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Description
Chesi inhaled the almost toxic air, eyes closed, thoughts racing. He stood in an alley that branched off the main hub of the Berlin sprawl. Neon lights flooded the hub just a few yards away but here it was dark. The sounds of the city were muted, blocked by the walls of the brick buildings on either side of him. Lank brown hair fell over his pallid forehead and drifted onto his closed eye-lids. The cold kiss of his pitted pistol the only thing he could feel as it rested on his temple. He did this often. It brought him a sense of control, and a hint of danger not available in his daily life. He couldn’t change the way his overprivileged bosses yelled at him, the long hours he spent slaving away for a soulless corporation for no credit or appreciation, and barely any pay. He hated the smell of the sprawls, the sounds on the street comprised of the countless bodies blindly clamoring and jostling. Even the saturated rainbow of light oozing from innumerous neon signs and holograms made him sick.
Here in the dark, with death just a twitch away, this was escape. There was virtual stuff like this, sure. Russian Roulette games and suicide simulators. Chesi wasn’t some digisheep who could only get his thrills through V.R. With his finger gently toying with the trigger he knew what real mortal fear felt like. Every time it was exhilarating. A sudden shout or car alarm could jolt him and cause his trigger finger to twitch. Maybe someone would come running down the alley trying to lose the cops and bump him, painting the alley with his own brain matter.
Alas, no surprising sound rose above the sea of light and pressing shapes. Not even a cat in the nearby trashcan to startle him. Sighing, Chesi pulled the pistol from his head and clicked the safety before sticking it back into the waistband of his grimy jeans. He glanced at the cracked watch on his left wrist. Lunch break was almost over, time to get back to work.

Living in the Underworld, as they called the lower part of The Divide, meant standing in long lines just to get to the surface. Chesi stood impatiently as the groups in front of him positioned themselves on the massive lift. When one went up, another quickly replaced it, it reminded him of the notches on a chainsaw. He got up on the wide metal platform mechanically, the line slowly moving dreary eyed wageslaves like a sluggish conveyor belt dropping off an endless supply of goods. A young girl with a pony tail, probably eight or nine years old, noticed the blackened flamethrower slung across his back and let out a shriek of joy while pointing excitedly.
“Daddy! It’s an Incinerator!” She squealed.
The worn down looking father glanced at Chesi with disinterest, “Yes it certainly is.” He uttered. The girl wasn’t put off by her father’s lack of enthusiasm.
“Hey mister, have you ever burned anyone alive?” She asked before her dad could stop her.
Chesi answered without skipping a beat, “A few. They were too contaminated to be let back into society.”
“Oh.” She said, eyes growing even wider as the lift began to rise slowly upwards. “Can your flamethrower really melt plascrete?”
“Of course.” He replied bemused. People rarely took interest in Incinerators. They were on about the same level of awe as dishwashers or garbage men. “This bad boy can turn anything to slag given a few minutes. Nothing can survive a concentrated blast, not even the most resilient of organisms.”
“Oh.” She said again. “Can I touch the flamethrower?”
Out of the corner of his eye Chesi saw the father about to object, but the girl was too cute to refuse. He unstrapped the flamer and knelt down so she could get a good look.
“Wow! This is amazing!” She grasped the sooty nozzle and ran her hand the length of the barrel and coming away with black palms.
“Thanks a lot asshole, now she’s going to ruin her dress!” The father frowned down at them.
“Daddy, daddy! I want to be an Incinerator!”
Dad shook his head disapprovingly. “No you don’t baby, you’re going to be something great, I know it. Come away from him, I’m sure he has things to melt down.”
They had reached the top of the lift, and the father was pulling his daughter towards an Autocab terminal. The girl waved as she was pulled away, and Chesi waved back with a smile on his lips. He never learned her name. He was never able to tell if hers was among the death toll he’d read later that day. For a few hours though, the day seemed brighter.