Traffic flew by far above them. Buses, personal vehicles, and trucks appeared as streaks of light from their tremendous speeds. There was no wind. There was a gentle warmth. Climate control centres in the city provided the perfect weather. Night slowly approached.

  “Where are you from, boy?” the grey-skinned man asked.

  “Shut up and give me your creds,” the boy said, repeating himself.

  The boy cautiously looked around as he held his gun pointed at the grey man. In the rare case someone showed up on the empty bridge they were on. The beautifully white tiled bridge connected to the walkways surrounding two ivory white towers. One of the towers was adorned along its sides and corners with green marble pillars. The other tower looked the same, but had blue marble pillars.

  The boy, with blue skin, was dressed in a large black cloak and wore a hood over his head, casting his face in shadow. He held his hand steady.

  The grey man wore a dark red leather jacket, it had silver flower patterns along the seams. The jacket screamed wealth.

  “I don't have any hard credits on me. But I can give you something far more valuable.”

  “Shut up and transfer.”

  The boy reached out his wrist, which had a gilded bracelet on it. It was a personal computer. The bracelet activated with the push of a button and showed a holographic funds transfer screen. The man did not move.

  “You will survive for fifty more days with what I have left in my account. Or you could live a lifetime with what I have inside my mind,” the man said and tapped the side of his head.

  “Listen, shit face. I can do this with you alive, or I can just transfer from you dead.”

  “That is not how the tech works.”

  “Screw how the tech works! Maybe I messed with the tech and now it works as I wish it to!”

  “Listen to me, kid. You can continue living on death's edge or you can hear me out.”

  “Hear what out? What is your soon to be broke ass going to say that will magic away my gun from your face?”

  “I know who you are. I have been where you are. Holding the gun. Just waiting for the next day so I can die by someone else's bullet. I know you are just a gunman waiting for the next text to off someone. I know all this crap because I have been there, in your age.”

  “So what? You get a free pass because you're from the slums?”

  “No free passes in this life, my boy. You see the towers around us?”

  “Yeah I live in their shitty shadow. One last time, transfer or I will blow your brains over the railing.” The boy pushed the gun hard into the side of the grey man's head for a second and then pulled it back.

  “I transfer, and then you lower the gun and hear me out? Okay?”

  “You transfer and then I'm off to the next mark. Okay?”

  The boy once again looked behind him, and noticed a single police officer coming their way. He had stood in such a way, that the officer had not noticed the gun. The boy lowered his weapon and held it by his side, underneath his cloak.

  “You say one wrong word, and I end you and the officer,” the boy said.

  The officer came closer and looked at the pair.

  “Fine evening, sirs,” the officer said as he walked by.

  The boy nodded and the grey man smiled.

  The officer continued for a bit, but then stopped. He looked back at the boy.

  “Your face, I have seen it somewhere,” the officer said and put one hand on the side of his belt, near his sidearm.

  The boy moved slightly, beginning to raise his pistol. But the grey man grabbed his shoulder.

  “He's from the local slums, part of a choir there, maybe you've watched them sing?” the grey man intervened.

  “That's right, I always watch the different choirs from the slums. Even have the Therseia Helper's Insignia around my neck.” The officer grabbed the insignia and showed them. “What brings you out here, anyway?”

  “I am teaching the kid about the towers,” the grey man said.

  The officer looked baffled.

  “Oh, well you have a nice evening then, sirs,” he said and walked away.

  As the officer disappeared in the distance, the boy looked at the grey man again.

  “Nice trick. Now transfer, or give me your jacket,” the boy said and raised his gun.

  The grey man pushed the gun to the side while grabbing a hold of it. The kid tried to fire the gun, but the man quickly put it into locked mode. They struggled for a second, before the man overpowered the kid and put him on his knees while twisting the gun from the kid's grasp.

  “It wasn't a trick. I saw the officer's insignia on his chest and knew he was a choir boy, unlike us.” The man freed the magazine and put it in one of his pockets. He then forced the boy down so the lad lay with his stomach towards the ground. “Any more weapons on you?” the grey man asked.

  “Shit, no!” The boy winced from a slight pain in his arms.

  The man searched the boy and found a small foldable knife. The man pocketed it and then hid the gun in his belt, behind his jacket.

  “Now, then, how long do you think it took to build those towers?” the man asked calmly as he held the boy down.

  “Who the hell are you and what do you want from me?!” the boy yelled.

  “Answer my question.”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Hell if I know, but with today's tech you can have a building like that up in one day, I have seen the vids.”

  “How old is our civilisation?”

  “What is it with these janky ass questions, man?”

  The boy wriggled a little, but the man held him steady to the ground.

  “My point is, it did not take one day to build those towers. It did not take one day to build this city. It took millions upon millions of years. Just as your ancestors have survived to produce you. You are the by-product of a billion year old lineage. You are the best of the best, premium quality flesh. Whether you live in the slums or on a villa atop of the towers, you've survived natural selection up to this point. That is one hell of an achievement.”

  The boy lay silent.

  “Lick the tile.” the man said and pushed the boys head closer to the bridge's surface.

  “You are messed up, man!”

  “Do it and tell me what it tastes like.”

  The kid did as instructed.

  “It tastes of some sweet flowery shit.”

  “That's right, has done so since forever. Long ago, I was in a similar spot as you are now. Tasting tiles makes us kin.”

  “You are nuts!”

  "This city was built to perfection, every scent, every corner, it's all quality down to the minute detail. Yet people like us live in it, imperfect and crude, we dirty its streets, sully its name, we corrupt its spine."

  "So what? Everyone's gotta make a living!”

  “I campaigned in Osilgatz, I saw brothers and sisters torn to pieces from cannon fire. I witnessed their mangled bodies in heaps of flesh and metal. I've seen the destruction we humans and sapients are capable of. Just as I have seen the beauty before us now, the towers, this city of Dy Ferentise. And the beauty of nature. Forests as tall as these towers. Grass fields of pure blue balsam. This world is bigger than us, boy. This world is bigger than hate and love. This world both needs us and does not. What you do in life, both matters and does not. I don't know it all but I have seen much and I can tell you more. I am five thousand years old and I plan on living tomorrow. How about you?” the man said and raised the boy up.

  “I was shot at yesterday, and today is also a shitty day.” The boy brushed himself off as the man released him.

  “What's your name?” the man asked.

  “Stick-it-to-you.”

  The man was unimpressed and waited for the right name.

  The boy sighed. “Andrez.”

  “I am Desantim De Santiar. And I can tell you this. You can outrun your enemies, your bosses, your loves, your hates. But never for long. Wherever you go, you will have all those things again, perhaps in different shapes and forms, but they will always be there. What matters is how you approach them. What you do with your time. How you sow is how you live. Invest in yourself, your skills, your knowledge.”

  “My skills to rob marks of their creds?”

  “No, Andrez. The skills you don't know you have yet because you have never tried them. You can be more than the gun. Even if it is difficult and a pain in the back. I can help teach you.”

  “You crazy? No way. My bosses will find me and kill me.”

  “Perhaps. But will you live under their rule for the rest of your likely short life? Or will you take your destiny by your own volition? What do you really want in life, Andrez? Quick money and fancy cars? Some girl that is too scared to say no? All these things will lead to an untimely death and a waste of a life.”

  “So what is your magic solution then?”

  “I don't have one. I just want you off the street. And it has to be your solution, not mine. There are programs, and if they fail, I exist. You can live with me, I will teach you new skills. Get you an education. But you must want it all.”

  “An edu-freaking-cation. What magic talk. You think I have the head for that?”

  “Maybe not now, but you can make your head for that.”

  “You are funny. Insulting your robber, instilling life goals, telling them all will be swell.”

  “I never said it would be all swell, it will likely be the opposite. Long hours of menial work, days where you want to give up and grab the gun again. Few things are easy.”

  A loud vehicle flew by not far above them, they briefly looked up as it roared away. Then hooked eyes again.

  “What about my past? Maybe I have killed some folks. Done some bad stuff.” The boy seemed calmer.

  “Then you will need to face that. One way to do it, is prison. Another way is to work well in society, and pay a percentage of your income to the superstate's victim fund every year. Whatever you do, your conscience will be your greatest enemy as you develop it further and move forward.”

  “You know a lot about that, huh, old man, Desantim?”

  “I've been where you've been.”

  “Maybe I want to be a soldier, like you? You could teach me that gun trick you pulled on me?”

  “So you would jump from one deadly vocation to another? Have you not listened to a word I have said? You have so many peaceful futures possible for you and you want to hold the gun? I will not tell you to not do it, but I would like you to consider your options first.”

  “What if I do walk the peaceful line? And then get drafted by the blood tax? Soldier's life still, eh?”

  “When we must serve, we must serve, but you have many options until that potential point, Andrez. The draft also doesn't necessarily put you in a fighting job. They also look at your ongoing education and work before they would draft you. Get a good education, and you can avoid the draft all together.”

  They continued to speak well into the morning hours, about their lives, their loves, their hates, their dreams, and their hopes. They spoke gently, and they spoke harshly. They agreed and disagreed. But they spoke with mutual respect.

  “What happens now?” Andrez asked as one of the morning suns started to rise.

  City traffic had not slowed down for the entire night, the city had been bustling and some people had come and gone on the bridge.

  “So, listen carefully. There are many ways out of this. How we do it, is the important factor. No more killings. No more blood. You get a new identity, I can sort that out. A new home, it won't be fancy, but it will be away from your bosses. You will need to work everyday to improve yourself, you will go to school, you will learn things. And you will need to want to do these things, that's what's most important. If you don't want it, I can't help you.”

  “Man, that's hard.”

  “We will figure this out, Andrez. Now a test of trust.”

  Desantim loaded the magazine into the pistol and handed it to the boy. Desantim then walked a short distance away.

  “What are you doing?” Andrez asked.

  Desantim smiled. “You haven't shot at me yet. Does that mean you want this change?”

  “I suppose I do, Desantim."

  “You can call me Des,” he said and walked up to Andrez again.

  Desantim reached out his hand and Andrez gave him the gun back.

  “Let's go home,” Desantim said.

  The pair turned and started walking away on the bridge.

  “So you some kind of super soldier... Des? Five thousand years? That's an eternity.”

  “It's a breeze.”