Urban Arcana
28th June, 2004
My name is Stefan Green. I see things. Things nobody else can see.
I’m not crazy.
I keep saying that, but in reality, I don’t know if I am. I might be. But why do my eyes work differently from everyone else’s?
Maybe it’s not my eyes. I thought it might be. I have to wear glasses because of a genetic defect, so maybe the mutation is more than just poor eyesight. Or maybe something in my brain is just wired wrong. All I know is, I see things differently. Everyone else just sees a panther at the zoo, say, or a bunch of teenage street kids trying to look tough, or a deranged Goth kid in too much make up. All normal and nice.
It’s only me that sees that the panther has six legs and tentacles, or that those ‘kids’ are goblins with their hats pulled down low. It’s only me that sees that bright-eyed teenager in white foundation is a vampire fresh from the kill. It’s going to drive me mad. Can I be the only one? Is it genetic, or circumstantial? Either way, there’s not much probability that I’m the only one with this defect. Is it a defect? Is it a curse or a blessing? To be able to evade the grasp of a hyena-man gangster or a shape shifting, switchblade wielding elf? To watch as they get innocent passers by instead of me, the one who sees them as they really are? Am I an angel or a demon?
I’m going mad. I know I am. There’s no one I can tell. Nobody else cares. Nobody else can see…
I’m all alone.
DOWNTOWN COWLEY, OXFORD, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM, EUROPE,
EARTH (SOL 3)
10:30 PM
All was quiet. A stray dog rooted through the contents of a bin in a dark back alleyway, unwatched by the homeless man sleeping at the far end. It was, in fact, just a touch too quiet. The dog, of course, a mangy mongrel of suspicious breeding, couldn’t know that. He just continued picking over the leavings of the humans who’d dumped their trash out here. The lid of a nearby dumpster was up, allowing the tantalising smell of a pizza, nearly new, to float out. Intrigued, the mutt hopped up onto a cardboard box and peered inside.
There was a slam, a muffled howl, and a few rattles. A moment later, there was a sound that can only be described as a kind of metallic burp.
Annwyn lowered her night vision goggles, still peering through the tinted window of the modified bus as though, by fixing the thing with her gaze, she could stop it from moving. “That’s a biiiiig mothafucker.”
Behind her, Louis, one of her associates, snorted, buckling his sword belt across his chest carefully.
“Don’t be a pussy, Annie. We’ve taken Dumpsters to the cleaners dozens of times before.”
“This fucker’s big, that’s all I’m saying.” Flicking an electric blue dreadlock out of her line of sight, she peered at it again, her heavy Irish accent rolling like a peat bog full of shamrocks. “It’s taken that dog, three cats, a hooker and a pizza delivery boy in the space of a night. I’m just telling you so you don’t go ape-shit at me later, that fucker’s bigger than the average Dumpster and it’s hungrier too.”
A second, more relaxed comrade, known only as Ace, pushed the goggles he wore instead of sunglasses to the top of his head.
“Big Dumpster’s have been heard of, but then again, we did once take two at once. I’d advise a little more caution than normal, that’s all.”
Louis just swept his bangs back from his face with a snarl, turning to the diminutive girl.
“We go in, we blast it, we get out again. No worries. Bloody humans…”
“Hey!” She swung round with an ugly expression. “I’ve three elves, two kelpies and a leprechaun in the last four generations, you know. That kind of blood lasts.”
“Bloody Irish.” The other man in the room corrected, under his breath. Annwyn wouldn’t have dignified him with an answer if he hadn’t smirked so much.
“Shut the fuck up, Lucifer, or I’ll make you do the rounds with Astrid again.”
By the ugly look on his normally very attractive face, she could tell she’d got through. Checking her equipment, Annwyn trotted up to the driver’s seat. The only other girl in their team was snoozing with a comic over her face. The Irish girl plucked it away delicately.
“Rise and shine, Moonbeam, we’ve got a monster of a Dumpster to tackle.”
The tattooed biker chick with bright green hair grinned, swinging her spiked boots off the steering wheel.
“Why didn’t you say before, chico? Tackling dumpsters is what I do for a living these days. That and driving your whiny asses all over the shot.”
“And you can shut the fuck up, too.”
* * * * *
The homeless man was roused by the whisper of five people moving past him with practiced silence. One glanced down as he peered up, a broad brimmed hat low over his eyes.
Eyes that were slit like a cats and a lurid violet.
The owner of the eyes pushed his dark glasses a little further up his nose, grinning to show off pointed, pearly white teeth.
“Run along, little human. Things are going to get messy.”
He considered his options. On the one hand, go find somewhere quieter and warmer. On the other, stay here and, by the looks of it, maybe get killed.
Wasn’t much of a choice, really.
The Dumpster rattled its lid as they approached. Although they were blind, they could sense vibrations through the ground and five pairs of footsteps fanning out to block its escape weren’t exactly an indication of good things to come. Very slowly, in jerky stops and starts, it started to roll away from them.
“Seems our reputation precedes us.” Ace muttered, drawing his machine pistols. Ace was more at home behind a computer than in front of something trying to kill him, and the rest of the gang were accustomed to his nervous attempts at jokes. Lucifer and Moonbeam pulled their loaded shotguns off their shoulders, almost in unison.
“Ladies first.” Moonbeam muttered, taking aim. He pondered that statement momentarily.
“What are you implying?”
Then the Dumpster charged them.
* * * * *
Stefan closed his locker with a dejected expression. Things really could NOT get any worse right about now.
In his reluctance to leave school (Something, perhaps, to do with the fact that Ian Carter had vowed to beat the living crap out of him the moment he stepped out the gates) he’d fallen asleep in the library. Prodded awake by one of the caretakers (Who was less than pleased with his presence there), he’d peeled his face off Romeo and Juliet, realised it was gone ten o’clock and figured that Carter had probably got bored and gone home by now. He was already dreading the talk he was going to get from one of his teachers the next day, which would probably start with ‘You can’t treat this place like it’s your own’, include the statement ‘Just because your parents make very charitable donations you can’t expect special treatment’ and finish, rather pathetically, on ‘There isn’t something you want to tell me, is there?’ as if he would say anything after all that.
Aside from having a homicidal maniac after him and being in trouble with the school for spending seven hours curled up in the Geology section, Stefan’s home life wasn’t looking too peachy either.