Starting Lines
769 Words
Third-floor stairwell.
Sebastian yanked his arm from Victor’s grip. “Don’t stop me—I’m asking Marcus why the hell I’m reassigned to logistics.”
“You fit for frontline?” Victor glared. “Wake up—stop dragging others down. Last night’s mess—everyone’s pissed. You storm Marcus now, you’re walking into the barrel. He snaps—you’re done.”
“…”
They argued when Julian came down. “What’s this?”
Both froze.
“Can’t yell somewhere else? Embarrassing?” Julian frowned. “Come on—outside. I need a word with Sebastian anyway.”
Sebastian hesitated, then let Julian and Victor drag him out.
…
Downstairs.
Evelyn blinked her big eyes at the duty officer. “I’m Network Broadcast reporter. Found people selling overpriced smuggled meds around Slag Row. Undercover—they spotted us, took my camera.”
“Know them?”
“No.”
“Fill this form. Copy ID. Time, place, details.” The officer tossed a statement sheet.
Evelyn sat, filled it carefully, handed back. “Good? You’ll arrest?”
“Go home. We’ll investigate.”
“My camera’s still there—they haven’t left. Go get it!”
“Teaching me procedure?” The officer leaned back. “Home. We’ll call.”
“You—” Evelyn flushed. “Fine. Is Julian here?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait.” Attitude softened. He radioed.
Minute later, he shook head. “Julian’s out.”
Evelyn deflated. “Come with me then—retrieve the camera?”
“Can’t now. Report up chain—procedure.”
“Unbelievable.” Evelyn cursed, grabbed bag, left.
…
Breakfast shop next to department.
Sebastian stared numbly at the whole-grain buns.
“Don’t take it hard,” Julian ate, trying comfort. “Logistics transfer—Marcus is angry…”
Sebastian eyes red, murmured staring palm. “Not fair.”
Victor—hot-tempered, already mad about last night—exploded. “What the f**k not fair? You screwed up—punishment wrong? I told you—you’re not cut for frontline. Dreaming promotion… now? You didn’t just screw yourself—you screwed colleagues. If Silas Hart was caught last night, brass would reward everyone. Because you froze—no shot—we’re punished, and Zabby’s dead.”
Julian silent.
Sebastian lifted head, face blank. “Victor—ever judge before knowing details?”
“Details? Tell me—why no shot?” Victor slammed bowl.
Sebastian fists clenched, stared seconds, gritted. “Fine—I was wrong. I own it.”
“You damn well were.”
“But you never wrong?” Sebastian countered.
Victor speechless.
“But I never made principle mistakes,” Sebastian voice shook, looking at Julian and Victor. “Since day one—walked on eggshells. Never erred. To make second-class—few hundred more a month—I took department first, headquarters shooting top three. Right?”
Julian stunned—he hadn’t known Sebastian’s shooting honors.
“Honors—no real reward. Mistake—punishment. Fair?” Sebastian eyes wet. “Second-class—one word from above. Why never me? Nominated yearly—always runner-up. Right, Victor?”
Victor never heard Sebastian like this—stunned.
“We’re different!” Sebastian hoarse. “You have Elliot shielding—mouth off anyone, curse Marcus when mad. Me? Wrong word—offend someone—home tomorrow. No job—mom’s illness who pays? Sister who feeds? You?” He low roared. “You live life—I beg survival. I don’t risk because I can’t. Two mouths wait for my paycheck—three days no work, they starve. You have backing—I have burdens. You judge from height—I bow forever. Maybe one day, I give everything—just reach your starting line. That’s it.”
Sebastian stood, numb. “Eat. I’m gone.”
“Sebastian!” Julian called.
He didn’t turn—walked alone.
Victor frowned, sipped porridge.
Long pause. Victor low. “Was I too harsh?”
“Yeah,” Julian nodded.
“I’m worried for him…”
…
Snow fell.
Sebastian walked stiff on empty road, wanting liquor to drown sorrow—but pocket check: cheapest bottle twenty-five NeoDollars…
He endured, walked home.
…
Somewhere in Slag Row.
Silas Hart smoked, frowned at Elias Cross. “When can I leave?”
“Arranging—day or two.”
“Need out once before.”
“Don’t be stupid—whole city hunting you,” Elias urgent.
“Leaving—who knows when back.” Silas low. “One wish—finish it.”
- Writer
