Death Inc - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Soreto

There was a time, in her dreams, when Soreto felt a sense of rightness in the world; like she understood everything. A time when all the drudgeries of daily life, hanging around her neck like chains in a river, fell away and the truth of the world seemed mystically revealed to her. In those times, dreams of gold and silver fires danced in her head in interplays of colour and nothing else seemed to matter or like it could matter. All facades of purpose in anything but watching these flames dance drifted down the stream of her subconscious mind and off into eternity. For but a brief, shining moment, she felt like she could reach out grasp these dancing flames and be free of the dull life she was forced to live...
And then she woke up. Reality was always cruel that way. Sitting up in her bed, light streaming through a window that hadn't been cleaned in weeks into a messy room, though not for lack of attempts to keep it clean. Life was just so hectic lately that she simply never had the time or the energy to clean it up. Certainly she had a surplus of each at any given moment but, whenever she had enough of one, she rarely had enough of the other. Instead, her day was already laid out for her. Climbing from her resting place, she glanced at her alarm clock, turned off the alarm and sighed a defeated whine at the collapse of her willpower for another day. Slogging to the bathroom, she showered and cleaned, tossed on her clothes and left with a brief breakfast.

Work at the bookstore wasn't that bad. It was one of the new places, where they sold books, coffee, movies, music and a whole slew of other things that made one wonder why the place still held the exclusive title of bookstore. They had wanted a pretty girl to sell coffee and stack the shelves and Soreto fit the bill. Five foot six, a delicate and shapely fox in the prime of her youth, with brilliant blue eyes and luxurious red fur that culminated in a dancing tail that had more than once been tugged by a wandering toddler or comforted a lost child. Of course, it was their desire to keep her that let her stack her own CDs on the shelf. She didn't get many sales, of course, but she got to keep most of the money when she did. It was a good way to work towards her big break.
Some day, she would make it big. A bit of a smile had crossed her face as she had seen her new album placed on the shelves. The cover art was nice, a picture taken by her ex-boyfriend and given a little bit of a smoky detail by some editor she'd found online. She'd not sold many of her last CD, but this one would be it, she thought. Just like the last nine had been it. Some big label would come in, pick up her CD, listen to it with a smile and say "Who is the girl that made this?" Then, she'd be whisked away, out of this routine. That was just how it would happen. She was sure of it...

"Soreto," a voice snapped her out of her daydream, "you're here! I didn't see you come in." The pleasant welcome was from Timothy, a co-worker who always managed to help the days go by. He was a cute guy, nice enough, although a bit too reserved for his own good. His dark, lupine appearance did certainly not lend itself to the shy person he was inside.
"Oh, hey Tim." She replied with a smile, perhaps a bit of a forced one, as he started to help her stack books back on the shelves. "What's up?" She added, not really desiring to speak to him but feeling the social courtesy weighing upon her. Soreto felt, no, she knew, that Timothy always wanted to ask her out, it was always there in his timid adoration and the way she noticed him looking at her when she passed by, but he could never express it. Honestly, she didn't really want him to, she doubted they were compatible, despite how generally sweet he seemed to be.
"Not much." His response was the ritual reply anyone gave when asked that question and lacking earth-shattering news. "They're stacking your new CD today. Cover art looks great." He said with a smile. "I know. Maybe this will be the one." Her words carried the weight of a person who had played the lottery and kept saying that maybe their numbers would come this time. "Maybe," Tim agreed, "if I were a record producer I'd have signed you already." There was a brief smile exchanged between them, Soreto's smile making Tim shrink away. "Awww, thanks." It was the only response she could think of, a long silence following, the two working together without another word. Eventually, a customer came by and tugged Timothy mercifully away, leaving them both a bit relieved.

It was about midway into her shift when he entered. She wasn't sure whom he was but she knew he was to be watched. A young man, about her age; a possum. Soreto wasn't sure why he needed to be watched, merely that something about his presence made it so. Maybe it was that she thought he was cute. More likely it was because he was wearing boots that clanked and made the floor squeak under their weight and because he was wrapped in a long, tattered duster that looked like it had been pulled out of a war zone. Not goth or anything, he wasn't wearing half a pound of pointless metal and had no piercings. Just a strange fellow. More than one person moved quickly away from him when he entered, afraid he might take out a gun and start shooting up the place. After all, who wore a grey duster and boots like those? Clearly a loner, their minds spoke, and the desire to be as far away from a deviation in the herd made them move swiftly away, lest they somehow be identified as different and ostracized for it.
Soreto spent a long time watching him herself. He made his way through the store, examining new releases and doing little more than sneering and rolling his eyes at most titles. When he saw titles like 'How Things Work' and 'Why Things Are The Way They Are', he rolled his eyes and laughed. When he passed by the fantasy section, he just chuckled at some personal joke. Although he browsed, he was a man moving with intent; his pace was too rapid between things for him to not know what he was looking for. Eventually, he made his way into the music section, looking over genres and labels. He picked up a few, here and there, went to a listening station and then promptly put them back. Eventually, he found Soreto's CD, however, and this one he listened to.
By this point, Soreto wasn't sure why she was still subtly following this man. He was clearly not up to no good. Still, she had felt her curiosity piqued by him and could not resist the first little oddity that had come up today. When he'd picked up her CD and seemed to enjoy it, she felt a little elated. Maybe he knew someone and this would be her big break! Even if he didn't, it was a little extra money! It seemed like today would be off to a bright start...
At least until he proceeded to put the CD in his jacket pocket when no-one appeared to be looking and headed straight out the door. Soreto's eyes went wide as she realized she'd just had her precious investment stolen and swiftly chased after him as he was vanishing into the street. "Hey!" She called out to him. "Stop!" He turned his head, glanced at her. They both felt a strange exchange in their glances, especially as she saw how incredulous he was at her yelling, as if he didn't quite understand why. As she kept getting closer, though, he knew enough to run and bolted down the street.
"Stop him!" She called out. No-one did, of course, for the same reason so few people ever think to do anything when they hear someone yell for help. She was running as fast as she could and so was he, but he cared less for hitting people in his way, pushing them aside like he would long grass in his way as he raced from the errant shopkeeper. However, she knew these streets far better than he did, apparently. Racing down a one-way street, she found him with nowhere to go. Panting for breath, she saw him stop and realize he was caught, taking out her phone to call the police. The man, however, noticed an alleyway, turned down it and disappeared the moment he was out of her sight.
Never, in Soreto's life, did she ever assume she had hallucinated before. Never did the word disappeared seem more appropriate to her. She had chased him into the alleyway moments after he had gone in but found no-one there. It was a blind alley, blocked in on all sides by three stories of red brick. No windows. She checked the dumpster, she checked the trash cans and he was hiding neither behind nor in either one. He was gone. How in the world he'd managed to escape was beyond her. He pondered him climbing the walls but they were so smooth and so high that him escaping in what was a matter of seconds was nothing but impossible.
And yet, it happened.

After work, Soreto's mind was still reeling from before. She hadn't told anyone what she'd seen, not specifically. She told them he'd gotten away, told him that he'd run into an alley and climbed away to escape. She told them the plausible and possible reality her mind was forcing her to believe. She couldn't accept the possibility that a man had actually run into an alleyway and vanished because she had not seen it and could only infer it. Any sane, rational being would do the same. Magicians vanished all the time, apparently appearing in another place, but it was all smoke and mirrors.
Then why could she not let this go? Perhaps it was just the trauma of it, like being in a car crash. It seemed impossible after one that you could not notice what should seem obvious, like a car rolling towards you, but you most certainly did not or you would have done more to avoid it. She tried to let it go. She had other things to do today than think about some thief. Her boss had been kind enough to give her the money for the stolen CD. Not all of it, of course, just four euro. Half of what she'd usually get, which was enough to make another one, at least.

Every Tuesday and Friday night, Soreto was free to be herself. In a dimly lit pub known as the Horse and Fiddle, she was allowed to sit on stage and sing for the customers. It didn't pay much but it kept her voice in practice and it was simply fun to let her music out to waiting ears. She was certain she even had a few returning fans, though no-one had asked for her autograph just yet. It was hard to tell if there were any familiar faces when she was on the small stage, bright lights pouring onto her, turning the people outside its glow into shadowy silhouettes. She sang music that ranged from upbeat and jaunty to slow and mournful, setting the tone to whatever the ambient mood seemed to be in the club. Old men nursing their bitter tended to prefer upbeat songs from their youth, or at least what they pretended were songs from their youth, while the younger crowd tended to prefer songs they knew and recognized, and Soreto certainly knew how to tell just what group to sing to that evening.
Why was it she felt so good there? Barely being paid any amount worth her time, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and the backdraft of cigarette smoke through the open door, likely being ogled by the many male customers. She felt like she was a part of a common thread that bound everyone there. Like her, everyone there had come to let down their hair after a long day, to be themselves and to enjoy. Perhaps it was the ambient emotions in the air, or the collective feeling of not needing to worry about the day and put on masks to hide who they were. Here, everyone had someone to listen to their fantasies, to let their dreams be known; a sympathetic ear the size of a building that everyone could come to and understand. Maybe talking about their fantasies even let them live them a little, in their mind and in the minds of others; like letting them out made them more real.
Soreto didn't know what it was. All those thoughts just amounted to the same answer: I don't know. She couldn't give herself an answer, really, but she still knew it felt good. When her set was over, she stepped down from the stage to take a break, went to the bar and had a drink to soothe her throat a little. Smiles of approval came her way, which made her smile in turn before she downed the sweet, fruity beverage she'd ordered. Here, she sat down and started to listen to old men tell stories of youthful days, eventually deciding to tell the story of the disappearing thief. She joined in with the group and felt so very comfortable, as the shared reality emerged to envelop her.

Reality by consensus was a wonderful thing but it lacked one advantage that hard, cold reality had over it: The harder version didn't go away when you closed your eyes. Waking up the next day with a pained hangover, Soreto sighed as she went through her routine again. She'd had that dream again; that one with the dancing flames. It'd seemed clearer this time, which made waking up all the more painful as the magic of her dreams vanished into the thick mist of the truths she wished would vanish instead. Another day, another short shower and shorter breakfast before running off to work.

The week went by rather swiftly, routines repeating themselves in an endless cycle. These were not perfect routines, of course. On Wednesday, she got a call from her younger sister, Nienna, the two talking about their weeks so far. The day after, Serena called, Soreto's other, much younger sister and, in turn, they chatted about school. There were other breaks in routine as well, such as bad customers at work and occasionally meeting up with friends for lunch, but by the end of the week, Soreto found herself barely able to remember the days preceding it. If anyone asked her what occurred on Monday, she'd never be able to tell them outside of vague recollections. If anyone asked her about Tuesday, she remembered singing and the thief.  She remembered these breaks in her routine, though the larger the break the more she remembered it.
The thief. She remembered him. The bastard had stolen her CD and run off without any sign he'd given a damn. He'd just taken off and gone. How could anyone do that!? It infuriated her to think of someone stealing her songs, like she'd had a little bit of herself stolen, and she wanted to chase him down and give him a piece of her mind! Ugh!
There was no time to rant and rave, though. As work finished once again, there came a rush as she turned her attention to getting to the pub. She couldn't wait to let out that fire in her belly; to sing a song that would ignite the souls of everyone in the damn pub! If that thief were there, he'd be afraid of her passion! That would show him! Even if he wasn't there, she could let it out and sew that into the collective fantasy she enjoyed while there.

She had been right. She certainly had a fire in her tonight, and a good thing too, as the pub was packed this evening. She could barely tell the silhouettes apart, merged into one cohesive blur of black that occasionally grew an arm or a snout or ears or what have you. She threw that burning sensation within her at the crowd and they ate it up, hearing the strength, the surging passion behind every word, sending their minds soaring.
She could picture him in the bar. Those large, silly ears and that long tail, both of which danced as he ran from her. Picturing him listening to her songs, wincing as she loosed the songs she had written in her mind just for him, just to tell him how much he had to fear from her. There was even one silhouette that resembled him, and it made her grin within her very soul to wish that was him and to sing her words straight at his black heart.

When her set was finished for the night, Soreto didn't linger too long at the bar. She exited through the heavy wooden doors into the parking lot swiftly, not wanting to be caught in the rush leaving later that evening at last call. Her phone buzzed, having received a text message, reaching into her pocket to open it. Mark, the guy who helped her with recording her music, apparently wanted to talk to her. She started to reply as it began to rain, groaning as she pulled her coat up over her head, pausing in the barely lit tarmac, not noticing as someone else began to follow her. She took a quick path around a fence and down an alleyway to get to her bus stop.
She was slow. Her coat over her head, the uneven ground, the rain and her attention on the texting, it was all an unholy recipe for something bad to happen. Had someone with worse intentions been out there that evening, things could have ended horribly for Soreto then and there. It was by pure luck that someone else was there. Others might call it fate. Maybe it was a touch of both.

A wet stone changed Soreto's life that night. She tripped, he caught her, grabbing her shoulders just in time to keep her from going over. Her natural response to being grabbed was to jump a little, but as the hands helped her up and let her go, Soreto sighed with relief, turning to thank her assistant, only to recoil when she saw just who it was.
"You!?" She shrieked, backing away from him. It was the thief! That was him she'd seen in the club! Immediately, she started to close the text message she was writing to phone the police. The thief saw what she was doing and followed her. He avoided making threatening gestures, but certainly didn't seem to want her to call the authorities. "Look, I just want to talk to you for a minute." He told her simply. "Why should I?! I'm calling the police on you, you stole my CD!"
The thief continued, trying to be gentle. "Look, I'm sorry. If I had known it was yours, I'd not have stolen it." He explained, though the reasoning behind it barely seemed obvious. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the stolen CD, clumsily taped back into its shredded plastic wrapping. He extended it towards her hopefully, her snatching it away, pausing in her dialing as she examined it, deciding to listen to him. "Why me? Why am I not okay to steal from?" She asked, and was met with a nonchalant shrug. "I dunno. You're not exactly a big-time earner. Didn't feel right to take from you if you couldn't afford it." He laughed a little at that. "Heh heh, I suppose you mortals don't get much luck but I figured I shouldn't be the one to take it from one that can't afford it, right?"
That struck a nerve in Soreto. Mortals? Now she knew he was a freak. "Mortals? What, you think you're some Twilight vampire or something?" She asked, the adrenaline and pent-up rage that was now frustrated by his act of kindness coming out as passive aggression that was probably not wisely pointed at a strange man in an alley who clearly had broken the law at least once. The insult was followed with her finishing dialing the emergency services. "Look, I-" He tried to begin, her stepping away from him, focused on the phone. "Now, listen, I-" He tried again, following her and her only moving away. "Stay away," she warned him, "I'll scream!"

Soreto wasn't sure whether what came next really happened or not for a long moment. She didn't want it to be, as the primitive part of any mind activated by an adrenaline rush was still thinking defensively. As the stranger's hand burst into golden flame that did not burn, he gestured at her phone, which flew from her hand in an astonishing display of supernatural power. An unseen force drew it from her and into his palm, where it melted like hot clay, shifted beneath his fingers. A dim warble of "Operator, what is your emergency?" became warped and finally went silent as the fingers of the thief distorted her phone until it became a simple figurine of herself, the lights from the screen making the eyes glow. As the flames on his hand extinguished themselves, he handed it back to her. She could only stare, mouth agape at what she had just seen.
"If you'll permit me to introduce myself," he began again, "my name is Axel, and I'm actually something of a fan of yours."