Whited Sepulchers - Soul Forge Series Prologue by Zooie
Standard disclaimers apply

Author’s Notes: This is a prologue to the “Soul Forge” series. I wasn’t certain I wanted to delve into this subject matter, but something in me just wouldn’t let the story go.
Though the gang’s dialogue was originally written in dialect, it proved rather confusing. I was forced to revert back to conventional spellings for coherency’s sake, though some easily understandable word-mangling remains.
If you’ve read “Heart of Darkness,” you’ll recognize the title and understand its implications. If not, you can figure it out without trouble.

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Every city has its dirty little secrets. Those hidden truths that the idealistic don’t admit to and the demented revel wantonly in, wrapping the wretchedness about their shoulders, embracing it as a lover. Those back alleys and hidden nooks, crowded with unseeing eyes and intertwining shadows, those crannies that shelter life’s most latent realities. Most people never realize these places exist. Others never know anything else.

The L2 colony. It hung in the endless space, an atrocity amongst the stars, an eternal ring of squalor, a man-made loop of poverty. The perfect place to hide if one did not wish to be found. The perfect dumping place for certain obstacles barring the paths of ruthless men. A locale that might well be deemed the end of the universe. Many things entered the colony; people, drugs, weapons, merchandise of dubious repute; yet little was sent out in return. L2; the colony that ate its youth.

Sepulcher. [1] A city segment in the colony’s western side. Dilapidated office buildings dwarfing squalid, abandoned warehouses and burnt-out tenements. Boarded-up restaurants, ransacked businesses. Once a bustling hub of commerce, now crippled by time, outdated and under-funded. Success had turned her fickle eyes elsewhere, leaving the empty shells of prosperity in her wake.

Streets thick with garbage, gutters clogged with the remnants of too many people’s lives. Pamphlets, fast food wrappers, beer cans, soda cups, newspapers, and worse, all blowing through the avenues in a whirlwind of filth. Dirt wafting about all too freely, the constant drought causing the ground to crack and split, dust intruding into every crack and crevice.

A virtual ghost town, unless a person knew where to direct their gaze.

A small market square, filled with rough plank stalls where the few remaining merchants sold their goods. Pawn shops squatting accommodatingly on nearly every corner. A small church that few bothered to visit. Numerous sleazy nightclubs. Dingy bars with flickering neon lights. Motels of questionable reputation and even more dubious companionship. Crack houses draped with anonymity. “Special interest” stores and services offering everything from companionship to timely deaths. A free clinic that was vandalized on a regular basis.

Sepulcher. A place where no one lived by choice. A place where one came with a purpose and departed as soon as possible, needs sated and addictions met. A place where one did not walk alone.

An abandoned apartment building. Two stories high, windows eclipsed by graffiti-slashed boards. A corroded fire-escape crawling up its side, a roof caved in from neglect and faulty workmanship. Front door seized shut with a rusty iron chain. A faded sign nailed next to the entrance, no longer legible except for one word: “Garden.” A building that was largely overlooked, long since ravaged of respectability or interest. Just one more brittle edifice crumbling slowly under time’s heavy hand.

Under the sheltering caress of the night-cycle, in the crisp and biting air, two small figures rapidly scaled the creaking fire-escape, their presence diminutive and unassuming. Clambering upward with an equal measure of both caution and haste, the two slips of shadow reached the ladder’s top and slithered onto the fragmented roof, one quite plainly guiding the other. Skittering towards a jagged fissure in the roof’s center, the lithe forms carefully swung their legs over the edge of the hole and dropped lightly downward, leaving no sign of their passing.

“’S this way,” the taller boy said authoritatively, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Taking off in a light trot, he progressed down the crumbling hallway, passing numerous closed doors. The smaller child scrambling to keep pace. Reaching a decrepit staircase of which half the planks cracked or decayed, the taller boy spared a piercing glance for his companion. “Careful. Steps ‘r rotten.” [2]

His words apparently a warning in more ways than one, he descended the stairs in a way that bespoke familiarity and much practice. The smaller child managed to reach the lower floor without incident, much to the other’s disinterested surprise.

“Not bad,” he grunted appraisingly. “Might not’ve been a mistake, af’er all.”

The lower floor was much murkier than the other had been. The air hung more heavily, weighed down by cloying dust mites and sawdust from the construction‘s distressed frame. It was like breathing ash.

“C’mon.” Navigating by instinct and experience, the boy took off into the shadows, heading for a location undisclosed. The other boy followed him closely, eyes straining to see through the near-tangible gloom. They seemingly crossed a large room and treaded down a short passageway, the outlines of various looming shapes mottling the darkness. Then, out of seemingly nowhere, a solid door appeared. A door painted white. A door with “Solo’s” scrawled across it in childish print.

The boy tapped the door three times in quick succession, lightly kicked it twice, and then tapped once more. A scuffling could be heard beyond the door, numerous locks turned, and then the door crept open a few cautious inches. Half a face and a shock of black hair peeked through the crack, the sole visible eye squinting for a moment before narrowing in suspicion.

“And who,” the face snidely demanded, “is that?”

“C’mon, Nabber, lemme in. It’s just some pup I found on the street. Thought maybe we could take ‘im in.” The boy sounded exasperated and tense, his body abruptly strung tight. The smaller child shrank back instinctively, the shadows clotting around him.

Nabber’s disapproval was quite evident. “Damn, Snips, we’re not a fucking dog pound! You can’t keep picking up every stray!”

“Watch your mouth and let them in,” a new voice demanded forcefully. Nabber abruptly disappeared and the door swung open. Snips grabbed his find’s wrist and hauled him into the room, slamming the door shut behind them. Nabber quickly refastened all the locks.

The room was the exact antonym to the rest of the building. It was filled with life and energy, thrumming with the vigor that accompanies the presence of many young people. In various states of activity; of all shapes, sizes, and ages; three children were draped about the large area. Fluorescent lanterns hung from the ceiling in strategic locations, their steady lights glowing softly. Frayed blankets were strewn about one corner of the room, a few pieces of discarded clothing mingling amongst them. Against the far wall was a stack of crates, turned sideways so that they formed a make-shift network of shelves. The compartments held a montage of objects, some of them not immediately identifiable. But what drew the eye most about the room was the map that was sketched across an entire wall, a rendering that was easily recognizable as Sepulcher.

As if by some unspoken command, the room’s occupants stood and joined the four boys by the doorway. A motley group they were, by any standards. Seven altogether, not counting the new-comer, and none of them a day over eight. The children of drug-dealers and prostitutes, the abandoned and the mistreated, the forgotten and rejected, they were drawn together for survival, united by a single cause. They were the weak, but together they stood strong.

“Whatcha found now, Snips?” a brown-eyed girl asked in a clipped tone. She looked to be about seven and was clad in loose, faded overalls and an oversized t-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back with a band of cloth, obviously torn from a ruined article of clothing.

“Wuzzit look like I found? A Feddie? [3] Jeez, Wheezy, yer gettin’ dumber by the day,” Snips jibed good-naturedly. Pulling his new find from behind his back, he shoved the child out for inspection. “He was out in the street, just sittin’ in the road out in front of Remy’s. I wasn’t gonna say nothing, but then I saw he was too quiet-like. Sure nuff. Turned out they’d gotten ‘im drunk for kicks. Prob’ly kicked ‘im outside when he puked on their shoes.”

“And what’re we gonna do if someone comes lookin’ for ‘im?” an eight-year old boy of Asian descent snapped.

Snips snorted. “Don’ think that’s gonna be a problem, Twist. Look at ‘im!”

All eyes turned to the small figure. He looked to be about four or five, short and skinny, obviously untended to. His body was in a condition that could not be achieved overnight. It seemed he had never had a decent meal in his life. His cheeks were rounded with baby-fat, but the rest of the body was thin as a rail. Long, brown locks fell across his face in matted, lank strands, a rat’s nest of knots. Behind the concealing clump of hair, his skin was pasty white, almost sickly looking. His clothes were natty and patched, frayed at the cuffs and covered with filth. His feet were bare, sans a pair of holey socks, and his hands were grubby with dirt. His large, blue eyes were slightly glazed and it was clear that he was still intoxicated.

Nabber laughed abruptly, cutting through the tension. “I sure as hell wouldn’t miss him! Pile of dirt, that one!”

“He‘s filthy-ugly, ain’t he, Lizbeth?” giggled the shortest girl, shoving at her kinky black hair with a dusky hand.

“He’s filthy-disgusting, is what he is, Gabby!” snickered the last girl, a tiny thing with a mass of red curls. Each sniggered at the other‘s comments, companionably throwing arms over one another’s shoulders.

Twist rolled his eyes. “Okay, so maybe he ain’t gonna be missed. But what’re we gonna do with ‘im?”

The tallest boy suddenly spoke up. “We’ll figure that out later. Snips, he’s your responsibility for now. Get him cleaned up a little and put him to bed.” He pushed a piece of blonde hair out of his eyes, staring thoughtfully at the young boy.

“Sure thing, Solo. Come on, Kid, let’s get that barf off of ya.” Taking the dazed boy firmly by the hand, Snips led him into the room, heading towards a large tin bucket.

Five young faces turned to regard Solo, questions plainly written across each visage. With a quiet air of authority, he smiled reassuringly at them all. “Don’t worry,” he soothed, his voice subtly wicked. “If he doesn’t work out, we’ll just put him back where we found him. Just like the others.”

Five faces nodded slowly, solemnly accepting the older boy’s judgment.

***********

“Hey. You awake?” A toe nudged his side tentatively. The nameless boy dragged one eye open and scowled at the foot’s owner.

“Am now.” He sat up, shoving knotted hair out of the way before rubbing at sleep-crusted eyes. “What‘s yer problem, kicking me like that?”

Ignoring his question, Wheezy giggled lightly. “Don’tcha wanna know where you are?” She crouched down at his side, leaning back on her heels., head tilted to one side. “I bet you’re hung over, huh?” she asked sympathetically.

The boy blinked owlishly, realization dawning on his sluggish brain. “You ain’t Remy,” he observed flatly.

“Ew! Gross! He’s nasty!” Wheezy’s thin nose wrinkled in distaste, as though she had been insulted.. “I sure as hell ain’t that pile of shit.” She smirked. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” the brown-haired child asked suspiciously, drawing his legs to his chest. “What‘re you talking about?”

“Silly! Snips brought you home with him! You belong to us now!” Wheezy smiled welcomingly.

“I don’t belong to no one!” The boy glared fiercely in denial, his mind urging him to flee, but his body staying rooted to the floor. As the girl had assumed, he was hung over and his muscles didn’t feel much like cooperating at the moment. The situation didn’t seem dangerous, so he was willing to chance waiting for a while. At least until his head decided to stop trying to explode.

“Well, you ain’t got anywhere else to go, stupid. But if’n Solo don’t like you, yer goin’ back out faster’n you can say ‘fuck,’” the brunette chided. “What Solo says, goes. No argument. Ya got that? That’s the one rule we got. Well, we got lots of other rules, too, but that’s the biggie.”

“Who’s Solo?” the child grumpily asked, propping his aching head on his knees.

“Why, he’s our leader, of course! But I don’t wanna tell you too much, ‘case we decide not to keep you,” Wheezy solemnly informed him. “Solo said you could have some food, though, when you woke up. He didn’t want you to be hungry even if we had to get rid of you.” She reached into her overalls’ pocket and pulled out a rotting apple. “Here. It ain’t fresh, but it’s easier to steal the old stuff than the new. They’re not watchin’ it as close.”

The boy looked at the proffered fruit, his face turning slightly green. Wheezy laughed. “Ooookay. You can eat it later, I guess.” She put the apple where he could easily reach it. “Why don’tcha sleep ‘til they get back? ‘S gonna be a while. It ain’t gonna get dark for hours.”

Though he knew he should stay alert, the boy nodded reluctantly and laid back down. He felt too awful to stay awake any longer. Besides, the girl didn’t seem like she was going to harm him... Closing his bloodshot eyes, he drifted off.

*********

The next time he was prodded awake, he opened his eyes to find not one, but seven childish faces inquisitively examining him. Apparently night had fallen and his benefactors had returned from their daytime tasks. Startled, he scrabbled upright, noting in the back of his mind that he felt markedly better.

The children stood in a small cluster, a blonde boy at its front, his smile gentle and supportive. His eyes were a strange golden brown and he wore a patched yellow shirt. Noting the way the other children seemed to defer to his presence, the nameless boy guessed that he was the Solo person the girl had told him about earlier. Pushing himself to his feet, he moved to stand directly in front of the blonde twelve-year-old, staring defiantly up into his eyes. To his surprise, the older boy burst out into a hearty chuckle.

“Well, at least you ain’t a bawling mess! Turn down the death glare, squirt, we ain’t gonna hurt ya. I’m Solo and this here‘s my group. Ya already met Wheezy and Snips, right?”

Solo’s welcoming tone was so not what the boy was expecting that he found himself at a loss. Though he had planned to demand his freedom and possibly hit anyone who came too close, he found himself nodding mindlessly.

“Well, let’s do the introductions, so we can get on with it,” Solo continued, oddly formal. He pointed to each of the children, calling them by name. “Wheezy, Snips, Lizbeth, Twist, Nabber, and Gabby.” Each waved hello, in turn. “And what about you? What’s your name?”

“Don’t have one,” the boy admitted, knowing how odd it sounded, even to these self-named urchins.

The others exchanged looks and shifted curiously, but only Solo spoke. “No name? Well, what’ve they been callin’ ya at Remy‘s, then?”

The child flushed an angry red. “I ain’t sayin’! That ain’t my name! I won’t let you call me that!”

“Whoa, cool your engines, there, kiddo, ‘fore you hurt something. I ain’t gonna ask again, alright? We’ll just give you a new name,” Solo spoke as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “We don’t know ya yet, so we can’t get too personal. I think Kid will do for now. Okay with you, Kid?”

“Whatever.” Kid crossed his arms across his chest and stared hard at his feet. “Don’t matter none.”

“Course it matters!” Solo grinned enthusiastically. “How’m I supposed to call ya in for supper if ya don’t have a name?”

The other children laughed as though he had said something awfully clever. Kid watched with confusion in his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” he groused, tugging at his long, nappy hair. “You people are weird!”

The comment brought more laughter from the group. Seeing the state of perplexity Kid was lost in, Solo gently hushed them and sent them away. Though privacy was impossible in the smallish space, soon the two boys stood in a pocket of calm, the others engaged in various tasks about the room.

Solo smoothly dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor. Patting a spot next to him, he gestured for Kid to join him. Reluctantly, the boy obeyed.

“Okay, Kiddo, you and me got a couple a’ things to chew over. Things like, what’re ya good for?”

“Whadduya mean? I don’t have to prove myself to you!” Kid glared, offended, feeling much more self-assured now that he was one-on-one with the older child.

Abruptly Solo’s laughing eyes turned hard. Leaning forward, his hand shot out and locked on Kid’s skinny arm, his grasp a solid vise. He spoke in a flat, harsh tone devoid of all sentiment. “Listen here, Kid. We do things one way here and one way only. Mine. If you got a problem with that, I’ll kick your ass out right now. I’m trying to do you a favor here and I’m not gonna put up with your lip. I’ll ask you again. What can you do?”

Taken aback, Kid stared at the odd yellowy eyes. “R-Remy used to make me steal stuff from the customers,” he offered shakily.

“Steal stuff? Like how?” Solo released his grip and sat back, once more calm and collected. Kid was stunned by his abrupt changes of attitude. This was not someone to be taken lightly.

“When they were getting drunk, I’d pinch stuff offa ‘em. Wallets and watches and stuff,” he clarified.

“Were you any good at it?”

“Never got caught yet!” the boy said proudly.

“Think you could do it if they weren’t drunk?”

Kid snorted. “Sure! I done that lots a’ times. Sometimes Remy didn’t wanna wait none, ya know? Fat wallets didn’t come in too much.”

Solo nodded in thought. “Anything else you’re good for?”

“I can punch good,” the boy proudly revealed. “Didn’t no one pick on me!” Looking at the boy’s bruised arms and scabbed knuckles, Solo doubted that was true. Before he could call the boy’s bluff, however, the child surprisingly corrected himself. “Well, none of the kids picked on me, anyways,” he muttered.

Noting the apparent penchant for honesty, Solo continued with his evaluation. “Can you run?” Kid rolled his eyes, producing an unexpected laugh from the other boy. “Okay, stupid question. Can you hide?”

“Yeah, mostly,” the boy sighed. “Sometimes ya don’t get a chance, ya know?”

“Is that what happened last night?” Solo pressed. “Is that how ya got drunk?”

Kid shuddered, curling in on himself as if suddenly cold. “S-sometimes the men... they want stuff, ya know? I fight back pretty good. I guess it’s easier when I can’t. They grab me and make me drink stuff and-” he cut off abruptly, starting. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he stated emphatically, avoiding Solo’s knowing eyes.

“Okay, sure thing, Kid. That’s one of our rules. You don’t wanna say, we don’t ask. Unless it’s gonna cause trouble for us, a’ course.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Is it gonna be a problem?”

Kid shook his head sharply. “Nuh-uh. No one’ll think much if I up and disappear. Remy ain‘t... he ain’t a nice guy, if ya get my meaning.”

Solo pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Okay. Can you do anything else? What did you do before Remy’s?”

“Dunno,” Kid shrugged. “Been there forever. Phil taught me to read some, ‘fore he went away and I can do some numbers. Came in handy, when the bar got full.”

Solo seemed to come to some decision. Nodding complacently, he turned the full force of his smile on the slight boy. “Okay, Kid. I think we’re done here. You just might be worth having around, after all. Course you’re gonna have to prove it, but I think you’ll be okay.” Suddenly, he frowned, taking in the boy’s tattered condition. Twisting his head to face the back corner of the room, he called out in irritation: “Snips! Get over here! I thought I told ya to clean him up some? He don’t look too clean to me.”

Snips dropped down next to them, regret written across his plain face. “Sorry, Solo. Didn’t know how much water I could use, okay?”

Solo sighed. “Well, find him some better clothes and see if we have some old shoes that’ll fit. Try and figure out that mess of hair, too. And use as much water as you need! I hate to say it, Kid,” he said in a friendly way, “but you smell like shit.”

**********

End Prologue

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[1] There is, officially, no name for the section of VO8744 where Duo lived. I chose to give the area a label simply for reference purposes. sepulcher: (n) 1. tomb, place of burial. 2. receptacle for religious relics. A bit dramatic, but fitting.
[2] Using wood to build on a dehydrated colony would be pretty daft. Overly dry wood cracks like nothing else and will become very brittle unless properly tended to. It would also be expensive to import, unless L2 cultivated some highly efficient tree farms (unlikely). But, alas, impractical as it is, wooden construction seems to have been what they used.
[3] Federation soldier.

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