(( Alright, since I haven't really explored it until now, I wanted to write a piece about Senn's early life, after graduation, but before getting regular work as an egger. The Jita 4-4 chron gave me some inspiration. I figure no one just "becomes" a criminal pilot, it happens in stages, as in real life. As always, feedback is appreciated, and of course, many thanks to Ken, for his fantastic language guide!
Warning: Some profanity, violence))
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In the darkness, his suffering had become oppressive. Its magnitude had no mitigation, nowhere to escape the confines of the constricting room. The sweat on his brow, the hissing labor of breath, the creeping scent of blood compounded and built up. Ten minutes into it, Senn felt the crushing weight of it in the bones of his legs.
The man on his left, short, sinewy, dark-haired and wild-eyed, paced back and forth in a maddened pace. His collar was open beneath his vest. It had been closed until the rank body heat had made that too uncomfortable to bear. Black locks, shoulder-length, swung back and forth and obscured his face, tangled by sweat and his spastic animations. He called himself Zuku. No one knew what his real name was.
In his hand was a discarded pipe he’d found on the floor of the abandoned room.
The other man, on Senn’s right, was a monolith named Tasvir. A Civire poster child, brutish and square-headed with a lid of blonde hair screwed onto his skull. He stood, arms folded, behind a worn metal chair, tapping his fingers idly and watching the nearby door warily.
And in the chair, tied soundly and wilting like grass in drought, was the man Zuku had come to see about the money. A mixture of sweat, blood and a few tears made his round features shine in the dim light of the single bulb keeping those in the room visible. One shin was swollen and bruised. One shoulder hung at an odd angle. The echoing of his whimpering made it all the more pitiful.
Zuku stopped his pacing, squatting down in front of his prey with a loud click from the metal soles of his boots.
“I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. What he’d “got,” Senn imagined, was the answer to a question he’d asked himself earlier. Zuku said it made torture more effective if you spoke a lot, and gave the subject minimal time to talk.
“I know what your problem is. You think you’re fucking special,” Zuku said in an understanding voice, tapping the pipe against his opposing hand’s palm loosely, in endless repetition as he spoke. “You’ve got no appreciation for the law.”
The victim tried to speak, but when that pipe’s threaded end came suddenly close to his mouth and hung an inch in front of it expectantly, he shut his mouth so tightly it looked like he was trying to absorb the opening into his skull completely.
“I’m not talking about government law, suulo,” he continued. “I’m talking about common law. Law of the land, law of nature, whatever the fuck you want to call it. Things everyone knows, things like treating others how you want to be treated, doing no harm to your friends, paying money when you owe it… especially that last one.”
Senn watched as the victim tried to squirm away from the pipe, looking like a beetle unable to decide whether to scurry away or play dead. He thought he heard a knock at the door. Tasvir shook his head in a silent reply.
“You can’t play the game and break as many rules as you like. You want to bet on underground fights, boost when you’re feeling bored, I won’t pass judgment. But everyone gets paid their fair share. That is a rule. And when you break those rules, people like us get sent to your house.”
Zuku got to his feet, beckoning Senn to his side. “Come here, Shoahu,” he said – he gave all his subordinates nicknames. When he was in reach, he set the cold pipe down in Senn’s palm, and positioned him so its end was hanging above his victim’s left hand, which lay in prone position on the chair’s arm.
The dark-haired predator crouched down and set his hands on the sides of his subject’s head, grasping it softly and letting the sweat, blood, tears and spit all well up around his fingers as he spoke. His voice sounded like a freight train getting closer every second.
“I know you think we’re just criminals and thugs. But a suit doesn’t make you a businessman. We’re out there every day setting up the fights, finding the fighters, running the boosters, selling them to people who need something to get through the day. But you? You’re breaking our rules, taking money out of our pockets, profiting off our loss… you’re the criminal here, orja. And criminals get punished.”
He got to his feet and gave the whimpering man a wide berth, who squirmed a bit more in agonized anticipation as Zuku slid into the shadows.
“So, are we going to get our money tomorrow?”
The man simply hung his head in silence. He’d never make enough to pay off his debt. Everyone in the room knew it.
Zuku sighed dejectedly, giving Senn a wordless nod.
Senn focused for an instant on the cold weight of the metal in his grasp. He swung it deftly and felt the brutal stop in its arc. The debtor screamed and screamed.
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Topic: [Story] Debtors (Read 1264 times)