Eugh

Volt sniffed once, twice, and then hard enough that he dislodged the plug of blood in his nose, sending it into his mouth and promptly coughing it up with a loud retching sound. It was as pleasant and smooth as a shot of Malört.

"Eugh. Disgusting," he sneered, wiping the blood from his lower lip.

A stream of cars roared past, painting the icy black asphalt in hues of red and green as the streetlights caught their pale sides. The light flipped to yellow, then red but he was too far away to cross. The cars all stopped. The pulse of a lowered black car's crimson undercarriage lights synchronised with Volt's slow heartbeat, dancing in his eyes and then going blank. Light. Then dark. Passion. Apathy.

Nothing would make him rush tonight.

Volt cleared his throat and rearranged the high collar of his black turtleneck beneath his equally dark hoodie to hide the bruise on his neck.

It wasn’t a becoming sight to have the evidence of a fight so clearly marked on his throat but it had been a rough couple of weeks. Volt got into fights, protected some friends, and managed to feed the weakening soul of the rebellion. Whatever good that would do. There wasn’t any shame in showing these purple and blue fingers on his throat but he didn’t want to show them anyway.

Trouble wasn’t hard to find. It would be there for him later.

For now, it was good enough to head toward the main building of the city looming large with its malintent and calculated fury down at the end of the street.

He sighed heavily, resisting the strong urge to scrape a hand down his face. When was the last time he’d gotten more than three hours of sleep? Not in the last week, that much was certain. He sniffed and scuffed to a stop in front of the long crosswalk. Each stripe of white across the black made for an oddly tempting bed, he thought as he stared down at the paint. His own bed was filled with books that no longer fit on the floor and various maps he didn’t want to ruin. All of it was for the rebellion.

Or whatever.

Volt was just a mapmaker really. His job was to know a place and then find the quickest routes through and he had a real knack for it. Most of the time the jobs didn’t pay well and he got no credit. Everyone had the idea that they could do it better but didn’t feel like trying. The rebels at least treated him like a human. Besides, he liked the guys and gals in the rebellion. They kept his heat on and paid well in both money and cookies. Food as good as the stuff coming out of Selene’s bakery was rare in the city. He would have been an idiot to turn it down.

But it would have been nice to get some sleep.

They had a tendency to show up at two a.m. And three. And four. Those weren’t exactly working hours for Volt. The guys and gals though always showed up in tears or bleeding or worse, quiet. They were a sorry bunch, banged up more often than not and stressed out of their minds. Yet, they never took entry as a guarantee. They asked, apologized, and offered to come back later.

He never made them.

Volt shuddered as he waited for the light.

It was cold. Winter had settled in the city and there was no ushering it out. Distantly, he wondered how the rebellion was doing tonight. Cold this sharp was bound to catch some of them off guard. He looked down at the boots covering his feet lined on the inside with fur. Maybe he would catch up to Simon and tell him to bring his people over.

If he could get through the job without injury, that was.

Deep grey eyes as cold and glassy as the iced asphalt of winter swept across the front of the building which loomed angry and dark at the end of the long side street ahead.

It was a twisted mess of glass and metal, tapering to a fine point hundreds of feet above the ground. All of the city's lights reflected in its dark glass, but it only gave off a threatening aura. Red bled into blue and blue surrendered to the presence of purple. It was an elegant thing, full to the brim of technology and humming with the threat of slaughter.

Good men went into that place. None came out.

It was a good thing that he wasn't a good man, otherwise he might have had something to lose tonight.

Volt shifted underneath his black hoodie with a sniff, moving as the lights went back to red. Long legs snapped in front of him as he stalked across the street, hands shoved in his pocket. A car honked. Someone in a truck yelled an obscenity in his direction. He casually flipped them off and kept walking.

Everyone had an issue with everyone else here. It was as simple as that.

If someone treated him with kindness, he wouldn’t trust it. In fact, he’d probably hate it at this point. The madness of this place had already crept into his nervous system like a disease, altering him on a fundamental level. Gunpowder eyes flashed then settled. There was no use thinking it would change.

The heel of his boot slipped across the slick paint on the street, throwing him momentarily into freefall before he caught himself. He didn’t even remove his hands from his pockets but his sense of things had violently shifted.

He did have something to lose tonight.

The cold rain slowly turned to ice as it fell.

Simon was one of the good guys, the leader of the rebellion, and the thing Volt didn't want to lose. He had a charming smile and tanned skin that didn’t fade with the winter grey and always had an ear to lend to anyone. Volt was half-sure he’d listen to the moaning complaints of a worm if given the opportunity. Everyone beneath him fell victim to the smile and the easy way he spoke about the great things of the past. Freedom, laughter, love. Birds. Trees. Clear skies and winters that didn’t stretch into May.

Everyone but Volt.

Volt was a mapmaker. He knew the quickest way through anything, like electricity to ground, and that included bullshit.

Simon was scared.

He didn’t act around Volt, not unless his precious rebels were around. Even so, the air of defeat startled Volt when Simon pulled him aside one week ago and painfully laid out the end of the rebellion. They had run out of funds. Out of food. Out of time.

Volt paused outside a candy shop, casually placing a cigarette between his lips and lighting up. Time. What a fickle thing. Smoke curled into the air as he stood underneath the pink awning and out of the freezing rain. Volt was suddenly conscious of the watch on his wrist.

“Look, you don’t have to do this. But it’s kinda the end for us. Ah, I, uh… I think this is going to be our last stand. You won’t be there. No, don’t give me that look, Volt. I won’t let you hold a gun. Not for me. But…I could use some help. If you… Fuck. I hate to ask this. I hate it! I don’t want to ask you. Get that? I don’t want to ask you! Three years you’ve helped us out. Three years. You and I…”

He took a long drag on his cigarette, vividly remembering the tears in Simon’s eyes. Those weren’t performative. Not like the smile. Those tears burned. They were acidic to Simon, he could tell by how quickly he wiped them away when they fell.

“We need a map.”

“Of what?” he said quietly to himself, replaying the conversation in his head.

“Of the Tomb.”

Volt dropped his cigarette, half-finished, and crushed it underfoot.

The Tomb.

Grey eyes reddened by lack of sleep and worry skated across the monstrous building at the end of the street. Various lights from the Christmas decorations draped across the city twinkled in its glass. Red lights blinked above on the top of its point. Blood red.

He was an idiot for doing this.

An absolute moron with a death wish. Or something like that.

The Tomb served as the headquarters of the elite. The lawmakers and billionaires, one in the same really, lived and worked in the massive glass building. No one knew much of what went on inside, only that ambulances left without their lights on and blood smeared across their wheels every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

And that on Saturdays they executed rebels in the courtyard for all to see.

Volt inhaled deeply, casting a wayward glance at his watch. 11:50 p.m.

Ten minutes to midnight.

Simon’s soft smile moved through his head again. Friendship was an odd thing to him. New and uncomfortable, but he thought that this must have been what it was like. There was little he wouldn’t do for Simon, not because he had some semblance of power or fed him well but because he was kind. He stopped by to chat when he didn’t have to. Gave him extra cupcakes after his girl left him. He even dropped off a container of Volt’s favorite energy drinks just because.

He could do this one thing.

This one, impossible thing.

No one had managed to map even the first floor of the Tomb but what did that matter when he hadn’t slept more than a wink and was hopped up on his favorite energy drinks? It was New Year’s Eve. The billionaires were busy elsewhere and he had enough drugs in his pockets to buy out two hundred floors of security guards.

A hard look crossed his face.

He would map out the whole damn building. Simon would get his last stand.

Volt dropped two coins behind him, leaving them on the ground for Simon. He would know then that he had gotten this far.

The cold, freezing drizzle soaked the shoulders of his hoodie and trailed in rivers down the sides of his neck. He would believe in Simon tonight. He would believe in that pretty dream of the past and if he died in the Tomb, maybe he could die with a smile like Simon’s.

Without looking back, he effortlessly hopped decorative fence and crossed onto the grounds of the Tomb.

A bright green light whistled as it shot high into the sky, shifting into a screeching cry before exploding. White blanched the hard features. The black pupils of his eyes, already accustomed to the low light of the city, shrunk dramatically. The light burst, burning brighter and banging across the entire city.

Volt froze, every nerve ablaze, and turned to look at the fireworks lighting up the sky. Swallowing the sweet taste of tobacco, he took one deep breath to steel himself, and sprinted into the building.

2050 had arrived.