Fallax

A slight breeze rustled through the narrow streets, disturbing an old newspaper that had been discarded long ago, the ink so faded that no words could be distinguished on the yellowing paper. There was litter everywhere on the dusty road; syringes, random broken bits of plastic and food wrappers that had been licked clean of any remnants of sustenance. The buildings, which had at one time been cheap but fairly comfortable housing, were mostly dilapidated now, with smashed windows, crumbling brickwork, and some walls that were entirely exposed. There were dusty tarpaulins and bits of canvas hung up to replace the missing walls, where people were still trying to eke out a living in the increasingly dangerous surroundings. The only aspect of the town that was still in perfect condition was the small screens, cased in bullet-proof glass, that were attached to wooden poles in regular intervals along each street. A brightly coloured advert was playing on all of them simultaneously, with attractive, healthy people injecting themselves with some kind of blue liquid, surrounded by their equally healthy, equally attractive family.

“Fallax,” said the patronisingly calm voice from the speakers above each screen, “is the revolutionary new drug that can take you to heaven! Using soul translocation technology, Fallax can transport your brain energy chemically into your very own virtual paradise. Leave behind the limitations of your physical body and transcend. Fallax, make all of your dreams come true.”

Mullo scoffed as he walked by the closest screen. Despite seeing this advert hundreds of times in his travels around these shanty towns and slums, it still annoyed him. The shiny, good-looking people annoyed him, with their smooth skin and soft hair that contrasted greatly with his gruff, unshaven, scarred face and his long, dirty dark hair that he covered with a tattered old cowboy hat. The bright, positive voice annoyed him, with it’s promises for a better life at the small price of 30,000 credits, which was a whole life’s worth of savings for people who lived in places like this. The whole idea of Fallax annoyed him; he had seen the people who used it, emaciated starving people with no home, no family, no hope of life getting any better. The kind of people who scrambled about in the dirt on the outskirts of society as the rich folk in the big cities got fat and lazy with the help of increasingly advanced technology. The city folk didn’t use Fallax, they didn’t need to go to heaven when their real lives were already so perfect. Mullo had never believed that Fallax could really do anything they promised anyway, he rather suspected that it was an elaborate form of population control, to get rid of the unsightly poor people in their run-down towns, so that the big cities could expand further.

Something caught his eye then, a brief glint of light reflected of some kind of metal. He looked over and saw that it had come from a pendant around the neck of a woman. Moving closer, he inspected the scene further, noting the woman, who was clearly no longer breathing, and her gaunt cheeks, dark eye bags and unhealthy pallor that were near-starvation’s unwelcome marks on what could have been a beautiful face. Her left hand, curled in her lap, was clutching an empty syringe with the sickeningly jaunty logo of Fallax on it. Mullo sighed, then knelt down and carefully took the pendant, which was in the shape of heart, from around her neck. He had learnt a long time ago that kindness and respect were not welcome in this kind of life, and stealing from the dead was often the only way to get by.

There was a slight ridge around the edge of the necklace, and Mullo realised that it was a locket. Opening it, he saw a faded picture of two small children smiling. The picture had clearly been handled many times, the edges bent and ripped, with creases all across the front that obscured most of the children’s faces. He found himself wondering who these children were, and if they were still alive. Likely, they had died a long time ago, as children were needy and weak, and parents in these places rarely had enough food to feed themselves, never mind a whole family.

“Oh well, we’ve all lost people,” muttered Mullo to himself, pushing away an unexpected surge of sympathy for this poor woman and what she must have gone through to make her so susceptible to the unbelievable promises that Fallax made.

He stood up, tucking the locket into his pocket, and walked away without looking back. That woman was just one in a long line of desperate people who would rather take the slim chance of finally finding happiness than living one more day in the hell that real life had become. Mullo would never sink that low himself, as long as he kept moving, focusing on his survival rather than luxuries like comfort or joy.

There had been the sound of kids playing some kind of game a few streets away, which had got steadily louder as Mullo had got closer to them, but now it had changed pitch, the normal chatter and whoops turned into panicked screaming and jeering. He ran in the direction of the sound, and came to a small, cobbled alleyway lined with overflowing bins. There was a group of older teenaged boys gathered there, aged between 18 and 20, and one of them was holding a younger boy of maybe 13 or 14 tightly by the arm, threatening him with a syringe he had found from somewhere. The syringe had already been used once, but there was a small amount of the deadly blue liquid left in it; more than enough to kill a boy of that size.

Mullo stayed out of sight, ducking around the entrance to the alley, and looked at the younger boy, who’s face was contorted with fear. He had dark brown hair and a freckled face, with a small nose and a weak chin, and the sight of him sparked a memory in Mullo. He could see another boy in his mind, a little bit younger and a lot more filled out than this malnourished specimen, but with the same dark hair and freckles. He was laughing, playing by himself in a playground, looking over to make sure that his father had seen the great cartwheel that he had just done.

“Well done son,” Mullo had said, all those years ago, when life had still meant something, “I’m so proud of you.”

The world went red. Seeing that young boy in danger, so helpless and scared, had sparked something in Mullo that he had never experienced before. He ran out from his hiding place and charged straight over to the boy who was holding the syringe and yanked it out of his hand. The kid gasped and looked up at him, frozen in place with shock, and Mullo growled, pushing him roughly in the chest so that he fell backwards onto the floor. He then hit him hard in the jaw, feeling the bone break as blood spurted out of his mouth and nose.

“Leave him alone, you cocky piece of shit,” he roared in the boy’s face, hitting him again, this time in the nose.

That should have been the end of it, Mullo realised later, the kid had learnt his lesson, with a broken jaw and nose to remind him never to do it again, but he kept going. He kept hitting him, over and over again, his head crashing against the floor hard, until he stopped moving.

Slowly, he stood up and turned to face the rest of the bullies. Unsurprisingly, they had fled the minute he had joined the fight, but the younger boy was still there. Mullo smiled at him, feeling good that he had saved his life, and expecting some sort of thanks, but the boy just stared, horrified, at the young man on the floor, then at Mullo’s hands, which were covered in his blood, then burst into tears and ran away as fast as he could.

Mullo’s smile slipped from his face as he considered what he had done. He looked down at the boy, his face disfigured, bruised and bleeding, but still evidently young: a man, but barely so. Kneeling down, he felt the boy’s wrist for a pulse, and found none. The red mist in his mind had dissipated by now, and he was left feeling completely lost, with only a dead boy and the realisation that he had become a monster left to keep him company. For so long, he had ignored the loss he felt, hoping that it couldn’t hurt him anymore, but for it to come out like this… he had become something worse than everything he had been fighting.

Numbly, he stood up and started walking back down the alleyway. Behind him, he could hear shouting, but he ignored it, continuing his mindless amble back into the terrible town, the stench of death burning his nostrils.

“You killed my son!” the shout came from close behind him, a low baritone voice that cracked with grief.

Mullo did not turn, instead bowing his head and falling to his knees, as though before a firing squad. The shot came then, from a gun that was probably the only thing that had kept that family from starving all these years, the bullet burying itself in his left shoulder. The pain spread quickly, a blinding, searing pain that doubled him over until he was lying down, curled up on the dusty ground. As his vision went blurry, he fumbled for the syringe he had taken from the teenagers earlier. He still did not believe that he would find paradise, God knows his life was far from it, but right now, as he could feel the life seeping from him, and he realised it was his only chance to find out if something more, something better, was out there. With numb fingers, he found an exposed part of skin on his arm and plunged the syringe into it, injecting the blue liquid into his blood stream. Losing consciousness even quicker now, his hand brushed against the heart shaped locket. He pulled it out and opened it, squinting so that the two children in the picture melded into one, a young boy with dark hair and freckles.

The world went dark, then a small circle of light appeared in the centre of his vision, which grew and grew until…

“Dad?”