenge though. It was a soon. Very soon.

Presuming it really would help him, Ritz had to find Len the same day he got the address.

The Southern district was home to one of the tallest buildings in the city, owned by the Long corporation, the region’s main purveyor of construction, technology and communications. Phoenix Tower was 85 storeys tall, surrounded by low rise structures that never reached even half its height. The building was hard to miss, but people tried not to look at it. At a certain time of day, at least. At sunset it’s vast glass facade seemed to catch every single searing ray of the departing sun and directed it right into the unwitting eyes of anyone who happened to turn in its direction. It was also, according to Sal, the home of old S2 cashier Len.

Most of the surrounding housing were linked rows made of red brick and looked identical. Ritz had only been to this part of town twice, once accidentally and early, the second for a flower delivery. The flowers he’d carried that day must have shielded his eyes on approach because he did not recall the burning eye of the city that was boiling him alive now. He staggered around more or less blindly, uncovering his eyes only to lean really close to a house number or street sign.

There was the sound and smells of a traffic jam somewhere, possibly nearby and closer to the tower, but he wasn’t about to strain his eyes to check it out. There did not seem to be anyone out and about on the street he was currently navigating.

They’re the smart ones.

Unfortunately that meant there was nobody to ask for help.

If what Val said was true, there should be no rush. But Ritz was never the kind to wait. In addition, he wasn’t sure when he had last been offered help with his revenge duty. Had he ever? Had he even spoken about it with anyone? No, nobody knew. Like he’d said to Val, he and Ran were the last.

It was her fault, too. He had not told that to Val.

The next sign was made of metal and when he moved close he could feel hot air rising off it. House #17. He was looking for #47. If Len was even there.

Again he felt that overwhelming pressure from within that he was moving too slowly. Judging from his last challenge, he’d gotten even worse, doubled back even. He had approached a fight for death like any normal day on the job. Or even less, at least he went to work with a sense of consistency, at most something that wouldn’t get him fired.

And what had he thought at the church doors? Let’s just end this…That wasn’t a plan. Plans were important for a performance.

The school had talked a lot about duty. They had so many, even for children. To your teachers, to your elders, to the parents (weren’t they elders?), to the Society and naturally, the Leader. A lot of them no longer applied since they were gone now.

I just have one duty now. One person, but I can’t even fulfil it…

Weakness wasn’t tolerated at the school. The walls were light, pale bamboo panelling or wheat colored sheets. You could always tell if someone had taken a lashing.

You’re a weak one, that’s why you survived.

Did that mean Ran was weak too?

Ritz was jogging. He hadn’t stopped to look for a sign for a few blocks. But that was not the thought that stopped him. Nor was it the thought that Ran might have been weak. This thought frequently passing through him when he was feeling sorry for himself. It meant he was even weaker.

There was a running car parked on the sidewalk. Behind it, there were four other cars consuming most of the lane. Two of the cars had blinking red and blue lights attached to their roofs. Three men in suits and smart sunglasses were standing outside a house that had its door open. So much of them was wrapped in black that they looked like shadows against the explosion of rosy sunlight all around them.

The scene was bustling and the cars were parked hazardously but it was hardly a party.

Someone came out from the house and started unrolling some yellow and black striped tape around the front fence.

“Hey, you!” barked one of the men from the front of the house.

Ritz squinted at him and looked around instinctively. The man might have been speaking to someone else, like one of the shadows that kept flickering in and out of his vision on the rooftops.

“Hey, you!”

Ritz jogged up into the shade of the front porch. “Yes?”

“Don’t stand so close. This is a crime scene.”

Ritz reluctantly backed down.

“Do you know the man who lives here?”

Ritz rubbed his eyes. To his right, his shadow was cutting across a sign that read ‘House 45.’ One house away from the one being cordoned off.

“No.” He turned to step around the police cars when another old lesson came back to him. “Is he…  okay?”

“We’ll see.”

The shadows in suits murmured amongst themselves for a few minutes, then a shorter shadow charged out the house. “You gotta see this.” He brandished a stack of paper. “Anti government manifestos, and a plan of attack: blueprints of the pavilion, the seating list, and you won’t like this, boss, receipts for at least three-”

“SHHHH!” hissed all of the other shadows on the porch. The papers stopped flapping. Six eyes behind black glass tilted in Ritz’s direction.

Ritz shuffled off.

—

He saw not a soul on the rest of his walk, and since he was no longer looking for anything, it went quickly. Before he knew it, he had reached the base of the Phoenix Tower. The sun had set just enough that it was no longer painful to look at. In fact, it was quite beautiful, a flame colored extension of the sky to the ground. The glass panels that made up its convex west face were framed with thin silver that, looking closely, were slightly waved, rolling into curls like vines or young stems. In the glass he saw himself and the dull but enormous flat platform that served as the building’s front step.

It was dark enough that he could see behind the glass. A tall, open lobby with an empty front desk and a waiting table, surrounded by objects that might have been sculptures or oddly shaped chairs. Behind it, two curved staircases heading to the next floor, with elevator doors on the wall below them. The staircases, the tabletops and even all the walls appeared to be made of glass, layers upon layers.

All the contents were so still it may as well have been a display case, but then a small group emerged from behind a wall that had looked like glass but must have been a trick. Ritz pressed his head closer. There were two people who were dressed much like the suits outside the house, at least from what he had seen of them. There was one man who had his back turned to the window and did not turn around. He had a shorter black jacket, like the bikers. The last had an odious purple sweater and a head of black hair.

The last man swung his head back and Ritz could nearly hear the laugh. It was definitely Val.

The elevator came quickly and the group disappeared inside, facing him for just a second before the door close. Ritz stepped back out into the empty space. Did Val see him?

What did it matter?

He thought wistfully, it wouldn’t be bad to be invited to a look inside…

The door was locked for the day, only to be opened by a complex looking panel stuck to the wall beside it. The door was made of glass too. On both sides of the door, Ritz could see what he knew were cameras hanging on little pedestals. Someone’s looking, but you don’t know who. Avoid them. An old lesson he’d found some practice for since the end of school.

He backed away from the building, counting the steps he had to take until he was away from the cameras that he saw. There may have been more inside, and with largely transparent walls, it would probably be impossible to go completely unseen but this was, after all-

Just a test.

He slowly circled the tower at a safe distance and ended up sticking nearly to the walls of its neighbors until he reached the split between the building’s official front and the opaque panelling that covered the back. The building was backed right against a tall fence, creating a cool alleyway, a wide one, but not for the public. Just around this shaded corner of the building were many stacks of white plastic chairs, some poles and a huge piece of white tarp folded and weighed down with bricks.

There were three cameras  at the back of the building, one pointed up, one pointed down, and one centered on the main back door that was fittingly also made of opaque white panel.

Ritz glanced up. There were no windows for about two storeys. No extra cameras either. Just a flat, blank wall. He turned to the building behind the tower. A few floors up there and the cameras would miss it. It was someone else’s property, after all. But maybe that could be useful…

He casually observed each unused level of empty windows. Three floors up, then he saw it in the edge of his eye.

A distinctly human shaped form withdrew over the edge of the red brick roof the second his gaze flicked upward.

He swung his body around and thought for a second. The form up there was slow. Nobody was around, was there? Well, there were the cameras but that was the point – the neighboring rooftop was out of sight. And only three floors.

The Old Church was at least seven floors high, with no actual flooring left in between. That had led to some precarious climbs and nasty falls, but he’d (mostly) learned to avoid the latter. The buildings in the area around Phoenix Tower also had substantial windowsills, outcroppings for air conditioning, and a few external pipes. This wouldn’t be hard.

He took a running start to the corner of the fence and pitched himself up, and up, then up again…

—

The rooftop was covered with multi colored paving stones, and there were a few minimalist cube pots with a splash of dirt but no plant life. Some up-and-coming company had planned to make the roof a trendy leisure space for its workers before the cranes and bulldozers arrived to sit screaming for three years, throwing up a brick and glass monster of a neighbor that would reduce the view to a blank wall and butt of forty upper floors, of people better paid than you were.

Though it was just fine if you were satisfied with looking at Phoenix Tower’s events platform.

And didn’t mind wading through a layer of bird droppings. Much of the wildlife had taken advantage of the shade.

But if you were there, in the Phoenix’s blind spot, of your own free will, then you’d deal.

Len was dusting white specks of digested worm from his notebook when a mammoth winged shadow burst from below, flew over the edge and landed on the roof beside him. As the wings settled he realized they were not wings, but the trailing ends of a scarf around the neck of a person in a very familiar uniform.

Len reached for the bag beside him as Ritz quickly untangled himself and then closed on his target proudly. “Found you. Today is a lucky day.”

“Is it?” Len removed his hand from his bag and closed his notebook instead.

“I mean,” Ritz mumbled hastily, “I didn’t think I would in time.”

Len was baffled. He scrutinized Ritz closely. The guy had always been eager to work (he was particularly thorough with taking out the trash) but he seemed to have some linguistic difficulties and avoided talking, nor did he really smile. He wasn’t smiling now but he looked awfully enthused to hear about something. Had he started taking those poisons his doctor gave him? Len felt a pang of sympathy.

And there was the question of how he’d scaled the building.

“Len. I don’t know if he explained it to you but are supposed to know what to do. Or… no, he said I would know what to do when I found you.”

“Uh…”

“Maybe you can tell me what to do.”

“We should talk about this at my place.”

“There are people in your house.”

Len blinked then groaned. “Ugh, the cops.”

“You mean the police? Some of the cars had the lights, so yes.”

“Fascists. All of them. Bet they were watching the house. Cameras, you know.”

“But they cameras can’t see up here.” Ritz peeked over the side of the roof and then knelt. “Stay against the wall. Move down. If you want nobody to see, can talk here. ”

Down was bird shit city. Len precariously leant on one knee that was hopefully not touching anything disgusting. ”But I don’t get you. Are you here to help?”

“Help?”

“Or are you gonna go to the cops?Just want to get things nice and clear. Right now.”

Ritz stared dumbly back. “I’ll do what you say, of course. I just want to know what I should do tomorrow.”

Len was boggled. Reinforcements! He had not been expecting this. The internet postings had been vague, but someone had come. Someone had figured it out. It didn’t occur to him that Ritz had probably no idea how to use a computer.

“Sorry to sound so suspicious, friend. Just making sure.” Len also gave the grounds below a look. “You know how it is. I guess you always did. You never took those pills those frauds gave you, eh?”

“I never take those. They remind me of…”

“I know, man, do I ever. I thought here, of all places, I would be able to get away. Away from cops, the gov, the big eye. There was supposed to be nobody here but people like me, people like you! Sure there are some outliers but… I don’t need a totally lawless place, you know? I just wanted to get away, but they’re always watching. Why? Why can’t we have our peace? They should know. I’m not going to burn down a home, axe my wife and kids. I’m not going to kill anyone unless I really have to.”

Ritz’s eyes were somewhat glazed.

“What I’m saying anyhow, is: Tomorrow it ends.”

Those blank eyes lit up and Ritz leaned eagerly. “Yes. That’s what I want too. Just let me know what I have to do.”

“You–” Len stopped. Was it a good idea to spill it all here? Maybe in favor of drama, but for peace of mind… he wasn’t completely sure Ritz could be trusted yet. Even if he were in earnest, who knew how competent he’d be? Recalling his days at SS… or was it S2? The guy looked strong but at least once a month he seemed to engage in some sort of disaster, willingly it seemed. He couldn’t be all that bright. If he had been before, those blows to the head had to have taken their toll.

He could give it all away without meaning to.

A voice full of feeling, Len continued, “You just turn up tomorrow. Don’t let yourself be seen.”

“Should I meet you at the Church or-”

Len stared.

“What? No, you come here. Here.” Ritz didn’t seem to register this command immediately. Well, it was simple. He’d get it eventually. “Don’t be seen. Approach from the other side. There will be people in the pavilion starting at 5. If you can’t make it before, wait for it to get dark. The talk starts at 7. That’s when the magic happens. Save your questions for then. I’ll tell you everything.”

Ritz was deep in thought.

“And don’t tell anyone. They’ve missed their chance. But they’ll be winning out in the end. Once that monster’s out of our lives.”

“Okay. Will we have time to get there, though?”

“Get where?” Len shook his head. Ritz’s words were often unintelligible. He gripped a fist in a manner he hoped was encouraging. “Don’t worry. We’ll have time. There will be plenty of time. I’ve been planning for months.”

Ritz, quite impressed, nodded silently. “Midday or after dark. Here. Tomorrow.”

“You got it.” Len started to flip through his notes. Ritz didn’t leave. Len held his hand above the notebook in a casual attempt to shield them, but Ritz was not interested. He was simply staring into space.

“You can go if you need to. Take a shower, eat some thing, come back tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Len held a hand up in awkward wave.

‘Thank you for your having me.” Ritz backed to the corner of the roof, stood up, and with a few tense moment of surveillance, slipped quickly over the edge of the roof. It was so sudden it looked unintentional, and Len almost leaped up to stop his fall. But his concern was unneeded – was no thud, just a few taps and creaks and then, after a moment of tense silences, the sound of light footsteps on the sidewalk below.

—

Weekend challenges were rough. The fight with Ran itself was just as dark and fast and sharp as ever, but the waiting period was hellish. With nothing to occupy his hands and mind he paced around the city in a cold sweat for hours, sometimes lapping the entire Central area enough times that someone might ask if he needed to go to the hospital, but since he was needed that night he would always say no.

Though it was tempting. Sal and Shel readily accepted days off if the reason included the word’ ‘hospital’ but he doubted Ran would look upon him kindly with such an excuse.

But this Saturday was different. Today he had to meet Len, in accordance with Val’s orders, and he’d learn how to take the next step forward. Yes!

It had always been there, the fear that he was regressing with each failure. Every time Ran took a slice out of him it was like he’d lost more than just the fight, and there wasn’t time for all that to grow back before the next blow.

And he would never have admitted it (to who? He didn’t know how to word it anyway) having someone out there in the know was comforting. Val might not be able to interfere directly, but someone was thinking of the fight.

Whatever it was Val was really hoping to get out of it, the illusion of help was enough of a distraction from the usual empty air.

And there was Len, who might give him something more substantial than that.

The total mystery of it was exciting. He’d been expecting maybe a speech and some instruction, but to be there in person was just fine. The practical classes had always been his favorite. He just hoped there was enough time to get to the Old Church from Phoenix Tower. Was there an evening bus he didn’t know about?

He bounded up to their assigned meeting place with his sports bag in tow. It was slightly heavier this time, he had wrapped the machete in a piece of cardboard and brought it too. He’d arrived a a few minutes past noon, and ducked at the edge in wait.

It had been a good idea to approach from the opposite side of the building. Down on the large circular platform around the front of the Tower, there were dozens of suited people. He didn’t have to worry about them seeing him though, as they were thoroughly occupied with their work. Most of them were unstacking and setting out the chairs that had been hidden behind the building the day before.

A black van pulled up in front of the Tower. Several more suits poured out, bringing with them several bundles of wide-petaled white flowers.

Ritz heard footsteps in the building below. Slow and careful. But were they really trying to hide? He’d heard quieter from the elders coming up ladders.

Len eventually emerged from the normal staircase. “You’re early.” He was wearing the same thing as he had the day before, but was now carrying a respectably heavy bag of his own. He put it down in a shaded corner. “Hm, looks like they started setting up early too. Can’t blame ‘em. They were told it was an important day.”

“Should we help them?”

Len made a noise that might have been a laugh. “You’ve got a mean streak, don’t you?”

Ritz was afraid he’d accidentally told a joke, but Len brushed it off and they did not end up helping with the setup.

A tall canopy went up over the audience area, leaving only the front rows visible and a largely uninteresting view. Ritz continued sitting still but he noticed Len was getting agitated, sweating profusely and muttering more frequently and frantically as the hours trundled on. Eventually he began talking in Ritz’s direction, though his words were so indistinct Ritz didn’t think to answer until he heard this name.

“Man, Ritz. Don’t run away now.”

Ritz frowned. “I’m not running. This is my 41st challenge and I will not run now.”

“What?” Len shook his head. “I don’t get you sometimes, but anyway, always knew you were a good guy. I’m in no place to call you nuts, I mean people say I’m nuts but look at us. The only ones willing to defend those people… I’m glad you’re here to see it. Know the truth. And keep me accountable, you know?”

Ritz did not.

“I mean, I might have chickened out already if you weren’t here watching. I’ve done it before.” He placed a hand on his bag and Ritz heard a curious metallic thump. Not a blade, though. “Not this time.”

The sky was darkening. Lights were being flipped on for the canopy below.

“Anything goes bad, you just run. Not sure what it is you do, but you’re pretty fast going up and down the building. Like a damn ninja.” A pause as they heard a gathering of cars pull up to the tower. “You know, before today I thought people like you only existed on TV.”

Guests were arriving. There was distant soft chattering, uniformly level voices bouncing calmly below. Calming, friendly, best of all, not expecting anything of him. Ritz felt drowsy but Len’s face had gotten more taut, he was attempting a grin but it wasn’t coming out right.

“Used to watch a lot of TV. Made me mad as hell, seeing all those corporate-government hotshots just eating up our time and money. I knew but I couldn’t stop looking. Maybe I was hoping for a sign. But when the signs are controlled by the oppressor, what point is there in expecting? You know they say they could see you through the screens. They were always watching.”

“But then, that’s also their weakness. Their conceit, putting themselves on show. They think they’re perfectly safe. Even in this city. So when said things were no better here, I was being too hard on it. This place. It’s giving me my chance. It already has… such generosity…”

A splash of applause came from below. They both took a peek at the platform below. From where they were, they saw someone, only from the back, move past the first row of chairs to a white flower-lined podium. The applause was for him. He was wearing an odd looking suit with a very high black collar.

Then Len turned and asked, “You married?”

Ritz shook his head. He preferred listening to the chairs shuffling below but something here, about Len, was keeping him alert. He was faintly glad he had his swords.

“Do you have any kids?”

Again, no, how could he?

“Good. It’s for the best. Mine were pieces of shit. ‘Turn off the TV for once and talk to us’ and ‘you’re splitting this family apart.’ They couldn’t SEE,” his eyes bulged as if to make a point, “SEE what a state we were in. That I was only looking out for them, I couldn’t afford to drop my guard, let the government yank the rug out from under us just because baby wanted to go to a dance rehearsal. You know one day I stepped out – no more than half an hour – came back and they’d filled the place with gas? I could practically see the particles in the air. They couldn’t see. They never did. So when  I left had to–”

Len looked at the vile mosaic of bird shit that encircled them. “It was for their own good. And really, they took me down with them because the cops came and here I am now. I’m sure – you’re quiet – I’m very sure your people were different. Because you know, once we do this, they’ll never let us go. So the fewer the better. Less to remember and miss.”

This sounded like sage enough advice.

“You know that it won’t end here, right? Not all of it. Getting rid of one person won’t fix everything, even if it seems like so much effort to get that far. There’s always another, somewhere.”

Ritz hadn’t thought of that.

“You have to be willing to fight for this cause. Fight for the rest of your life.”

The man on the podium below had started speaking. He was on a microphone, so Ritz heard him somewhat clearly. He had a familiar voice, sharp but inviting. “Thank you taking time out of your Saturday night to hear me run my mouth–”

There was laughter. Ritz wondered if the speaker had made an accidental joke, but couldn’t see his face to check for embarrassment.

Len went on. “We’ll have to pick our next move carefully, but I think as far as the big man’s concerned this guy’s trash. Just a little alert light for them. They won’t mourn him. Almost makes me feel bad. But we have to start small. I was thinking next, and this is just a dream, we can go after–”

The speaker said something about cocktails and the speakers fizzed a bit. There were laughs, and when the mic came back on, the speaker laughed too. He proceeded to thank their sponsors, and Ritz heard the name S2. He smiled.

“So. Ritz.”

“Yes?”

“You ever felt like you really wanted to kill someone?”

“Oh…” The question was harsh enough that Ritz felt its impact, though he had not been listening to the rest of Len’s speech. “Yes. That’s why I’m here.”

Len smiled and unzipped his bag. “Don’t worry about this one. Someone else.”

“Uh…” Ritz heard the sound of multiple metallic objects in the bag.

“Someone you just haven’t been able to reach before. I want to know your dreams. Someone you really hated, wanted to stab them. Cut them apart. Hang them and their family. Shoot them dead.”

Then out came the gun.

—

Guns are tools of evil, they are unfair and make only for a poor performance. If I ever see you bring one into a battle, I will not hesitate to gut you myself, little ones. Oh, what am I thinking, without even showing you what one looks like. Here–

Len’s gun was larger and more menacing than the ones in the pictures Ritz had seen in school. (Of course, those had been drawn by the teacher in charcoal crayon.) It even was longer than the ones on the movie boxes they sold by the supermarket checkout, and covered in complex looking grooves and rivets and cylinders.There were many shiny little lines that glinted like eyes.

Ritz leaped back in a manner usually saved for when Ran was taking a swing at him. But Len looked ever more at ease.

“I know, wouldn’t expect to be able to get a rifle here.”

Ritz dragged his bag to his side while Len proceeded to screw something onto the upper end of the rifle.

“Don’t look so worried. I’ve used one before, after all-”

“Tools of evil.” Ritz said automatically.

“Don’t get sanctimonious on me now.”

Len turned back to the gun and positioned it with the end jutting over the edge of the roof. He put his face very close to it and watched the speech go on.

Ritz felt a flare of confusion and anger. This wasn’t helping. And what’s more, even though Len had been thinking in line with him, now he was most definitely doing the wrong thing. Can’t be allowed. Unfair… I’ll gut you myself.

There was a small bang. Ritz shook himself awake. That had been a bad performance, he would have barely noticed if Len hadn’t started cursing. He pulled some switch on the side Ritz couldn’t see and there was a clink and a noxious, ashy smell.

Screams from below. Ritz peered down. Shadows were dancing. The people couldn’t decide where they wanted to be. Some scrambled into the alley, them pushed back out. Some dashed under the canopy then backed up again. They were dragging a line of black footprints out and around the pavilion. The footprints were originating from a black puddle a few seats right of the podium. The speaker was still there, looking right in their direction. He hadn’t moved.

He looked at Len, or more likely, the tip of the gun that was sticking out. Then he looked at Ritz. Ritz turned to Len.

Len gave a shout and fired at a woman in a dress who had was on her way to the building’s entrance. Another scream punctured the air and she went down.

“Damn.” Another click of metal, and he leaned against the gun again. Ritz saw specks of drool falling among the droppings on the ground that he hadn’t looked at earlier. “Damn, damn, damn… you little-”

The speaker waved and Ritz understood.

He walked over and spoke bluntly. “You keep missing.”

“Shut up, let me focus.”

Ritz kicked the gun off the ledge. Len scrambled and it dropped to his feet, spun and pointed at the wall. He held his hand out at Ritz. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You lost. Try later.”

“There won’t be a later!”

Ritz frowned.

“You can go. Just go! But I’m doing what I promised. Fight to the death.”

“Promised who? Him?” Ritz pointed at the only person below who was not wildly trying to escape. “He’s not even moving. This is pitiful.”

“Fuck him! A promise to myself. And you…” The gun swiveled. “Fuck! You’re with them, aren’t you! You’re helping him! I can’t believe it. Well, I can. I’m alone in this. I knew it. Nobody can be trusted. You’re with them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The ones who- who–” The face grew dull. “I should have known when you said you were willing to kill. You were talking about me.”

And Ritz thought, the gun looked very thin when it in your face. Well, it was more pointing at his stomach. But it knew he would be slow. Or rather, the hands on it were slow. The machete was light, definitely the right choice.

His hands were dry, and as soon as those dull wet eyes went down he went for the fingers. Can’t use your weapon without your fingers. Same for everyone.

A shot went off and Ritz swung his entire body, feet and all, in an arc to Len’s left. To his credit, or perhaps by accident, Len blocked the first jab with the gun and sparks flew. His finger hit the trigger with the impact and there went the 6th floor window of Phoenix tower.

The second attack was a swing that looped around the metal body and hit just above the knuckle.

They popped off like the ends of some particularly juicy stems, and three of them went to the floor, two attached to each other, not the cleanest but, well. A scream, this time close and a mouth full of spit. The other arm shot out, but just one cut through the bicep, just hard enough to feel the rope of tension underneath then split it, and then no more arm.

Ritz kicked the rifle again, this time far out of arm’s reach, especially since there was just one useable arm and it was a missing a few appendages.

No gaping wounds but for the fingers, and minimal mess. Ritz was not used to doing so well.

“Don’t do this! Don’t do this!”

“Don’t do this,” Ritz repeated, “You’re with them. What do these mean? Just tell me! Who am I with?”

“You know who! Damn,” Len’s dragging arm send white flakes of shit scattering. “I don’t have to explain it to you.”

“But I don’t know. I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, come on. Liar.”

“The man there. Did he ask you to do kill him?”

“He didn’t say in so many words, but he was asking for it. Hell he was.” A line of spit landed by his feet. Ritz only stepped closer and Len scrambled away, bumping into his bag. “Nobody asks to be killed! Fucking idiot!”

“Unless they’re sure they can avoid it.”

“Isn’t that the truth. With you on the case, he was safe all along. There’s always something. Something I don’t see. Every time. I should have known. I just can’t win against people like you. No matter how many times… so many times.”

“But I never win either.” Ritz lowered the blade. The words were familiar. Things he would say to himself.

Len’s hand went into the bag.

The machete ran a single line through Len and his hand and he screeched. Ritz lifted the twitching hand from the bag, wrist impaled on the blade, flopping like a fish. With his free hand, Ritz removed the smaller gun from a sweaty grip.

Len’s hands went uselessly by his side. Now he was howling all kinds of things, “Just end it! You win! Kill me! Just do it!” In between he made impotent lurches for his bag as though he were going to pull out some new trick fast enough. “Do it! Or are you all talk? Chicken?”

He made some gurgling noises that were presumably imitation of a chicken but Ritz had heard the joke before on the morning radio and Len sounded nothing like it. Thinking of the radio, Ritz asked, “What’s the time?”

“You asshole!”

Ritz was worried. He looked at the stars as though he might get an answer there. The lights surrounding Phoenix Tower were so bright, even at night, that there were no stars to see. He had never done well in astronomy anyway.

“I have to go.”

“Coward,” was the last word he heard from Len. There was a gun aimed at him yet again. Some combination of fingers from two hands was keeping it in place. The focus was shaky but Len seemed more accustomed to the smaller pistol weight and shape. It didn’t matter, because he was still slow enough for the next blow to be a blade between his eyes, straight through his skull, into the brain. And then…

There was no more than a thump, like an apple being cleaved. The blade came out cleanly, and Ritz, for the first time, was a winner. He couldn’t believe it at first. He inspected the blade, but the machete was not like his old one. A wipe or two revealed it was perfectly intact for having hit bone. Back in the bag and- that’s right! The church. It was time.

Perching on the edge of the rooftop for a final look, Ritz saw things had calmed down considerably – meaning that everyone had made it out. The puddle in front of the podium was still there, a smattering of footprints around it, but no bodies remained, dead or alive. The speaker was gone now too.

Ritz took the opportunity to stretch his arms. Generally tense during a Big Game, he did not usually have the faculties to unwind afterwards because Ran left him lying on his head, or with a bum arm or leg or rib.

There was still a chance – more like guarantee – he’d end up like that tonight, but for now, he felt fine. He knew not to look back at the body. Though there were footsteps storming up the steps right now so he couldn’t stand here staring at silent white pavilion forever. But since he had time now, he did. It was flat and simple but somehow delicate. Like the flowers. Those white flowers really made the scene, he thought proudly.

Distinctly breaking the scene was the disheveled black head and crumpled suit that emerged from the back of the tent. Ritz thought he could even see those mismatched eyes.

They hadn’t met since that fateful night but there was no mistaking him. Still dizzily elated yet confused by his fight, Ritz was not sure what he’d say to Val. The little figure on the pavilion was waving at him.

Val had said he’d know what to do. Well he had known, somehow, but it was what he had been taught. In retrospect the fight hadn’t really been fair. Did Val know that? Did he even expect a fight to break out?

Ritz was luckily not attuned to the thought of friendship, or he would have suspected Val were friends with Len simply by association. He would have felt deep, pointless regret.

But right now he was able to think of nothing. Nothing to say, no words of anger or thanks. Instead he just waved at Val and shook his head. Not now. I have to be somewhere. And pointed skyward.

Val looked up. Then he smiled, let his arms down and waved Ritz away. He knew.

Ritz took a dive off the building at roughly the same time guards from the Phoenix Tower made it to the rooftop.

—

It was a warm and humid night. The carpet of grass that lined the Old Church was radiating its dampest, sourest gases. It was much like the bamboo room had been in the summer. But it was dark and it was fall, so it was not right.

Ran was perched on a massive column that had fallen against the back wall. He only saw her silhouette in the dark and picked up the crackle of bricks that stopped upon his approach.

“Not as loud today,” she said. The echoes hung longer than they did during their last windy encounter.

Ritz was indeed just a bit out of breath from the run and was thinking about his prior victory, not his entrance. He realized a bit late that his right arm was hanging too far out. A slight pressure hit the blade in his right hand. Low, about knee level and tensing back like a spring. He leapt to the left in a cloud of old brown petals.

Ran had not moved.

On his trajectory, he heard the sound of the guitar again. At his left. He held that hand up and felt a force hit – luckily – the blade in his left. He automatically faced the challenge and got nothing. That was when Ran approached his right side.

“Is this a joke?” she asked.

“I never kn-” Ritz began, when Ran took a swing at him with her monstrous claw of a right hand. It was slow but when he saw it he knew he would block it in time, but it would hurt. One went to the left, then one to the right. Somehow both swords stayed in his grip, but he was left feeling rather stupid. Why was the machete still here?

So it went, until finally an impact sent him reeling out the displaced righthand door, down the steps and onto the street with a clatter and a fan of blood. After a minute to catch his breath, Ritz crawled to his gym bag and lay on the word CHAMPION and took a nap.

—

Light and grumbling. Dry smoke puffing all around him. Was he lying in traffic? It wouldn’t be the first time. Footsteps. Ritz cracked open one eye and saw the sky was still dark. Another long night. He turned face down into the black cotton of his bag. It still smelled like soap. And bleach.

The steps got closer, not too close, and stopped. “What did they say?”

“Said a guy with some sort of stick or sword came rushing down the street a couple minutes ago.”

“They saw him?”

Two people moving closer.

“Apparently not the first time they’ve seen him. Usually just carrying a bag though.”

“What kind? Should be looking out for- Jesus, stop!”

And they did.

“Is that blood? Shine over there. Damn.”

“It’s going somewhere it’s-”

Ritz covered his ears. But the droning voices got louder, then there was the rumble of engines and gravel being crunched. It went on far too long. Too long. What did they say in classes, what did they say… meditation…

“Shut up, shut up. He’s covering his head, did none of you see or are you so stupid you don’t understand basic body language? And do we really need that many engines on?”

A familiar voice. The surrounding crowd seemed to recognize it too, and they obliged. There was silence.

“Careful now and – c’mon now, you’re giving me a headache – now bring my car over.”

A slight pattering. A single car started up. It had sounded far off but was apparently  just quiet because it was upon him within seconds. Ritz felt someone lift his arm. He blinked awake. A passageway of soft red suede and leather came into view. He blinked and saw the contours of padded chairs to his right. Car seats. In front of them, though, was an expansive open area and a table. Ritz was not sure what he was looking at.

“Can’t stand here all night,” said voice behind him.

Ritz stumbled in and fell onto the seat closest to the opposite door. His eyes flickered. All the red was making it hard to adjust. He put his head against the window. Unlike the bus, it didn’t rattle.

Someone sat at the other end of the lengthy red couch. He turned. Something not quite so red came into focus, waving the driver at the far end of the compartment to head off. A man in what looked like a suit, but on closer inspection was a jacket more along the lines of the bikers, with silver buttons and a collar that stood up. But he was not a biker, as far as Ritz knew.

“You were,” Ritz muttered. Some blood had caked to the side of his mouth. “Talking. Shot.”

“Talking, but not shot.”

That was true.

The man in the jacket laughed a little at his own joke and then seemed unsure what to say. Ritz wanted to close his eyes but new people could mean trouble. So he watched. This just made them both all the more tense. Finally, as Ritz’s eyelids seemed to have reached maximum weight, the man in the jacket asked, “So… did you win this time?”

Ritz grunted and decided he’d take the risk and sleep.