The Good, The Bad, and The Tiny

*Content Warning: Mild foul language, physical violence, mild sexual themes*

Cody Cole scanned the horizon from atop the summit of boxes labeled “CDs”. No movement appeared through his scope. From his perch in the corner of the room, the entire expanse could be seen. Somewhere, amongst the various boxes of forgotten items, was his target. And he couldn't hide forever.

The light would shut off at any moment now. Tonight's caretaker would be leaving soon. Probably taking a piss or something before he locked up for the night. For the most part, dwellers don't come out of the alleys between the boxes during the day. They don't trust hunters anymore. Cody couldn't even blame them for that. Times were hard. The profession had become corrupt. Hunters were once the peace keepers of the unit. That was until the salvage started drying up, along with it, the pay for legitimate contracts. Now hunters were seen as thugs, taking contracts from anyone willing to pay. You got someone you want gone? Place a few shiny trinkets in front of a hunter and your problems disappear. It's a damn shame we live like this now. Cody wasn't out there looking for payment though. This was much more personal for him.

One final survey of the landscape. People get antsy just before lights out. Dweller's began to crawl out into the open slowly, too impatient to wait for the caretaker to close up shop. Cody’s eyes strained through scope, looking for anyone with the telltale green glow or the glint of a crystal sparkle. Anyone that had been in contact with the target would be sure to have that crap stuck to them. The shit gets everywhere. All Cody needed was one fool with sticky hands to walk out and start bragging. With any luck, this unit should be full of fools eager to oblige.

Cody's tool of choice was a hand-crafted long-arm repeater. The thing had cost him a decent haul, but a hunter ain't no hunter at all without a long-arm. Cody had it made long before the shortages started, so it was built with higher-quality salvage. The stock had been cut from a flat piece of plastic. Probably a Frisbee or something. Its barrel was cut from the inkwell of a pen. A rotating cylinder held 6 straightened staples, fletching attached at the rear to help them fly straight. A lever fashioned from a paper clip would rotate the cylinder, lining up the next bolt. Not only did the lever rotate the cylinder but it cocked the rubber band powered hammer to the rear. The trigger would drop the hammer down and send the bolt barreling through the air. It was a beautiful rifle. It had seen him through his career as a hunter. Hopefully, it would see him through at least one more time.

Without warning, it was dark. Cody sighed as he decocked the rifle and shouldered it. Should have known it wouldn't be that easy. He sat for a minute staring out into the darkness. Glints of light began trickling to life, like fireflies dancing in the distance. It was beautiful. It was always amazing to him to see how, even in the toughest times, people prevail. 

Gus, Cody's faithful cockroach was tied up not too far away. That old roach had seen him through some of the hairiest gunfights he cared to remember. The fastest way to travel the unit was by bug. Cody had chosen a roach because of their ability to haul a lot of salvage in one go. His salvage hauling days were long behind him but Gus had grown on him. Cody climbed up the leather saddle. Gus spread his wings out and lifted off the ground. They were headed to Rodriguez's Grog Shop. With any luck, someone there would be willing to let too much slip.

The doors of the saloon swung open. The room fell silent, the presence of a hunter put the place on edge. He stood his ground in the doorway, daring someone to move. A brave few dwellers slowly slid their hands under their tables. No doubt reaching for repeaters. Looked like there were some takers here tonight.

“Cody! How ya been!?” the bartender asked over-enthusiastically. It worked. Put at ease by public recognition, the patrons went back to their drinks.

“Been good John. Thanks for that.” Cody tipped his hat and approached the bar.

“You know every time you come around my business suffers,” John said. He slid a small plastic container of brown liquid over to Cody.

Tipping it back Cody winced “Times really that tough? This ain’t your usual brew.”

John laughed, “Look around Cody. The caretaker ain’t stocked new supplies for months. This units been picked clean. I do what I can to keep this place running.”

Cody tipped his hat again, “Doing a damn fine job, John.”

Nobody seemed to care much that there was a hunter in the room anymore. That is, other than the man sitting alone in the back. The table he sat at was made from a Fanta bottle cap. Cody returned his gaze to John as the man got up and headed to the bar. John nodded toward the man before disappearing into the kitchen, wiping a plastic cup out with a rag made from tissue.

“You best stop looking for trouble, mister. You might just find it,” the man warned. Cody turned to look at the man who was now standing just behind him. His jacket was pulled back just far enough to reveal a bowie knife made from a piece of glass on his hip.

“He’ll shoot you in the back, ya know? The Dirty Bird ain’t keen on keeping friends long,” Cody said. All Cody could see in the man’s eyes was blind ambition. Such a damn fool. The man responded with a laugh before spitting on the ground in front of Cody.

“You ain’t listen too good do ya, hunter?” The man sneered. He lunged towards Cody, drawing his knife. The glass blade glinted in the dim bar room light as it sliced through the air. A single crack rang out. The attacker’s body crumpled to the ground, a fletched staple bolt protruding from the side of his head.

John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, cambering another round into a repeater with a loud clack.

“I run a respectable Grog Shop!! They’ll be no pig stickin here! Now, any son of a bitch here thinks that ain’t clear?!” John yelled. Once again, the thirsty bar clientele returned to their drinks. Just another day in unit 74.

“I could have handled him,” Cody said. John ignored the comment. He bent down to retrieve his bolt from the former customer’s cranium. Wiping it clean before loading it back into the open cylinder of the repeater.

“Might want to look at this Cody,” John said. He pointed the barrel toward the man's jacket. A few white crystals had fallen from his pocket. Cody picked one up and licked one.

“He’s in cahoots with Dirty Bird all right,” Cody said. He dropped the crystal. “This guy come in on a mount?” he asked John.

“Yeah, I think its the moth. Tied up out back along with the rest.” John replied.

“I owe you one, John,” Cody said. He walked out the door.

“You owe me more than one, Cody,” John called after him. A thin closet door closed as he placed the repeater back in its hiding place behind the kitchen door.

Rodriguez’s Grog Shop was a shoe box tucked against the back wall of the unit. The tote next to it, labeled lingerie, was Jarvy’s Brothel. Another favorite location of the ground-level slums. The parking lot for the various saddled-up insects was in the alley between the two.

Gus started acting up when he saw Cody. A pat on the head reassured him before Cody made his way to the attacker’s moth. It was malnourished and his wings were damaged.

“It’s your lucky day there buddy,” Cody said.

It flinched as Cody reached to stroke it's antenna. Such a beautiful creature, a shame it's been treated like this. A saddle bag caught his eye. Inside was a green glob coated with the same crystals from the thug’s pocket. This bandit was hauling some precious cargo. There was only one place in the unit you could get something like this. Cody took a bite out of the orb before slipping it into the pocket of his duster. The taste haunted him. It was the taste of his betrayal. He closed his eyes as he chewed. He was close.

The saddle flopped to the ground as Cody cut it free. He stroked its head once more before slapping the back of its abdomen. “Hya! Go on! Get!” It flew off into the darkness of the expanse above. Free from the corruption of this place at last. How amazing a feeling that would be. 

Returning his attention to the relinquished saddle bag, Cody shuffled through its remains. It was disgusting. Figures, anyone who would posse up with the Dirty Bird couldn’t be expected to be tidy. But then what did that say about Cody? All he could tell himself was that he had known a different man then. A man that wasn't known as Dirty Bird. A man that was once a respectable hunter. That was before he put a staple bolt through Cody’s leg and left him for dead. Greed had poisoned the man he had once called a friend.

What remained in the bag was mostly worthless trinkets, likely stolen, worthless trinkets. They all had a sticky feeling from the green orb. A crumpled piece of paper stuck to Cody's hand while he combed through the bag's remnants. A smile slowly crossed his face as he unfolded it. “I'm coming for you, Dirty Bird.”

Once, long ago, a caretaker had leaned a mattress on the far wall of the unit. Nobody that lived here now remembers when this happened or by whom. This mattress, however, had become a diverse district of life over that time. The lower end of it, closest to the floor, was home to vast markets selling salvage and food. The mold that grew on its fluffy surface, was processed into bread and sold there. Insect breeders also bred an array of insects that fed off the vast mold fields. Heck, it’s where Gus was born. Cody had picked him out when he was just a little nymph.

Daylight never hit the backside, even when the lights came on. It was for this reason that the backside of the mattress was home to Unit 74’s prison. A few days in the moldy, soggy darkness, and most people were set back on the straight and narrow.

The upper levels of the mattress were where only the wealthiest residents are allowed to tread. From there, they could look down on the entire unit. It made them feel powerful. Such pigs. Their little apartment windows carved into the surface of the mattress could be seen from the ground, lit up in the dark. The upper levels also happened to be the side of the mattress that had the “do not remove under penalty of law” tag. Cody unfolded the piece of paper from the saddle bag while looking at the white, mountainous, behemoth in front of him. He looked down to confirm the word “LAW.”

Two lookouts paced the top of the mattress. Mounted flashlights on either end on the mattress pointed downward cut through the darkness. A security feature no doubt but had the added benefit of making the upper portions of the mattress appear more sophisticated and grand. A reminder to the entire unit of how much more elite these people were.

“I’m heading over to Jarvy’s after this shift. You wouldn’t believe what those girls will do for a chunk of that green goop.” The shorter guard said to the other.

“Oh yeah? No foolin?” His partner replied, his interest peaked. He turned away to take a leak off the side of the mattress edge.

“You better believe it! They gotta girl there, Tammy, she can’t get enough of the stuff! And she’s got a tongue like a trout! C’mon, you gotta come with me,” the short guard’s excitement grew. There was no response from his counterpart. “Whaddya say?!” The shorter guard waited for a response before turning to look. Didn't want to be accused of peeping. Where there had been a second guard peeing seconds before, was now nothing but open expanse.

“WHAT IN TARNATION!” He readied his repeater. Heartbeat racing, the guard slowly took a few steps forward toward the edge. The barrel of his rifle fixed on the edge. He slowly leaned over the edge of the mattress, looking down the massive drop. Nothing. He could only see about halfway down anyway. The rest was just black. Did he fall? What was he supposed to tell the others? Turning from the edge, the guard’s chest met the barrel of a long-arm. “Son of a…..” A loud snap sent the lookout flying over the edge, disappearing into the dark abyss.

Cody entered through a tear in the top of the mattress. The carved out tunnel was a treasure trove of salvage. Jewelry, and various shiny things Cody had never seen lined the hallway walls. A lifetime's worth of fortune surrounded him. But that wasn’t why Cody was there.

“Well, this is a surprise. I thought you were supposed to be dead.” Dirty Bird stood in a large hollowed-out section of the top-level mattress. This was the throne room that he had always thought he deserved. Something he thought he had earned. The crazed man had built himself into the king he saw himself as.

“Jacob Embs..... Been awhile. Hope you worked on your aim,” Cody replied. He squared up with his former partner.

“Should have stayed where I left you, Cody. That was a once-in-a-lifetime haul. You were gonna do the same thing to me when you had the chance,” Jacob sneered.

“You were like a brother to me Jacob, I didn’t want any of this. That shit changed you!” yelled Cody. “Look around you! This is insane!”

Jacob turned his back to Cody, “Is that it? You are here to take it back then?”

“I’m here to take my brother home, Jacob” Cody replied.

Jacob flipped a switch and a flashlight lit up the room. The beam revealed the massive bag of lime-flavored sour patch kids behind where Jacob stood. The only known bag to exist in the whole unit.

“Come and get it then…. Brother,” Jacob replied as he pulled two repeater pistols from his belt.

Staple bolts filled the air between them. Cody could feel the fletching cut his face as one whizzed by. Another hit him in the shoulder. He gritted his teeth, continuing to cycle the rifle. A tear ran down his face as he rained hell down on his friend.

The Dirty Bird, Jacob Embs, stood defiantly. Frantically sending a wave of staple bolts toward his old cohort. A bolt hit him in the leg. It dropped him to a knee. His pistols still trained on Cody. Another bolt hit him in the torso. Defiant till the end, Jacob refused to let up his rain of fire. He would make his last stand here. Defending his beloved sour patch kids, even if it meant killing his best friend. A third bolt found its way into the side of his neck. Jacob dropped his pistols and fell to the ground.

Cody approached, kicking the pistols away. He leaned over Dirty Bird, “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Jacob.”

“It’s all yours now. What are you sorry about?” Jacob said. He had a smile on his face.

“I curse the day we found the stuff, Jacob,” Cody replied, as he knelt beside his friend.

“Always so righteous, aren‘t you Cody? I’m glad it was you. At the end, I mean. I am glad I got to see you one last time.” Jacob let one last breath out and his head went limp. The smile on his face remained. As if the curse of his addiction had been lifted.

Cody made his exit without taking anything. He had done what he needed to do. With a whistle, Gus came flying in from the darkness of the expanse. Cody gave his head a few pats. Climbing into the saddle, Cody pulled a match from his pocket. As Gus began to take flight, Cody sparked the match and tossed it onto the mattress.

“Rest easy brother…”

The night shift worker of the storage unit was jolted awake by the fire alarm.

“JEEZ! WHAT THE!?” Frantically grabbing the fire extinguisher, he rushed down the hall of grey shuttered doors. Near the end of the hall, smoke rolled out of unit 74. Flinging the door open, the unit was doused with white firefighting powder. When the smoke cleared, the worker was left staring at a half-melted mattress inside. Which was apparently stuffed with now charred jewelry and what looked like some kind of melted green candy.

“Hope this dude has insurance. I don’t know why but the weirdest shit always happens in 74,” he mumbled, as he slid the door shut and walked back to his office.