Kings of Hell

Casey’s POV

I’m just relaxing in my Club Mansion, surrounded by strippers, thinking about Dale being a total liability when he’s going off his killer instinct, when I get a small knock at the door.

A little girl is escorted in by my security.

I try not to roll my eyes.

Little shit head.

Wendy waltzes in, in her work clothes for ULTRA, looking hungry.

Always a hungry little orphan. I might pity one for being one, but I knew how crafty these little fuckers could be.

I wave off the strippers, “Go to the bedroom, have some fun,” I murmur to the girls and squeeze one ass as she puts my palm into the curve of her thigh.

I watch them walk off, while I turn down the music off my remote and turn on the lights.

It wasn’t appropriate otherwise.

I sit wearing my clean suit, over a table of money and cards and lingerie, while Wendy walks in one shuffle at a time. She entered with a smile. But now she’s looking sad.

“…the hell are you doing here?” I ask it gently, despite my initial want to snap at her for interrupting.

Wendy looks around my Club Mansion, “Nice place,” she means it, like she’s never seen this kind of luxury before, “Dale told me to talk to you. I found out some intel,” she bites her lip as she shuffles around the room and looks at the collected Old World art you could only get in FC. I say nothing, kind of feeling bad she looks so worn out. Kind of.

“There’s spare guest rooms upstairs, you can sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow,” I suggest, while I dust off my pants of cigar ash and stand up.

“Viola was my martial arts teacher, how did she die?” Wendy asks it innocently, wanting to know. But the question completely catches me off guard.

The strippers are in the room where Viola died from her DNA naturally breaking down. The death was sped up with a lethal injection to help her pass on, her own wish.

Wendy really had to do me like this.

I swivel to the room where I hear the girls playing funny games behind the door.

I don’t want them in there anymore.

My heart can’t take it.

“Hey,” Wendy calls out, “I-I’m sorry if that was insensitive.”

Shit.

Get it together.

I turn back to Wendy, and I try to explain neutrally, with a hand out, “She died from natural causes,” I say it, but I don’t expect tears to be brewing behind my eyes. Fuck. Fuck you Wendy. I reach into my pocket and pretend to look at my phone, while also seeing the time, “…it’s fucking 3am… 3am… why did Dale send you here?” I snarl this time, “What’s so important? Is there a bomb threat to the city –?”

“No. I met a man, Colonel Hubert, who said they injected me with SD, and they made me an Ultimate, to understand how your family was made. Then he made a deal with me to give me a new car, if I were to kill all of you. He called you all freaks of nature that shouldn’t exist. Atlantis is experimenting with SD. That’s it. Report done. I’m out,” Wendy salutes me and turns to the door.

“Wait a fucking second – where are you going now?” I ask, my mind racing.

“I’m hungry,” Wendy stands still and talks to the door.

“Then go to the fridge, little miss,” I shake my head in exasperation as I walk over to her facing the door all sad and pouty. I close it since it’s ajar and I lock it before she tries to wander off alone, to somewhere she could get hurt. Wendy steps back and looks up at me, eyes wide and thinking deep about everything, as an Ultimate would. It was intriguing, for sure, and what she said was vital information. But for now, it was making sure she knew the rules, “You don’t wander FC alone. You go with me from now on.”

“I’ve been alone for a long time now –” she tries to say it strong.

“Being Ultimate puts you at risk.”

“Aren’t I better than everyone else?” Wendy asks, looking annoying.

“Your DNA is valuable, you’re not going out alone again, you can live here, I don’t care if you want a room, take one –” as I’m offering it, she backs up and suddenly lifts her chin higher, a smile blooming on her face.

“No strippers,” Wendy announces, in a royal tone, including holding up a hand, “No drugs. No alcohol. No naked anyones,” she slips that in quickly, and waits expectedly for my answer, “I’m 16,” she finally adds on, to further her statement.

“When I grew up, I just closed the door… but at least I had a vault blocking out most of the noise,” I joke, while also being serious.

I was going to tell them to fuck off anyway, so…

Hell.

Why not.

I walk over to the bedroom and I glance in, letting the girls know to leave.

When I glance back, Wendy is already rummaging through the fridge, taking out everything.

I try not smile, because I used to do the exact same thing.

I liked to make odd combinations of food.

I put away the alcohol and my cigars while the strippers run out the door, sulking.

The moment they’re gone, Wendy yells out, “Finally! What a bunch of sluts!” she angrily butters some bread, while I stack the cards.

“Don’t call them that,” I murmur over the stacks of money, trying not to laugh.

“Sluts!” Wendy is just being funny, I think, or awkward, as she slams two pieces of bread together and shoves it into her mouth – moaning while walking to pour orange juice, “Halleluiah,” she speaks with her mouth full.

“What, you’ve never had orange juice before?” I waltz over when I’m done briefly cleaning the shit away, too entertained by her performance of being moody as shit. I’m pretty sure she had a crush on me.

“Nah,” Wendy takes a few drinks, “Argh,” she burps after drinking too fast, “My parents fed me… protein bars, blergh… jelly… mush… grool… they were cruel, never generous, and injected me with drugs… wooOOo,” she pretends to act drugged up, and spins around and slams the fridge shut, before facing me and leaning back on the fridge, smiling with her hands behind her back, trying to look cool, “Thanks for letting me stay the night… the… more than a night,” she corrects herself.

I’m just listening to every word, when it dawns on me this is what I used to sound like… exactly like this… to Viola… who was always older than me. Always four years and four steps ahead. And I never knew how to catch up.

Wendy was way younger than me, barely an adult, but reminded me of those good memories. It’s a nice feeling. Now I don’t mind so much that she mentioned Viola before.

“Viola was the love of my life and I’ll never love again,” I say it in a way that I can get it off my chest, and I feel lighter, “She taught me how to be a man.”

“You look like you’ve been a man forever,” Wendy says, goofy, while she steps forward to butter more bread.

“Growing up isn’t fun, Wendy,” I take the bread from her, and I eat it myself. She gawks at her empty hand, while I explain, “People take shit from you. People call you names. People steal and lie. That’s why you have to be a tough fucker. Especially in Frankincense City. People you love will die.”

Wendy stops smiling.

Ah, shit.

Death.

She killed her family.

Poor choice of words?

“If you ever want talk about it,” I try to fix what I just blew, “I’m here –”

“I know life is fucked up, you thick idiot,” Wendy flips me the bird and walks out of the kitchen, toward the club mansion stairs and the guest rooms, “…fuck yourself.”

I’m left shell shocked trying to understand if she meant it the way I thought she did.

Did she think I was going to f –

Geez.

She was fucking crazy.

“In your dreams, little miss,” I mock her as she stomps up the stairs, “If that was you flirting by the way, get a boyfriend and learn a thing or two, and grow up… twenty more years,” I murmur to myself, screwing up my face at the thought.

Wendy has stopped stomping.

When I glance up, I see her looking at me with tears in her eyes on the last step.

Then she runs the rest of the way.

Oh… was I too mean?

Hmm. No. No I wasn’t.

At some point, you had to learn.

The life of an adult wasn’t the dream or the paradise you imagined as a kid it would be. Where you can make your own decisions, and drive your own car and it’s all freedom. It was cursed freedom.

The life of an adult was just hard.

Only sometimes it made sense.

While sometimes it threw curve balls.

Wendy sure was one of those.

I wanted to help the shithead, but I don’t know if she was willing to listen to a superior.

She needed a friend more than anything.

But did I want to be her friend?

No fucking way.

What a – what a waste of fucking time.

I don’t know why I sent those strippers away now. Fuck. I stand up and decide to go second best.

I’d fuck the bar maid behind the bar – she paid me for it. Any chick who wanted some paid me for it. There were odd benefits to being Ultimate in this city, like being a whore of choice.

I didn’t mind though, cause it kind of had its perks.

No commitment.

No heart break.

No reason to care. About any girl. Ever again.