"Royal Flush!"
I slapped down my cards on the table through the thick smoky haze of a serious gambler's poker game, my own cigarette stuck between my cocky grin. I had won six consectutive games so far; so why not be cocky? The fixed eyes of the royal family, excluding the ace and ten cards of course, stared back at me and the occupants of the table who each grunted or sighed, expressing their profound exasperation with me.
"We all know you're cheating, Seoul! I mean c'mon! There is no way anyone can win six games in a row like that..." Number Six, one of my poker compadres, slammed his fist on the table, making our chips jump and spill into colorful piles around the table. The fist remained there, clenching and unclenching as if strangling a neck- my neck, mind you. I loosened my tie.
"I for a fact know you are all cheating." Everyone grumbled, fingering their chips. Lucky guess. "I just happen to cheat better than the rest of you."
That, of course, brought unpending doom upon the table again, Number Six's fist actually producing quite a hole in the sturdy wooden table. Well, it used to be sturdy. That man has one hell of a punch if you ask me.
"You are almost as bad as a Club, Krao." This comment of course sent the table flying towards the direction of the wall, which unfortunately unlike me cannot dodge. Oh boy was I glad I wasn't that wall. Not that I wanted to be me right now either. Number Six, or Krao if you please, was cracking his knuckles, which sounded an awful lot like a spine snapping. Not that I desired to know what that really sounded like. Especially if it involved my spine.
"That's it you little-" I had bolted for the door.
I'm not one to fight or dirty his hands. I'm sure you knew that by now though, hm?
Well anyway, as I scrambed out the door, my wonderful Spade friend Krao heaved his elegantly laquered and upholstered chair in my direction. And unlucky for me it happened to nail me right in the square of my back. That produced quite an off noise from me, and trust me, I was throughly pissed off at this muscular fellow by now.
"Now, now! What a waste of furniture! Can't you just get it through your thick skull that I just might happen to cheat more skillfully than you?" My piss level skyrocketed as I realized my cigarette was now laying on the floor, some distance in front of me. Spade or not, he was in for a mouthful of my gun barrel. "And damnit, that was my last cigarette!"
In a fit of rage, I lugged the chair off myself and stood up defiantly, brushing my newly tailored suit off casually with both hands. Krao's face was now an amazing shade of red, eyes bulging out of his face to an almost amazing proportion. As I finished up inspecting myself for any sign of damage, Krao, being the gentleman we all know him to be by now, roared and charged at me and I, being the defiant smartass I am today and always will be, pulled out my always trusty pistol, jamming it out in front of me with one arm. Krao stopped halfway, gruntling and mumbling curses, half crestfallen and the other half still angry as hell at me.
"By golly!" This, my friends, is called mocking. And probably not one of my smarter moments."This must be the smartest thing I've ever seen Krao do!" I feigned surprise, clapping my hands to the side of my face. And a few seconds later I didn't need to fake anything as another red silk upholstered chair came flying my way and whizzed indifferently by my left ear.
So of course, I made the next smart decision and dashed out the door before another astounding flying chair could have it's chance to hit me something good.
The streets were empty as I made my way past various tired, flickering neon lights down the just as tired crumbling sidewalk. My polished black dress shoes reflected the neon light into my eyes as I looked down at my needlessly fancy wares. Once, or at least I think once, I would have really needed these shoes to impress my boss or some office beauty. Now I wear them just to secretly please myself, to show there is some sort of class in this horribly corrupt and broken city. Where once skyscrapers of great magnitude stood, stands a windowless structure, so much like a tombstone it scares me whenever I stop to glance up at it. I can't even remember what it looked like before; in fact can't remember anything before the destruction of this city I used to call "home" instead of "graveyard".
All I know is that I'm going to die on the thirteenth day of the thirteenth month in the year thirteen-thirteen.
What a hell of a thing to know, right?
The smell of rain was in the air now. You know that damp, musky scent that fills the air in the mere seconds before it rains as if by magic? Well it did begin to rain, and I just continued to walked right on through it as if oblivious to the fact I was soaking wet and smelled like a damp cigarette. I shook my head, just like the scoundrel dog I really am, sending drops flying deep into the depths of the unwelcome night. My wings [yes I have wings, little black ones in fact] remained undamp as rain slid right of their slick feathers and onto the ground. The memory loss came with those wings along with the "thirteen year disease". And so did the promise of Paradise.
They had just started taking people away. On buses, in cars, boats, and everything else imaginable in the transportation category they just whisked people away with a promise of something better. Something called "Paradise". It was said to be a haven of peace, of perfect harmony, created by some unknown person for all of mankind. Then greed came and butted it's ugly head into Paradise. Corporations and transportation companies that had once been free to use began to charge ridiculous amounts of money for shuttling to Paradise and of course the people paid them. Then, if the remaining rumors are correct, a mysterious sickness spread throughout the remaining citizens of the city, killing all those without wings.
The sick citizens were denied Paradise.
Most of the winged people wandered the city, having been estranged from their loved ones and everything else they once knew and held dear by hate and mistrust. Everyone blamed our sudden appearance as the cause for the disease. Marked by our wings, transporters turned us coldly away. There is no room for the diseased in Paradise.
A city full of fallen angels is what we now are. Most of the affected weeped openly on the streets, head in their hands, and the rest hid within crumbling buildings, sharing their sorrows with crumbling concrete.
But some came out to fight.
An organization called Roulette announced they had made a limited supply of medicine, thirty-eight vials in total. The rebels [appropriately called "Gamblers"] agreed that there were strength in numbers and created four guilds consisting of fourteen members each, but... there were fifty-six of us and only thirty-eight vials. Blood began to spill between groups as they eliminated the weaker members in opposing guilds, even resorting to killing their own after considerable judging. Wallowing in self-pity wasn't a choice anymore for the fighters, it was either rise through the ranks or die trying. The vials after awhile lost their importance, instead taking a backseat to guild rankings. Eventually the entire Clubs Guild was eliminated due to it's many weakness, exploited by other groups. The other three guilds: The Spades, Hearts, and Diamonds still exist, fighting on over a long forgotten purpose. And the Roulette watches.
Only fourteen vials of the vaccine exist today.
Many were destroyed by feuding members or in bloody clashes between people and the Roulette itself. My guild, the Spades, holds seven vials while the Hearts hold four and the Diamonds three.
Enough about our depressing city now. I wouldn't want to frighten you away with my boring drawl about it now, would I?
Turning the corner into a sheltered outcropping of a lone door on the side of a once great corporate building, I managed to find a fresh cigarette in the depths of my suit pocket. The swearing following was natural; the cigarette was damp due to my carelessness to lug an umbrella around that night. I was never one for remembering such frivolities.
"I didn't even bring a lighter, damnit." My pockets were empty since I didn't like anything other than the weight of my pistol against my chest- it's ridiculous how comforting a pistol can be in a city like this. The neon lights were gone, replaced by the dull humming noise from the regular white flourescent street lamps . And as if just by luck the one nearest me was broken, smashed in by some nutcase. Not that I was one to be talking.
The rain appealed to me in a sort of depressing way as I leaned against the sheltered inlet's wall, the damp unlit cigarette stuck between my lips eyes watching the rain fall gently onto the street and into the rifts of the pavement.
"A fallen angel damned to this hollow shell of a city." I stepped into the rain, hair plastered against my face with cold rain water, cigarette drooping then dropping to the ground forgotten. I faced the sky, as dark and foreboding as it looked. The rain ran trails down my forlorn face, making it look as if I was crying. Maybe I was. "Why would you do this to me?! What did I do to be shunned from Paradise?"
Heaven never answers the calls of fallen angels.
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