The Metal Slabs

The following is a historical article, taking place some time around 995AE.

Julian flicked his cigarette into a puddle as he rounded the corner, the last of his lungful of smoke wafting lazily from his nostrils and the corner of his mouth. It had been raining on this part of the city for nearly a day straight now, and everything was totally drenched. Only the most desperate and destitute were on the streets tonight.

He looked up as he wandered down the alleyway, expression vacant and mind on his business, the newcomers' awe of the inverted city high above long lost on his uncaring old eyes. Tortuga was just the same old shithole as far as he was concerned, and the "magic" of a city built on the inside of an asteroid had worn off decades ago.

Having thoroughly soaked Julans clothes and spirit, the clouds were finally beginning to creep around the lip of the asteroid and onto the external surface. They would empty themselves there and reform above the catchments on the Eastern side of Farsheek as soon as they had gone. There were some parts of the city the rain didn't ever end. Sometimes metaphorically as well as literally.

Spitting at the feet of some disease-riddled whore trying her luck on a mysterious stranger, Julian lit up another cigarette. The air was still thick with rain and her strawlike hair hung by her face, giving her a gaunt and fearsome appearance. She was certainly trying to achieve the opposite effect.

He arrived at his destination: a hole-in-the-wall bar with a bare wood door probably once painted the same dark green which still stained the bricks around the frame. Stepping inside, he waved away bouncers who backed off as soon as they saw his face. They knew who he was, and Julian liked that. A bit of the respect he deserved.

The bar was all but empty: A couple grizzled patrons sat at splintering tables holding chipped steins while a disinterested bartender dried glasses as he pulled them from an archaic dishwasher.

There was a faint murmer in the room as low voices spoke with hushed words, keeping to themselves, their business their own. Nobody wanted to stand out in this arse of an establishment.

Placing his large hand on a door labelled 'staff only', and Julian shoved his way into what at first glance was just a dingy kitchen, but on closer inspection was something more.

Four blind men sat around the room, staring into their own unseeing voids. They tensed as they heard the door thump open, hands moving almost imperceptibly towards what could only be concealed weapons. Most weapons weren't likely to be very effective in the hands of blind men, but Julian knew that the high impact explosives worn under their thick coats were more than effective enough.

Before any could open their mouths, Julain spoke first. It was a single word: A password. The mood in the room immediately shifted. It was not a relaxing of tensions, but a change in the source of the suspense; now the unseen newcomer was both an ally and a source of terror.

Julian keyed a code into a hidden lock at the back of the room, every footfall and hand movement heard acutely through the fine-tuned ears of the men who could not see.

The door creaked open and Julian walked into a freezer. There were no guards here but the bitter cold, and his fingers numbed in seconds. They were not numb enough that they couldn't key in a final password though, and at last Julian emerged into the secret room which had been so carefully hidden.

Rows upon rows of towering machines hissed and roared below the elevated door, their mechanical screams unheard through the excessive soundproofing thick on every wall. Metal slabs, perhaps 7 feet by 5 and a half swivelled and moved from one machine to the next, their cargo being moulded and shaped to precise instructions; parts removed and added, delicate embellishments moulded to precise measurements.

Julian slouched along the catwalk bolted to the wall, feet carrying him to the wart of an office growing from the soundproofed wall on the left side of the open space.

"Julian." Came the familiar basso voice through the door. "I'm so glad you're here." The words were rich with warm greeting and honeyed tone, but they sent a shiver up Julian's spine nonetheless. There was something off about the voice, like it was supposed to be thin and tinny; a bearlike growl from a bloated squirrel.

Julian pushed open the door to the office and his ever so familiar giant of a compatriot stood from his desk, hands open in greeting. The man was enormous, easily dwarfing Julian's own 6-foot-four frame. Not only was he tall, but he was broad too; bloated with huge, unnatural muscle.

"How did it go?" Said the man, rich deep voice filling the space just as much as his hulking form.

"No problem." Julian said, drawing his cigarette to his lips, his voice small and shoulders hunched. "Just like you said."

"Just like I said." The other man echoed. "Why don't you trust me more?" He said, smiling amusedly.

"I do, I just-"

"Now, you know I don't like when you smoke in here."

"Ah, I, sorry, I'm-" Julian sputtered, and made to douse the cigarette. He paused for a second, a spark of rebellion flaring in his mind. Had he not founded this venture? Was he not just as entitled to its success? He opened his mouth and squared his shoulders, righteous monologue tugging at his tongue.

"Listen, I think-"

His head spun 720 degrees before he even hit the ground, eyes boggling at the speed of the bigger man even after he was already dead.

His body thumped into the ground, head hitting it a split second later with a horrific crack. The shocked expression never left his face.

"It was only a matter of time I suppose." Sighed the big man, sweeping a stray hair back into place.

He bent and grabbed Julian's soaking collar with one hand and lifted him bodily from the floor, dragging his dripping feet along the metal slats. A back door to the squat office led downstairs to the factory floor where two more people waited: a man and a woman, both perfect in every regard. The man stood only inches shorter than his obvious superior at nearly 7 feet tall.

He was shirtless, and the clear, hairless skin on his thickly muscled chest shone with health and the sickly glow of the factory lights.

Her body was the picture of conventional attractiveness: an hourglass with round breasts and broad hips, veiled in fitted fatigues.

His hair, like his associate's, was shiny and smooth, straight and jet black. His face a vision of Aryan beauty, hers of African divinity.

Julian was thrown at their feet, the crunch of his bones against the floor drowned out by the chatter and squeal of machines.

"One more." The big man said, and turned on his heel.

The perfect people bowed and hefted Julian's body from the floor with ease, dropping it in place on a raised platform under a large suspended machine. A tall robotic arm picked up the corpse and placed it effortlessly on a metal slab. The slab was one of many such slabs, each about 7 feet by 5 and a half.