Skint

He stepped out of the bathroom wearing his new suit and straightened his tie, a piece of paper stored in his shirt pocket. The flickering fluorescent glow of the hydroponic lamps lit the deep trenches of his withered skin, casting twisted shadows on the stained cinderblock walls. Polished shoes skirted along the grainy, concrete floor where dust stirred in a dying breeze. The stagnant air would have been unbreathable were it not for the narrow window open near the ceiling. Not that it helped. All that blew in was more dust.

He shuffled past the imposing block of electronics in the centre of the room and to the breaker box. Switches were flicked and lights quietly distinguished, met with disgruntled moans from the rooms above. A new light shone from within the tangled mass of wires and metal. Good.

Final adjustments made, he heaved himself into position and spluttered alongside the machine which now whirred with excited strain. The button was pressed and the dust settled.

***

John hoisted a bucket into his cradled grasp and staggered clumsily to refill the robotic floor cleaner. The tiled floor of the café was coated in grease, gaining a blue sheen from the electric fly killer on the wall. He locked the storeroom and powered down the electronic barista, loathing it for the squeaky joint in its left elbow. Then a stranger opened the door. Finding a seat, he mumbled with a sandpaper voice,

“I’ll skip the monologuing. Don’t even wanna look at you… pathetic as I remember.” John stood in shocked silence. “I’m you. Just older.”

“Sorry, do I know you?”

“You will,”

“We’re closed,” he pushed the old man to his feet and towards the door. The stranger grabbed his shoulder with a crushing grip, the sagged skin of his hand gathering like cloth. His jacket sleeve shifted to reveal a red stain on his cuff.

“Listen to me you little degenerate, I’m helping us here. Think you’ve got it rough? Just you wait. Our brother? Dead. Mum and Dad? Gone. Your house gets robbed, you lose your job, your money, your friends, everything. We get mugged in the street and now I’m a damned cripple”, he gestured to the useless limb he limped in on.

“I don’t care mate,”

“You’ll care when they take Mallory,” he grunted,

“How do you-”

“I don’t know who’s behind it, I only know someone that can help. Go to this location on this date. Dress well. You’ll meet someone there that can fix things. He made the machine I used to get here. I’m too old for it now, that’s why I’ve come to warn you. Don’t end up like me.”

He’d pushed a crumpled piece of paper into John’s palm during his ramblings despite the young man recoiling violently,

“Get out!” he spat, pushing the intruder back into the receding light of dusk. He brushed off his suit indignantly and shambled away. Insane. Blackout drunk at the very least. Even so, John pocketed the paper before locking the café door with shaking hands.

***

The taxi sat outside the decrepit block of flats whilst John dragged himself out, thanking the non-existent driver out of habit and watching it drive away on its own. He leaned on his good leg and checked the address one last time. It had been thirty years since he was given the note but he looked fifty years older. The sound of his arrhythmic footsteps echoed off the cracked asphalt as he made his way to the door and through the lobby. He regained his breath before reaching, tortoise-like, for the door and peeked down into the musty basement.

“Hello?” John’s voice was muted to a whisper, as if the walls themselves were pushing against it. He could hear frantic scurrying before a lanky figure emerged theatrically at the foot of the stairs.

“So today is the day…”

“Sorry?”

“Oh it’s nothing. John I presume?” he stepped into the light, revealing his face and wafting the stench of his body odour up the stairs. His skin was stretched tight over the greasy, thin-haired scalp through which he ran his long fingers. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m Stanley”, he gritted his teeth as he smiled, squeezing John’s hand a little too hard.

“Do I know you?”

“You did,” he smiled again, leading the way down the stairs to reveal a large machine crouching under the low ceiling, a mess of wires with a small chamber in the middle.

He found himself guided to a chair and pushed into it, “I just finished this off, funnily enough” Stanley chuckled, “I assume you still don’t recognise me?”

“I-”

“No? We went to university together, remember?”

“Wait-”

“You humiliated me John,” the smile disappeared and a coldness seeped into his slimy voice.

“You- wait. The nut that came at me with the scissors?”

“You humiliated me and you took Mallory from me, you-”

“I didn-”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Stanley composed himself, “It was me the whole time you idiot. I killed her, and your family. I mugged you, crippled you. I broke you. Oh, the joy of seeing you suffer pales in comparison to seeing you anticipate it, paranoid and penniless.” His eyes bulged as he laughed, “And to think you fell for it. What happens will always happen John, you’re clearly still too dumb to realise that.”

“I didn’t do anyth-”

John moved to stand when a device clamped around his neck, cutting him short. A brief buzz later and his face slackened as he slumped from the chair to the concrete floor. The small mechanism jolted into action, spraying blood outwards, spattering the suit that Stanley was soon to commandeer.

“Sorry to cut our reunion short, I’ve got an old friend to meet.”

***

The crumpled mass of what was once John sat in a dark corner, Stanley’s device discarded next to it.

Standing before a mirror, he contorted himself into John’s frame, securing the seam running down his back with pins and bulldog clips whilst he sweated within. He shifted the mask to align with his own grinning features but the skin sagged around his eyes and what felt like reams of chafing, well-worn fabric gathered under his clothing. It would do, he already knew it had worked.

He picked up the piece of paper that John had brought with him and pushed it into his shirt pocket. Straightening up as best he could, Stanley stepped out of the bathroom wearing his new suit.