(Three Brothers

TW: Police Brutality

The protests surrounding the headquarters of the Fuzon Corporation began a few weeks before Billy found the body. But first, we must discuss the events surrounding another event that occurred a fortnight before the protests began. We must, after all, understand the motives before seeing their consequences. It began when a group of young men were walking down the streets of the City. They had just been out scavenging for some food for their apartment complex to eat. Their names were Gabriel Lee [17], Tony Samson [16], and Johnny Willis [15].

Gabriel met the two men he would die with amid the streets of the ruin they called a City, as many people do. The vines and greenery hadn’t fully consumed the City at the time; indeed some of the buildings were still largely intact. But to call the City anything but a ruin would be a lie. It was raining when Gabriel [14] tried to steal a loaf of bread. It wasn’t a hard rain, all things considered, but it was certainly the kind of rain that ends up killing people dumb enough to sing in it. Gabriel had been living on the streets for nearly his entire life. His parents had “disappeared” and left him alone in a cruel world, a common story in the City. The loaf of bread belonged to one of an increasingly dwindling number of landlords of the City. Even for a landlord he was inexplicably well fed. The loaf was lying on a table whilst he was busy talking on a broken phone about a contract to house police officers, intentionally ignoring the few “unsavory” members of the community standing right in front of him. It wasn’t too hard to steal the loaf unnoticed.

Which is why it should have come as no surprise to Gabriel that two other people had the exact same idea. [If anything, it was more surprising that more people weren’t stealing bread.] And yet, Gabriel was perplexed by the other two young lads holding the exact same piece of bread as he was. Some have speculated that this was because the man had a semi-solipsistic worldview at the time that didn’t so much view himself as the only being that mattered, merely the only one suffering. Purely subconsciously, but it was still an assumption he made when he was that young. Others simply noted that City life invokes a solitary mindset that causes many to forget other people even exist. Whereas one boring person with a limited imagination and a penchant for being wrong about absolutely everything pointed out that when someone is starving, their environmental awareness tends to dull.

Regardless of the reason for not noticing them, the first thing Gabriel did when he felt the pull of the other two sets of hands on the bread was consider pulling out a knife. He dissuaded that idea since A. If he let go of the bread, one of them might be able to nick it and run away in the time it take out the knife, B. Given that the other two probably had knives, it would be a better idea to wait until they pull theirs out, and then he could run off with the bread, and C. He didn’t have a knife. Didn’t even know what a knife looked like, but he assumed it was big. Like, the size of a leg.

But before the three could show off their knives, the landlord noticed their attempts at thievery and said, “Excuse me, but I believe that’s mine” while aiming an unloaded gun at them. He cocked the hammer and the lads fled, barely able to hold onto the bread. The landlord would later claim he let them go on purpose out of a benign generosity. Sides, he’d claim, he could always kill them if they tried again. To his relief, they never did. [To his chagrin, he was killed before they even could.]

As for the, for lack of a better term, companions, Gabriel was still hesitant as to whether or not he should trust these people. They were, after all, armed with knives they could surely use against him. Best not to trust them, or they’ll slit his wrists while he slept. Then they’d have the bread he worked so hard to get. They’d probably kill each other first, leaving the bread for the rats to eat. And he couldn’t allow that to happen. But what could he do? Perhaps he could find a steel rod and-

“Uhm, excuse me,” said the younger of the two, no older than 10 by Gabriel’s reckoning, “But neither one of you seems to be armed.” Gabriel looked at the other lad trying to give a reassuring glance that he actually was armed and this poor sod was being an idiot if he thought he could trick them into thinking he wasn’t armed. He then noticed that his relatively middle aged counterpart was giving him the exact same look. He was also trying to suppress a nervous twitch, which Gabriel figured he could use to his advantage at some point.

“Erm,” stalled the other person, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m totally armed.”

“Y-Yeah!” echoed Gabriel, “My knife is as long as my leg.” The other person gave Gabriel a puzzled look.

“Ok, he’s definitely not armed. But I am.”

“Ok then, show me,” smiled the young lad. To Gabriel, he oozed the arrogance of youth and yet was somehow able to evoke the sincerity only old people could have.

“…But then you’ll run off with the bread.”

“HOW? This guy,” pointing at Gabriel, “is twice my height!” Indeed, at that precise moment, Gabriel realized he was not only taller than the probably 10 year old, but he was also a good foot taller than the definitely 13 year old next to him. As such, he thrust the bread towards him and tried to flee. Unfortunately, being malnourished tends to deplete one’s strength and, regardless of height, Gabriel was unable to steal the bread.

In the end, the trio [upon the two admitting that they were not, in fact, armed] agreed to split the bread. Whilst eating, they decided that it might be a good idea to stick together since Tony, the middle aged of the three, pointed out that thieves tend to end up better off when working together rather than having to deal with competition. Johnny, the youngest, agreed with the sentiment, but it took Gabriel the rest of the night to be convinced. Even when in a bad place, some people would prefer to stay there than try something new…

It was a cold night, inexplicable for the City at that time of year. The coldness of most nights was more akin to the hole left behind by an absentee parent than literal coldness, but this night was different. It was actually cold. As such, the three young men raised their hoodies to cover their faces. They were a few blocks from the abandoned building they called home when the only car in the City pulled over right in front of them. It was a police car.

“Thank you so much for your help,” said Mrs. Williamson to Tony [14] while he carried the toolbox up the stairs. The trio had been living in an abandoned apartment complex for well over a month. As with most people living in the City who had this idea, they didn’t do much to change the complex beyond putting whatever clothing they could steal on the ground to use as padding [collectively, enough for one person]. 

That was, until Mrs. Williamson moved in. She was a rather large old woman, the kind typically seen from the thigh down in a memory of a Tom and Jerry cartoon. She was extremely sweet, with an infectious smile that could make even the most bitter of curmudgeons swoon in affection. Tony found that her falsetto tone had no hints of age despite being an ancient woman of 31. Her short red hair was cut so the left side was nearly bald while the right was a pixie cut. Tony thought the hairstyle made her look extremely cool, even though he didn’t think anyone else could actually pull it off. She was a lot stronger than one would think on first glance, both in spirit and in physicality.

But the main thing that Tony saw Mrs. Williamson bring to the complex was a sense of community. Certainly, Tony believed, he met the other residents. He was sure he talked to Dr. Oliver Adams, a man of Irish and German descent, at least once or twice and took a piss next to a Native American man whose name loosely translates to “Happy Rock Who Sees,” but he didn’t know who they were beyond those brief encounters. But when Mrs. Williamson arrived, suddenly he was playing cards with them every Thursday night. [Though not with Happy Rock, as that bastard had a lucky streak that no one would dare try to beat. He does talk with him for a good couple of hours over gardening and magic.] Johnny, bless the poor sod, was teaching a group of girls his age how to do some odd dance involving a scarecrow named Joe who had an eye made out of cotton. Though each time he tried, Johnny ended up tripping, which the girls assumed was part of the dance.

As for Gabriel, he was having yet another heated discussion with a lad of 13 by the name of Fredrick Kent. It was clear to Tony that the two fancied one another. Sure there was an age gap that might be a problem, but, for many couples living in the City, there were worse things to have keeping people apart. Would they have ever met if Mrs. Williamson didn’t live there, Tony wondered. Sure, Fredrick moved into the building a week after Mrs. Williamson, but the pair had met during one of her parties [which started out as Mrs. Williamson singing to herself while people slowly wandered into her room to listen and evolved into communal showings of talents]. Would Gabriel have even noticed him if she didn’t have that party?

Tony found Fredrick to be a good influence on Gabriel. Before, Gabriel would get lost in his thoughts, believing that everyone was out to ruin his already shit life. There was sadness such isolation brought to those who lived it. One that was unseen from the cruel glances Gabriel used to give his “friends.” Since meeting Fredrick though, Tony saw a melting of the ice Gabriel called a heart. He talked to Johnny about it once, but all he would return was the gleeful smile of someone assuming you’re in on their joke.

The sense of community also provided a need to make the building a little better to live in. Which is why Tony found himself carrying a set of tools up the stairs: Mrs. Williamson had the bright idea to fix one of the bathrooms so the toilets actually flushed. Tony was happy to oblige since she was an awfully nice woman who needed his help. And he felt an odd sensation within him. One that said that he should help her out. Plus, if he was being completely honest, he never did like the smell of shit. Besides, he thought, it’s a toilet. How hard could it be?

Tony didn’t like the answer to that question…

Naturally, from out of such a car stepped a police officer. The blindingly bright light of the car, which he left on for such an effect, obfuscated his features. From what they could gleam from the man, he looked as if he was always static, like a statue made from nothing. Which made the way he aimed his gun at the three and the sly grin on his mouth all the more disconcerting.

“OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK!” screamed Johnny [14] while a herd of deer chased after him. 

“WHY DID YOU ANTAGONIZE THE DEER!?!?!?” howled Tony close behind him.

“I thought I could sneak past them and get the-“

“YOU CAN’T SNEAK PAST DEER! DEER SEE EVERYTHING!!!” bellowed Gabriel, as if Johnny didn’t know this. The real reason why Johnny thought he could get away with stealing something from the deer was because of a story he had heard on his way back from nicking some food for the complex to eat. A pair of Spiders was drinking outside of q, a bar that had kicked them out for talking too loudly. One told the other the story of a bird that ruled the land with an iron fist. One day, a mouse sought advice from the god of grass, but they held no sway on the bird’s dominion. The god said that if she could steal a feather from the crown of the deer lords, the deer would give her a boon. She was able to do so by tricking the bird into trying to steal it himself. For while the deer were trampling the bird who had dared to believe itself better than them, the mouse stole the feather and asked for a bit more rain every now and then. The moral of the story [when told in its unabridged form] was of the inevitability of the downfall of kings due to their hubris, but Johnny only heard the surface of having one person distract the deer while the other stole the feathers. He was sure the death part was optional.

Unfortunately, the feather crown was an embellishment on the part of the storyteller, as no such crown existed. So Johnny was stuck in the rather unfortunate position of having to flee with his brothers. He mentally paused for a moment when the word “brothers” came into his mind. They weren’t related by blood [Johnny knew that much], and they only knew one another for a few years. And yet, he considered them to be his brothers. They were kind people, or at the very least willing to help when he asked, even what it was for something that was clearly stupid. They cared for one another and wanted only the best for them. If that’s not brotherhood, then Johnny didn’t know what was. Then again, he supposed, they’d probably share blood in a few moments. Deer were rarely known for their mercy. 

Fortunately for the three, the deer found a more useful target in the form of a group of slaves being forced to clean the weeds of the City. There was also a master who believed himself better than those “beneath” him. And so the deer went after them instead. Inexplicably, the deer were more… compassionate with the prisoners than they would have been with the three. [Pity might be a better word for what the deer felt for them though. It’s hard to read such beings, that they could have felt an emotion alien to human understanding towards the prisoners.] Regardless, the brothers returned to their apartment complex with Johnny clutching a single rose. It was a back up present for a lad he was dating named Frank Billingsworth, in case he couldn’t get the feather crown and give Frank a wish. He liked the rose all the same. Such is the way with the world…

Within moments, the three were dead.

The night before the three died was a rare night for the City. The sky was lit aflame with meteors dancing across the dark ballroom with not a care in the universe. It was late at night, and so many weren’t able to see such a majestic sight. Johnny [15] was sleeping at that time, dreaming of fighting some demonic horde with the help of his brothers. They were armed with magical weapons they earned when they helped a fairy from the fifth dimension that wanted nothing more than to free hir kind from the dreaded Demon Magician. It was a happy dream that didn’t seem to end.

Tony [16], meanwhile, was having far less pleasant dreams. The deer had caught up with them. In their anger for what the three did, the deer said in their alien language [which sounded slightly like English, but the syllables were off] that only one of them would be allowed to live. They didn’t try to kill one another at first, but the deer gave them an inquisitive look seen primarily in the bowels of the Fuzon Corporation’s factory. Tony had never felt such a powerful shiver down his spine, so he was the first one to throw a punch. By the end of it, Tony was the unlucky one to survive the bloodshed.

Gabriel [17] was the only one looking at the night sky, remembering the last night he saw stars. He was with his father, back when he was still alive. He must have been nine or maybe ten. When he was younger, he would make up fantastical stories out of the stars: tales of adventure and glory and whatnot. Since then, he had grown out of such stories. And yet, that night, of all nights, he felt the urge to look up and make a story up. The story the void of stars told that night was of a land that had grown sick of its populace and wanted to end it all. Its family and friends were long dead, and all that was left was a people who had nothing but contempt for everything it stood for. They built cruel towers of banal excess, destroyed what little patches of nature were left, and hated one another even more than the land. Death was surely preferable to existence, so the story told. But then, the meteors fell and only slightly changed the meaning, but it was enough to have a new story entirely. Gabriel looked at this story and thought it was a better one than the one he’d been imagining previously.

Gabriel then thought of Fredrick, and of the question he was going to ask. He wanted to ask him that night, but he hadn’t returned. Not that that was unexpected, but he was hoping he’d return a day early so he could ask him the question. He didn’t have a ring, but he was sure the symbolism of the question would be enough. He couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring…

The protests didn’t start immediately; news travels slowly within City walls. But when the story reached the ears of the people who many thought were too broken to do a thing, the protesters flooded the City with angry intent. It wasn’t like this was the first time someone in the City was unjustly shot by the police. But it was, if not the last straw that broke the camel’s back, then certainly the last “last straw that broke the camel’s back.”

They circled around the headquarters of the Fuzon Corporation [everyone knew where the real power behind the police force was. None wondered where the actual government was, only presuming its existence like one does with the sun or time when one lacks a watch at night]. They were armed with solely an angry disposition. Most didn’t know the lads personally, but they stood together with those that did regardless. Such things build in the background without anyone ever noticing. The guards of the building were armed with unloaded guns meant for show. Usually, such protests ended within a few days, so the police paid them no mind at first. But even at the beginning, there was an air of finality to the affair. As if it was the final chapter on the experiment humanity called “cities,” and one that would be ultimately deemed a failure. On the second week of the protests, the chief herself walked in front of the mob with promises of body cameras to be added to the uniform of the police. But, she added, there would have to be a compromise. Mainly, the body cameras were never to be allowed to be turned on and the people were not allowed to know the name of the officer who killed the boys.

When she awoke from the coma a week after someone threw a shoe, of all things, at her, she ordered the police to dissuade the populous by force. Looking towards history for answers, they found using a water hose to be untenable since water was too expensive to be usable, they didn’t have tear gas, and the last of their bullets was used on the three lads [hence why, despite finding his reasoning to be sympathetic {“his wife did leave him a week ago after all,” they’d argue, “and she took the kids too; that’d mess anyone up; besides, those thugs were threatening him with a gun”}, the police officer who did it was quietly banished from the City]. Which left mere theatrical fear.

A group of guards pulled a random old woman from the crowd and threatened to shoot her if the crowd didn’t disperse. Her name was Henrietta Williamson and she had known the boys for a couple of years. They weren’t always the best of people, certainly. They had the awful penchant of leaving doors open that ought to be closed. But they helped her and the rest of the apartment complex she lived in whenever they could be it cleaning up a hallway or stealing a bottle of water from the last landlord. They didn’t always succeed in their help [most notably when they tried to get the toilet to work and ended up flooding the basement instead], but there was a puckishness to their efforts; a sympathetic look that tried to learn from their mistakes, even if they didn’t always understand them.

So when this officer of the “law” pulled a gun on her with the threat to end her life if she didn’t stand down from being there for these poor lads, she pulled the trigger for him. When bullets didn’t cut her brainstem in half, the area got a whole lot bloodier, as revolutions tend to do.)

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