On top of a steep hill, inside a dusty and dilapidated shack lay 50 casings on the table, right next to Sitar holding and fiddling with one in his hand. The shack was home to Sitar, Chop, and Rag, all of who are members of The Harbor yet not rich enough to land a direct job in Seoul. Instead they stay right outside near the gates with all the other poor Seoulites -- though the others were less elevated than them on their hill, a symbol of their importance. Today they would exercise this importance. Today there was a hanging in Glaaise that they had to attend as the main operators. Chop was laying down on an indoor bench, looking up at a crack in the roof. He always made a promise to stay right by Sitar's side, no more than a yard away at all times, though when he fails and strays he often feels so bad that he stays as close as possible right afterward. Rag was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, right in front of Sitar. They were all trying not to look at each other.
"Do you... guys know who we're hanging today?" Asked Chop meekly, still staring at the crack. It took around a minute for someone to respond.
"It's... Joe. It's Joe, and a few others. He's been imprisoned for a long ass time, he had it coming." Rag answered with a sigh. "I told him not to break into Seoul. I told him not to break out of prison afterward, but he doesn't listen to anyone. Usually they're more merciful. I was so close to getting him out of there, but he just... ruined it."
"They never liked him to begin with, and I didn't either. He gives bad vibes. You guys are better off without him." Sitar added very sharply, swift enough to where you'd think he knew exactly what Rag was going to say. He snapped his fingers which meant nobody was to respond.
Nobody did. Sitar's digital clock that lay next to the brass on the table beeped, which meant it was time to go, though where is never established upon. He left through the front door and the others followed a generous distance behind him. They made their way through the slums of outside Seoul and -- from what they could tell -- went the way to Seoul's prison. The path they walked had scattered bits of trash all over the dirt, letters that brothers mailed to eager opportunists, bottles having contained Crown Royal, scattered bits of rotten food... the people in the slums who were outside looked at Sitar and his boys like they were superheroes, a remarkable awe in their eyes. Sitar knew it wasn't because they were here, no, it was because of something else.
A big metal gate that had partially rusted over towered over Sitar as they made it to the entrance of Seoul, who knocked on it twice like he wasn't scared of the golden city that everyone wanted to break into. It was like he had no desire to see what it held beyond what he was tasked to do... or maybe he had already seen it all. An unnamed man climbed a nearby watchtower, looked down, and sent a signal with his hands, letting another man know farther away that it was time to open the gate. A loud whirring struck throughout the area as it slowly opened -- very, very slowly. It was now that Rag and Chop realized that there were many slumpeople behind them.
"We don't go in until the pigs of the slum try and break in. If we go first, they'll shoot us. Back up and let them enter." Sitar ordered coldly, Rag and Chop following his directions immediately out of fear. They could feel the hot sun baking them under the tension of what was about to happen.
Two of the slumpeople darted under the door and squeezed their bodies halfway through before it was even barely open -- in a flash, the rightmost person's brains were blown out by a rifle round. Rag could see the fear on the other's face and the desperate wiggle of him trying to undo what he's done, before his forehead explodes. The other slumpeople didn't seem taken aback at all; they wanted to enter the world's first fluid market, they wanted a chance at fair luxury in the apocalypse, so three more tried to dash under the door after it had just opened a bit more. One would hit his head, making him fail, and the other two were swiftly shot just as their craniums peeked out the other side. The amount of space that the giant gate had was decreasing with every body that piled on the floor, better yet, nobody seemed to be running anymore -- that was until the door opened about an inch higher than the height of Rag, causing them all to dash towards the gate at once with such force that it almost knocked Chop and Rag over. The stream of runners split in two, diverging where Chop and Rag were, giving Sitar his own numinous space. The first of the crowd who entered died to the usual headshot, but as they piled in they started shooting the legs instead; this caused most of the men who came through to become crippled, with those getting shot in the leg immediately retreating back to the gate as if they were a collective consciousness. Perhaps, Rag thought -- perhaps it was easier to finish them when they were slow.
"Look, Sitar, a few of them made it!" Chop proclaimed joyfully. Sitar shaked his head. "They didn't make it. The guns are only meant to scare off the first few. What would a smart society like Seoul be if not for their economically sound choices, like their militia riot police? Imagine you're looking for business and you find offered treasure merely asking you to bash in the heads of annoying people..." He smirks. "That's what it's all about. The supply of people is lower here, so the demand of armed guards stays high."
Just as soon as he speaks of supply, a sea of people covered in riot gear with impromptu weapons such as hockey sticks and broken glass bottles make their way from behind the main overseer building of Seoul, releasing two groups of guards on each side of the building, effectively capturing both streams of people and additionally stopping them from making their way past. Some notice the rioters and run away, though everyone who moves backwards immediately gets shot down. The ones who continue are beaten to death and swarmed by the pirahna-like police. A fleeting glance would make you think they were eating the slumpeople's flesh.
"I'm not a fan of it too, but you have to weaponize the greed of men to really do anything with them. A voluntary horde is better than an assigned one, no?" Sitar asks. He doesn't get an answer -- Rag and Chop had only come to the gates of Seoul for a hanging late at night, when a few came. This was an extraordinarily new -- also equally macabre -- sight to behold. Eventually Sitar moved forward through the gate, holding his fingers up in a "Harbor Coyote" with his pointer and middle finger held up. Rag and Chop did the same as they walked through, trying to be as close to Sitar as possible, for they did not want to be shot like the rest.
A few of the guards gave Sitar a side-eye as he walked past. Sitar didn't seem to mind at all. They walked down the brick pathway, passing by many booths, businesses, impromptu houses, before finally stopping at a big concrete building, with iron pillars in front that made it look like a modern temple. You couldn't tell it was a jail until you opened the doors and smelt that sickly mold growing in the cells. Everyone locked in the prison was given an indefinite amount of time until they pleaded to labor proportional to their crime. They could only get out if a job of their status was avaliable, and they wanted to, because the only other option was death. Nobody could interfere with the freedom of the market by committing any reckless acts.
The jail was a marvel of technology with code-locked doors and tough glass cells that could not be broken through. Everything in Seoul was a marvel to the poor people of the slums outside Seoul, like all the wealth and technology in the world had been concentrated to a great city. Despite the rot, it was a more lavish place to be than the shack, which Rag would make a habit of saying. They walked up past the cells and reached a room with a giant glass wall in the middle. It had a hole that presumably was for hearing the other side -- the other side being Joe, sitting in a plastic chair and fiddling with his hands. He pushed himself up against the glass when he saw Rag come in last after closing the door.
"Oh, thank the lord, thank the lord! Raggy! Let me out of here! Oh... just... tell Sitar I didn't mean it, he can get me out! You guys can get me out!" Joe pleaded with a quiver in his voice. "I don't want to die! I can't die here! I'm the first man to break into Seoul!! Do you know how much I contributed to the market before I got imprisoned?! My chef shop was the top of the town, nobody else had any fish before! Come on! Please! I'll... I'll pay you!" Rag grimaced and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. He didn't know how to respond. "I don't... I don't think I can vouch for you anymore, Joe. They tried to give you freedom by making you work as a contractor on leave. You could've just... vouched for Seoul out in Rottenwood, and since it's so far away you could... oh, whatever." Rag places his thumb and forefinger on his forehead. There was a strain in his voice. "You're dead, Joe. We're here to hang you."
Joe's eyes widened slowly, his mouth turning into a huge, huge frown. He started to bang on the glass harder and reach out as if he was trying to grab Rag. "I can't believe my own friend is here to hang me! What the fuck is wrong with you?! I trusted you! I gave you all those casings back when you were just making it out there, you owe me! You can't kill me! We have so much to do together!"
He would plead, and plead, and plead as if it would save his life. He pleaded so much that his words soon muddied together into cries of disbelief and agony. Sitar eventually opened the door out of the room, entering the other with a rope in his hands held like a belt. The banging didn't stop for a while, as Joe never looked back at Sitar while he was holding him -- he only kept banging until his hands were restrained, his effort replaced with the wiggle of his body. Chop thought he saw a glimmer of forlorn in Sitar's eyes as he tried to hold him still.
Sitar came out of the prison with Joe in his clutches, but he earned free walking rights for being silent after they left Seoul. He followed right beside Rag, with Chop right beside Sitar. Rag awkwardly smiled as Joe approached him, conflicting thoughts about the whole thing warring in his mind.
"Rag... I've always been jealous of your free spirit, you know?" Joe looks down as he talks, admiring the bumps in the blue grass. "You just end up in good places because you aint afraid to get to 'em. Everyone's got a little fear they hold onto in the apocalypse. We all have a remnant of our old lives keeping us from doing our best. But you... you just walk like a true dead man should, doing whatever to help yourself with still a little leeway for justice." Joe sniffles. He's about to cry. "I did this all because I wanted to be more like you... you're up here, access to Seoul, good men on your side, and what do I have? I lost everything to my own choices... I thought I could... I thought I could make a change, conquer fate, go to the golden city, get rich... I thought about you, doing jobs, standing up for yourself and getting beat up but still staying alive. Is toil and gain all we have? Do we have to dream of higher positions until we're up there? Is being on top all there is to life anymore?"
Rag didn't know quite what to say -- he knew that Joe was the philosophical, brooding kind, always caring enough to compare his problems to others even when it changed nothing, always nice enough to donate to others even when it hurt his own plans. It was obvious he'd go in such a sad way, but it somehow still stung. Rag wanted to give Joe the nice embrace of a talk before he went. What else could he do?
"I mean, everyone's got something they strive for. I think dreams can't really coexist -- like, if some guy wants to be powerful, and another guy wants to be powerful, it's hard for them to cooperate. Dreams are often sacrifices you'd make for yourself to make sure you live on past your years." Rag replied. "Imagine you want a beautiful girlfriend, but you had to do some crazy shit to get one. That's selfish. In a world with no order, what else is there to do but be a selfish prick? Not much but masturbate."
Joe laughed at the joke, flashing Rag a polite smile. "I guess you're right! People used to do that all the time before the apocalypse. I remember wanting to be a CEO, maybe for fun or whatever, it just seemed realistic back then." Joe closes his eyes and lets out another tear. It takes a few more moments for him to speak up again, each moment of silence passing with melancholic understanding of his dim future. "I wanted to be better before I died, make myself let go of that kind of greed. Ironically, the one time I try to help myself... this happens. I got overzealous."
Rag wraps his arm around Joe's shoulder, patting him gently for the rest of the walk to Glaasie. They could've talked for 20 more minutes, maybe about life or good times, but nobody with dreams likes to go prematurely. Instead it remained with an air of misery, though it enticed introspection -- Rag was wondering what he had done for his dream, and how long it would take for him to get there. For the first time in a while he takes in the appearance of his cohorts. Sitar is tall, has specks of dirt in his coily hair, seems commanding with the way he holds his arms back and suspends them there as if he were royally cuffed, yet he has an anger imprinted in his face that never wears off even if he smiles. Chop looks like a grown child with a bloated face, if children could have moustaches. Rag has always wanted blonde hair like Chop, for it shines in the sun nicely. It makes you look numinous, or humble, entirely depending on your facial features. These friends of his seemed so odd in this current moment. He couldn't really decipher why he keeps hanging with them, beyond memories of what they had or the will to achieve his own goals.
Just as he starts to think, they arrive at Glaasie. It doesn't have a grand gate like Seoul; nobody is willing to break into a humble town, that'd be useless. You could just ask to enter and they'd tell you to do something -- you do it, you get in, it's simple. That's the way it is with private communities like the ones of The Harbor, though some public ones will just let you in without a word. How stupid would they have to be to do that? Rag could feel Joe tense up in his grip as Sitar presses his hand against a stamp-like pad, making a cheap metal fence -- one of the many entrances into this town -- open up quickly. The Harbor has hangings everywhere in their domain with people they've arrested, and Sitar is responsible for bringing the Seoul criminals over, making him often viewed as a pompous and rude guest. Some people have tried to throw stuff at him during the hanging, so now Chop just does the ceremony instead. Sitar lets himself have a smoke as he watches far away from prying eyes. Rag is the one who ties the feet of the guys and sets them up on the wooden podium.
"At least we didn't have to walk far, yeah?" Chop says, looking back at Rag with Joe held close. Rag didn't understand Chop, for he seems like he has no empathy yet he captures a weak and helpless air. He's all wrong, untrustable, Rag had always known something was off from the day he met him. "I do remember those times we had to walk all the way to Shoredom, fuck... they need to give us a ride next time." He replies with his usual charismatic demeanor, one he especially wears around his friends. Chop's smile fades and he looks away like Rag had said something wrong.
They make it past a town hall building, a saloon building, a funky little general store, before finally making it to a small area that the town surrounds. It was the eye of the storm. There was a wooden platform set down with the other "guests" already tied up there. Rag's job was done for him, but Joe still needed his feet restrained, so he gently flopped him over on the dirt and grabbed a rope from his pocket. He messed up the knot the first time. He usually does, so it's okay. The second time he gets it, but it's loose. "Joe, promise me you won't try to escape this, okay?" Rag asks. Joe looks up at him from the ground, nodding with a shaky smirk. Rag hoists him over his shoulder and walks up the platform stairs to set Joe on his spot with the noose around his neck.
The crowd of people look a bit disinterested today, for everyone set up was a nobody who had done a crime of barely any importance. The people who come from Seoul read out the crimes and do the ceremony, which Chop gracefully prepared to do as he came up the stairs. He had a yellow paper in his hand with presumably the list of atrocities these men have done.
"Hello, people of Glaaise! We have a few criminals here, just four... ahem..." He pointed to the leftmost criminal. It was a bald, fair-skinned man with no shirt on, probably to flex his muscles. "Alex Kursov has been charged with robbing and killing a street vendor from Shoredom. The Harbor Few had decided it went against their policies of free enterprise, probably being a politically charged murder. Next one..." He walked down to the second leftmost guy, who looked like he hadn't touched a razor in his whole life. He had a scraggly beard that covered his neck. His hair was equally as messy -- Sitar was admiring a bug dancing on his fluffy dome. "Quinlan Burke raided a Seoul military stash hidden near the seas of Luden. After we figured out his crime, he ran away to Rottenwood and murdered a Seoul scout during a brief confrontation." Quinlan snarled at the public display of his crimes. Chop walked down to the third guy. "And next, Police Burgham. Police has a long history of scamming and swindling funds from people who come to his travelling merchant shop. He has been selling fake wares for a while now. It had only recently been noticed as an offense after Seong tried to coerce him to come into Seoul for his exceptional ability to gain money, but instead of accepting this gracious offer, he got Seong to buy his most expensive item and ran away after he found out it was broken."
Police started screaming to the crowd. "Yeah, and I would do it again if I could! That bitch thinks he owns you! That bitch thinks he owns me! We ain't got anything to live for but nothing to live for, you hear me?! EMBRACE OBL-" Chop smacks him in the face with as much force as he can. It knocks a tooth straight out of Police's mouth, landing on the floor next to Joe, shutting up Police completely. Joe shudders when the tooth falls, and shudders even more as Chop approaches him. "Lastly, Joe "Bro" Ruhose. This guy broke into Seoul and escaped prison multiple times. Ahem..." Chop immediately segways to the main event. He seems excited. "Alright! Hanging in 3, 2... 1..." He steps back behind the people on the podium as the hatches fall beneath them, cutting off their airflow. Everyone but Alex squirmed and moved around in the air as if it would save them. Their feet were tied up, but you could tell if they weren't, they would be kicking like hell was loose.
Rag couldn't bear to see Joe's face turn purple. Rag couldn't bear to see Joe's eyes pop out and his tongue flop from his open mouth before his head hangs low, choking out his last prayers. Rag couldn't bear it at all, that's why he didn't look.
That's why he looked at the smoke of his cigarette wafting through the air instead.
Written by Nicole Buuward (6/5/26)