Shattered Ladder 1-32 (Patreon)

The next day dragged them deeper into District 44.

A million footsteps as usual, a million bodies as always, it was a miracle this place didn’t collapse in on itself. A miracle seemed the only explanation, really, as so many stomped atop grated metal and cracked asphalt with enough sound to make it seem like a thunderstorm in a place that didn’t know weather. 

A dozen different accents, each one more mangled than the last hit Ken’s ears, merchants and vendors and thieves trying to pawn off a score all of them screaming loud enough to tear their throats. They had to, honestly, considering they were all competing for the minimal attention and meager coin of a flood of never-ending interchangeable people.

“Ay! Pure water! Two filters deep!”

“Coil-packs! Get your coil-packs! Right off Three-Nine, no-no rust!”

“Oya, big-man, big-big-man, I got you a cheap slate! Barely cracked, right?”As if the competition wasn’t enough, they also had to fight the groan of industry and life from all the pieces and parts of the city that went into maintaining itself. The giant vents blasting steam were bad enough, but the air-scrubbers just droned constantly in a losing battle against the smog and the bloody snow that was rust falling off the upper-strucks.Luckily, Ken didn’t have to fight the city.

All he had to fight were people.

Just people, and while he still had no idea how he was doing it, he was still good enough at it that Zee made it worth his while to keep at it.

And today was another job like the day before.

Guard work, huh. People everywhere liked to keep their stuff secure, whether you were a regular person or a not-so regular person. And merchants were really no different than anybody else. They just usually had a lot more of the same stuff and liked to make as much money off it as possible. That generally wasn’t possible when people with fast feet and quicker hands made it their business to relieve them of said stuff, though.

Which is where they came in.

Their client for the day was a guy named Lin. Guy was being generous, honestly.

Ken had fought not to stare when he’d first seen him, purple eyes blinking over and over. Huh…

Lin looked like a wet rat, first of all.

And that was being nice about it.

To be less nice, Lin looked like an actual rodent blown up to the size of a man, face sparse with hairin the worst way with a nose far too big and pointy for his slick sweaty face and beady dark eyes. On top of that, he smelled like old garlic, and wore a fake leather coat that would have actually looked good on him if it wasn’t also three sizes too big. His stall was almost as bad as he looked — just a chunk of crates stacked atop each other behind a halfway-cracked blast shield — but the merchandise spread across the faded cloth was the real deal.

Old circuits glinted under flickering neon beside the weird crystalline slivers Don called data-shards and the thick tablets Ken now knew as data-slates. All of it a small trove of tech laid out; small, valuable and easy to pocket.

The exact reason Lin needed to hire meat and bone to keep his own safe.

“I… I told the fixer I needed guards.” Lin’s sentence started off a stammer, the man’s nose twitching as he looked from Zee’s neon-pink clothing to the crowd and back again. “N-not a target. You are very… bright.”“The bright helps.” 

Ken wasn’t sure that was one-hundred-percent true, eyes drifting Zee’s way as she popped a small bubble of gum with a grin. Either way, he knew enough to pick his battles and an argument over something that pointless was dumb when they were at work.

“Sides, they see me.” Zee went on, chewing with a grin. “They know I got a reason to be this bright. If they ain’t stupid, they walk. If they are stupid, they crawl.”

Or die… Ken finished the sentence in his head, well aware how easy it was for Zee to put someone down permanently. The job a few days ago was still fresh in his mind, after all, the image of Zee’s short pink-painted nails lashing out in a claw strike. Deep lacerations into neck muscles, shredded tendons, torn open carotid vessels… 

At the very least, Ken knew the guy hadn’t lived long enough to suffer too much.

Vascular damage to the side and front of his neck had meant a relatively quick death pretty much, no more than three minutes, but the tracheal trauma probably knocked him out no more than five seconds in. And that waas assuming the initial shock hadn’t done enough to minimize the pain anyway.

I mean… He lowered his chin, dreadlocks falling forward to shadow his eyes. He was going to kill her, so it’s fair… right? Ken stood to the right of Lin’s vendor stall, back pressed hard against a stack of empty cargo crates. He stayed still, thoughts of violence circling his brain as he tried his best to blend into the background. 

That was already hard enough, considering he was wearing a bright green tunic that looked more out of place than almost anything else around him. Conspicuous or not, Ken liked to think he did his best to be a threatening wall. 

Zee, on the other hand…

Well, she didn't seem to do wall.

She worked the front corner of Lin’s stall, treating it like it was a stage and her own person a personal neon-pink middle finger to the muted grays and browns of the District. She wasn’t leaning against anything either. 

No, as usual, whether she was laying back, sitting down or standing up, Zee looked coiled as ever. Weight balanced perfectly on the balls of her feet, knees bent a fraction, her hands rested loose near the hips of her leggings as amber eyes swept the crowd like a big cat watching a herd of small animals. 

Three scrawny kids drifted closer, each one looking like every other street-pocket Ken had seen in the last near-month; young, impulsive, and desperate — the perfect combination for any crime. Speaking of months, not one of themlooked like they had eaten a proper meal in about that long, hungry eyes locked dead on the bright screen of the nearest data-slate sitting on the edge of the table.

One of them, a kid missing half an eyebrow and sporting a thick burn scar on the cheek right below it, twitched a single dirty hand toward his pocket.

Zee’s head turned his way, a snap of movement an inch to the right that already had the boy flinching. Her lips didn’t move, and neither did the rest of her, as she made eye contact.

The promise of violence was as clear as it was honest, and Ken knew firsthand it was a promise that Zee had no problem making good on. His boss had a stomach for brutality that he didn’t fully understand, but it was as demanding as her actual stomach was for his cooking. What makes a rich girl that angry, though?

Purple eyes spotted the exact moment survival overrode greed, the boy freezing midstep as he swallowed a throat full of nothing. Burnscar grabbed his friend’s jacket, yanking the other boy at his side backward as he hissed something in his ear.One set of wide eyes turned into two, and quickly three, as all of them melted back into the river of foot traffic before they could get close enough for Ken to make out their voices. 

Efficient.

Zee didn’t seem to agree with his thought, fists clenching tight as she stared back out at the potential workout that had gotten her all worked up for nothing.

Somewhere out in the crowd, Don was doing whatever Don did. Gathering rumors, making deals, probably scamming someone out of their lunch money by selling them a piece of half-fixed tech that would break down in hours. Whatever it was, they didn’t have any eyes on him, but that was the point. 

The hours ground down like teeth on a rusted gear, fake suns embedded in the ceiling plates high above shifting from a harsh, flat white to a dirty, bruised orange as morning passed to noon and the market’s main cycle came to a slow close. 

Which meant their shift was over with it.

Lin practically collapsed against his counter as the crowd finally thinned, morning rush easing up to a roar of tens of thousands rather than hundreds. The rat-man reached a trembling hand inside his oversized coat and pulled a grease-stained leather pouch free. Hands shaking so badly the metallic chips inside clinked together, he dumped the payment into Zee’s waiting hand.

Ken only needed a glance inside as Zee opened it to see the glint of metal rather than the dull hue he’d grown used to. Iron Yuan chips. One step up from Gray. 

“Pleasure doing business, Lin-bro!”

Don materialized out of nowhere, clapping the sweaty man hard on the back as Lin jumped with a small squeak. “Call us next time you got the shiny stuff, yeah?” The redhead grinned as wide as ever. “Best guard rates in the Forties!”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

His share of the take felt heavy and real where it sat in Ken’s pocket.

It wasn’t much of course, just a few chips, but they clinked against his thigh as the three of them moved through the thinning crounds of the sump-market with their gig for the day done.

Don was the first to break off without a word, the burly redhead weaving from stall to stall until he finally stopped at an over-filled hole-in-the-wall run by a woman with eyes as mismatched as they were both twitchy — one a simple organic brown, the other a clunky piece with a bright red lens.  

Ken hung back, already following after Don in the first place, just to see how his crewmate talked to merchants. First and foremost, it was obviously more of a dance than he’d been expecting. 

Don leaned in, all charm and distracting wide swings of his arms. The woman leaned back, eyes more on his hand motions than his face as her red eye visibly tracked back and forth with each movement.

“This cracked, see? Gotta knock some Gray off.” Ken didn’t see any crack, at least not from where he stood but Don pointed so confidently at the casing of a data-slate that he assumed it had to be damaged somehow. 

The woman behind the counter clearly didn’t have the same confidence as she waved a hand at Don, scoffing loudly. Ken didn’t hear what came next as Don dropped his voice, lips moving too quick to be read.

Huh? Ken blinked slowly as the woman’s tightly clenched face broke out in an expression he hadn’t expected, the vendor unable to hide a smile. Whatever Don had said, it clearly worked either way. Okay, more of a smooth talker than I thought. And he already thought Don was pretty good at whatever it is he did to get people to work with him.

A few seconds later, Don walked away from the vendor, tossing his new data slate up in the air and catching it. Clearly unbothered about whatever crack was there, he wore a grin that said he’d pretty much jost just robbed her blind.

Probably did. Ken shook his head, fighting a smile. Guy could sell someone their own clothes.

Zee was a straight line compared to Don’s curves. She knew where she was going and she didn’t waste a moment in walking right up to a grim-faced mountain of a man with a face that was more scar than skin.

As soon as she got there, she slapped six iron chips down on the metal counter. "Scrap-shooter rounds. Whole box.”

The dealer didn't argue. 

Hell, the dealer didn’t even speak. 

He just grunted, loud and heavy, one hand swiping the coin as the other pulled a small unmarked box from under the counter and dropped it in front of Zee. She has a gun? Ken frowned as she slid the box into her pocket and stomped off. Hell, the girl was a lethal weapon with hands, knees and nails, even. Since when does she have a gun? 

Zee kept walking, Ken following after her as Don idled from place to place, until she passed a sprawling open-air stall selling scrapped parts for whatever vehicle that could use them.

All of a sudden, the girl in pink stopped.

Those eyes stopped with the rest of her, amber frozen at the sight of an old four-wheeler vehicle stripped all the way down to the bare frame. Useless to anything and anyone but a smelter, it stood as a frame without an engine block, but as sleek as that skeleton was, Ken could tell at least one thing about it.

This used to go real fast.

He didn’t know if Zee was thinking the same but she stepped closer to it either way. Thin fingers, more at home in fists, loosened at her side as her eyes traced the jagged lines of the vehicle and the rust coating it.

Lips moved slowly, whatever Zee had to say eaten up by distance, the thunder of the crowd, and the hiss of the vents nearest her.

Then she blinked, jaw tight again as she turned back their way with a face as hard as it usually was.

…okay.

Yeah, he was gonna let that go. No point in making her m-

All thoughts of Zee slid away a moment later when the smell of something dragged him free from his head.

No, the smell of somethings — spices, earth, and rot — all of them familiar and all so much like home he let his nose guide him rather than his eyes. Don called after him but Ken waved him away without looking as he sniffed the air, passing by so much shine and noise as he let himself be dragged towards something he was sure he wasn’t going to waste his take on. 

It didn’t take long at all before he found himself there. 

Ken stood almost by himself in a quieter corner of the market — relatively, at least ​​— away from the neon and hidden behind a row of rat-meat stalls, right in front of a wide table run by a woman who looked older than Wei liked to pretend he was. The oldest person he’d seen on the city so far, her hair was silver and frizzled even as it stretched down to her arms, face as wizened as her wares. Two men — wide and tall, both with far more fat than muscle — stood on both sides of her stall, lips stained an odd black and with deep-set red-rimmed eyes that narrowed as he approached.

He really couldn’t focus on any of that, though.

No, something else was far more important and deserved his attention.

Mushrooms. 

More than that, there were herbs all over the table. Herbs, roots, barks and petals all laid out in stacks and piled high in bags among so many more variants of fungi. All low-quality, sure, and plenty he couldn’t make out — whether from poor preservation or whatever else — but it was still more of the raw stuff he ever thought he’d see again in this unnatural cityscape.

“Y’lookin’ for some Kell, boyo?” The old lady’s voice warbled his way, Ken’s gaze sliding to look at her as she turned a gummy smile up at him. “Sum’ to ease your days?”Ken blinked at her words, purple eyes flicking to the dark-stained mouths of the guards the old lady could so easily afford despite only selling plants. Oh…

Yeah, that made a lot of sense. 

A little laugh spilled out of him, Ken scratching the back of his neck with one hand. “I… uh, I’m not really looking to get high, ma’am.”

“Oh?” The old drug dealer narrowed her dark eyes as she took him in slowly, from his head of hair all the way down to his clothes. “Then why y’here, boy?”

“Well…” Violet eyes scanned the table, taking in the bizarre collection in front of him as he tried to figure out what he was going to buy. His attention passed over blue caps that he knew more than a few people definitely too to fry their brains, alongside some fat red-veined puffballs that were enough to keep you going for hours and hours and hours. “I was looking for s-”Purple eyes widened as he found something he wasn’t looking for.

Just behind the woman and both her guards, poking out of a decent-sized black bag, was a thick patch of gray fuzz that stood out despite the lack of color. Grave-moss.That stuff, above all else, was something he recognized from Wei’s shop; good stuff, strong stuff, and useful for so much even as it was almost useless on its own apart from a decent dose making you sicker than you’d ever been in your life. It wasn’t even a good poison; obvious to the eye, disgusting in the mouth and too weak in small traces to affect the body.

But it was useful still.

The old woman’s eyes met his as his mouth hung open a second too long, eyes crinkling further as she clearly saw something more that she hadn’t before. “Smart boy.”

They didn’t haggle, Ken not bothering with Don’s dance.

She gave him a price for everything he asked for and he paid it without another word, eight iron chips out of the ten he was paid laid flat on the rough wooden table. She slid the moss into a small, waxed paper bag, beneath all the other herbs with careful hands.

The wrapped bundle felt warm in his hands and when he slid them inside his tunic over his heart, it felt even smaller still.

“Boy.”He had already made to leave when she called for him again. Hm?

Ken turned around to see old eyes glinting his way as she waved those knobby hands his way, clawed fingers wiggling at him. ”Careful with those smarts.”

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

The heavy metal door of the apartment clicked shut, sealing the noise of Floor 144 outside as the three of them entered and immediately split up to do their own thing.

Zee shed her sneakers by the door, still managing to stomp in a pair of pink socks as she took her purchase to her room. The door slammed behind her as Don slumped his way over to the couch, attention down and focused on his slate and whatever he was doing on the gray-plated device.

Ken’s path was different from the both of them.

He wasn’t going to rest or play around.

No, he went straight to the cleared-off section of the kitchen counter he used for work. He pulled the heavy stone mortar and pestle from his satchel, setting them down with a solid thud. The purchase had set him back the last two Iron chips he had left, real granite nearly the same quality as what he’d grown used to in Wei’s shop.It hadn’t been a hard find in the market, but it had definitely been an unexpected one.

Unexpected, but absolutely welcome.

The steady, methodical scrape-grind-scrape of pestle against stone was a calming rhythm he was looking forward to. It was a piece of the old life he still missed, a place that was already ash on the air.

Ken laid his ingredients out in neat piles, both new and old; a hunk Grave-moss sat next to some left-over Iron-vine from this morning’s tonic, along with Ashwood bark, Lockwood root and Tallow. The herbs, earthy and strong, scented through the kitchen; dirt and growth managing to push back the ever-present rust and filth of the outside. He let his mind drift as his hands worked, diligently grinding the moss down into a fine powder until the tips of his fingers were stained a dark gray.

Heh… Looking at it this way… like my nails are painted. 

Almost like Zee, though hers were much neater and far glossier than the dusting he had. 

Zee… Ken let out a breath as he thought back to his crew’s boss. 

Zee was something…

Strong, sure. There was no doubt about that.

If seeing the dense muscle under that pink jacket wasn’t enough proof of that, the way she hit like a piledriver made that clear as day. More than that, though, it was just the sheer skill she had every time she swung out. 

Opening throats and snapping joints with the same hands that painted her nails; he’d be lying if that wasn’t a little terrifying.  I wanna be that strong.

He bore down hard on the pestle, grinding the moss into absolute dust. 

Zee was determined to get him there, at least that’s what she said. She was pushing him every spare moment to train with her, push whatever actual skill he had higher. 

Training or not, Ken knew there was more than one way to reinforce a weak structure. You didn't just have to build thicker walls; you could change the material.

Ironflesh Mash is a simple thing, Kenshi. Wei’s voice drifted from the quiet place in his memory, a calm lecture in warm herb-scented air as the old man tapped a gnarled finger. It teaches most important lesson. Balance.

A pinch of iron-vine was added to the grinded moss, red dust mixing in with gray. Too much catalyst, it becomes brittle. It shatters. He reached for the small vial of tallow, the fatty substance the binding agent and added it drop by drop. Too little, it remains soft. It yields. 

Ashwood came next. The power is not in the ingredients. Then some Lockwood. The power is in the precision.

A small wooden spoon began to stir the mixture, Ken watching it shift from a dull, lifeless brown to a deep metallic gray. By the time he stopped stirring, a thick gray paste sat in the bottom of the bowl, the whole thing smelling of wet stone.

Okay… A single finger dipped into the bowl, a small amount of the substance pooled on the tip of his index. He rolled up the left sleeve of his green tunic, exposing his forearm. His finger met his arm as Ken rolled it into a patch of skin just below his elbow; small tight circles sinking the mash deeper in.

A hiss slipped free from between his teeth, the stuff almost shockingly cold. The cold didn’t last long as the reaction properly started. A strange warmth took over the cold, spreading deeper into the muscle until it began to prickle at his skin.

He watched, violet eyes wide, as the paste sank in, his dark skin shifting until it looked like it had been dusted with gray power on the surface.

Ken set the bowl down, heart beating a little faster now. He reached for his belt and pulled free a small paring knife. He stared at the gleaming edge of the blade for a second before dropping back to his gray-sheened forearm. What if I just do this for nothing?

Curiosity overrode caution and the tip of the blade met treated skin.

Already braced for the sting, Ken winced as the blade dug in, the pressure a dull heavy ache as the metal pushed the muscle deeper toward the bone.

But the skin didn't part.

It didn’t cut, almost like trying to push a dull needle through cured leather. The blade just sat there, dimpling the flesh and refusing to bite.

C-come on. It was insane, he knew that, but that didn’t stop Ken as he grit his teeth, knuckles whitening around the handle of the knife. He pushed even harder, adding more force until his hand physically shook the more he drove the blade down.

Finally — “Ngggh!” — the skin gave.

A single bead of dark red blood welled up from the slightest cut. Barely a scratch, it was more like a papercut and far far shallower than it should have been given all the pressure he’d just applied.

He pulled the knife away, wiping the single drop of blood off with his thumb and stared down at the almost-unbroken metallic-sheened skin underneath.

A slow smile touched his lips. 

This was his. He made this.

"...cool."