She walked past doorways and drunken patrons, then parked cars and drunker patrons. This was followed by smoking hotel staff and the sound of rock music. Then, she passed a few crummy dumpsters with a few grubby men chucking garbage into them. After that, her destination was in sight and her pace slowed to a near crawl.
She found herself in a darkened alleyway, lit dimly by a far-off set of industrial lights, and a filthy bulb that blinked on and off while being bopped into by flittering moths. Despite the chill, the alleyway was warm with the steam of nearby industrial equipment that worked the innards of the Metropol’s many kitchens. A sticky yuk clung to the much-less elegant walls in a moldy spattering that Lena didn’t dare touch or brush against, lest Vivika’s borrowed finery be irreparably mussed.
The underbelly of alleyways was old hat to her very nature. Yet tonight, it felt strangely unfamiliar as it intermingled with her newfound sense of purpose and the mission at hand. Her senses heightened as the fog of night folded around her. She was almost to the meeting place, and she had to remain unseen.
“…there, boy!” an older man’s barely-audible voice echoed from several meters away.
“…won’t apologize for how I feel!” a younger man’s retort echoed as well.
“…filthy little… aren’t you?… would just love that, wouldn’t you?”
As Lena tiptoed closer, down an alleyway that was sticky with steam from the nearby heating units and exhaust from the kitchens, more of the conversation came into focus.
“I’ve already been fired!” the voice of Patrick wailed in a boyish tone, “What more can I do? You wish to humiliate me?”
“Humiliation won’t cut it!” the voice of Lord Piggy shouted back, “No, that won’t nearly cut it. What in the world possessed you, child?! Thinking to embarrass me like that? What in the world were you thinking?!”
“I’ve already told you how I feel, haven’t I?!” Patrick cried incredulously, through perfectly-formed tears.
“You’re a cheeky little abomination, aren’t you?!”
As Lena moved closer, the scene came fully into view despite the steam-filled air. Patrick was backed against a wall, cowering low, as the idiot domineered over him. Occasionally, he would push Patrick, or smack him on the face. Patrick would recoil with every blow, crying harder and harder. She knew him to be tougher than the swats of this filthy slug; yet she hated the scene all the same. He might have been ‘at work’, but he didn’t deserve such treatment, or such insults.
“Yes. Yes!” Patrick shouted covering his face, “Whatever you say! Please stop hitting me!”
“Why should I?! You’re nothing to me! Nothing! You hear me?!”
“Yes, Sir. If that’s what you want me to be! I’m nothing!”
“I’m a powerful man! You’re a disgrace… a worthless abomination. I should beat you to a pulp right here!”
As the beating continued, Lena became wholly enraged, “Who the hell does this asshole think he is?!” Whether or not Patrick was playing a part was irrelevant—no one deserved to be treated like that. Not anyone. Especially for having feelings, whether they were put on or not. Hell, half of her band had the same urges, and no one had a thing to say about it in the scene. In contrast to the rest of the world, punks almost seemed to relish alternative sexuality, if for no other reason than how much it pissed off the Politburo.
She marveled to herself how the varied miscreants in her scene could be so violent and drawn towards filth—yet they were so accepting of, well, people. Regardless of how you were on the outside, all Lena’s people cared about were how well you moshed, and how many Sex Pistols’ lyrics you knew. Yet this pompous bastard at the upper-echelons of society was not only the picture of intolerance, he was so… so… “ugh!” she thought to herself.
As Patrick apologized more, and cried harder, and the sack of lard laughed louder and louder, Lena resolved to accomplish her next step as perfectly as she could. This would be her revenge against the walking blubber-pile. As she pulled out her pen, and twisted off the top of it to expose the sensitive lens underneath, she prayed that she would get the most damning shots possible, “I’ll teach this sack of shit a lesson!” she vowed.
As the seconds ticked on, however, and the scene went from violent to wrong, and then wrong to… something that couldn’t be described easily with words… she realized the horrid direction that this was headed. It was urgent now: a terrible sin near committing, and a vile, unearthly act that earned its committer to the darkest, hottest cells that Hell could possibly manifest. As realization dawned, her anger changed then… no, it couldn’t be anger. It was sheer rage—unbridled, hateful, rage.
She watched every horrible second with utter disgust, but was determined to capture the very worst of it with her camera. She wanted to see the look in the bastard’s eyes—to watch him crumble when he was finally exposed. And she wanted him to know it was her that did it. As the abuse became more and more pronounced, Lena fantasized about the pictures she was taking, and how they would be received. Her adrenaline screamed through her veins so fast, she heard her own heartbeat in her ears. The urgency of her rage filled her so completely, then. She would watch. She would see every second. And she vowed revenge as Patrick’s pants came off.
“Click, click, click, click, click…” The sound of the tiny camera was impossible for the two in front of it to hear.
“Is this how your kind likes it?!” Lord Piggy bellowed. Patrick had nothing to say in response.
“Click, click, click, click…” A few more minutes passed by as the tears streamed down her cheeks. Her sight blurred as her eyes filled with water, and her hands shook. She bit her lower lip so hard, she tasted blood. And her heart beat so fast and violently, she was afraid she would lose all control and kill the filthy prick herself. Patrick was screaming now.
“That’ll do, young one.” a voice whispered behind Lena, startling her.
“Who…!!!” she turned to defend herself, only to come face-to-face with Wart-face.
“There’s a few things your young eyes shouldn’t see this early in life.” he whispered to her, as he grabbed her arms and squeezed them hard, “You’ve done your job well. Let me take it from here.”
“But… but they’re…” Lena sobbed at him, as Patrick’s screams filled the alleyway.
“I know, young one. I know.” Wart-face whispered gently, “But it’s a game he agreed to play. Now, get back to the room. You’ve got more work to do.”
As Lena half-ran, half-crept out of the alleyway, her path blinded by the tears streaming out of her eyes, she vowed to get revenge. She didn’t know how, or when. She just knew she would. It wasn’t a hope… it was a promise.
Katharsis
As Lena’s walk turned into an awkward run, then back into a breathless walk, she realized she was still stress-clicking away picture after picture; probably of her shoes, or the alleyway, or the dumpsters. She quickly put the pen back into her purse with a shudder, feeling filthy for even having the thing. Replacing the pen with her pack of cigarettes and pulling one out, she lit it. She then continued stumbling on wobbly legs. Soon enough, it became apparent that her legs were simply too rubbery to get her anywhere in an expedient fashion. Thus, she ducked behind a dumpster where she could fill her head with the noxious, calming plume.